We had reached another plateau and passed by the entrance to Horse Pens where a sign attached to a barb-wire fence announced that the spring festival would be April 22, 23, 24.

“Start looking for the house,” Luke said. “The mailbox, anyway.”

There were several small houses, all close to the road. Except for the smoke coming from chimneys, there were no signs of people. Occasionally in frostbitten gardens, a few turnip greens still showed color.

Sister pointed. “There. There’s a church.”

Luke slowed down.

The house next to the church sat farther back from the road than most of its neighbors, but like the others, it was small, two rooms wide with a narrow porch. Its only distinguishing feature was that in the front yard was a large satellite dish. On the mailbox was the name CRAWFORD.

Luke turned left into the gravel driveway between the church and house and stopped.

“What’s the matter?” Sister asked. “This has got to be the right place. Look. There’s a van with ladders and stuff on it.”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel so good.” Luke leaned his head against the steering wheel.

“He’s just nervous,” I said to Sister. And then to Luke, “Aren’t you?”

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” he said, his head still down.

“Then she’s crazy. There’s everything in Columbus. Malls, department stores. Up here,” Sister pointed to the satellite dish, “they don’t even have cable TV.”

“But she left me, Mary Alice.”

“And you have come to her rescue.” Sister turned and looked at me. “Isn’t that right, Mouse?”

“I guess so. You need to talk to her, anyway, Luke.”

What looked suspiciously like a tear dripped down the steering wheel.

“I tell you what,” I offered. “I’ll go see if she’s here. How about that?”

“Would you? I don’t want to see that Crawford guy.”

“Sure.”

I opened the car door and looked across the yard carefully. In spite of the church next door, this looked like pit bull territory. Nothing moved on the porch or darted from under the house. Nevertheless, I armed myself with an umbrella I had found on the backseat before I marched across the yard to knock on the door.

No one answered.

I knocked again, even calling, “Virginia?”

Still no answer. I looked in the window of what was the living room. It was furnished with a sofa and a giant TV, one of those that’s so big the picture is blurry.

I looked back at the car and shrugged at Luke and Mary Alice. Then I moved over and looked into the bedroom. It was neat, the bed made up with a pink chenille bedspread.

I tapped on the window. Nothing.

“They’re not here,” I said to Luke and Mary Alice as I got back in the car. “I swear I think I saw a snowflake, though.”