The sights and sounds of Christmas were all around him. At home, the scent of evergreen mingled with ginger and spice, and multicolored lights glittered throughout the house. This was Harry Alderwood's favorite time of year. He'd settled in Leavenworth, Washington, more than five decades ago, and he loved the way this town celebrated Christmas. Despite his eighty-six years and failing health, nothing could dampen his love of the season. Even sitting in Dr. Snellgrove's office, with its spindly artificial Christmas tree, waiting for what he was sure would be bad news, Harry didn't feel depressed. This appointment would probably drain him for the rest of the day, and yet it seemed pointless. He doubted there was anything left for Dr. Snellgrove to do. His heart was giving out; it was as simple as that. Harry wasn't afraid of death. He often thought about it, especially with so many of his friends dying. He'd seen death, witnessed it countless times on the beaches of Normandy and the battlefields of Europe in World War II. He'd grieved when his own parents and his older brother, Ted, had passed away. He wasn't afraid, though. Maybe he should be, but why worry about the inevitable? An exhausted young mother sat across the room, keeping her little girl entertained by reading to her. Looking at them, he found it hard to tell who needed the doctor most, mother or child. Both seemed to be suffering from