She looked even more frail this time, Maggie mused. Her skin seemed almost translucent against the tidy white hair. It was an odd, somewhat eerie combination of youth and age. As Maggie watched, Louella looked over toward the gully. For a moment she seemed like a statue, unmoving, unblinking, unbreathing. When Maggie saw her take a step toward the fenced-off section, she walked outside.

“Good morning, Mrs. Morgan.”

Louella glanced up, her eyes focusing slowly. The hand she lifted to pat at her hair shook lightly. “I wanted to come.”

“Of course.” Maggie smiled and hoped she was doing the right thing. “Please come in. I was about to fix some coffee.”

Louella walked up the sagging steps Maggie had yet to contact Bog about. “You’ve made some changes.”

Unsure which route to take, she decided on light, cheerful chatter. “Yes, inside and out. The landscapes work faster than I do.” Killer stood in the doorway, snarling and backing up. Maggie hushed him as they went inside.

“This wallpaper was here when we moved in,” Louella murmured, looking around the hall. “I always meant to change it.”

“Did you?” Maggie led her gently toward the living room as she spoke. “Perhaps you could give me some suggestions. I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.”

“Something warm,” Louella said softly. “Something warm, with subtle color, so people would feel welcome. That’s what I wanted.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s just what it needs.” She wanted to put her arm around the woman and tell her she understood. Perhaps it was kinder not to.

“A house like this should smell of lemon oil and flowers.”

“It will,” Maggie told her, wishing she could change the scent of dust and paint.

“I always felt it should be filled with children.” She gazed around the room with the kind of misty concentration that made Maggie think she was seeing it as it had been more than twenty years before. “Children give a house its personality, you know, more than its decorating. They leave their mark on it.”

“You have grandchildren, don’t you?” Maggie steered her toward the sofa.

“Yes, Joyce’s children. The baby’s in school now. Time goes so quickly for the young. You’ve looked at the pictures?” Louella asked suddenly.

“The pictures?” Maggie’s brow creased, then cleared. “Oh, yes, I’ve really only had a chance to glance at them. I’ve been a bit tied up.” Remembering, she walked to the mantel and retrieved the envelope. “Your roses looked beautiful. I’m not sure I’d have that kind of talent.”

Louella took the envelope and stared down at it. “Roses need love and discipline. Like children.”

Maggie decided against another offer of coffee. Instead, she sat down beside Louella. “Perhaps if we looked at them together it would help.”

“Old pictures.” Louella opened the flap and drew them out. “There’s so much to see in old pictures if you know where to look. Early spring,” she murmured, looking down at the first snapshot. “You see, the hyacinths are blooming, and the daffodils.”