Because I have not been in the right place until now.

But now—am I in the right place?

It was comforting to see that the house she approached wasn’t a derelict farmhouse like others in the area, but a house that resembled her own: a dignified Colonial of wood, brick, and fieldstone; not new, in fact probably at least one hundred years old, but beautifully restored and renovated: roof, shutters, and windows replaced and the clapboards freshly painted creamy white, which suggested that the property owners were affluent, like Abigail and her husband, who lived, Abigail calculated, about three miles away—if you took not the circuitous detour but a straight line.

Gravel horseshoe driveway, spacious front lawn with evergreen shrubs, several acres bordered by tall oaks, at the rear a barn converted into a three-car garage.

Abigail’s heart lifted! Whoever lived in this house would not be suspicious of her but would recognize her as a neighbor.

Possibly, whoever lived in this house knew her and, yet more possibly, knew her husband.

Possibly, these homeowners had been guests in the R__’s house and would be grateful to return their hospitality.

Before ringing the bell beside the front door, Abigail dabbed at her face with a tissue, which came away stained with blood; she used another tissue to wipe her damp eyes and to blow her nose, cautiously. With a stab of guilt she recalled having heard the front doorbell in her house ring not long ago, and standing very still, waiting for the ringing to cease and whoever it was to go away from the door; for no one of her or Allan’s acquaintance would have rung the doorbell without first notifying her that they were coming, and no one who rang the doorbell without first notifying her was anyone she’d have wished to see.

A second time she pressed the bell buzzer, politely. She would not press insistently on the buzzer, for such an act would signal aggression, a kind of threat. Nor would she knock loudly on the door and frighten or antagonize whoever might be inside, listening somewhere in the interior of the house.

Rehearsing what she might say, with an apologetic smile—Excuse me! I am so, so sorry to bother you, but I was following the detour and I’ve had a little accident, my car is in a ditch! If I could use your phone to call my husband …

Though she might have said call AAA or call a garage, she preferred call my husband, as this phrase indicated not only the likelihood of a nearby household but the stability of a lengthy marriage.