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    A fter Gladys returned from work the next day, she started on a buttermilk pie.
    Ma took out the rolling pin. “Who are you baking for? I planned on the leftover applesauce cake for a sweet tonight.”
    Gladys continued stirring the custard for the buttermilk pie. “It’s for Mr. Keller.”
    Ma rolled out the pie dough. “For Mr. Keller—or for his guest?”
    Gladys’s cheeks warmed. “Mr. Johnson did say he liked having a slice of pie with his meals. But Mr. Keller doesn’t keep any in the house.” She poured the mixture into the waiting dish and slipped it in the oven. “I’ve got a basket ready. Do you mind if I add jars of honey and apple butter?” After she washed her hands, she joined her mother at the table.
    Ma’s laughter rang across the kitchen. “Of course not. They always say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She sniffed. “Something smells good. But it’s not the pie. It smells like…” She turned back the cloth covering one of Gladys’s baskets. “Needles from a cedar tree?”
    Gladys took small squares of fabric out of the basket. “His living room smells musty, like no one has opened any windows for years. I thought about making cedar sachets. He didn’t have a Christmas tree, either.” She held a sewing needle up to the window light and pushed a thin strand of green thread through the eye. “It’s sad, really. That big house and no one to share it with.” Except for the surprising Haydn Johnson.
    “I think it’s wonderful how you’re reaching out to Mr. Keller. I’ve only seen him once or twice since his wife’s death. I admit, he struck me as a grouchy sort.”
    “He wasn’t that bad.” Gladys ran small, even stitches down the sides of the fabric. She used a soup spoon to fill the small pouch with needles before cutting a length of cheery red ribbon to tie it closed. “One down, nine to go.”
    “Do you plan on redecorating the entire house?” Ma lifted the sachet to her nose. “Such a lovely scent. Can God smell things?”
    Gladys was used to her mother’s sometimes whimsical thought processes. Her mind ran through the five senses. “The Bible says He sees us. He hears us. We’re told to ‘taste and see that the Lord is good.’ Jesus told Thomas to ‘touch and see.’ Smell, hmm, I remember something about prayers smelling like incense.” She picked up the Bible Pa read from every evening and leafed through the book of Revelation. “Here it is. ‘And another angel came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given unto him much incense, that he should offer it with the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which was before the throne.’”
    Ma laid the sachet back in the basket. “Of course God was using words we could understand to explain things. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall at creation.”
    Gladys finished another sachet. “I want to finish these tonight. I told Haydn—Mr. Johnson, I mean—that I would come over tomorrow to finish hanging up the baskets.”
    “It’s Haydn now, is it?” Ma’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll have to meet this young man. I’ve never seen you this interested in one of our local boys.”
    Gladys chewed her lip. “I’m doing it for Mr. Keller, Ma. But Ruth and I ran into Mr. Johnson at the diner. After I made such a nuisance of myself the last time I went to the house, I thought it was best to warn them of my visit.”
    Ma only nodded and smiled.
    Gladys finished the last of the sachets after the evening meal. The pie was cooling on the window sill. When she finished, she cleared off the table. After she dressed for bed, she found Ma studying the contents of the baskets she had prepared. “Why don’t you fix them some fried chicken while you’re at it?”
    Gladys’s heart sped at the thought of fixing her special cinnamon chicken for the two bachelors at the Keller house. Then she caught herself. “I’ve done enough already. As far as I know, they have