Bluegrass Christmas. Allie Pleiter

      Stop it, Mary scolded herself as she felt her pace slowing. There was no reason to be afraid of opening her apartment door. Nice people were behind it. Nice people who’d asked her to a local party, to be friendly. “Why is it, Mary asked herself as she caught her scowling reflection in the hallway mirror, that “nice” is so hard for you to get used to? Very pleasant people live in Chicago. You just never seemed to meet any of them. Pausing for a second to apply a friendly smile to her face, Mary put her hand on the door handle. She was about to check through the peephole when she heard Emily’s voice call out “Mary, it’s us!”

      As if Emily suspected she had checked the peephole. Suddenly, instead of feeling like a smart, keep-yourself-safe city girl, Mary felt like a suspicious, overly cautious wimpy girl. It played in her head like an advertising slogan or a 1950s B-movie trailer: “She Came from Planet Mean.”

      These people have been nothing but wonderful to you. You should be thanking God every second for bringing you here. She squared her shoulders and tugged the heavy wooden door open.

      And saw a wall of pine needles.

      Two seconds later, that wall of needles tilted off to one side to reveal Emily Sorrent, dressed fit for a Christmas card in a fuzzy white beret, scarf and mittens. Beaming. “Surprise! I told you we’d get a tree in here! Up the stairs and everything.”

      The tree tilted farther to reveal a sadly resigned Gil and Mac, looking like they’d put up every inch of resistance they had to this little holiday stunt. Emily evidently was as stubborn as Dinah said. Mary didn’t think too many people in Middleburg got away with bossing Gil Sorrent and Mac MacCarthy around. Especially when it meant hauling a cumbersome Christmas tree up a narrow stairway.

      Mac blew a lock of hair out of his face and craned his neck around a branch. “Can we get this thing settled before the sap starts to run?”

      Gil angled the trunk he was holding in through the door while Mac wrestled the top through the arched doorway. “A five-foot tree would have done, Emily,” he noted, working to coax the tip under the lintel as pine needles showered everywhere.

      “This apartment has lovely high ceilings,” Emily defended, tugging off her mittens. “A shorter tree would have looked silly.”

      Gil set the trunk down onto the floor and straightened up with a groan. “A shorter tree would have weighed less, not that it mattered or anything.” His voice said it mattered a great deal, but there was still a hint of humor in his eyes as he looked at his wife.

      Mary was still standing there, holding the door open, probably holding her mouth open, as well. When Emily said she would fix her up with a tree, Mary didn’t think she really meant it. It was just a nice thought, a pleasant thing to say. They weren’t friends or anything; they’d barely met, and already Emily had given her the beautiful blue glass ornament. “I can’t remember the last time I had a tree,” Mary reminisced, wishing there wasn’t quite so much astonishment in her voice. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a tree of my own.”

      Emily looked genuinely shocked, which made sense. The woman probably started planning her Christmas decorations in July if the store’s holiday abundance was any indication.

      “That’s horrible. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you don’t have a stocking to hang over that lovely fireplace.”

      Mary started to say something, but Gil gave her a look and a barely perceptible head shake that silently warned, don’t get her started.