It Had to be Good! - Christmas at Famous-Barr 1929 - 8. IX. Week Three – Chapter 1: The Finer Things in Life

IX. Week Three –

Chapter 1: The Finer Things in Life

Tuesday, the week before Christmas, and Lowell Fredricks felt no closer to his goal. He sat on one of the fully upholstered green stools at Famous-Barr's 1^st floor Soda Fountain. In his hand, his sepia-toned pencil made vignettes of the main-floor grandeur of this sleeping giant of a store.

Still two hours before opening, only an occasional FB employee wandered across his artist's vision before disappearing to his or her task. In lieu of colorful folks to render on his sketchpad, he captured the amazing perspective. On his left, the soda fountain itself stretched unbroken for fifty feet, before rounding behind a column and coming up the other side. The aisle he was sitting in offered a straight-shot view, two-hundred-fifty feet away, to one of the store's many entries: double doors of glass, wood and bronze arranged in three elegant sets. Stylish columns clad in marble and shiny metal marched away from Lowell, and each one sported holiday color and scent in the form of an evergreen wreath.

He sketched them, especially the way the wreaths were positioned to be just below the inset 'capital' of those columns done in strips of stone and chrome.

'Still no closer,' he thought, glancing at his watch. His eye alighted on a standard red and white Coca-Cola sign mounted to one of the column faces within the area the Soda Fountain staff manned. 'Is a great Coke campaign contained in this store that has everything?'

His interviewee was borderline late now, so he turned the page and started a new bold line to capture the cascade of glass that made up the stylish lighting fixtures.

In another moment, he glanced up from his concentration, and saw a handsome, 6-foot-tall young man standing there. Lawrie whipped the floppy newsboy cap off of his head with cocky self-assurance and plopped down on the stool in front of the adman, leaving one vacant seat between them. The young man leaned elbows on the counter and turned a sidelong glance to Lowell. "Sorry, we just got here."

"It's all right, Lawrie. I'm glad we could chat like this." Lowell flipped the page on his pad. "You don’t mind if I take a few notes while we chat, do you?"

"No. The others told me you'd do that."

The farm boy turned carnival barker let it be known by his tone that he was not to be trifled with.

Lowell perceived it instantly as an act, a bit of sacred-little-boy bravado. But far be it from him to question, call out or judge the face one of his fellow human beings chose to show the world. Inspiration in his line of work demanded detailed observation, and 'detached' only came with trust between artist and sitter.

"Bettina told me you and her met when you were both teenagers. Tell me about that."

As he hoped, the mention of Bet – à la violin music to the beast – soothed his wild heart. The handsome boy sat back. He let an openness come to his face. "She mentioned me?"

"Yes. She talks about everyone in your troupe family, and seems to really like you."

After taking a moment to apparently let his words sink in, Lowell noticed Lawrie remember a question had been put to him.

At 6-foot, and 200lbs. of muscle, Lawrie was a man's man. His voice was a deep commanding baritone.

"Teenagers, right. Bet was sixteen when I joined up; I was eighteen."

The adman casually began sketching, starting with the young man's intensely green eyes. Those eyes suddenly drifted off of Lowell and became lost in memory.

"You know how some summer days are so hot and binding that you feel something is going to happen?"

Lowell nodded.

"Well," Lawrie continued. "That's what it was like when Singer's troupe first came to town."

"I'm from a Minnesota prairie farm with ten kids, and 600 acres. I'm pretty well middle of the pack. I've got older brothers who 'run things,' and younger sisters and brothers who have more opportunities to focus on school, sports and their friends." Lawrie shook his head, a sad cast coming to his expression. "In the middle – stuck – not really able to go after my dreams, like I was pretty good at high school football. But not treated like my opinion mattered on which field to leave fallow, which was best for the winter wheat, or which should be planted in cover to regenerate it. Do you know what that's like, Mr. Fredricks?"

He stopped sketching. "Call me Lowell, please. And yes, I've got an older brother, so I know what it's like."

"Ah. Good to know. So, Lowell – truth is, I resented it. It seems to put a knot in my chest all the time, one that I couldn't get to loosen up."

"Until Alden?" Lowell followed his hunch.

Lawrie's eyes darted over the adman's face. "Yes. How did you know?"

"It seems most if not all of these interviews pivot around something that Alden did."

"Yeah…" He paused, reflecting. "I guess they would."

"Anyway, I didn’t mean to interrupt your story."

"Right. So, the night I met them I was more restless than most. Their carnival rolled into town and I had spent every evening there, out in the grass on the vacant field they found just outside of town. The crickets and cicada were droning on, reminding everyone that this summer was going to be long and relentless.

"Anyway," Lawrie suddenly chuckled. "To hear Alden tell the story, he found a hayseed of a kid – with a farm-boy cap on his head and hands thrust into the pockets of his schoolboy knickers – hanging around their camp at night. Which is true. I was fascinated by Dandiprat Dave and the twins, and chewed the fat with them over a little cook fire they had built. But the truth was, I had also seen Bet around, and she was about the prettiest girl I'd ever laid eyes on, that's for sure."

He chuckled again. "Anyway, back to how Alden ties in. He says that once he heard my voice, and got a proper look at my 'chiseled features,' he knew this hayseed could make a great barker someday. Singer thought so too, so when they pulled up stakes, I ran away with their troupe. And it didn’t hurt that Bettina Marin was a pretty sixteen-year-old either."

"A barker, huh? So what is it you do upstairs?"

Lawrie rotated full on his stool to face Lowell. He was animated now, and the illustrator appreciated the boy showing such comfort with him.

"Well," Lawrie explained. "Upstairs, I have a few different costumes, but my favorite is the Ringleader. I have a fine set of satin tails Lorna stitched for me. And Alden made a handsome face mustache by starching the untwisted yarn of an old angora sweater. He says he chose that because it matches my fair hair color. So, I walk around the crowd, calling out: 'Ladies and gentlemen, movers and shakers, boys and girls, and children of all ages – Welcome to the Santaland Circus! Although he's a busy man, Kris Kringle has once again selected Famous-Barr to visit with his friends, just as he's done for the last forty-nine Christmas seasons, right here on this very spot.'

"And then I point out information about us characters of the troupe, how we run Santa's circus for him. And… And, the kids love to hear about the animals. They squeal when they find out the three baby elephants are called Winky, Blinky, and Nod.[1] They hoot-n-holler when I introduce Dandiprat Dave's lion as Pussycat Peedy.

"I can also run concessions and man games of skill. Lorna is trying to teach me juggling, but I'm not good at it yet. Alden's taught me how to guess weights, and that I'm pretty decent at. That's mainly summer work, unless the store wants to move a scale up from the drug department, but this one didn't."

"What's it like to work all summer and fall and then have to do a Christmas job too?"

"I don’t mind." He shrugged. "But really, it's sometimes – I mean, it's usually not as nice as here. So we take the holiday gigs, but look forward to our upcoming vacation in Florida to winter there and rest up. Doin' a department store job is like a regular employee coming in on Friday – the weekend is on the brain, and they may just coast through the day not really focusing on the job at hand. But here it's different. The kids are all so well behaved, and excited to see Santa, and the parents are so friendly and don’t look down their noses at us – time flies here! It's great."

"Say…" Lowell brightened his tone. "What do you think about the crash in October and our future troubles?"

"Me?! Well, I guess it's something I try not to pay too much attention to. No one I know owns shares, or bonds, or them stock issues, so I'm not sure what's going on with Wall Street, or any of the exchanges for that matter."

"Do you think we'll come out of it all right?"

"Don’t see why not." The young man raised his shoulders briefly. "We always have before. From what I can see, it don’t concern me. It's a fat cat problem. The workingman will continue to work, and the Easy-Streeters will continue to complain about 'taxes' – which they don’t even pay – and line their pockets off our sweat. That ain't gonna change."

Lowell realized his pencil had paused. It was true – Lawrie's brand of homespun economics had the fundamentals correct, but what the reformed farm boy probably did not ponder with any verisimilitude is that when the 'fat cat easy-streeters' encounter hard times, they make sure the workingman has it even harder.

The adman wanted to get to what it was like having a job with this store, so Lowell finished up his sketch, and admired how true-to-life the straightforward young man of his vignette appeared like the real-life Lawrie seated before him.

He flipped the page as he told him: "That's great how you feel about working here at Santaland. Work that doesn’t feel like labor is the best kind."

The boy nodded, and Lowell had a funny desire for the soda fountain to be open. He'd like to buy the kid something as way of thanks; the adman started a new sketch of Lawrie, this time with the boy holding a Coke glass. He inquired mildly, "So, you've found your place with the troupe?"

Unexpectedly, Lawrie's expression darkened. "Yes. Well, I serve another role too, this one mainly for Singer."

"What do you mean?" The young man's attitude required Lowell to lower his tone in a way to invite confidence.

Lawrie leaned a bit forward. He stated in a hush-hush voice with periodic glances over his shoulders, "Look, you mustn't tell Bet this…"

"All right, I promise."

"Well, doing what we do and all, there's bound to be loud-mouths. So, Singer relies on me to defend Bettina's honor with my fists."

Lowell paused in his sketching. "Oh. What, exactly – "

"See, it's like this. One time, a couple years ago, we roll up in town for a county fair, and there's this competing troupe with a carny punk that says he was stepping out with her. You know what I mean; that she was serving it up to him."

Rage passed momentarily across the boy's bright green eyes, his fists grew white-knuckled gripping his cap.

"Anyway, it was all lies." Lawrie continued heatedly, "So me and Singer laid in wait one night outside his tent with ski masks and cricket bats. After we slipped in, we asked if it was true about Bet. As we thought, it was all a plot to make her look bad, so I thanked him for his honesty, then Singer and me broke everything breakable in his 'house,' warning him next time – if there was a next time – we'd be back with baseball bats to find out how much was breakable on him."

"And Bet never knew?"

Lawrie's expression went blank. "No. How would she?"

"I don’t know. I'm glad she doesn't."

"Yeah. Well, that punk kept his mouth shut too, except to tell his snively cronies that he never even got the time of day from Bettina Martin."

The adman resumed sketching: Lawrie still had the glass in his hand, but a newly found sinister cast appeared on his avatar's eyes in sepia. Lowell kept his voice level, asking, "So, you don’t mind doing that sort of 'work' for Singer?"

Lowell glanced up; more of Lawrie's initial little-boy innocence was creeping back.

"I'm never one to muss or fuss when a job needs doing, when a job needs someone to roll up his sleeves and get to it."

"Funny. It was in a different context, but that's what Wilkins and Shuler said about themselves too. How do you get along?"

"They're good guys, but they’re also built-in best friends, so – well, they're outgoing and all, but we don’t pal around too much, unfortunately."

Suddenly for Lowell all the disparate threads that seemed to constitute 'Lawrie' came together in a taut notion. He asked as artlessly as he could, "Are you lonely?"

Lawrie blinked, then made an audible gulping sound through his closed mouth. "I do all right. Don’t they say that, belong to a large family, and you'll never be lonely." His attempt as a laugh failed.

In another moment, the boy was on his feet. His hands kneaded his cap mercilessly; a newfound nervousness was evident in Lawrie.

"Well, I've got to go – "

"Thank you, Lawrie." Lowell stood and forced a handshake on the lad.

Lawrie shook it, but continued with his line of thought uninterrupted. " – I've got to get my makeup on, and slip into my costume."

"Okay. Break a leg."

Lawrie smiled, enjoying the adman's recognition that Lawrie was first and foremost an entertainer.

"See you around." The young man headed for the elevators, but in a flash of good cheer, turned to walk backwards for a bit. "And good luck with your awards banquet tonight!"

"Thank you, Lawrie."

Lowell, left again to silence and his sketchpad, glanced down at the vignette of the Minnesota farm boy. 'Never be lonely…' echoed through the artist's head.

˚˚˚˚˚

"Sakes alive!" Lorna exclaimed. "So then what happened? Did you kiss him…?!"

Bettina reached over and threaded her arm with the older woman's; both of them were still wearing their winter coats and still had their woolen cloches tightly tamping down their pin curls. A wry reassurance crept into her tone. "Lorna, the way you talk! You taught me to never kiss and tell."

"Child, please. That's kiss and don’t tell Singer! You better spill the beans to your ole auntie."

They had just stepped off the elevator and decided to use this time to investigate the reported wonders of the 4^th floor. Here, all the apparel and accoutrements of the ladies-wear departments invited young hearts to dream of money and stability, attributes Bet considered neither woman had. In that silence, the fact of their physical clinging to one another was welcome comfort, for this felt like a place the young woman did not belong.

They had just left Lawrie on the 1^st floor to be interviewed by Lowell, and taken a separate elevator. That way the 'boys' could continue up to 9 and Santaland, and not exactly know where the 'girls' had gotten to. Sometimes a little freedom of the sexes is also a welcome respite for the soul.

The spirit of Christmas was also on the Ladies' Fashion floor. The tops of several display tables they strolled past were crowned with white Christmas trees. Simple round globes of silver and blue decorated those, and provided hidden glimpses of animation behind dripping layers of tinsel. Each strand of metal in motion was hand-draped along the ridge of every branch to offer angel-hair fineness to the wandering eye of the bedazzled shopper. To reinforce this, great braids of the same metallic fibers were woven into swags of garlands, from which hung choice baubles of blue and silver like earrings. On the columns near the ceiling, large wreaths the Famous-Barr elves, with their seemingly inexhaustible stock of crêpe paper, had fashioned out of periwinkle and metallic blue, were provided with white bows in voluminous lengths of wide ribbons.

The two ladies who had transformed Santa's Throne Room with a bit of pluck, elbow grease, and boundless imagination, had also made several other floors of this great store a memorable destination; ones all shoppers must simply 'see' before it was too late.

Bet gripped Lorna's arm tighter. "This place is so amazing – just when you think it can't get anymore impressive, it knocks you back for a new one."

"I agree."

Bettina spotted something in the older woman's right hand. "What's that you've got there?"

Lorna lifted a book, and chuckled. "You know me and my Westerns! This is Zane Grey's latest, Fighting Caravans."

"Where'd you get it?" Bet took it into her hand, and immediately saw the cloth-bound cover had a broad band of bronze-colored fabric glued over the bottom third.

Just as Bet was reading the gold letters there, Lorna informed her, "It's from this store's lending library. Seventh floor – a penny a day, and you know at the rate I read, I can get two books done for a nickel a week!"

And sure enough, Bet's eyes confirmed it, for the printed text on the book flap said:

FAMOUS-BARR CO.

OLIVE, LOCUST, SIXTH AND SEVENTH STREETS

CIRCULATING LIBRARY

BOOKS ONE CENT A DAY

While she was giving it back, and thinking she'd have to stop by and see it in person, Lorna went on, "And another thing I learned from the gal up there is that this 'town within a building' not only has one hospital, but TWO!"

Bettina felt an incredulous scowl slip over her face. "What do you mean, two?"

"I mean, on the 8^th floor they have an emergency room for the clients with a full-time nurse always on duty when the store is open, AND on the 12^th floor, they have another one for the staff. The librarian said that employees pay a few pennies a week into a store-matched fund, and the doctor and nurses are their primary healthcare. They can go there anytime they want. A doctor's always on duty when staff are here and will go down to the second clinic on 8 if a customer needs him too."

Bet shook her head in wonder. "Imagine that. Do they charge the clients?"

"Never, at least that's what the book gal told me."

They turned the corner of an aisle, and noticed sunlight coming from a wall of elegant French doors. They began to walk that way. Bet thought she might have something to trump Lorna's 'hospital info.'

"Well, do you know about the Playroom?"

Lorna shot a doubtful look towards the younger woman.

Bet explained. "When Lowell took me up to the Tea Room for my fancy birthday lunch, the back page of the menu had a whole list of 'distinctive features' to visit in the store, one of which is the Children's Playroom on six. Apparently, they also have a nurse on duty there, so you can check your little one in, go spend your time shopping without having little fingers pulling you this way or that, and then pick up the little darling all tuckered out. That way they enjoy their trip to Famous just as much as Mother."

"Sakes alive! If that's not a million-dollar idea, I don’t know what is."

As they got nearer the open glass doors, the sign above the entry came into view: 'French Costume Salon.' The two women disengaged their arms and stood at the portal inspecting the room from the outside. Paneled in strips of chrome and flame-matched rosewood panels, the walls provided a sober and luxe background for elegantly attired dress forms. An impressive size, the generous cube of a room was capped by a pure-white plaster ceiling stepping up in chamfered ease to a central crystal chandelier. In a mode similar to the waterfall lighting fixtures from the first floor, this one was a series of decreasingly smaller cylinders of glass, only this chandelier was enormous, and the glass 'panels' were all shimmering beads of faceted strands hanging straight down.

Several sofas and lounge chairs – all in the latest Parisian style, with modernist needlepoint upholstery of colorful bouquets of flowers – formed small seating groups before areas with three-paneled mirrors standing on legs in the manner of movable screens.

Lorna figured out their purpose first. "Oh Bet, look at this – it's just like the cover of the October McCall's. Rooms like this are so the filthy rich don’t have to try on their own clothes."[2]

"What do you mean?!"

"I mean, they come to a salon like this, pick out a bunch of dresses, sit down all cozy with their champagne-spiked 'coffee cups,' and watch as a string of professional models come out wearing the clothes."

"Wow," stammered Bet. "That's so…so, hands off."

"I agree." Lorna got all folksy. "Honey, even if I had a million dollars, when I want to see if a dress is 'right,' I'm not gonna pay someone else to wear it."

"No," Bet said in tones of agreement. "I guess I wouldn't either." She re-laced her arm with Lorna's, and they moved on.

After they ambled leisurely in silence for a moment or two, Bet got a 'funny feeling,' and glanced up into Lorna's amused inspection of her. The girl's happy memory of the piano department visit had just been spied upon.

"What is it, Lorna?"

"As I recall, you never answered my question."

"Which question?"

"Did you kiss him?"

"Lorna…" Bet pleaded for understanding. "As for that kiss, no. But believe me, I had a hard time. Instead, I thanked him, threaded my arm through his – just like we're doing now – and walked him downstairs to the front door. He said he had to go groom and feed Carmen, his pony, and I wished him a good rest of his day off. And that was that."

"And that was that, huh?"

"Yes."

"Bet. Come on, now. It's Lorna you're speaking to. I know you're not telling me something."

"What's that?"

"You're not telling me how you feel about Glen Curtis."

Bettina grew shrewd. "Say, before I dig my own grave, how did you know a moment ago I was thinking about him…?"

"Easy," Lorna quickly said. "I knew something was up by the starry blankness that overtook your eyes."

They both laughed.

"So, how did it feel to say goodbye to Glen?"

Bet suddenly needed to force down a lump in her throat. "Well, let's just say, the rest of my day's work was kind of a blur. The only thing before my eyes was that boy's sparkling blue peepers and the delicious wave to his hair. Also, the equally tasty curve to his smile..."

"Sounds like – "

"Like, I'm falling for him?"

"Yes."

"I am. He's the most wonderful, kind, beautiful man I've ever met. And the thing is, I think he's falling for me too."

"Oh, Bettina, that's grand. Love is wonderful, don’t let yourself be frightened by it."

Bet inhaled and tried to regroup her emotions. In front of them was another pair of French doors, this time in a subtle cinnamon-wood color. An easel just inside the open doorway announced the premises to be 'Mademoiselle Modiste Millinery Salon.'

This time they did not hesitate to enter the unoccupied boutique. Glass was everywhere they looked in the form of seamless mirrored panels on the walls, and as transparent shelving going from above the built-in perimeter cabinets to the low-height ceiling. On these sat starched linen heads for displaying the hats – all of them featureless and restraint so the glorious headgear they modeled would stand out to full effect.

The women gazed with open longing. The colors of 'this season' were well highlighted – a medium blue, and a lovely taupe halfway to 'putty' predominated and shone stunningly in the mirrored backgrounds.

"Oh, Lorna. My felt feels so outdated."[3]

"Well, honey – we did pick these up winters ago in Dayton."

And indeed, Bettina sadly considered, the standard cloche hat of 1927 was not anything like the elegant models they drifted past now.

"Look at them!" Bet exclaimed. "They must be doing brims in Paris this year." The hats on display appeared like the next evolutionary step from the plain-edged shell hat. Many had upturned rims right over the face, which swept down and back along the sides to form a graceful swallow's tail over the woman's shoulder. One particularly handsome model in taupe even had slashes on the edge that were then turned up and plastered on the body of the hat.

Besides the saturated blues and light fawns, the other color of the moment was a dusky vermillion, heavily settled on the red side. As the women scanned the perimeter displays, Bet's eye was caught by this color and drawn to the center of Modiste's fashion parlor.

She drew Lorna with her. On a chrome table, with round glass tops of varying dimensions and heights, several premium hats of this red color were featured. Only the mannequin busts they were on were not the starched linen variety, and were anything but featureless. In the height of Moderne taste, these heads and shoulders of fashionable young women were rendered in stylized liberty. Some had black hair, some blond; some had rosy lips and cheeks, others sported more sultry 'Spanish' lip tones and rouge.[4]

"Oh my, Lorna. Look at this one!" Bet's fingers reached out to stroke a very tasteful example. In dark-hues like a blood orange, and with the same swallowtail sweep at the back, this one was asymmetrical and the 'swoop' on the woman's left side ended in a broader curve than the right. A gold-toned pin, like a round broach with an amber-colored stone of faceted glass, pinned the crest of the brim to the body of the cloche slightly off center of the wearer's face. Integrated within the felt of the brim sweeping to the left was a black satin ribbon whose shiny sparkle added great vitality to the matte texture of the felt. "I just love this one."

Lorna reached out and picked up a stiff white card from the base of the mannequin bust. She held it for Bet to read, and the information there cast a cloud over their 'window shopping.'

Bet skimmed over the unfamiliar maker's name and address in Paris, and jumped right to the price. Handwritten with an elegantly spiky dollar sign before it were the spelled out words: 'One Hundred Seventy-Five.'[5]

Bet sighed and guided the older woman's hand down to put the placard back into position.

She didn't even attempt a lackluster 'someday,' but led her carny aunt towards the salon's exit.

In the freer air of the wide-open 4^th floor again, the conversation reinstated itself.

Bettina stated quietly, "Alden and Lowell seem to be cow-eyed and shy around one another."

"Yes, I've noticed that too."

"But why should that be? Alden is never timid in romancing a fella that fancies him."

Lorna was taken aback.

"What?" Bet asked.

"Oh, nothing sweetie. I guess I just realized that despite your verve, you're still a naive girl in many ways."

The girl chuckled. "Not trying to insult me, are you?"

"Look, maybe with Alden, he's trying to juggle two things at once. On the one hand, he's getting old enough to stop wanting casual flings – and we all secretly long for that settled 'one' person, even Singer with your mom – but with Lowell suddenly showing up, that vague notion in Alden's head turned from concept to potential. And that must be scary."

"So, Uncle Alden is quiet because he's serious about the adman. I never quite put two and two together."

Lorna was silent, but when Bet glanced up, mischievous 'knowing' animated the older woman's features.

"What now?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just supposing you're 'quiet' with Glen for the same reason."

"Oh, Lorna. I think about him every minute of the day; I cannot wait to simply see him, and be in the same room that he's in. So tell me, is that love?"

"Yes, child. That's love – feeling like you've always known him – "

"I do – "

"Feeling like those little glances he sends you are gifts – "

"Yes." She smiled.

"Being miserable without him."

"So true." She re-latched onto the older woman's arm. "Oh, Lorna, what am I going to do? Singer needs me."

She let out a small scoffing sound. "Singer needs you to be happy first and foremost. Don’t think his reasons for wanting you close are entirely selfless."

"What do you mean?"

Lorna appeared reluctant to say any more directly about it. "Well, Bettina, it's time you sit down with you father and get the full story of him and your mother. It's time, sweetie."

The ending tone of Lorna's statement sounded so ominous. It actually made Bet shudder.

"All right. You know I always follow your advice."

"Good girl. As I say, it's time. If he has to let you loose – for Glen – then he has to do it to make you happy." Lorna tried to slip on a 'by the way' tone, adding, "The library gal also told me that a block up Olive Street is a place called the Arcade Building. And wouldn't you know it, it has seventeen floors full of jewelers."

Bet tossed up her guard. "And why would I need to know that information?"

"Oh, I don’t know – just in case you find yourself needing a ring all of a sudden."

"Lorna!" the girl tried to laugh if off, but the heat she felt rising on her neck and cheeks was no laughing matter.

"But Bet, there is one serious thing you also have to do."

"Which is?"

"Talk to Lawrie. Have a straightforward sit down with that boy, before it's too late – "

"Too late – "

"He needs to know you don’t love him. I don’t know if he could wind up being a threat to your future wellbeing."

"But – "

"No buts. You know – somehow I bet you have always known – how he feels, so for Glen's sake, speak to him."

"All right. As I said, I always follow your advice."

The women paused before the elevator.

"You're the best mother I could have asked for, Lorna." And amongst the holiday glitter of silver and blue, Bettina drew the older woman into a hug.