Hilda Effania giggled. Indigo was making her own path at her own pace. There’d be not one more boy-crazy, obsessed-with-romance child in her house. This last one made more sense out of the world than either of the other two. Alfred would have liked that. He liked independence.

“Good morning, Mama. Merry Christmas.” Sassafrass was still tying her bathrobe as she kissed her mother.

“Merry Christmas, Indigo. I see Santa left you a cup of coffee.”

“This is not my first cup of coffee. I had some on my birthday, too.”

“Oh, pardon me. I didn’t realize you were so grown. I’ve been away, you know?” Sassafrass was never very pleasant in the morning. Christmas was no exception. Indigo & her mother exchanged funny faces. Sassafrass wasn’t goin’ to spoil this day.

“Good morning. Good morning. Good morning, everyone.” Cypress flew through the kitchen: coupé jeté en tournant.

“Merry Christmas, Cypress,” the family shouted in unison.

“Oh, Mama, you musta been up half the night cooking what all I’m smelling.” Cypress started lifting pot tops, pulling the oven door open.

“Cypress, you know I can’t stand for nobody to be looking in my food till I serve it. Now, come on away from my stove.”

Cypress turned to her mama, smiling. “Mama, let’s go look at the tree.”

“I haven’t finished my coffee,” Sassafrass yawned.

“You can bring it with you. That’s what I’m gonna do,” Indigo said with sweet authority.

The tree glistened by the front window of the parlor. Hilda Effania had covered it, of course, with cloth & straw. Satin ribbons of scarlet, lime, fuchsia, bright yellow, danced on the far limbs of the pine. Tiny straw angels of dried palm swung from the upper branches. Apples shining, next to candy canes & gingerbread men, brought shouts of joy & memory from the girls, who recognized their own handiwork. The black satin stars with appliqués of the Christ Child Cypress had made when she was ten. Sassafrass fingered the lyres she fashioned for the children singing praises of the little Jesus: little burlap children with lyres she’d been making since she could thread a needle, among the miniatures of Indigo’s dolls. Hilda Effania had done something else special for this Christmas, though. In silk frames of varied pastels were the baby pictures of her girls, & one of her wedding day: Hilda Effania & Alfred, November 30, 1946.

Commotion. Rustling papers. Glee & Surprise. Indigo got a very tiny laced brassiere from Cypress. Sassafrass had given her a tiny pair of earrings, dangling golden violins. Indigo had made for both her sisters dolls in their very own likenesses. Both five feet tall, with hips, & bras. Indigo had dressed the dolls in the old clothes Cypress & Sassafrass had left at home.