This is the story of three Christmas trees that figured in the life of Eric Flint. The first was in a small, poorly furnished room in Omaha. Eric was twenty-five years old, and happy with his bride of two weeks. During the year that followed, Eric forged west, where he met hardships and discouragement. There was little he could write to his wife that was hopeful, until he found work in the bank at Osage, when he finally wrote to her on Christmas Eve, asking her to join him there. That was Eric's second Christmas tree. He never received a reply and concluded that the long absence had killed their love, and so devoted his life to work. His advancement at the bank was rapid, but he had no friends and wanted none. He had become a miserly skinflint. Would his third Christmas tree change that?