The wagon wheel was stuck in the mud.
Usually this would not be a major problem for Cecile B Cecile. It wasn't at the level of an early frost, or a waterless summer, or the scurvey his oldest child somehow contracted the previous summer.
Usually.
Except this was an election year and Cecile B Cecile wanted to vote. Even more than that he needed to vote. As a male land owner it was a God-given necessity. When he first purchased the farm it was one of the reasons he agreed to go into debt.
This was his country and his voice would be heard.
Eight hours later Cecile B Cecile sat beside his still stuck wagon, tears descending down his weather-beaten face. He couldn't make it to town to vote. He died two months later never having gotten the chance.
There is a moral in here somewhere.
Wayne
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