by Susanne Beck
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 sad
dle 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!"
I led my proud smile say it all.
"It’s like hearing a voice from beyond the grave," Corinne murmured, almost reverently. "Ice sounds exactly like her!"
"She should."
"Why?"
"Ecaterina DuPrie is her mother."
Corinne’s brief slump against my side finally took my gaze from my partner. "Are you alright?"
"Never tease an old woman, Angel," she growled. "Our hearts can’t take it."
"I’m not teasing, Corinne. I thought you knew."
She looked at me, eyes wide. "Knew? How in the world could I know something like that?" She peered more closely at Ice, as if truly seeing her for the first time. "Though perhaps I should have guessed. They do bear some striking similarities."
Before I could reply, the aria ended and one of those similarities—from what Ice had told me—made its appearance felt when my lover opened her eyes. Her expression seemed rather dazed, as if she’d been dealt a hard blow and was only now beginning to shake it off. Her hand moved in a dream-like fashion toward the sound system, removing the needle from the record before another song could begin.
Then her expression cleared and her eyes drilled i
nto mine.
Unable to keep from obeying the unvoiced command, I found myself rising to my feet, my gaze trapped helplessly within the surreal magnetism of hers.
After a long moment that seemed to span an eternity in which entire galaxies were born, lived out their lives, and died in brilliant blazes of glory, I felt, as much as saw, her step toward me, and saw, as much as felt, her body crush itself against mine, the entire length of her trembling. Her face, flushed and hot, pressed itself against the curve of my neck and I felt the gentle rain of tears scald a sweet brand upon my skin.
"Thank you," she whispered once, and then again, and then again, until it became a mantra, a prayer, a benediction.
Holding her tight to me, I reached up one hand to stoke her hair and her back, awed and humbled beyond measure at the gift Ice was giving me at that moment; that one unguarded moment where all barriers were down and only one thing was left standing.
Her soul.
Only the sound of Corinne moving away to give us our privacy broke the timeless lock of our embrace. Ice pulled away, but instead of hiding her tears, she seemed to bear them proudly, her carriage erect and her gaze unswerving. "It’s alright, Corinne," she said in a voice which was still husky. "You don’t have to leave."
Smiling slightly as Corinne took an uncertain step forward, she held open her arms and welcomed our friend into her embrace, enfolding her tenderly and placing a kiss upon her cheek.
When the gentle hug ended, Ice turned back to me. "How?" she asked simply.
I grinned. "You can thank Pop for the legwork. I gave him my request and he ran with it."
She took in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I will." She then shook her head in amazement. "I haven’t heard that voice in fifteen years. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. Until now." The look in her eyes was incredibly tender and I fought hard against my own tears resurfacing.
Then a thought struck me, and I sobered. "The ...um ...last two tracks on the other side are from Werther."
