Misty was house proud. Who could blame her? That chamber-pot was better than two hundred years old. Hers was an old and respected family. The move to Alaska had been hard. No one in Juno seemed to give a tinker's damn about the Daughters of the American Revolution, hand-blown Swiss ornaments, the Paul Revere spoons. With Tom out on the rigs all winter and no one to really fix the heater until Monday, she settled in for the Christmas siege determined to show herself a good time. The boy from the beer-distributor made it up the drive, bless him. Only right to ask him in for a drink. He seemed interested in everything, bless him. When he left the next morning with the spoons she wasn't in a mood to argue.
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