I had polished that set with her every December since I was nine years old, and she always let me use too much polish because she loved the smell.

Martha knelt on the floor and rolled it up, and the smell drifted out of the felt and into the room.

In the china cabinet the good plates stood in six felt-lined slots.

Five plates came out and got wrapped in newspaper.

The sixth slot was empty, and the ring in the wood was still bright, not dusty.

“Where did the sixth plate go?”

Martha pushed the last cup into a nest of newspaper.