“My dear Mrs. Hocking, If you are receiving guests, Timmy and I would very much like to stop by this afternoon at half past two to welcome you to the neighborhood. We shan’t stay long! If it’s an inopportune time, just send a note over to the house directly across the street from you and we will look to schedule another day. Cordially yours, Libby Reynolds.”

I look down at Kat. “Are we receiving guests?” I ask her, unable to rein in the smile breaking across my face. Finally meeting the woman across the street after living in this house for nearly a month is too delightful a thought.

Kat just blinks up at me.

“We’re going to have company, love!”

For the next hour I go from room to room making sure there are no cobwebs, no dull tabletops, no dusty surfaces. I have little to do all day but keep house and entertain Kat, so the house is clean, but I scurry about the rooms with a feather duster anyway. A few minutes before half past, I put a kettle on low, hoping Mrs. Libby Reynolds can be persuaded to stay for tea, and then I straighten Kat’s hair ribbons and smooth back the hair from my face.

I am thinking we probably shouldn’t hover at the door. I turn to Kat. “How about we look at some books while we wait for the lady across the street, hmm?”

We settle in the sitting room with our books and wait. Kat, like me, keeps an alert ear for steps on the stoop. The bell rings and I force myself to rise slowly like a lady who is receiving guests. Kat gets to her feet, too.

“Ready?” I ask her, and she nods.

We head to the door and I open it wide. The skies have cleared a bit and the street and every leaf on every tree are glistening.

The woman from across the street is standing there in a beautiful pea green shirtwaist with cream trim, with her little boy resting on one hip. In her other hand she holds a plate with a linen napkin over the top. Her eyes widen slightly, as if she’s surprised Kat and I are at home.

“Hello,” I say in the most cultured way I can muster, but I sound just like I always do.

She seems to recover from whatever it is that surprised her.

“Hello, I’m Libby Reynolds,” she says cheerfully. “And this is Timmy. We’ve been wanting to welcome you and your husband to the neighborhood, and here I finally send a note to you and the weather nearly kept us from meeting. I’m so glad the rain stopped.”

She’s a bit shorter than me, rounder, with honey blond hair, full lips, and wide straight teeth. Her little boy looks to be a year or so.

“And I’m Sophie Hocking. Please, won’t you come in?”

“If it’s not an inconvenience?” she says politely.

“Not at all.”

She steps inside and I close the door.