Page 96 of The Cowboy Who Looked Again

“Yeah,” Danny whispered. “That’s right. This is what family feels like.”

The Glovers lowered their fists, and Zona cleared her throat. “Thank you, Mother. I’m going to spread the boxes out a little.” She picked one up and handed it to Oakley. “Put that in the kitchen, would you, Oak?”

She faced them all again. “Then, we’ll have more room to look for the ornaments we want. It’s not a race.” She glared at the kids and pre-teens near the front. “Do you hear me? Where are my kids?” She glanced around. “It’s not a race.”

“Who wants Aunt Zona mad at them?” Bishop asked, his fun-loving personality joining hers up front. “No one? All right, then. We walk with the ornaments. We share with each other. We ask for help if you need to reach a higher branch. We speak in quiet voices, like church-quiet. This is an honor for our family, our ancestors.”

“An honor,” Misty whispered.

Link kneaded her closer and bent down. “You don’t have to do it, but you’re welcome to look through the boxes and find something. Most of us say a little tribute to our person when we hang our ornament.”

“You do that?” she asked. “For who?”

“My momma and daddy,” he said. “For Bear. And maybe this year, for you.” He gave her a smile. “All the really important people who aren’t here with me, and for those who’ve rescued me who are.”

Misty teared up again, but she brushed at her eyes. She didn’t want to miss a moment of this, and Bishop had finished with the rules.

“There’s no order,” Zona said. “Come on, everyone. Let’s get the tree decorated.”

People moved then, but it was with a hushed reverence they all seemed to understand. They’d all done this before, but it wasn’t hard to let the prevailing feeling of love, peace, joy, and solemnity seep into her soul as she stepped over to a box that had been placed on the stairs, only a few feet behind her.

Simply gazing into it, she could feel the work and love and spirit of every stitch she saw. She could only imagine Link’s great-grandmother making these, thinking of her posterity who might use them, but might not. Had she imagined this? Had she ever witnessed it while alive?

Hands dipped into the box and took ornaments out, all while soft voices talked. Link picked up a fairly large ornament—about the size of his fist—of an old-fashioned truck.

“This one’s for my daddy,” he said. “He loved old trucks, and my momma drove one of his for a long time after he died.” He met her eyes, plenty of shining stars in his expression. “You okay here for a second while I hang this?”

“Yes,” Misty murmured. The crowd around their box thinned, and Misty found herself standing next to it with Danny. He reached inside and pulled out an ornament, with a steel gray hook coming from the top of it.

“Misty,” he breathed. “Look at this.”

He held what looked to be nothing more than a leafless tree, with only a few branches flowing up. It almost looked like a Halloween decoration more than anything she’d hang on a Christmas tree.

But Danny gazed at her with pure wonder streaming from him. “It looks just like that tree we had in front of the house.” He looked at it and then her. “Remember? And I said I was going to climb it and jump off from the highest branch and fly away from there.” He could barely be heard by the end of his sentence, and Misty’s memory overflowed.

“I remember,” she said.

“This is mine,” he said, pulling it closer to his body. “I’m going to hang this one.” He left her standing at the box, and Misty bent down to get a better look at what remained.

She found snowflakes and stars, what looked like a wreath but had been smashed and disfigured on one side, and a couple of misshapen horses. She left that box and moved to the next one over, part of her wondering if she’d find anything that would speak to her soul. She couldn’t even imagine what that might be.

A hole? A zero? How did one stitch loneliness and forced isolation with white thread and red accents?

She found nothing that called to her in the second or third boxes, and she looked up to realize quite a few people had finished already. They’d moved back into the kitchen for dessert, and the foyer wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t nearly as full either.

Link stood with his parents, the three of them talking quietly about something. He glanced her way and raised his eyebrows, but she shook her head. With a bit of desperation pounding along her temples, she moved over to another box.

“These are the oldest ones,” Zona said lovingly as she dropped into a crouch beside Misty. She didn’t wear a dress, and Misty realized she hadn’t needed to either. Maybe next year, she wouldn’t. She smiled at Misty. “I always want to go through the ornaments in order, but I’ve stopped trying to suggest it.”

“They’re so beautiful,” Misty said. “Even more so with the natural light on them.” She took out an ornament shaped and pressed just so—a duck. “They make me smile.”

“They make me smile too,” Zona said. “Have you found one for yourself?”

Misty shook her head. “I—what do you hang?”

“Grandmother made something for everyone,” Zona said instead of answering Misty. “We’ll find you something.” She took out another ornament, this one a feather. Then a rocking chair. Misty shook her head. A fox, a badly smashed cardinal, a set of holly berries.

Etta joined them, saying, “Still looking, Misty?”

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