Shelagh surveyed the flat once more with a critical eye and then smiled. It had taken some doing to decorate for Christmas this year. Both she and Patrick were so busy at the maternity home, and Timothy with school – and then there was the holiday concert the reverend had asked her to organize – that it had been hard to find a free Saturday to prepare their home for the holidays.
She'd needed the help of both her men this year, since two-year-old Angela was now walking and very curious about anything shiny within her reach. It had taken a little persuading on her part to get them to give up their lazy Saturday morning, but once she put Bing Crosby on the record player and the decorating began, they pitched in with enthusiasm. Now a new wreath hung on the door, garlands stretched over the mantle, punctuated by a few early Christmas cards, and the tree stood in a corner, fully decorated with lights winking.
The tree. That was one decoration she still couldn't look at without cringing slightly. She and Patrick had purchased it the year before in deference to Timothy, who insisted aluminum trees were all the rage in America.
Bright silver, it stood in their living room for the 12 days of Christmas and then was packed away with the rest of the ornaments in a back closet. She forgot about it, until she had to retrieve their summer clothes or pack away some of Angela's smaller baby things – and then there it was, winking at her from the corner.
She looked at it again and sighed. Tim loved it, and that was what mattered. Maybe it would look better with new ornaments. Most of the ones they had were glass, some old and so fragile; they fit better with a traditional tree, like the kind she'd grown up with. Before her mother had passed, she remembered going with her parents to pick out a tree every Christmas.
"You find the tree, Shelagh," her dad would say, and whichever one she picked, that would be the one that came home with them – tall or small, scraggly or full. It was always the right tree. Once it was decorated, she'd lay under it for hours, surrounded by the scent of pine and the sparkling ornaments, and feel so happy and at peace.
This tree didn't smell like anything, but it was certainly sparkly enough.
Patrick came out from the hall, carrying a drowsy Angela. "Look who's up from her nap. Do you see the tree, Angela?"
The toddler glanced up from her father's shoulder, and her brown eyes got as wide as saucers.
"See the tree?" Shelagh prompted again.
Angela grinned, revealing three baby teeth. "Tree? Tree!" she squealed and stretched her hands towards it.
Perhaps it was the right tree after all.