Early December, 1910

Arlayna Louise Rachel Sharonn McGee Dexter, Arley to everyone who knew her—her insistence that she be called that was the one time she'd really stood up to her grandmother—stared at the boxes of nutcrackers stacked third shelf to the ceiling in the closet. Her great-grandmother had begun the collection and the family continued it to this day.

If she didn't start now, Christmas decorating would be late. And the nutcrackers were always put out first. She counted. Ten on the bottom shelf. As she pulled them down she carefully removed each carved distinctive soldier from its box and set it on the dining room table. She moved to the next shelf and did the same, and then the next, until she was reaching as high as she could. At last she pulled over a needlepointed footstool, intending to stand on it.

"Oh, miss, let me go get the proper stool." Henny, the assistant housekeeper, stood behind her, wringing her hands, something she was often wont to do, around Arley at least.

"I'll be fine." Arley stepped onto the stool. "Oh, no!" As she grabbed for the shelf, one of the boxes went spinning over her shoulder.

Then, as if in slow motion, her fingers slipped off the shelf edge and she tumbled backward to land on top of the box, crushing it. The pain of her fall nearly made her cry out words her grandmother had washed out of her mouth years earlier. "Uff da!" had to suffice.

"Are you all right, miss?" Henny fluttered around Arley, living up to her namesake with little peeps of worry and flapping hands.

Arley sat up and craned her neck to see how badly the box was smashed. "There's no blood, so calm down." She crossed her legs Indian fashion and stood upright, the way one of her