Dave took an irritated breath. “I’m going out to take some pix of a good property that’s selling for a song. I’ll show them to you later.” He glanced at Keith. “When you aren’t playing nursemaid. Maybe we can get out after the tree party.” He turned and strode toward the hall.
Earlier in the afternoon, Leon and Tucker had erected scaffolding next to the big tree and wound the light strands around and around from the top of the tree to the bottom. Promptly at four o’clock the neighbors converged. Children from toddlers to teenagers formed an orderly line at the base of the scaffolding steps. For the past hour, Leon had guided children up the steps to a platform. Each child carried a decoration large enough to be visible on the big tree.
The decorations were both everyday and extraordinary:
Red-and-white-striped candy canes.
Models of sleds, reindeer, angels, snowmen, antique cars, even a rescue helicopter.
Wooden carvings of a giraffe, elephant, seal, whale, lion, lamb, cow, horse, armadillo, dog, cat, goat, chimpanzee, polar bear, and eagle.
Bright plastic balls with painted scenes of a skating party, roasting chestnuts, a sleigh ride, carolers, presents piled beneath a tree, a family dinner, the Salvation Army kettle, lampposts decorated with strands of red and green lights.
Leon helped the last child, a little girl in a pink snowsuit, place a sparkling candy cane on a branch. As he swung her up to wave, the crowd stirred expectantly.
The woman in front of me lifted a little boy. “Look up, Bobby. Watch the balcony.”
I stood on tiptoe trying to see.
She gave me a quick bright smile. “Here, you can squeeze in beside me. Isn’t this wonderful. It’s just like old times.” Dark curls framed a cheerful face, her cheeks red with cold.
“I’m visiting around the corner.” I gestured to my left. “Is this a church party?”
She shifted the child onto one hip. “A neighborhood party. It will really make you feel like Christmas.” Her smile was infectious. “I’m Kay Kelly.”
I hesitated only an instant. “Jerrie Emiliani.”
Kay gave an expansive wave with her free hand. “I grew up in Adelaide and this has always been my very favorite Christmas celebration. It was started by the Pritchard family years and years ago. Susan Flynn, who lives here now, is the last of the Pritchards. Everyone is welcome. It started off as a little party for children who were friends of the family’s children, but now people come from all over town. Mrs. Flynn doesn’t mind. The children help decorate a big Scotch pine cut fresh from the Pritchard ranch. The tree isn’t like the tree at Rockefeller Center, but for Adelaide it’s a big, big tree. After the decorating is done, there’s a bonfire and kids roast marshmallows and there are cookies and punch and hot chocolate and every child gets a little wrapped present. One of the family members hands out gifts to each boy and girl. The gifts are assorted by age. I still have all my gifts. My favorite was a little charm bracelet with a rose rock.”
I knew all about rose rocks, the official rock of Oklahoma. Barite crystals combined with Oklahoma’s iron-rich sand to produce reddish rocks shaped like roses. The Cherokee believed that each rock represented the blood of those who died on the Trail of Tears when the Cherokee were forcibly removed from Georgia in 1838 to Indian Territory.
“Mrs. Flynn”—my new friend nodded toward the house—“has been ill the last few years and hasn’t come out on the balcony with the rest of the family to welcome everyone. One child will be picked to place the star at the very top of the tree and switch on the tree lights. Every year the lights are a different color. Last year they were all blue. Oh look, here comes the family.”
Twin lanterns flashed on, illuminating the now shadowy balcony in a golden glow, making it a bright stage in the deepening dusk. Susan Flynn stepped outside. She was elegant in a full-length black mink coat with a wing collar and turned-back cuffs. A crimson turtleneck emphasized the dark sheen of the mink. A matching fur fedora was tilted at a jaunty angle.
A cheer rose.
My new friend was joyful. “How wonderful. That’s Mrs. Flynn. She must be feeling better, though her face is awfully thin.”
Susan held up both hands, smiling and blinking back tears, touched by the exuberant welcome.
I sorted them out as they stepped onto the balcony.
Plump Jake Flynn nodded this way and that as if the welcome was for her, not Susan. Jake looked like a plump robin in a red quilted vest.
A wide-eyed Keith clutched Peg Flynn’s hand. Dave stood on Peg’s other side. He held possessively to her elbow. His camel-hair coat looked new and was undoubtedly expensive.
Gina Satterlee drew some admiring glances for her silver fur and stylish red-and-black-plaid slacks.
An ebullient smile was bright as a Christmas wreath on Harrison Hammond’s florid face. His wife Charlotte shivered and tied a red wool scarf beneath her chin. She moved toward a remaining sunny spot on the balcony.
Tucker Satterlee sauntered out last. Unlike the other men, he had a rugged outdoor appearance in his tan shearling coat and snug jeans. Tucker pulled the hall door shut and joined his sister. He leaned against the railing and folded his arms.
Gina gave Tucker a quick, unreadable glance.
