“Cookies,” he said. “My wife baked them.” He was blushing and, standing right there in the middle of the kitchen, he raised the lid of the box and peered inside.

“Pistachio,” he said. “Peanut. Chocolate. They’re delicious, which I can vouch for personally since I ate half the top layer on my way over here.” He thrust the box at Willa, then sat down at the kitchen table next to Rachel.

“My, that coffee looks good.” Tom Garner poured some out and held up the brandy.

“Better than cream,” Garner said, and Ryder nodded.

“I’ve seen you in the bookstore,” Ryder said to Rachel. Rachel nodded and he held out his hand to her. “Ed Ryder,” he said. His skin was pink and his eyebrows and lashes pale blond. He leaned back, drank, ate the cookies, and talked to the Garners, but managed to include the other women. He told them where the church was, then brought out two wrinkled pamphlets.

“They’re about the church,” he said shyly. “Not the religion . . . the architecture. Our little church is well thought of . . . architecturally, that is . . .”

It got dark and Rachel knew she should leave. Levy had had Leah all day. It wasn’t fair for him not to have a hot dinner waiting. But she was comfortable here even though they were all strangers trying to get to know each other. She liked Willa, and Ryder’s shyness was appealing, and she could have put her head down while they were talking about the church, the deacons, and what Tom would have to do to join. . . . She could have laid her cheek against the pine-­topped kitchen table and slept more peacefully than she had in months.

But she stood up, her eyes heavy and burning.

“I have to make dinner,” she said. Then impulsively she leaned down and kissed Willa on the cheek. “Call me tomorrow. Or come over. I live at number seventy, two blocks down toward town. . . .”

Willa Garner knew how to age cheese, pickle beef, and weather-­strip windows. She could lay a slate floor and use a stone chisel. She knew things from another time. That adding a pinch of salt to wash water kept clothes from freezing on the line. That storing brown sugar in a tight jar with a slice of bread kept it moist. She knew how to garden and she taught Rachel. Golda wasn’t interested, but with Willa’s help Rachel planted zucchini, lettuce, broccoli, and ten tomato plants. She watered and watched the garden and, in June, when the first shoots of lettuce showed through the soil, she was so excited she ran the two blocks to Allan’s house and brought him back.

“What did you think would happen?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I honestly don’t know.”