The gathering we'd arranged was in full swing by the time we arrived back at the cabin, tree in tow. Laughter and the muted tones of Christmas carols could be heard just outside the door. The porch windows were fogged from the warmth within and I could see surreal shapes seemingly float in and out of the mist on the other side of the glass.

Then the door opened and John Drew, Tom's brother, came out to greet us, bedecked in a festive, if rather pornographic, holiday sweater. After enduring good-natured teasing over my need to assess 'every damn tree in the whole damn country', we finally went inside, the three of us carrying the tree over the threshold and into the living-room, where Ice had built a stand for it.

After the tree was up and suitably 'ooh-ed' and 'ahh-ed' over, we began to decorate it with the popcorn and cranberries Corinne had supplied.

Or, should I say, we tried to decorate it. Attempting to thread a tiny needle through a tinier cranberry while under the influence of a couple of cups of Corinne's one-hundred-eighty proof eggnog became an exercise in futility rather quickly.

Ruby, whose blood-pressure medication forbade more than one cup of the stuff, primly took over threading duty while the rest of us, save Ice who's never been much for imbibing, became progressively giddier.

Then Corinne set out a feast fit for royalty and we all followed our noses and grumbling bellies to the table like children after a day of hard play. Ice sat at one end of the table, Corinne at the other, and our guests-Pop, Ruby, the Drew brothers and their wives, and a smattering of others who we'd become friendly with-interspersed in between. It wouldn't be stretching the truth any to say that that Christmas Eve dinner was the best I've ever eaten, before or since. Corinne is an outstanding cook, and forty five years in prison hadn't diminished her talent one bit, for which we were all profoundly grateful.

Pleasantly stuffed and more than half-drunk, we finished decorating the tree while Ice and Corinne, over my staunch, if slightly slurred, objections, set about cleaning the mound of dirty dishes we'd left behind.

The evening passed slowly, as wonderful evenings sometimes will, in a warm and friendly haze that I'd often dreamed about as a child when Christmas Eve seemed to be nothing more than simply another day in my life.

As it drew to a close, Ice appointed herself the task of making sure all of our guests found their way safely home. Corinne and I stayed behind to tidy up what little mess there was, and then she went off to the comfort of her own bed while I stayed awake, awaiting my lover's return.

I was feeling many things during that short wait, but pain definitely wasn't one of them. Corinne's eggnog could have loosened the limbs of a marble statue.

Ice returned quietly as I was staring into the flames of the fire, fascinated, in my gently drunken way, by the myriad of colors displayed. I wobbled over to greet her and she held me tightly, then kissed me in front of the tree it had taken so long for us to find.

And then, to put a perfect cap to a perfect evening, we made long, slow love on the thick rug in front of the blazing fire and I fell into a blissful sleep in the arms of the woman I loved more than anyone or anything in the world.

And as Christmas Eve gradually gave way to Christmas Day, yet another dream had come true.

Christmas morning dawned cold and blustery with more than a hint of snow in the air.

I awoke to a throbbing head and a stomach that was most definitely protesting my overindulgence of the night before. Rolling to my side, I pulled the covers up over my shoulder before realizing that where I had awoken was not the place I'd fallen asleep the night before.

Reaching out with my free hand while my eyes were still closed, I wasn't surprised to find Ice already up and about, though the sheets were still warm from her body, so I guessed that she hadn't been gone for very long.

Pulling her pillow toward me blindly, I burrowed my head into it, happily inhaling her scent as my sleepy body began to lose its hold on consciousness once again.

I had just begun to drift back off when the sound of Ice's footfall on the top of the steps caused me to come fully awake. This time, my eyes deigned to open and I took in her sleep-tousled beauty, my hangover seeming to recede as a flush of welcoming warmth quickly took its place. She stood there in a loosely belted robe with nothing else beneath, the V in the robe providing a tantalizing glimpse of the creamy flesh it covered. A tray was easily held in her large hands, bearing what I hoped was some strong black coffee and an entire bottle of aspirin.

"Hello there, gorgeous. You lookin' for me?" I asked in what I hoped was a sultry tone, but which was probably, in reality, a pale imitation, given the conflicting messages my abused body was giving me.

It got a smile out of her, though, and she crossed to the bed, setting the tray down on the bedside table next to the clock. "How're ya feelin?" she asked, laying a cool hand on my fevered brow, sending my body into yet another bout of sensory overload.

"A minute ago? Like an entire family of cats had used me for a litter box. Now?" I grinned goofily. "Juuuuust fine."

Smiling crookedly and shaking her head, she climbed back into bed and sat with her back against the headboard, gathering me into her arms and resting me against her chest. Then, reaching one long arm out, she grabbed the coffee and held the steaming mug to my lips. "Drink this. It should make you feel better."

And so I did, contentedly sipping the strong coffee and swallowing the handful of aspirin Ice gave me. Then I relaxed back against her, absorbing the warmth of her body into mine, her very presence a better hangover remedy than all the coffee and aspirin in the world ever had a hope of being. When her hand came up to gently stroke my hair, my headache vanished as if it had never been.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." Her deep, melodious voice rumbled up from her chest, against which my ear was pressed.

"How'd I wind up here? The last thing I remember, I fell asleep downstairs in front of the fire."

Her chuckle burred pleasantly into my ear. "Well, it was either carry you up here or risk Corinne waking up and wanting to join in on the festivities. I figured the first course of action was the wisest."

"Mmmm," I agreed, nuzzling my cheek against the smooth skin of her chest while one hand toyed idly with the belt on her robe. Then a thought struck me and I smiled. "Did Santa come?"

"Yup. And from the looks of things, his reindeer were much happier when they took off again."

I felt myself tensing just a little. "I thought we agreed not to go overboard this year."

Ice continued to stroke my hair, unconcerned. "Apparently, someone forgot to fill Ms. Moneybags in on the rules."

"She didn't."

"Oh, she did, alright."

"Great."

At that moment, Corinne's slightly off-key humming floated up to us from the living room, along with the gentle tinkle of silverware and porcelain. "Oh my, look at all these presents. Since no one else seems to be around, they must all be for me. How lucky!"

Smothering my laugh against Ice's chest, I hugged her tight to me before releasing her and pushing myself up to sit on my own. "Sounds like our cue."

Ice rolled off the bed, coming to her feet and gently helping me climb out as well. Then she twirled my robe over my shoulders and belted it securely across my belly, straightening out the edges so they lay flat against my skin. "Ready?"

"Almost." Reaching out, I opened her belt, resettled her robe so that it completely covered all pertinent parts, then belted it securely. "There."

An eyebrow was raised at me.

"Hey! She's already had a stroke. Do you want to give her a heart attack too?"

"I hardly think I have anything she hasn't seen before, Angel."

"Maybe not," I agreed, "but it's the way what you have is put together. One look, and she'd be in intensive care for sure."

Rolling her eyes, Ice grabbed my hand, and together, we walked down the stairs to see what Santa, in the guise of a little old librarian from Pittsburgh, had left for us.

Corinne outdid herself with the breakfast she served as we sat on the floor like children opening piles of gaily wrapped presents. And she further outdid herself with both the quantity and quality of the gifts she'd purchased for us. I felt a moment's discomfort over this, but a quick look from her convinced me to gracefully accept them as an expression of her love and caring.

Mounds of much needed clothing turned quickly into mountains. Sheets, blankets and comforters guaranteed we'd never sleep on the same set twice. We received enough cookware to stock the finest restaurant, enough cleaning supplies to sanitize an entire hotel and enough books to fill the shelves of a good-sized library.

There were other, more ...private ...gifts as well, but if it's all the same to you, I'll keep the identity of those to myself, thank you. Suffice it to say that my face, when I viewed these gifts in all their glory, would have far surpassed Rudolph's red nose in brightness.

After giving Corinne her presents from us, Ice and I exchanged our own gifts. Because money was still very much an object-we were determined that we would repay every cent of the material charges that went toward the building of our home-we'd agreed to keep Christmas simple that year.

So we exchanged the few practical gifts we'd bought for one another, and then Ice handed me a small box wrapped in simple gold foil. The look on her face, almost shy, told me this was a special gift.

I took it into my hands, testing its weight. It was quite heavy for its small size and I hadn't the faintest glimmer of a clue what lay inside. I looked up, questioningly, but her expression betrayed nothing.

Slowly, I opened the wrapping to reveal a plain white box about the length and breadth of my hand. Prying the cover off, I gently nudged away the tissue paper covering the object, then stared inside, my breath temporarily taken away.

Inside lay a beautifully carved wooden horse.

Now, in order for you to appreciate the enormity of this seemingly simple gift, I find the need to backtrack just a little.

Well, more like a lot. Back to my childhood, to be exact.

When I was growing up, I had an Aunt, Rose, whom I worshipped. There was a strong bond between us and though I didn't see her often, she was always in my thoughts and in my heart. She was married to an Army Captain and moved from place to place very frequently. Most of those places were overseas. Every time they were stationed somewhere new, she would send me a little gift what was unique to the country they were living in.

In hardly any time at all, my room was full to bursting with gifts from all over the world; dolls, carved animals, clocks, books, all manner of assorted trinkets.

One year, when they were stationed more or less permanently in Germany, a year that had been a very hard one for me in terms of my steadily souring relationship with my parents, she sent me a beautifully carved wooden horse, his saddle and bridle brightly painted in the style of the Bavarian artisans.

Inside was a little note, penned in her hand, which I have to this day.

Tyler: I know things have been hard with your parents. I wish I was there to help see you through the rough times. Know always that you're in my thoughts and prayers.

Since I can't be there in person, I'm sending you Alwin. My friends here call him a 'dreaming spirit' and he's a good friend to have around.

When things in your life aren't going so good, just hold him close, close your eyes, and dream of faraway lands where all your troubles are gone. Let him take you there and he'll always protect you.

One day, I know, those dreams will become a reality for you and you'll find a place where you are cherished and loved as much as I cherish and love you.

Until then, please accept Alwin as a token of my love and keep him close to your heart as you are in mine.

Yours, Rose From that day forward, Alwin never left my sight. He was with me when I woke up in the morning, when I went to school (my schoolmates took to calling me 'Linus' briefly), when I played, and when I went to bed at night.

Rose was right. He was a good friend. He was never angry with me. He never talked down to me. He never ignored me. He listened to my troubles, and to my joys, without ever once belittling me.

He might not have licked my face or wagged his tail, but then I didn't have to clean up after him or feed him, so that was a pretty even trade, as far as I was concerned.

And then one day, in a fit of rage over a transgression I can no longer remember, my father took a hammer to that horse, making me watch as he pounded it into splinters, and then into dust, taking my dreams with it as he did so.

I was heartbroken as only a young girl who has lost her best friend can possibly be and retreated from the room in tears, refusing to speak to my father, or to my mother who'd watched the incident without once trying to stop him, for an entire month.

It was the one thing I've never forgiven him for, not even to this day when his body is nothing more than dust in the ground and forgiveness means no more than the letters it's formed from.

And I'm not sure I ever will.

I'd mentioned Alwin briefly in passing to Ice when I saw a similar horse in a store window we were passing one day, though I never told her what happened to him, nor exactly what he meant to me as a young girl.

Yet she must have picked up something from my wistful tone of voice, because before me that Christmas morning lay an exact replica of that long destroyed wooden horse, right down to the brightly painted saddle and bridle and the inquisitive look on his face.

With slightly trembling fingers, I plucked the horse out of its nest of tissue paper and held it up for closer inspection. It was absolutely perfect in every single detail.

"Where did you get this?" I breathed, Pop and his ability to find just about anything for anybody immediately coming to mind.

"Actually, I carved it," she replied, her face slightly flushed with the admission.

"But how ... ?"

"I thought there was a little more to the story then you were letting on, so I spoke to Ruby about it one day. She was more than happy to fill me in on the details. She's got a damn good memory." She chuckled. "Anyway, after she filled me in on all the pertinent details, I went to work." She peered at the horse for a moment, then at me, a question in her eyes. "Was I close?"

"Close?! My God, Ice, it's perfect! There isn't one single difference between this and the one I had as a child!" Looking over the horse yet again, I realized that my words were completely true. It was perfect.

She smiled, a relaxed, genuine, beautiful one that reached into her eyes and beyond. "I'm glad. Ruby told me how much that horse had meant to you. And how your father destroyed it." The smile slipped from her face. "Again, I'm just glad that bastard's dead, because I'd take great pleasure in killing him for what he put you through."

"Ice ... ."

Waving off my concern, she continued. "In any event, I just wanted to give something back to you that had been taken from you." The smile returned. "You're not a little girl anymore, but you can always use another friend."

Grinning right back at her, tears shining in my eyes, I reached over and hugged her tightly to me, realizing that the words my aunt had written so long ago had finally come true. My dreams did become reality, and with them, I found a place where I was cherished and loved.

Thank you, Rose.

After a long moment, I pulled away and reached under the tree, retrieving the gift I'd placed there the night before while Ice was escorting our guests back to their homes. "Here. This is for you."

She looked at me questioningly for a moment as she accepted the gift, its size and shape immediately giving away its contents. Unwrapping the paper I'd put on for festivities' sake, she pulled out my gift, a record in a jacket that was devoid of any artistry, as I had requested from Pop.

I smiled. "Go ahead. Put it on."

Rising gracefully to her feet, she walked over to the sound system and removed the dust cover from the turn table, carefully removing the album from its protective jacket and placing it on the spindle. Turning the system on, she carefully moved the arm over and set the needle down in the first groove, then stepped back, head cocked intently.

When the first strands of music swelled out into the room, I saw her body stiffen to statue-like rigidity. Her face paled, and I wondered if I had just made a horrible mistake.

Then a voice, more beautiful than any nightingale's joined with the music and I saw her chest hitch once, convulsively, before it settled down again. Her eyes, a brilliant blue, slipped closed as the music continued to swell from the speakers.

"Dear God," Corinne whispered beside me, her hand coming up to her chest. "Is that Ecaterina DuPrie? I absolutely adore her work!"

Living with Ice for as long as I had, I knew my opera singers. I smiled, not taking my eyes off my raptly listening partner. "I didn't know you were such a connoisseur, Corinne. That's exactly who it is."

Corinne laughed softly. "Figures you'd know. What a wonderful gift! To have anything by Ms. DuPrie is a treasure indeed. It must have taken you ages to find."

"It wasn't as hard as you might think," I whispered back, still watching Ice.

The first stanza of the aria had ended, and when the second stanza began, I saw her chest hitch again, but this time, when the Prima Donna's voice sounded clear and beautiful, Ice lifted her own voice to the heavens, matching the singer note for note.

I felt a chill go down my spine.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one. "My god in heaven, that is absolutely uncanny! I never knew she could sing so beautifully!"