Nora Hayes came down the sidewalk holding a stoneware baking dish wrapped in a clean linen dish towel.

She stopped at the end of our driveway by the freshly planted lilac roots.

Nora patted her cardigan pockets before she set the dish down on the wooden porch steps.

“Baked apple pie,” Nora said.

“It’s still warm from the oven.”

“Thanks, Nora,” I said.

“The library’s autumn book sale is on the third Saturday in October,” she said, glancing over at Emily.

“We need somebody quick on their feet to haul the extra boxes up from the basement storeroom.”