By six o’clock, the living room was dark except for the glow of the fire.

I knelt on the stone hearth and lit three birch logs with a long wooden match until the dry bark caught.

Eleanor brought three porcelain dinner plates out from the kitchen and laid them on the wooden dining table.

For seven long years, there had only been two plates on that table when winter came.

Emma sat in the middle of the braided wool rug in front of the hearth with her feet tucked under the hem of her sweater.

She had a box of wax crayons spread out around a sheet of plain white paper.