She glanced at the perfectly decorated Christmas tree that stood in the corner of the expansive living room. Little Bitty had told her how excited she was to make ornaments at school next week, so Betty needed to remind Charles to set up the children’s tree in the den. They could hang the clothespin Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed-Reindeers, and crooked paper snowflakes, and all the other charming, but unsightly, decorations they brought home on that tree. It was nice, and made it special for them, and Betty got to display her beautifully symmetrical, glass-ball-bedecked noble fir for the annual Miller Christmas party. No one’s Christmas tree was more highly praised than Betty Miller’s tree.

“She just has such an eye for décor!”

“Absolutely perfect!”

“Not a branch out of place!”

Because, as everyone knew, everything in Betty’s life was always perfectly in place.

Her absent musings about people forgetting their place and the proper décor of Christmas trees soon shifted entirely to the Christmas party itself, and Betty spent fifteen minutes frowning over ideas for the hors d’oeuvres. As she imagined the silver trays floating about the living room and dining room, she tried to picture what the perfect tiny foods could be, with various free hands reaching for the offerings, while other hands were curled around festive holiday cocktails in the Waterford tumblers. She would have to remind Dolly to fetch the tumblers from the chest in the basement and give them a thorough washing. Although they had been wrapped in tissue paper and sealed in the chest, she wanted to make certain they were clear and sparkling for the event. The holiday tumblers were an entirely different set from the glassware the Millers used for day-to-day.

“Mommy?”

Betty turned her head to see Little Bitty standing on the lowest step of the staircase, hanging on to the post with one hand and rubbing her eye with the other. Her footie pajamas had started to pill and were looking worn. It was a good thing Santa was coming with a new set.

“Baby!” Betty cried in a hushed whisper as she rose from her chair. “What are you doing up?”

Little Bitty slipped down the last step with a thump and whimpered.

“Did you have a bad dream again?” Betty asked as she swooped Little Bitty up in her arms and hugged her close. Little Bitty was nodding and sniffing. She smelled slightly of the hamburger they’d had for dinner that night, and Betty groaned that she had forgotten to bathe her and Charles Junior. They always, always received a bath after any dinner that lingered in their hair.

“There, there.” Betty stroked Little Bitty’s hamburger hair and kissed her forehead. “Why don’t we go back upstairs, and I’ll read Ginger Pye to you until you fall asleep?”

Little Bitty didn’t answer, but Betty could feel her head nodding. She shifted the little girl’s weight to her left hip and mounted the stairs up to the pink frilled bedroom, tucked Little Bitty snugly under the covers, and settled onto the bedspread beside her. She only needed to get through two pages before Little Bitty finally fell asleep again.