Overhead, stars twinkled on glistening snow, blending with the rays of a silver moon. In the luster of winter, a two-story brick house stood out against a tree-covered backdrop. More a box on stilts than any sort of grandiose manor, the architecture was every bit as old as the house they’d left behind in D.C. The early 1800s home came complete with tall white shutters framing narrow windows and two columns supporting a white-trimmed front porch. It offered warm welcome. Not only did every light burn a soft yellow, but a lighted Christmas wreath dangled from the double chimney.A vision of her childhood home took root in her mind, and Noelle let out a wistful sigh. If she’d been able to keep the property after her parents’ death, it would look much the same this time of year. Even with the wreath. While Noelle didn’t believe in Christ, she loved the festive tradition she always associated with home. She just couldn’t bring herself to participate alone.“She keeps it up well,”
