The Memory Tree by Rose M. "How's this ‘un here?" A hint of impatience was creeping into the deep male voice. Alice Henderson viewed the balsam fir from ten paces back. An eye for detail in addition to a tendency towards perfectionism to which she would never admit, Alice was intent on selecting just the right tree for the mission Christmas celebration. She marched around the tree pausing to view it from each angle. "Miz Henderson, iffn the tree's gonna be in the corner of the schoolroom anyway, it don't matter none that it looks good from every side." He hefted the heavy ax from his shoulder and rested the iron head on the ground. Alice Henderson continued to scrutinize the tree, then finally smiled. "I do believe this is the one. Thank you, Mr. Taylor. You have been an example of patient perseverence today." "Huh?" "Thank you for your help, Mr. Taylor. It was very kind of you to come with me." A flush of red crept up the man's neck. "Oh. Well... yer welcome, ma'am." Ten minutes later Bird's Eye Taylor was dragging an eight-foot fir tree across the snow-dusted ground. Alice, carrying the axe, noticed the man's labored breathing. Winded herself, she suggested they stop for a rest. They sat upon a downed tree trunk. After a few minutes, Bird's Eye's voiced his thoughts. "I'm still of a mind it's plumb crazy to put a tree inside." "It's a custom that goes back many generations, Mr. Taylor. Actually, the decorated Christmas tree can be traced back to the ancient Romans who decorated trees with small pieces of metal during their winter festival in honor of Saturnus, the god of agriculture." Bushy gray eyebrows shot up to the brim of his hat. "So what yer sayin' is that the mission's doin' pagan carryin'-on's. Hrmph. Fine thing, Christians doin' pagan stuff." "Not exactly, Mr. Taylor. Although it began as a pagan custom, Christians adapted the practice to be a Christian observance. Sixteenth century folklore credits Martin Luther as being the first to decorate an indoor tree." Alice gestured to the thick grove of trees lining the edge of the trail. "It is said that after a walk through a forest of evergreens with shining stars overhead, Martin Luther tried to describe the experience to his family and showed them by bringing a tree into their home and decorating it with candles." "Candles? On a tree? In a house?" She smiled at the man's _expression of amazement and scepticism. "Yes, and it's a beautiful sight to see, Mr. Taylor. My family did not practice this custom, but over the years I have seen candle-lit trees in other homes." "And yer doin' this at the mission - lightin' this tree? Iffn ya don't mind my sayin' so, Miz Henderson, that's a fool idea." "No, we won't be lighting candles on this tree. Normally a Christmas tree is decorated with beautiful items such as foil stars, colored glass globes, all sorts of pretty things. But Mrs. MacNeill has suggested that we begin a new custom here in the Cove. Anyone who would like to participate is welcome to bring an item to place on the tree tonight at our Christmas Eve service. It can be any item, the only requirement being that the item is one of particular value or meaning to that person. Christy's idea is that each person offers something of importance, something dear to one's heart. Together we place the items on the tree, then offer the tree as a gift of love to the Christ Child. It is a noble thought, don't you agree, Mr. Taylor?" Bird's Eye was quietly pensive for a few moments. He removed his hat, stroking the battered edge of the brim with dirt-stained hands. "And are you gonna do this, too? Put sumthin' on the tree?" Alice fingered a small bulge on side of her skirt, where pinned inside the pocket was a small golden locket on a chain. "I will, Mr. Taylor. You are welcome to come tonight and add something of your own to this tree." "I ain't comin' to no church meetin'. Ya know I don't cater to that sort of thing, Miz Alice." "Just the same, you are always welcome at the mission, Mr. Taylor." ******* The crisp December air of the Smoky Mountains did not prevent any families from attending the Christmas Eve service that night. The warmth of their breaths and the heat of the wood stove misted the church windows, so that only a foggy golden glow could be observed from outside. When singing and laughter finally gave way to whining and yawns, the celebration came to a close. Sweet voices carried "Silent Night" on the wind across the hills and meadows as gingerbread cookie-stuffed children walked home next to parents carrying sleepy toddlers. After the last lantern was carried from church to mission house, after the last candle in the bedroom window was snuffed out, a shadowy figure made it's way from the tree line, up the church steps and then down again a few moments later. ******* There was a gift of love for the Christ Child in the school house that Christmas Day - a fragrant fir tree bedecked with all sorts of personal mementoes. Dried flowers. A button dangling from a loop of purple yarn. A possum pelt. A golden locket. A blue satin ribbon tied in a bow. An arrowhead threaded on a length of string. A quilt square, with a yellow star stitched on a field of dark blue. A small fan fashioned from starched bridal lace and decorated with seed pearls. And a small primitive pencil sketch of a hunting dog, with a signature crudely scrawled across the bottom: "Lundy."