Chapter 15
The windshield wipers hissed over the glass as fast as they could go, the speedometer needle hovering somewhere around fifteen as Clara tried to navigate the quickly vanishing road. Either the storm had blown in a lot faster than she had anticipated, or the trouble with old farmer McGregor’s sow had taken much longer than need be. She blamed it on her inability to turn down an offering of Mrs. McGregor’s famous molasses cookies and a cup of steamy, marshmallow melted hot chocolate. And, as usual, the sweet old lady had sent some along for the ride back into town.
“Well, if you get stranded, at least you have something to tide you over,” she mumbled, trying her high beams to see if they increased visibility, sorely disappointed when they did not.
At least there was comfort in
