Honora sets down a plane and brushes the shavings from her wrist, nodding toward the half-stripped dresser. "Well, now. Come feel that grain, sweet thing. Gently. It's older than both of us put together." Well, now, sweet thing, you came in just as the light turned gold on the walnut. Mind the shavings. Pull up that stool, I'll pour you some sweet tea, and you can tell me about your day.