Who brought the milk?

From Alfred’s journal

Snow on the feeder all morning, and by noon the whole block smelled like somebody's oven. The Parkers had nine cars at the curb and I watched the door from the maple: a ham, two pies, a crate of oranges, a man with a tree already netted. For years I thought the pleasure of a feast was the weight of it. Then a girl of about ten came up the walk behind everyone with a gallon jug held in both arms, and nobody at the door said a word to her, and I thought, well, who brought the milk? Nothing on that table works without it and nobody will remember it was there. The pies get photographed.