We were off to the southern states. The first state we hit was Kansas. The archives there were wrought-full of information on houses that had burnt down, and people who had died. There were a few survivors mentioned, but none a little girl and boy.

With me in tears, we headed over to Missouri. There was hardly a thing in Missouri. We traveled on down to Arkansas. Nothing there, either. We swung down through Louisiana.

I had never seen such a place as Louisiana. It was there that I got a review that linked a burning house to Oklahoma. A family of 5, wiped out except for a little girl and boy. They mentioned the adorable doll-faced siblings; the girl with chestnut curls, the boy with rosy cheeks.

When I read the article, I began to cry. Norma and Wilbur decided to stay in a hotel that night. A hotel. It was white and stiff and cheap. I hated it. Norma hated it. Wilbur hated it asides the great cable.

I fell asleep that night resting on a tear-stained pillow.