Now that Barbara should've become the patron saint of architects, builders, and stonemasons is quite understandable; that she also protects artillerymen is somewhat more intuitive; but that she should become associated with the practice of keeping cherry branches warm: that is a little unexpected. However, it is not for me to challenge the common sense of tradition. Besides, in older days, the connection was not so farfetched: the blooming of the cherry branch was not a sign of general felicity, but carried a very specific matrimonial significance.

Grandmother told me that young maidens wanting to marry would place these cherry branches next to the fire, specifically on St. Barbara's Day, and if they bloomed on Christmas Eve, they would be married in the coming year. I, out of simple curiosity, was compelled to follow that tradition. But Grandmother's cherry tree was all but barren; I held very little hope for its blooming. Now, according to Mother, I specifically chose a dead branch, so that I could later have an excuse not to marry. On the other hand, Grandmother felt it was only appropriate, since marrying me would take a miracle. Now that is how they answered Indiana's question that night.

I remember counting back the number of days, and, using up all ten digits, I asked Grandmother if the apples could be refrigerated. She said I was perfectly free to do whatever necessary, but as long as that cherry branch was still dead, I was going to have to wait till next year. Everybody laughed; Indiana took the opportunity to speak.

Well, anyway, we explained to Indiana the old Austrian custom of putting a cherry branch in lukewarm water and placing it next to the fireplace. If it blooms on Christmas Eve, it brings good luck in the coming year. But you're not supposed to put it there on Christmas Eve; you're supposed to put the branch next to the fireplace on the fourth day of December, on what used to be St. Barbara's Day. And you're not supposed to change the water either.

After Indiana had inspected the baseboard, deciding that it was indeed a positive match, and complimenting our grandmother for having such beautiful wood, she took a rag from her (why does Grandmother always have a rag?) and wiped up the water she spilled, noticing, in the process, the branch of cherry tree floating in the small bucket. "What is that?" she said; we all chuckled, since we knew that after Indiana had so innocently disturbed my cherry branch, the question of its purpose would not be far behind; we were all aware of its embarrassing nature. At least we ladies were: I don't know about you. Obviously you weren't paying attention. Why should you care about my cherry branch? You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?