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Her eyes suddenly lit with understanding. “So that’s why you were so eager to have me put the tree somewhere else. You’re going to be stuck moving furniture.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining.” He glanced at Hannah. “Did you hear me complain?”
“No,” she said at once.
“I’ll put that sofa just about anywhere you want it except the attic,” he insisted.
Savannah regarded him with a wry expression. “I think on the wall facing the fireplace will do.”
“Got it. Tree in front of the window. Sofa in front of the fireplace. And the easy chairs currently on that wall? Where should they go?”
A chuckle erupted from deep inside her, lighting up her face. “Maybe Hannah and I can rearrange the furniture while you get the tree in its stand.”
“No way,” Trace protested. “I’m providing the brawn here. Just give me instructions.”
By the time Savannah finished with the instructions, he was pretty sure that not one single piece of furniture in the living room would be where it had started out. He figured he could live with that, as long as she didn’t change her mind a million times.
“That’s it?” he questioned. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be before I see what it looks like,” she said.
Trace sighed. “I’ll get started. You might want to hunt for some painkillers and a heating pad in the meantime.”
“Very funny.”
He leveled a look at her. “Who’s joking?” he asked as he headed for the living room to rearrange the furniture.
By the time everything was in its newly designated place, including the tree, the room did have a cozier, more festive air about it. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and the fresh scent of pine filled the air.
Hannah had brought down stacks of boxes of decorations from the attic. They were now scattered over every surface, as she took each one from its tissue and examined it with wide-eyed delight.
“These must be really, really old, huh?” she asked him.
“They certainly look as if they’re antiques,” Trace said, noting the loving care with which she handled them. It must be nice to have family heirlooms to be brought out year after year, each with its own story. But now with Mae gone, who would share those stories with Hannah?
Savannah came in just then carrying a tray of steaming mugs filled with hot chocolate. Her eyes widened as she saw the decorations.
“Oh, my,” she whispered. “I remember these. Mae used to tell us kids about them when she’d take them out of the boxes. We were never allowed to touch them because they were so old and fragile, but we each had our favorites.”
She immediately picked up a blown-glass rocking horse, its paint beginning to wear away. “This was mine. This and the angel that goes on the top of the tree. Is that still here?”
“Over here,” Hannah said excitedly, picking it up gingerly. “She’s beautiful.”
Dressed in white satin with red velvet trim, the angel had flaxen hair and golden wings. The delicate porcelain face had been rendered with a serene look totally appropriate for gazing down on the holiday festivities year after year. Even Trace, with his jaded, unsentimental view of the season, could see the beauty of it.
“We always drew straws to see who would get to put it on the top after all the other decorations were on the tree,” Savannah said as she held the angel. “My dad or one of my uncles would lift up whoever won so we could reach the very top.”
“Can I put it on this year?” Hannah asked. “Trace could lift me high enough.”
“Maybe this year your mom ought to do it,” Trace suggested, seeing the nostalgia in Savannah’s eyes.
“No,” Savannah said at once. “It was always one of the kids. Of course Hannah should do it—that’s the tradition.”
“Well, it’ll be morning before we get to it unless we get started,” Trace said. “There are a lot of lights here, and there must be hundreds of decorations. You two sit back and relax while I get the lights on. You can tell me when they’re in the right place.”
“Ah, my favorite job,” Savannah teased, settling onto the sofa with Hannah beside her. “Supervisor.”
Trace had a devil of a time untangling all the lights, making sure they worked and then getting them on the tree. It was the first time such a task had fallen to him, and he was beginning to see why his father had always grumbled about it. Trace would have settled for three or four strands strategically placed, but Savannah was having none of that.
