The night air was cold and thankless, offering little for those who ventured out into it as it blew indiscriminate winds in every direction, which only made Ernie the Giant Chicken's trudge through the snow much more difficult. Every year, starting on Thanksgiving, Ernie bought as many turkeys that he could afford, placed them on a warmer, pulled out his old sleigh and began making deliveries to the less fortunate. When people asked him why his answer, much like the man himself, was simple: peace on Earth and goodwill towards men.

Passing Spooner Street, Ernie took note of the Griffin house, which was decked with icicle lights around the gutters and a Santa sleigh team on the roof; in the front yard, a few feet from the door was a small snowman, standing guard. From his position, Ernie could see the lights in the living room, which were golden orange compared to the black night outside, and despite wearing his best winter coat and scarf, Ernie found himself longing for the comforts of a fireplace, a cup of hot chocolate, and a good book. He imagined the Griffin living room, as the family sat on the couch watching their favorite Christmas specials, as the presents lay spread out under the tree, which a few empty spaces remaining for the inevitable Christmas visit that came with the arrival of St. Nick; and thought how nice it must be, to live a life so complete and so full of life. As he dreamed of warm fires, books, and the comforts of home, the last turkey, which just so happened to be the biggest turkey of the day, slowly began to slip off of the warmer out from underneath the blanket that was protecting them both and land softly in the snow. Ernie, who was not paying attention, for he was too lost in his daydream to notice, quietly brought himself out of it and continued on his path as the forsaken turkey became covered with specks of snow.

Tucked away on a side street next to Lenny's Fish Processing Plant above the ever watchful eyes of Lenny the Fish, a tuna fish that had no real business being on a billboard sign in Rhode Island other than to capitalize on the advertising advantage of having a cartoon mascot, was the local orphanage, Angel House- a two-story no bigger than the average house and always smelling of fish- an unfortunate side effect of its location; for the fish processing plant not being in operation for several years, due to Lenny's bankruptcy after a few bad business deals, the putrid fish smell resonating throughout the block. This significantly decreased the traffic on the street, and thus Angel House's business, for no one, even for the orphans, ever dared to go near the plant.

Despite the unfavorable conditions the orphans themselves were not the typical storybook orphans like those in Dickens' "Oliver Twist" or Hugo's "Les Miserables"; for they were well cared for by their headmaster, Mr. Bailey Todd, and his wife, Pauline Sweeney-Todd, who was the opposite of her namesake, for she detested the sight of blood and had a disdain for barbers and anyone who cut hair for a living, having had a bad experience at a barbershop in her youth, as well as a rather unpleasant experience with her father, who was in a barbershop quartet, after he died while performing due to slipping on a large ball of hair and falling directly into the path of swinging razor. He was buried in Oakwood Cemetery, his headstone read: 'Johnathan Sweeney- from Skokie, Illinois. He could not sing and he could not dance, but he did both anyway.' As for the orphans themselves, they came and went with the coming of the year and the changing of the seasons, for all hope was not entirely lost upon them, but there were a few who always seemed to remain. They were: Esteban, age 8; Olivia, age 10; Fawkes George, age 13; Tia, age 9; Louis, age 9; and Henry, the youngest, age 5. There was never a clear reason as to why these six children were constant figures at the orphanage- perhaps it was simply a lack of compassion among the citizenry of Quahog; maybe it was simply because there were not a good number of parental candidates who were up to the task of raising a child. Whatever the reason, one way or another, these six children found themselves laying in the beds of Angel House day after day and year after year, constantly dreaming of life outside of the walls and the world beyond. Presently however, as Ernie made his dutiful trek through the snow, the children were gathered around the small television in the common area watching White Christmas with Bing Crosby. The only reason they were watching White Christmas was because it was a holiday tradition that they heard about people, mostly families, doing around this time of year, and so, in an attempt to feel a connection to the world, they watched White Christmas, unbeknownst to them that Holiday Inn, a much better film, existed.

Esteban, the unofficial leader of the group, carrying with him the certain charisma that befit the likes of literary children like Pip from Dickens' "Great Exceptions", sat nearest the window, half watching the movie, and half looking out the window, specifically, the snow covered street outside, watching the snow fall and accumulate, engulfing the world in a blanket of white. He was enchanted by the snow, the way that each snowflake, which were only visible when they neared the window, was different and unique; he imagined the thoughts they had as they plummeted to the ground, and if they were afraid of reaching the bottom.

"Do you think snowflakes have feelings?" Esteban said, turning to the group, "When they fall to the ground, do you think they're sad or happy?"

Fawkes George, who himself had tuned out of White Christmas, in favor of reading one of Bailey's numerous storybooks that he kept in the room, looked up from "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea", and diverted his attention from the insane Captain Nemo to the philosophy of snowflakes and their meaning. Fawkes George, who had relinquished leadership of the orphans to Esteban, often obliged whenever he asked a question that needed an educated answer, if only to expand Esteban's own mind. If he were to be assigned a literary counterpart, Fawkes George would The Artful Dodger to Esteban's Pip; despite the fact that none of them had even bothered to read "Great Exceptions", Bailey neglecting to expand his library beyond his own personal collection.

"Snowflakes don't feel happiness or sadness Esteban" Fawkes George answered promptly, "They're too busy being snowflakes to worry about things like that."

Esteban, who was not satisfied with the answer, for that was not the point of his question, reverted his eyes back to White Christmas, just as the credits appeared and the film faded to black. No sooner did this occur did Bailey appear with a plate full of cookies, chocolate chip and sugar, as well as a flashlight and a large blanket, which he carried over his shoulder. Bailey, who was well into his twilight years, had the warmth of all the youth who had come under his care into his eyes, for in each of them he saw a bright future and a happy life; an orphan himself, Bailey could think of no other service besides Angel House Orphanage, a sanctuary and a beacon of hope, for those trapped in the darkness of the night.

"All right children" Bailey said as he gathered them around, "Time for bed"

Tia, who was always curious about everything and never stopped talking, even when custom demanded it, sprang up and immediately began to complaints in a voice that was not her own, but that of a whiner, which she never was unless she was told it was time for bed. Tia, of course, knew that she was too old for such things, Bailey and Pauline having told her so on numerous occasions, but that did not stop from doing it regardless.

"I'm not tired yet Bailey" Tia exclaimed, "Can we please watch another one? What about It's a Wonderful Life? I heard that was good. Or A Christmas Story? Or how about we read from one of your books-"

Bailey raised his hand, bidding silence, and laughed to himself, for he could not deny Tia's spirit, which was always trying to hang onto the brightness of the day, spitting in the face of the darkest of nights; which at least as far as Tia was concerned, still brought terror and fear.

"Now you listen to me" Bailey declared, "If you don't go to sleep than Santa is going to bring you a big lump of coal come tomorrow morning."

Tia, who was still young enough to be persuaded by such things, not yet told be either Bailey, who wanted to keep such illusions alive for as long as possible, or the other children, who believed, if nothing else, in the spirit, of both the man, the holiday, and the various symbols he represented, shied away and immediately jumped into bed, slightly afraid; the image of Lenny the Tuna Fish, which was normally a comfort to her on nights such as this, clearly visible from bedside, offering none, shielded by the accumulating snow.

"Sing to me" Tia pleaded, another one of her tactics to both help her sleep and simultaneously stay awake for as long as possible.

Bailey smiled and casually turned off the light as the others clamored obediently into bed, wanting nothing more than to sleep and enter their dreams where life was always better and significantly happier. This done, and Tia being the only one who dared to protest such an action, Bailey, who did not oblige her request, in part because like Johnathan he could not sing and had no current wish to do so, quietly left the room, his walk a confident and slow one, as if it knew what was about to come.

Ernie, passing the last group of carolers on his route, finally reached the front doorstep of Angel House, a smile on his face, thinking about the happiness he was about to bring with the simplest of acts. As he stood in the doorway, Ernie could not help but notice the fish packaging plant and the billboard that adorned it and thought that if it was going to remain a permanent fixture, it could use a fresh coat of paint and a couple strings of festive lights. Pulling out a small notebook, which he always kept with him, Ernie made a note of it and quickly closed the book, returning it to its unseen place.

Located next to the mailbox was a small box of tin. This tin box, which was completely empty, was rustic in nature and in desperate need of repair. The sight of the box alone saddened Ernie, for it was clear that it was a donation box and that it had not been used in months. It was this kind of behavior that made Ernie hate Quahog, Rhode Island, for it made the town seem devoid of basic compassion and human decency; which was slightly ironic in Ernie's case given that he was both not a human and historically known for his temper. Calmly walking over to the box and turning it right side up, the unforgiving wind and piling snow having knocked it from its metal perch, Ernie wiped off the snow with his wing and promptly relieved his wallet of its monetary contents. He laughed to himself for a moment, for he knew that his wife would berate him for it, not because of the action itself, for he knew that she found it noble, his heart being the most precious possession he had, but in the naivety and the utter futility of it. Ernie knew that her greatest fear was her husband being taken advantage of, but he hardly had the time to care; as far as he was concerned there were two types of people in the world- those who have been fixed and those waiting to be fixed.

Opening the door and pulling his sleigh inside, Ernie, taking a moment to warm himself up, there was an immediate sense of comfort and security that came with the entrance of the foyer, an appropriate feeling for an orphanage. Surrounded by hardwood floors and the smell of hazelnut, which the Todds were famous for, making hazelnut candles, coffee, tea, and several assorted pastries, Ernie found himself in familiar territory, the horseshoe that hung on the wall reminding him of his father's farm in North Carolina. Just below the horseshoe was a small table, on which were two candles, hazelnut scented, and a picture of the orphans gathered outside the building- obviously happier times, when the fires of hope still burned brightly in their eyes.

"It's a sad thing" a voice said, causing Ernie to turn around, finding the speaker to be Pauline, who was holding a dish rag, "They deserve so much better than this old place."

Ernie nodded and smiled sheepishly, for he unsure of the etiquette that he was supposed to have, if the custom was to agree or disagree, for the argument could be made for either; and if a different response was called for entirely, if he should go straight for introductions or to his business. Ernie, who was never very good at meeting new people, stopped for a moment and turned his attention to his wife, who his exact opposite. Taking all of his wife's various sayings and putting them into context, Ernie smiled and breathed, at the same time wishing that Nichole were present, if only to witness what was about to happen.

"No" he rebuked, "Not today."

These words, so simple and few, caused Pauline to give Ernie a second look, squinting her eyes and looking deep, particularly into his chest, as if she were staring directly at his heart. After a few moments, the old lady smiled and nodded, finding solace, both in Ernie's words and in his presence.

"You must be the one that Bailey talked about" Pauline declared, "Ernest, right?"

Ernie nodded and shuffled his feet, for there were only a select few that were allowed to call him Ernest- Nichole; his Uncle Martin; Bailey; Vinny, the local music minister; and the late Ted McGrath, his childhood hero- to everyone else it was Ernie, for the chicken believed that the name was too formal, and if it was one thing that he hated it was formalities.

"Please ma'am" Ernie replied candidly, "Call me Ernie. 'Ernest' is a little too formal; I like to keep things casual."

Pauline nodded, respecting his answer, and calmly gestured towards the kitchen directly behind her, bidding he sit at the humble kitchen table. He raised a wing, politely declining, for he had no intention of staying long; in part because he did not wish to impose on the Todds hospitality nor did he wish to upset his wife by staying out too late on one of the coldest nights of the year without at least checking in, having learned from experience that Nichole went into hysterical fits mixed with paranoia and rage whenever he was away from the house for any length of time greater than 4 hours. Ernie believed that her paranoia was caused by the delusion that he was cheating on her, brought about by watching too much day-time soap operas and TV magazines despite her protests that it was only because she was slightly over-protective and that her habit of TV watching was a moderate addiction. The more he thought about his wife and her various idiosyncrasies, the more he found himself laughing, for it reminded him of how much he could miss a person in the span of a few hours, as well as how much love could exist for a single person. His one regret was that the same love could not be given to the orphans, who despite having none given to them in return, they had such much philanthropy when it came to it that Quahog could become its own nation-state, independent, happy, and free for 100 years.

"I'm just here to drop off the turkey" Ernie continued, "Give 'em something nice to eat before ol' Santy Claus comes knocking."

Pauline leaned her head back and laughed, taken aback with Ernie's sudden southern mannerisms, delighted in the fact that he was, for better or for worse, the walking example of the Good Ol' Southern Boy stereotype, always speaking with a certain cadence reminiscent of a by-gone, but by no means perfect, era. Ernie, surprised by this reaction, for he had never received it before, especially when he slipped into Southern colloquialisms, could only laugh and stare in partially bewilderment, now even more confused as to the proper response than before and fairly certain that not even his wife, which all of her qualities, could save him from awkwardness.

"Goodness me you are a trip!" Pauline declared, "Why don't you come on and make yourself comfortable Ernie? I just finished making some pies for the children; made a couple extras- would you like one?"

Ernie shook his head, for although pie sounded incredibly delicious at the moment, he had limits when it came to accepting hospitality during first meetings; a policy that he had largely obtained from Uncle Martin, who had once said that a person who gives more than one gesture of hospitality is usually compensating for something. If Ernie had to guess what it was that Pauline was compensating for, age would be a first choice, for she was wearing a style of clothing suitable for women in their mid-30's, not their early 70's; but then again, the chicken knew almost nothing about fashion, and so immediately let the thought leave his mind.

"I don't mean to be rude" Ernie said, trying to keep his voice soft in order to hide the growing annoyance that was building up inside, "But I really am just here to drop off this turkey. I've got a lot of stuff to do and I can't-"

Pauline smiled and immediately became nonchalant, throwing the dish rag over her shoulder, Ernie's statements triggering the thoughts that had been running through her head from the moment he walked through the front door.

"What brought you here Ernie?" Pauline asked rhetorically, "Did you come all this way, trudge through snow with those bare feet of yours hauling that sleigh just to deliver a turkey? No one does all that for just turkey."

Pauline once again gestured towards the kitchen table; this time Ernie took the high road and obliged. It was an awkward thing, to move after standing still for a considerable amount of time, his legs having difficulty communicating with his feet, which were indeed bare- on account of Ernie being a chicken and thus, not required by law to wear shoes, in addition to the fact that no known clobber would dare take on such a task- as they moved across the hardwood floor and into the padded, if slightly tight, chair at the end of the kitchen table. Pauline, finally satisfied, confidentially made her way to the cabinet and retrieved two decent sized coffee mugs, one for Ernie, and one for Bailey, after which she began to pour egg nog into each. Ernie, not wanting to be rude and deny Pauline once more, took the nog with pride and swallowed to the best of his ability despite being ironically allergic to eggs. As he guzzled down the egg nog and recognizing that he was going to hate himself in the morning, when the inevitable rash would kick in, Ernie wondered if perhaps the turkey, which he believed was still on the warmer, was overdone.

"Would you mind if I called my wife?" Ernie asked, being blunt, "I don't want her to worry."

Pauline, who was busy putting away her dish rag and closing up the kitchen for the night, gestured towards the corner of the room, in which was a wall phone. Ernie, who laughed to himself, not having seen a phone actually plugged into the wall in years, rolled his eyes and stood. It was at this moment that Bailey came down the stairs, his blanket draped over his shoulder, his glasses gingerly in his hands, as if he were in deep thought. At seeing the sleigh and immediately noticing that it was empty, Bailey, assuming that the turkey was already in the kitchen, smiled and nodded to himself; for he knew that he could always count on Ernie to deliver on his promises, even if it was inconvenient.

"There are so few good people in this world who are willing to open their hearts to the less fortunate" Bailey said as he entered the threshold, standing by for a moment as he looked around the room, taking in the smell of the hazelnut aroma, "Their only concerned with themselves and their own. Can't blame 'em but that doesn't make it any sadder."

Pauline nodded, saying nothing, letting her silence speak for her; Bailey, who understood this as a signal to focus his efforts on Ernie, particularly when it came to his morals and ethics, nodded in turn and calmly made his way to the table.

"What about you Ernest?" Bailey continued, "Do you consider yourself one of the good ones?"

Ernie, slightly confused by the question, stopped just as he was about to pick up the phone and dial his house.

"Bailey" Ernie answered, continuing his bluntness, "You've known me for years. We play cards on Thursdays and go to the Clam every other Friday. My wife is in Pauline's bridge club-"

Pauline, at the mention of her bridge club, immediately became interested and turned around, her face full of curiosity as she guessed who it was that Ernie was married to.

"Oh, you mean Brenda?" Pauline said as she began to rapidly fire off names in her head, "We always thought that she had somebody special, but I never would have guessed that-"

Ernie, who stood in complete disbelief at Pauline's interruption, her motives now unclear and muddled; for even he, oblivious to the fact that the turkey was buried in seven feet of snow on Spooner Street, knew that something was afoot, for the Todds hid no secrets and wore their hearts on their sleeves, as was the way they were raised.

"What?" Ernie exclaimed, interrupting Pauline's interruption, "No. Nichole- the only giant hen in Quahog. Seriously, how could you ever think it would be anyone else? It's obvious just by looking at me!"

It was the moments when Ernie became incredibly annoyed, either with people or with situations, that often drove him over the edge, transforming him from a gentle Southern gentleman to an irritable, easily impressionable, and occasionally violent Southern gentleman. Although nowhere near the levels of his fights with Peter Griffin, the chicken had begun to wish, at least in his head, minor harm to Pauline, mostly due to her voice, which, due to the nature of the question, was unusually high. It did not help that Pauline, whenever she became excited about something, even to the slightest degree, widened her eyeballs, making her look crazed. Ernie, swallowing gulps of air and burying his negativity with thoughts of his wife, his one true and constant comfort, sighed and turned his attention back to Bailey, who was still waiting for a proper answer.

"I'm no better than anyone else Bailey" Ernie declared, "Sure, I've done some things. Things I'm not proud of; and yes, I may have done some time but I hardly let my past define my present. I just wanted to give those kids something to look forward to tomorrow. It's not the latest gadget, it's not shiny toys or even books- it's a turkey. It's not much, but it's the best I can do."

Bailey smiled and walked forward, gently slapping Ernie's shoulder in solidarity; causing Ernie to smile in turn as he stared into the man that he knew for years.

"Well then" Bailey exclaimed, throwing his blanket over the chair, "Let's see this bird then."

Ernie, with a sense of pride and fullness, made a half stride over to his sleigh and removed the blanket. Bailey, who had automatically assumed that the turkey was in the refrigerator, for he did not see it anywhere on the counter nor as a centerpiece at the table, became extremely concerned and turned to his wife, who said nothing as she began to silently hum to herself as she finished her work.

"Ernest" Bailey called, leaned his head out as he tried to get a view, "Something wrong?"

A calm silence succeeded Bailey's remark, resulting in the old man to investigate; rounding the corner, he found, nestled by the door, Ernie, kneeling by his sleigh, grasping the blanket in one wing, staring blankly at the warmer, his eyes in both disbelief and soul-crushing sadness. In the chicken's mind, this was the greatest failure that he could have ever done; for it was more than a missing turkey, but the dashed hopes and dreams of all the orphans, who received so little to begin with that such a thing as a turkey was a sacred relic bestowed by God.

"I'm going to fix this" Ernie said as he stood up, wiping his eyes, for he had been sobbing, unable to cry, "I promise you. Those kids are getting a turkey this year."

Bailey, trying his best to be sympathetic and hide his disappointment, sighed and shook his head; for there was no way that such a thing could be done, and even if it could, he was doubtful that Ernie would be the one to do it, his faith in the chicken shaken by the failure of the simplest of tasks.

"Don't trouble yourself" Bailey replied as he waved him off, "Those kids will still get a Christmas; it'll just be a little smaller. They're used to it."

Ernie shook his head, refusing to accept it, in his head thinking about all the shops in town and what times they closed as well as the possibility of him getting to them with his sleigh. In hindsight, it would have been wise to listen to Nichole, who specifically told him that the car would be less-labor intensive, faster, and able to haul significantly more turkeys. If Ernie's stubbornness had not gotten in the way, as well as his love of tradition, than perhaps he would have taken such advice to heart; but such things mattered little now, in the current situation- what was needed was a quick solution.

"Rudy Rooster's is still open" Ernie declared as he checked his watch, "I'll run down there, get a turkey, and be right back."

Bailey rolled his eyes and groaned, for not only was that the stupidest thing he had heard in all of his life, but it was also the most ridiculous.

"Are you crazy?" Bailey returned, speaking half rhetorically, "You're going to go out there in that weather with little to no protection trudging through ten feet of snow across the entire city for a turkey. You'll freeze to death! On top of that you'll run the risk of losing the turkey again."

Ernie nodded and sighed, mentally weighing his options, for he would not deny the truth in Bailey's words. Ultimately his decision was clear.

"No choice" Ernie began resolutely, "I made a promise to you; I promised you that those kids would eat the finest turkey that ever was and I'll be damned if I backed out on it now."

Bailey, still convinced of the correctness of his position, shook his head once more and once more tried to use reason.

"It's suicide" Bailey said, completely exasperated, "Forget your promises; don't be a fool and get yourself killed by doing something stupid!"

Ernie said nothing and promptly picked up his sleigh, after which he made his way back into the kitchen and dialed his house. Bailey, whose growing concern for Ernie had reached the pinnacle, could not help himself but to follow the chicken back, eavesdropping on the conversation.

The home of Ernie the Giant Chicken was two streets down from Spooner Street, nestled safely in the cul-de-sac of Cherry Lane. It was, like of the suburbs, an upper middle-class residence with two stories and a garage; but unlike most of the houses, which during this time of year had yards covered with the footprints of children, snow forts and the remnants of snowmen, the Chicken residence was devoid of such things, the snow largely fresh and intact. True, the house itself remained festive, Christmas lights adorning the bushes, the windows, and the front gutter, but the yard, one of the most distinguishing features of any house, was empty. The reason for this was because Ernie was childless. The couple did not keep many secrets, in fact the only secrets that they did openly try to hide were Ernie's past criminal record, Nichole's brother Randall, and the existence of Jaime.

Once upon a time, during the infancy of the internet and when cell phones were large bricks, Ernie moved to Rhode Island and settled in the small town of Ferndale, what would eventually become a subdivision of Quahog; after which he met and subsequently married Nichole. Two years later, they had a son and named him Jaime; who became their pride, joy, and sole reason for existing. Life was happy and good, if only for a little while. Ernie had managed to hold a stable job as the pool hall master, Nichole was training to become a nurse, and Jaime was hailed as a child musical prodigy. On Jaime's eighth birthday he received the greatest gift that he could ever hope to receive at the time- a harmonica, engraved with his initials. This harmonica he would carry with him at all times until six months later when he would die from botulism. His body, unable to be used for proper consumption, burned in a field, his harmonica placed in a Ziploc bag and then in a harmonica box which sat on the mantelpiece of the Chicken residence in the living room. Now, past their normal stages of grief but never forgetful of the son they had lost, Ernie and Nichole spend their lives in the best ways they know how, by participating in the community, being good, honest citizens, and treating others with as much kindness and respect as Jaime had done.

Nichole was sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater for Ernie- in an effort to keep her mind off of the inconceivable and irrational thought of her husband's infidelity- when she received the phone call from Angel House. Initially not recognizing the number, for she rarely kept track of such things, unlike Ernie, who always did, the hen casually ignored it; but then remembered her greater fear, that Ernie had somehow been incarcerated once more, and promptly answered the phone.

"Hello?" she began, her voice stern and holding a sense of nervousness, "Who is this?"

Ernie's voice crackled and broke, for the connection was poor on account of the weather, but it was still unrecognizable, at least to Nichole, who had been married long enough to her husband to know his voice when she heard it.

"Ernest!" Nichole exclaimed with a breath of levity, "Do you have any idea what time it is? Why didn't you call me sooner? You had me worried sick!"

Ernie sighed and paused, struggling to find the right words to say, or rather, how it was he should say them; for he was not as gifted in such things, much preferring action to words. Still, if only because of the strength that Nichole's voice provided, as well as his own resolution, Ernie found the order and did his best to explain the situation.

"There's been a bit of a snag" he declared, "Lost one of the turkeys on the way to the orphanage. Going to go over to Rudy Rooster's to get another one; give these children something to hope for."

Nichole sighed and shook her head as she sat down her needle and thread, for there was one small issue in Ernie's logic.

"Those kids don't even know you're there Ernie" Nichole replied, "How can you give them something to hope for if they don't even know their receiving it?"

Ernie laughed candidly, pausing a moment to think of his answer. In his mind, the question was a moot one, for it made no difference if the orphans knew of his involvement or not, the principle of giving and charity was the only thing that concerned him; recognition wasn't even on the register.

"It's not about recognition dear" Ernie continued, "It's about giving to the less fortunate. You were the one who always told me that my heart was the greatest thing about me. I'm using it for something, something bigger than me. If these kids can have one good meal, one real Christmas dinner, then maybe we can start finding families for 'em."

Nichole listened, searching Ernie's voice for anything that was suggestive of other hidden meaning, there was only one thing that she could possibly think of. Since Jaime's death, Ernie's relationship with Nichole had been somewhat strained, always stable and never in danger of breaking, but never completely the same; as if the life, and a little bit of love, had been taken away. In a desperate attempt to return to normal life, Ernie had brought up the idea of adoption, an idea that Nichole had rejected feverishly, being only two years since the tragedy. That was five years ago; Ernie never brought it up again, although occasionally he would talk about children in passing, it was with such a degree of casualness that it was impossible to take it with any degree of seriousness. Now, however, things were different.

"We wouldn't happen to be one of those families would we?" Nichole asked, putting on an air of hostility, "You know we can't make that kind of commitment."

Ernie said nothing, not wanting to air his argument in front of Bailey and Pauline, both of whom were listening in at this point with increased curiosity.

"We can talk about this later" Ernie said, trying to defuse her, in addition to getting back on topic, "Right now I need you to do me a favor. Call up Vinny, tell him it's urgent and to meet me at the church."

"Why?" Nichole asked, taking the high road and putting the previous conversation on hold, "What's going on?"

Ernie sighed, for as much as he wanted to explain, there was no possible way to do so without alerting Bailey, whom he wanted to keep in the dark, if only because it was part of the grand scheme that he had been developing in his head for the past few minutes.

"Just tell him that it's time" Ernie continued, "He'll know what it means; now, I'm going to Rooster's, get myself a turkey."

Nichole, now simply confused, decided for the first time in a long time to trust her husband without any kind of context. Bidding him goodbye, as well as telling him that she loved him, and actually believing the words, Nichole smiled. Placing the phone on the arm of the chair she was sitting in, Nichole put away her knitting for the night and stared at the harmonica box; for a moment wondering what Jaime would think of his father, and if it was the same pride that she harbored in her heart of hearts. She assumed that it was; and if such things as the thoughts of spirits and angels are to be taken into account, then she would assume correctly.

Hanging up the phone and turning around, Ernie sighed and took a moment to himself; as his mind wondered to both the memories of his son and to the orphans who lay asleep upstairs. If his house were as big as his heart than there would be no need for Angel House or any other house of its kind ever again; but sadly, Ernie was bound by both the physical laws of nature and of Man, and thus, such sentiments meant little, carrying the weight of a feather. After a few moments of reverent silence, the chicken, readjusting the sleigh, for it was beginning to slip, calmly headed towards the door; as he passed Bailey and Pauline he gave them each a look of promise and hope, and for a moment, all doubt in Ernie's ability had been erased from their minds.