offered me a spritz."
"Hey," Laura called from the bottom of the staircase, "are you two going to stand up there arguing all night?"
"We're not arguing. We were complimenting each other on our attire." Snickering, Kate started down.
"Dad and Josh are nearly finished with their debate over the lights." Laura shot a look across the spacious foyer toward the family parlor. "They're smoking cigars."
"Josh smoking a cigar?" Kate snorted at the image.
"He's a Harvard man now." Laura affected an exaggerated New England accent. "You've got shadows under your eyes."
"You've got stars in yours," Kate countered. "And you're all dressed up too." Annoyed, Kate pulled at her sweatshirt. "What's the deal?"
"Peter's dropping by later." Laura turned to the foyer mirror to check the line of her ivory wool dress. Busy dreaming, she didn't notice the winces that Margo and Kate exchanged. "Just for an hour or so. I can't wait till winter break. One more midterm, and then freedom." Flushed with anticipation, she beamed at her friends. "It's going to be the best winter vacation ever. I have a feeling Peter's going to ask me to marry him."
"What?" Kate yelped before Laura could shush her.
"Quiet." She hurried back across the blue-and-white-tiled floor toward Kate and Margo. "I don't want Mom and Dad to hear. Not yet."
"Laura, you can't seriously be thinking of marrying Peter Ridgeway. You barely know him, and you're only seventeen." A million reasons against the idea whirled through Margo's mind.
"I'll be eighteen in a few weeks. It's just a feeling, anyway. Promise me you won't say anything."
"Of course not." Kate reached the bottom of the curving staircase. "You won't do anything crazy, will you?"
"Have I ever?" A wistful smile played around Laura's mouth as she patted Kate's hand. "Let's go in."
"What does she see in him?" Kate mumbled to Margo. "He's old."
"He's twenty-seven," Margo corrected, worried. "He's gorgeous and treats her like a princess. He has..." She searched for the word. "Polish."
"Yes, but - "
"Ssh." She spotted her mother coming down the hallway, wheeling a cart laden with hot chocolate. "We don't want to spoil tonight. We'll talk later."
Ann Sullivan's brow furrowed as she studied her daughter. "Margo, I thought that dress was for Christmas Day."
"I'm in a holiday mood," Margo said breezily. "Let me take that, Mum."
Far from satisfied, Ann watched her daughter roll the cart into the parlor before she turned to Kate. "Miss Kate, you've been overworking your eyes again. They're bloodshot. I want you to rest them later with cucumber slices. And where are your slippers?"
"In my closet." Understanding the housekeeper's need to scold, Kate hooked her arm through Ann's. "Come on now, Annie, don't fuss. It's tree-trimming time. Remember the angels you helped us make when we were ten?''
"How could I forget the mess the three of you made? And Mr. Josh teasing the lot of you and biting the heads off Mrs. Williamson's gingerbread men." She lifted a hand to touch Kate's cheek. "You've grown up since. Times like this I miss my little girls."
"We'll always be your little girls, Annie." They paused in the parlor doorway to survey the scene.
It made Kate grin, just the look of everything. The tree, already shining with lights, soared a good ten feet. It stood in front of the tall windows that faced the front. Boxes of ornaments brought out of storage sat ready to be opened.
In the lapis hearth decked with candles and fresh greenery a sedate fire flickered. Scents of apple wood and pine and perfume filled the room.
How she loved this house, she thought. Before the decorating was done, every room would have just the right touches of holiday cheer. A bowl of Georgian silver filled with pine-cones would be flanked by candles. Banks of poinsettias in gilt-trimmed pots would crowd all the window seats. Delicate porcelain angels would be placed just so on glossy mahogany tables in the foyer. The old Victorian Santa would claim his place of honor on the baby grand.
She could remember her first Christmas at Templeton House. How the grandeur of it had dazzled her eyes and the constant warmth had soothed that ache just under her heart.
Now half of her life had been lived here, and the traditions had become her own.
She wanted to freeze this moment in her mind, make it forever and unchangeable. There, she thought, the way the firelight dances over Aunt Susie's face as she laughs at Uncle Tommy - and the way he takes her hand and holds it. How perfect they