Gabriel drove down the country road north of Philadelphia, farm country around him, low hills and woods breaking up the pattern of fields. I could drive this road blindfolded, he thought with a smile. His home was up ahead, and after three weeks away, he was looking forward to some rest. Coming to his driveway, he pulled the Jeep in, starting down the gravel path. He had a farm, most of the arable land rented out to a neighbour who farmed the hay on the fields to supplement his own supply for his herd. The bulk of the rest of the land was forest and meadow, a sprawling property that gave Gabriel at least a sense of peace. Even if my house doesn’t feel like a home, he reminded himself ruefully. He passed by the fields, just recovering from the winter, yet to be seriously planted, and saw the buildings up ahead.