Dedicated to my close friend, and fellow writer, Midnight-hunter! Merry Christmas! Hope you enjoy your early Christmas gift! All the best to you and yours! :)
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A/N: I do not own Phoenix Wright or Miles Edgeworth, worse luck; they belong to CAPCOM. The plot and Farmer and Mrs. Prescott are mine. :^)
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Phoenix is feeling blue two days before Christmas and can't seem to shake the depression that's settled on him like a shroud. Miles does his best but he can't seem to break it either until a trip to a very special tree farm helps him in ways that neither he nor Miles expect...

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Poor Phoenix is feeling the stress of the holiday rush and it's really taking its toll on him! The busyness of the season is really getting to him-I can well understand that-and something else that he can't quite put his finger on is making him and, by extension, Miles, miserable. As it turns out, Miles' idea to go to the tree farm on the outskirts of town is a very good one... although there's something very special about this tree farm... something otherworldly. :D

Thanks to two members of Phoenix's family, the real reason for the season is brought back to him and he's able to finally shake his depression and enjoy Christmas as he has in years past. Phoenix is just a lost soul who needs some help getting back onto the right road and given a gentle reminder about the wonder and joy of Christmas. :D

I've never been to a tree farm in my life so this part is used fictitiously and what follows is my vision of what one would be like. :) The idea for this story came about from two sources: I was reading Spirits of '76: Ghost Stories From the American Revolution by Daniel Barefoot a bit ago and that planted the small seed of an idea of ghosts and from the British tradition of reading a ghost story at Christmas which I think is pretty darn neat. Here's the result. :^). Written also for dA's EdgeyxNick Club's Countdown to Christmas, Dec. 12th. :)

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy!

Thank you to all my readers: those who have commented, read, reviewed, favourited/story alerted my stories and thanks also to those who have author alerted/favourite authored, as well! I appreciate it very much! I am glad that you are enjoying my stories and I hope that you will continue to enjoy them in the future! :)

Special thanks to my beloved husband, DezoPenguin, for all his encouragement, love, concern and for reigniting the fire within me to write! Love you, honey, and thanks!

As always, reviews, comments and suggestions are welcomed and appreciated! I aim to improve my writing and comments do help me to do just that: by letting me know what you like, what you don't and what needs improvement. :^)

Rated Teen, Phoenix x Edgeworth, Alternate Universe/Drama/Supernatural

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December 23rd, 2022
Phoenix Wright & Miles Edgeworth's Residence
Breakfast Nook
8 A.M.

My eyelids fluttered sleepily open that cold, frosty morning, blinking owlishly as soft, watery rays of sunlight filtered through the hoary window glass, landing gently on my face. I turned over but the ray seemed to follow me no matter which way I turned trying to avoid it and, after a few moments, I covered my eyes with my arm, groaning softly in annoyance.

The one day I have a chance to sleep in and that damned sun has to wake me up!

I debated for awhile whether or not I should get up-I really didn't want to get out of my nice warm bed nor did I want to leave Miles, either, who was still sleeping soundly-but, in the end, with the sunlight determined to make my life miserable and no hope of getting back to sleep, I finally decided in the affirmative after I lay there tossing and turning for half an hour.

I guess it's time to get up. I gritted my teeth in a snarl of frustration.I can't go back to sleep, anyway...

With a sigh, I gently put back the covers, sat up with a great deal of difficulty and, giving the sleeping Miles one more loving look, I swung my legs out of bed, my bare feet touching cold floor tile. I jerked back my feet with a startled gasp, my toes searching for the pair of midnight blue slippers I'd put beside the bed the night before and, finding them, slid my feet into them. I wearily stood up, grabbing my bathrobe while I did so and shrugged it on while I stumbled to the kitchen, my eyes bleary and red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

I managed, by some miracle of coordination that I wasn't entirely aware of-and this in spite of loud and repeated yawns-to get the coffee-maker set up without destroying the kitchen in the process and pressed the button, waiting for the coffee to percolate.

Usually, Miles was the one who got up to make the coffee but, since he was still sleeping, I'd dragged myself out of bead groggily as quickly, and as quietly as I could so I wouldn't wake him up and managed to make my way into the kitchen without too much noise or running into things on the way down.

God, I hate mornings..I thought grumpily as I waited for the coffee to finish, reaching up to the cupboard behind my head, opened it without the door connecting with my head and pulled out two mugs which I sat down on top of the counter. I filled my mug nearly to the brim without spilling it and shuffled over to the table in the breakfast nook, set the mug down and flopped into my seat, groaning again as I did so.

I felt so tired and worn out this morning and sat dejectedly at the breakfast nook table, wrapped in my favorite blue bathrobe that Miles had given me for my birthday a few years ago, my left hand cupping the side of my face while my right lay on the top of the table beside my steaming ceramic coffee mug. It was two days until Christmas but, for some reason I couldn't fathom, I wasn't happy.

I hadn't had an easy night of it the night before, either, so I supposed that could be one reason why I felt so lousy this morning: a distinct lack of sleep that made me feel irritable and cranky although I suspected that there was more to it than that. The trouble was that I hadn't a clue what that reason might be.

There's so much to do and not enough time in a week, let alone a day, to do it in. I picked up my mug, took a large swallow of coffee before putting it back down on the table. I hate mornings.

Normally at this time of year I was like the proverbial kid in the candy store, burbling happily as I flew about doing my various Christmas chores with great zeal and frenetic energy to the point where I nearly drove Miles crazy but this year was different. I wasn't feeling like my normal cheery self; I was feeling blue and hard-pressed to try to figure out why.

I drummed my fingertips on the top of the table, trying to figure out why I was feeling so low but couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation but, thus far, I wasn't making much progress. I was startled by a soft noise and looked up to see Miles sitting on the other side of the table from where I perched, dressed in a black bathrobe with gold piping around the neck and sleeves, his mug of coffee sitting on top of the formica tabletop, little curls of steam rising from the fragrant brew that twisted as it disappeared into the air as he read the morning newspaper in silence. His right hand reached out from behind the paper every now and then to pick up his mug, take a sip and put it back down with a faint "ticking" sound. I'd been so immersed in my thoughts that I hadn't even heard him come in but I was happy to see him just the same, feeling the pall that surrounded me lift slightly.

"Good Morning, Phoenix," he said pleasantly as he picked up the morning newspaper and opened it, its crisp, new pages crackling in the silence.

"Morning Miles," I mumbled in reply, my eyes half-closed as I took another sip of my coffee, enjoying the deep roasted taste of the hot, fragrant brew as it slid down my throat.

I really wasn't in the mood to talk and, seeing this, Miles went back to his newspaper, turning the pages as he read the various news stories, with an occasional muffled exclamation while I sat on the other side, bleary-eyed, crabby and non-communicative.

It was so quiet in the nook that the ticking of the clock on the far wall, the occasional crackling of the paper as Miles turned the pages and my fingertips drumming against the table top sounded deafening.

We sat in silence for some time, each absorbed in our own private thoughts. Miles looked at me from time to time from behind his paper, his dark grey eyes narrowing in irritation though there was concern mixed in his expression as well. He knew that something was bothering me and gave me some time to get work through the conflicting feelings that were racing through me.

"What's wrong, Phoenix?" he asked.

"I don't really know, Miles," I admitted. "For some reason I'm just not happy today..." I took another swallow of coffee. "I thought that it might be because I had such a lousy sleep last night but there's more to it than that and I don't know what that is."

Miles nodded, the paper crinkling as he folded it and set it down beside his mug on the table, wrapping his hands around it.

"I noticed," he remarked. "I had a feeling that something was wrong since you weren't your usual mad-cap, Christmasy self this morning."

He took a large swallow of coffee, his piercing dark grey eyes locking onto mine and I couldn't suppress an electric thrill run through my body as he looked at me. He'd always had this effect on me and had from the very beginning of our relationship and the fact that this hadn't changed after all these years was a great comfort to me.

At least something's going right today... That's good, at least, isn't it?

I sighed as I lifted my mug to my lips and took another swallow of coffee, my hand trembling slightly. I felt a slight pressure on the back of my hand and I looked up to see Miles' right hand covering mine while his left remained curled around his coffee mug, waiting for me to speak.

I couldn't.

"What's wrong?" he asked again, his voice heavy with concern when the tense silence became too much to bear. "This isn't like you."

"I don't really know," I replied, my hand beginning to tremble under his. "I'm feeling blue and I honestly haven't a clue why." I sighed again, lowering my head to look at the table. "I just don't feel like celebrating the Christmas season this year for some reason and it bothers me that I don't really know why."

Miles squeezed my hand comfortingly and we spent many moments in silence, just enjoying each others' presence. I was still bothered by my lack of of the holiday season's joy like I normally did and even more because I loved Christmas and all the busyness that came with it. There was a shroud that appeared to have wrapped itself around me that just wouldn't go away and I had no idea how to lift my flagging spirits. Or even if I could.

Oh well...I thought as Miles squeezed my hand one more time before he released it and stood up. There's always later. Maybe I'll feel better then.

He turned to leave but stopped after taking a few steps, turning back to face me.

"By the way, Phoenix," Miles said as I sat there staring at him, "I thought that we could go to the tree farm on the outskirts of town this evening to choose our Christmas tree."

"Tonight?" I repeated, my voice crackling with displeasure. I have no doubt that he heard the strain in my voice but it didn't seem to register as he nodded. "Why tonight?"

"For two reasons," he replied. "One: it's two days until Christmas and I'm pretty sure that there will be slim pickings in regard to the number of available trees to choose from and, two: I thought that it might help to raise your spirits a little, to get you out of the house for awhile. Who knows? Maybe it might be exactly what you need."

I made a face as I swallowed another mouthful of coffee, clearly unconvinced.

"Come on, Phoenix, it'll be fun," Miles coaxed. "You just may surprise yourself and have a good time out."

"I highly doubt that," I snapped back irritably, my fingers curling around the mug handle so hard that my knuckles turned white.

Miles was non-plussed by my rather curt retort and, with an expression of triumph that he didn't even bother trying to hide, played his trump card.

"I'll make some hot chocolate for us when we get back."

I opened my mouth to make a snappy rejoinder but shut it immediately. He had me there... and he knew it. I loved Miles' special hot chocolate and the thought of it was making my mouth water with anticipation.

My eyes narrowed as I looked at him and, as I had suspected, he had a triumphant expression on his face that he didn't even bother to try and hide. He knew he'd won with his trump card and it made me feel even more surly that he knew that I knew that he knew it.

"You fight dirty," I complained, glaring at him for a few moments as the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. I hated being trumped but, as my pique began to fade, I had to admire his tenacity. I sighed. "Truthfully, you may be right. Maybe a trip out might help a little; it certainly couldn't hurt." I took another mouthful. "All right, we'll go."

Miles smiled at me as he leaned over to plant a tender kiss on my forehead before he straightened up and walked out of the nook, disappearing into the living room. I watched him until he was lost to sight and sat there alone with my gloomy thoughts, wondering exactly what it was that causing it.

I took a deep breath, shrugged and took a large swallow of coffee, settling back in my chair and closing my eyes, thinking back on happier Christmases for some time before I opened my eyes, stood up and went into the bedroom to dress for the day.

I figured that I might as well go into the office to do a bit of work even though I had the day off. I was tired of sitting around here feeling miserable so I thought that, by doing some long overdue tasks that I needed to do, I might be able-or so I hoped-to shake off the gloom or at least neutralize it so I could enjoy the holiday although even this seemed too much to hope for since I was feeling even more depressed and low than ever as I pulled on my clothing, reaching for my midnight-blue suit that hung on the rack in the back of the closet.

I hope I can shake this and the sooner, the better, I thought as I put on and adjusted my fuchsia colored tie. I really don't want to ruin Miles' Christmas or anyone else's, for that matter. It's not fair to them and they really enjoy Christmas...

With a final tug, I got my tie centered properly and turned to pick up my briefcase. I sure hoped that this gloom would lift and soon. For all of our sakes.

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December 23rd, 2022
Prescott's Tree Farm
Twelve miles east of Los Angeles
8 P.M.

Miles and I stood on the cement foundation of the Christmas tree farm warehouse, both of us looking around us in awe at the row upon row of freshly cut trees wrapped up and leaning against the walls.

I'd been feeling progressively worse over the past few days and I'd been desperate for something-anything!-that would help me shake this blue funk but, thus far, nothing was working and the cold rain that was presently falling didn't help, either. I pulled the corners of my collar together and did my best not to look as miserable as I felt.

Miles had suggested this trip to the tree farm to pick out our tree in an effort to help raise my flagging spirits but even this wasn't doing any good; he was becoming increasingly frustrated because he was doing his best to try and help lift my spirits but nothing was working and it was beginning to wear thin on him.

He didn't say much but I could see from the tight expression on his face and the way the corners of his mouth were turning down that he was not only unhappy but also hurt because he couldn't help me although he kept trying. Truthfully, I hurt with him and I was really grateful to him that he kept trying to cheer me up but it seemed that a impenetrable funereal gloom had settled on me, encasing my heart in granite and dampening any joy that I may have felt.

I sighed as I looked around the lot, row after row of trees as far as the eye could see; there were evergreens, pines and blue spruce everywhere and I was quite surprised that there were so many trees left to choose from this close to Christmas. I would have thought that that the tree farm would have been completely sold out of its trees by now but this one seemed to be the exception to the rule as we both clearly see.

I glanced at Miles from the corner of my eye and saw the sweet, childlike look of wonder and delight in his eyes as he looked at all the various types of trees that were available for sale. I smiled as I saw him, thankful that he, at least, was having a good time, despite my depressed countenance.

I wish I could say the same.

"Good evening, sir," I heard a cheerful voice say some moments later and I jerked my head up in surprise to see a tall and stocky man standing there looking at me, an expression of good humor on his face. "How may I help you this evening?"

He was dressed in a red and black checkered flannel shirt, a pair of faded black bib overalls, a pair of worn square-toed boots and a black pair of gloves completed his ensemble. He had a pair of square-rimmed spectacles perched jauntily on his aquiline nose, his craggy, weathered face sported a kind expression, his cerulean blue eyes sparkling merrily and his generous mouth split into a wide grin, a corncob pipe clamped tightly in his teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes twinkled with undisguised good humor and mischief as he blew out a ring of smoke.

There was something out of the ordinary about him but I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what that was. He seemed amused by the direction that my thoughts were taking and he put his index finger on the side of his nose, giving me a slow mischievous wink as he did so, chuckling gaily.

Miles joined in and I found, to my surprise, that I couldn't suppress a laugh that I could feel bubbling up inside of me. He started in surprise beside me when he heard the deep, rumbling belly laugh that came out of my mouth but the joyous expression that slowly spread over his face was well worth seeing.

"Good evening, sir," Miles replied, reaching out with his left hand to clasp the man's right, shaking it warmly while he reached over to take my left hand in his own and squeezed it tenderly. "My name is Miles Edgeworth and this is my partner, Phoenix Wright."

"A pleasure, " the man said with a bright smile. I reached out and shook his hand in turn and he introduced himself as Tom Prescott, the owner of Prescott's Tree Farm.

I frowned as I released his hand after shaking it. Prescott...? I bit my lip. Why does that name sound familiar?

"We're here to pick out a tree for Christmas," Miles continued, "and we're having a bit of trouble trying to decide what tree to choose to take home." He spread out his right arm in a wide arc, a grin spreading over his face though the childlike wonder was still very present in the gaze he turned on Mr. Prescott. "There's so many to choose from!"

The man laughed, nodding his head in clear agreement; I wondered how many times he had heard the same thing and seen the same thing over the years.

"It can be," he said cheerfully, "and I always make sure that my customers have the best and widest selection from which to choose although-" he sidled up to us with a mischievous grin and we chuckled at how ridiculously silly he looked - "when you don't know exactly what kind of tree you want, it makes looking for the perfect one quite a challenge but have no fear! I'll find the perfect tree for you boys, I promise!"

He began by taking us around the warehouse lot, pointing out the various trees and their strengths and weaknesses. He went on for some time, describing all the trees that he had available: the blue spruce-and his particular favorite-with its lovely shade of blue needles; the evergreens that kept their lovely shade of green throughout the year and looked-in his opinion and one that we agreed with wholeheartedly-beautiful with a soft blanket of snow on their branches; the Norway Pine with their delicately shaped branches that looked like snowflakes and the sturdy Scotch Pine that would be perfect for heavier ornaments that, he assured us, it would be able to support easily.

We listened to him in silence, amazed at the length and depth of his knowledge; it was quite apparent to us that Mr. Prescott was a man who definitely knew his business and was well acquainted with his subject. After some discussion, we decided on a blue spruce and he smiled, definitely pleased with our choice. I also noticed something else that struck me as decidedly weird: the more Mr. Prescott talked, the better I was beginning to feel.

This is odd... I thought, my eyes flickering over to Mr. Prescott who insisted on being called Farmer Prescott since, as he stated, 'that was what he was, he was damned proud of that fact, it had been the the title he'd been given many years ago and he rather liked it.' As he said this, he seemed to practically glow although I was sure that this was only a trick of the light in the dark, rainy evening. I'm getting such a familiar feeling from him but how can that be? I've never met the man before in my life until now. I wonder why that is?

I had to admit, as I looked at him bustling about in the blue spruce section hunting for a tree for us, that it certainly suited him and I couldn't dismiss that he glowed with pride as he searched among the trees for the perfect one; here was a man who truly enjoyed his work. And it showed.

He finally came back with a tree ten minutes later and offered to put it in the back of the pickup truck that we'd borrowed from a fellow colleague of ours, an offer which we gratefully accepted. Once he had come back after snugly tying the tree down so it wouldn't fly out of the back when we traveled home, he asked us if we would like some hot apple cider since, to use his words, he thought that 'we needed something to warm up our bones after spending so much time in the frigid night air on the lot...' Without a second thought, we accepted his kind offer and followed him out of the lot to a small two story farmhouse painted white with a faded white picket fence surrounding it on all sides and fitted with a creaky faded grey gate.

It's beautiful, I mused with some degree of wonder and amazement as we followed Farmer Prescott into the front yard and he closed the gate behind him before walking briskly past a dingy grey wishing well that stood lonely sentinel one hundred yards from the house itself. It feels much older than it looks for some reason but its still beautiful and charming, just the same.

As this thought entered my mind, Farmer Prescott turned to look at me and I flushed with embarrassment as he did so. It was becoming quite apparent to me that he could tell what I was thinking just in the way he looked at me with those too old and too wise blue eyes; when I looked at him again, he winked at me, turned back around and continued walking toward the house. I felt all embarrassment disappearing-if he wasn't offended, why should I worry?-and it was with a renewed spring in my step that I followed him, walking up the steps that led to the main porch with a weather-beaten but still very beautiful scrolled oak door that took both of our breaths away.

Farmer Prescott noticed our silent admiration and gave us a dazzling smile as he opened the door and calling out as he did so, "Ma! We have visitors!" before stepping jauntily inside; he motioned us to follow him which we did, stamping the snow off of our boots before we entered, closing the door behind us, rubbing and blowing on our cold,gloved hands to warm them.

The foyer in the main house was quite large with ceilings that seemed to sail into the rafters above and a red wool rug was spread out across the floor.

"Come in, come in! I'll be with you boys in a minute!" we heard another equally cheerful and sunny voice call out from the direction of the kitchen. "Just sit down for a spell and I'll be right with you!"

Farmer Prescott bent over and unlaced his boots with an ease and dexterity that came as quite a surprise to us for an elderly man since he looked to be around ninety-two years of age, give or take a year. He stepped nimbly out of his boots before he picked them up and carried them over to a large rubber mat that lay beneath a wooden coat pegs and set them down.

He looked over his shoulder at us as we stood there as if uncertain of what to do and said cheerfully, "Come in and sit with us for a spell! Ma and I don't have many visitors since all of our children are grown with families and responsibilities of their own so we're really glad for the company." He looked meaningfully at us. "We don't get out very often anymore so we are glad when company comes since we do get a trifle lonely every now and again."

Miles and I glanced at each other out of the corners of our eyes before we shrugged and took off our black trench-coats and hung them on two of the wooden pegs along with our grey pearl-colored scarves, stuffed our black gloves into the pockets and placed our boots on the rubber mat next to Farmer Prescott's.

His smile was dazzling as he motioned for us once again to follow him which we did, Miles' hand slipping into my own. I smiled softly as he did so and even Farmer Prescott grinned widely when he saw it; it belatedly occurred to me where we were and I couldn't help a blush that stained my cheeks while Miles tried hard to keep a straight face. I was afraid that he might be offended-what narrow minded people weren't these days?-but once again, as if he had read my thoughts, he shook his head.

"I don't worry about the inconsequential, son," he said kindly, his eyes twinkling. "It's clear that you boys love each other and that's all that should really matter." He stopped a moment, his placid, kindly expression turning serious. "Take it from one who knows: Always take a moment to count your blessings and never forget to tell your loved ones that you love them."

He sighed with feeling, his lower lip quivering slightly. I couldn't help but wonder what had occurred in his life that caused him so much pain. "Life can be a tricky old game and you never know when you might not get a second chance to tell them..."

He looked sad for a moment and this was deeply impressed into our minds before he brightened again, his expression of sorrow changing into one of joy in an instant, rubbing his hands in delight as we followed him into the bright and cheery kitchen. I couldn't help but wonder if he, himself, had had the same thing happen to him, that he didn't have a chance to tell someone that he loved them before they passed on...

Mrs. Prescott stood by the old fashioned black pot belly stove, heat radiating from it that took off the winter's chill. She was a short and stocky woman, about ninety years of age with a ruddy brown, heart shaped face, wreathed with wrinkles, that gave her a sweet, seraphic expression while her emerald-green eyes sparkled with both mischief and good humor. She wore her snow white hair in a bun at the nape of her neck , dressed in a long white wool dress that swept down in a graceful waterfall down to her ankles, lace at her throat with a cameo brooch pinned over her left breast pocket and wore sensible square-toed shoes with two inch heels that clicked pleasantly against the black-and-white checkered floor tile as she bustled around the kitchen.

She turned and smiled at us, motioning us to sit down which we did, quickly filled two thick mugs with hot apple cider and set it down in front of us.

"Drink up, boys," she said genially, her emerald-green eyes twinkling merrily as poured a mug for both her husband and herself, smiling softly as he came up beside her and planted a gentle kiss on her weathered cheek. "Both Pa and myself are very glad to see you. We don't get many visitors these days so we are mighty glad to have you boys come to visit."

She looked sad for a moment but brightened after a brief moment, giving her head a shake as she walked over to the table and put down the two mugs before she sat down herself across the table from where Miles and I were sitting; we were enjoying our hot drinks with great relish, sighing happily as the hot liquid coursed down our throats which did take off the winter's chill quite nicely.

She arranged herself comfortably in her high backed, mahogany chair with delicately scroll-worked crocheted cushions while her husband took a seat next to her.

"Now," she said, her face wreathed in a bright smile, "you boys relax and enjoy yourselves."

She sounds so much like Grandma Wright, I thought dreamily, basking in the warm room and the cheery fire that was blazing in the hearth, so warm and loving. I swallowed as I remembered the grandmother I'd lost four years earlier. I sure miss her.

Mrs. Prescott reached out and took my hand in hers, squeezing it gently. I shivered at the electric spark I felt when her skin touched mine and wondered again why she reminded me so much of my grandmother. "I'm sure she misses you, too," she said matter-of-factly, "but I'm also sure that she's a lot closer than you think." She smiled again before releasing my hand. "Now, then, why don't you boys tell us about yourselves while I rustle up a snack for us in the kitchen?"

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December 23rd, 2022
Farmer & Mrs. Prescott's Home
10:30 P.M.

For the next two and a half hours, they regaled us with tales of long ago days when they were both young; they talked of their struggles in the early days of their seventy year marriage; they talked of natural disasters, of one kind or another, which had often dogged them and had wiped out their crops two years running and how difficult it was to make ends meet accompanied by the worry that they wouldn't have enough to eat, wondering where their next meal was coming from.

They talked of personal tragedies in the loss of loved ones and children to either disease or accident; they recalled, with great sorrow, of family feuds that had caused them great pain and that had caused divisions in their respective families that still remained; they talked, with gentle tones, of the simple pleasures watching nature in all of its forms, of watching the seasons change and the joyful occasions, be it Christmas, Easter or weddings, that they had celebrated over the years together in the home that they had built with their own hands from materials found on their land; they spoke fondly, and in tender whispers, of holidays spent with family and friends...

They also regaled us, with laughter and more than a little embarrassed amusement and nudging of elbows, of their many misadventures in the long years that they had spent together and, more often than not, both Miles and myself laughed right along with them.

The more they talked, the more I relaxed until both Miles and I, to our surprise, found that we were chatting with Farmer and Mrs. Prescott like we were long lost friends catching up after a twenty year absence. They asked us about ourselves and we spent another hour and a half regaling our gracious guests with tales of our own lives, the good, the bad and the tragic. They were as curious as cats and it was clear that they hadn't had someone visit them in a very long time with the great hunger that they asked us questions about ourselves and our lives.

The devotion and love that they had for each other was very plain to see and, even after all these years, no matter what happened, be it good or bad, they always clung to each other. I also noted that, even when they talked of tragic events, they had held onto each other as tightly as they could, determined to ride out the storm and do it together.

The steadfastness, and depth, of their love for each other deeply impressed both Miles and myself; it was clear that their love and devotion to each other hadn't dimmed at all over the years but, instead, grew brighter, stronger and deeper with the passage of time.

I couldn't help smiling as I watched them as they held hands and giggled together like a couple of courting kids; seeing them, for some reason, made me feel happy and I also noted, with great relief that I'm sure was shared by Miles as well, that I had begun to shed the depression that had held me in its vise-like grip for the past while. I didn't know what, exactly, had prompted the change but I was grateful that it had; I felt like I'd been liberated and I could feel joy once again flooding my being: the joy of Christmas, the joy of being with Miles whom I loved more than life itself and I knew, without having to ask, that he felt the same way I did, the joy of simply being alive, the joy of family and various friends.

It was exhilarating and exciting all at once and I gasped with the depth of emotion that drove down into my very soul, filling me with an indescribable feeling of peace, love and wonder that flowed over me with the force of a tidal wave. I lost myself in the sensation, clutching Miles' hand tightly in my own while my beloved's face shone with unsuppressed joy and happiness; at last, I was free from my prison!

When I came back to myself, I saw Farmer Prescott and his wife looking at me with the tender gaze that I remember my Grandmother Wright had on her face when she held me in her arms when I was an infant. The smiles that they had on their faces made them seem to glow with the intensity of a newborn sun and my breath caught in wonder at the sight of it.

"No matter what life may throw at you, whether it be good or bad, never forget what is truly the most important thing in this life: faith, family, your loved ones and-" here he squeezed his wife's hand tenderly and she looked positively radiant as she looked at him with tender affection and great love - "the one you plan to spend the rest of your life with."

He patted her hand gently and she beamed with undisguised happiness before he looked at us again, his face a curious mix of tenderness and seriousness and, for some weird reason, I had the disconcerting image of him mixed with the face of my father for that was what Farmer Prescott appeared to be: a father gently reminding his children as to what's really important in life.

There's more to Farmer Prescott than meets the eye... I chewed on my lower lip thoughtfully before taking another swallow of my apple cider. I wonder who he really is...

"Always remember that; don't forget it now!" Farmer Prescott said and winked at us once more as he got up to refill our mugs from the pot simmering on the old stove and proceeded to regale us for another hour-and-a-half with more tales of his many adventures here and abroad. It felt very odd but both Miles and myself were really enjoying our visit with the Prescotts and the wonderful tales he told and we were both sorry when the evening at last came to an end.

Miles looked at his watch and was startled to see the time; it was two-thirty in the morning, December twenty-fourth. I was also surprised to see how late it was; time had definitely flown in this case and we both really enjoyed both the gracious hospitality and company.

"I'm sorry to have to see the evening come to an end," Miles said regretfully, looking at his watch again and finishing his mug of cider with one last swallow before he got to his feet, farmer and Mrs. Prescott following suit, "but it's late and we really need to be going." He leaned over the table and took Farmer Prescott's in his own, shaking it warmly which he returned in kind, his wife looking on with a wide smile. "Thank you very much for your help and your hospitality. We really enjoyed your company and our evening."

"You're very welcome, Miles," Farmer Prescott replied with warmth as he released Miles' hand; I rose from the table as he reached out to take mine and shake it, noting that he had a very strong grip for a man his age. "We, Ma and I, really enjoyed your boys' company as well. It was wonderful meeting you both."

"And you both as well," Miles and I chorused; our eyebrows furrowed and we looked at each other with such comical twin expressions on our faces that both the Prescotts couldn't help but laugh and, after a few moments of embarrassed silence, we began to laugh, too.

With a few more handshakes, and a couple of hugs from Mrs. Prescott, later, Farmer Prescott followed us back into the foyer with Mrs. Prescott in close attendance. They watched us in silence as we took our trench-coats and scarves off of their wooden pegs, put them on, reached into our pockets to extract our gloves and bent over to pick up our boots, quickly stepping into them. All the while, as they both stood there, I couldn't help but feel that odd sensation of familiarity, the overwhelming feeling that I knew these people somehow and that neither of them were strangers to me that I'd only just met.

I shrugged it off but was puzzled when, once I'd straightened up, I saw their faces looking at me with such warmth and love that it took my breath away. There was something else that seemed familiar, the twin expressions of warmth that they were both wearing were identical in their intensity and I found myself wracking my brain to think of exactly where, and when, I'd seen these expressions before. And on whom.

I gave my head a little shake to clear it of the cobwebs of thought that were nestling in the back of my mind and resolving to get to the bottom of the mystery once we got home. For now, I pushed all these questioning thoughts aside and joined Miles in once again thanking the Prescotts for their kindness to us, and the wonderful evening we'd spent with them. We also said that, if they were in the area at some point, that we would be more than happy to return the favor and it would be our distinct pleasure to invite them to our home. They both blushed with pleasure and accepted the invitation to come and see us, if they ever were in the area.

They both saw us to the door and reminded us not to forget to take our tree home, shook our hands-with Mrs. Prescott giving us both warm hugs-and wished us both a Merry Christmas, which we warmly returned before we turned, opened the door and stepped out into the frigid night, filled with warmth and a generous helping of the Christmas spirit. The last thing we saw before we turned and began to walk down the steps were Farmer and Mrs. Prescott standing there in the open doorway as they watched us walk down the steps and reach the sidewalk that lead to the creaky gate, a gentle snow beginning to fall.

As we proceeded forward, I once again had that peculiar feeling of different and there was something about them that struck me as odd and that was the clothing that both Prescotts were wearing; it simply didn't fit in with the current fashion now but it looked, for some strange reason, to be much older.

I frowned slightly but shrugged as I walked slowly down the sidewalk with Miles beside me. What did it matter, really, when the kindness of two mysterious people, who were obviously connected to me somehow by ties I wasn't yet aware of, had freed me from the gloom that had threatened to overwhelm me? In all the hurry and busyness of Christmas, I'd forgotten the most important thing: that Christmas is a time for love, for family and friends, for our loved ones and for miracles.

I'd certainly had them all this evening and I felt happy and at peace... except for that nagging thought in the back of my head that I knew them somehow and they knew me but I couldn't quite make the connection as to how. Nevertheless, I was very grateful to them for taking a lost soul under their wing and helping him to find his way again.

As I stood there in silence contemplating these thoughts, I don't know exactly what it was that compelled me to turn around at that moment but I did, my eyes widening at what I saw. Both farmer and Mrs. Prescott were glowing, literally, with a white light that progressively grew brighter as I stood there in shocked surprise. It shone brightly and pulsed with life around them and, as I stared, astonished at the scene unraveling in front of me, both Prescotts lifted their hands which were already beginning to dissolve into snowflake-like points of light.

Miles chattered away, oblivious to the situation unfolding and kept walking while I stood like a statue, my feet rooted to the spot as I saw that less and less of the Prescotts were visible and were slowly turning into points of light that grew brighter with each passing second. Shortly before they disappeared, they mouthed, 'Merry Christmas, Phoenix. It was good to see you. We haven't been here for a very long time...' and then, in a blaze of blinding light, they, and the house behind them, vanished. As I looked on in stunned amazement and unspeakable wonder, darkness once more enfolded the ruins of a cellar, and the crumbling foundation, which were the only things that remained of the farmhouse that we had seen, and been in, this evening.

I practically flew out of the gate, and the dingy wishing well that still remained in its lonely post, and scrambled to catch up to Miles who was still walking obliviously ahead, talking as if I were there and I hurried to catch up. I heard Miles draw in his breath and I looked at him, following his surprised eyes upward to see my second surprise of the early morning: snow falling gently to earth and I gasped as I saw it.

We haven't had snow here in twenty years or more... I thought, my mouth quirking into a smile as I felt Miles take my hand again, his eyes glistening with love as he turned to face me. This is indeed a night of miracles!

He pulled me to him and I fell into his arms as he lowered his head, tenderly pressing his mouth against mine, my arms slowly lifting to wind themselves around his neck, my mouth smiling under his as we deepened the kiss. For many wonderful moments, time stood still as we embraced in the moonlit night, snow falling silently to the ground around us.

We parted, Miles' nose rubbing against mine and I giggled like a schoolboy with giddy wonder and delight and rubbed my nose against his with flourish which made him nearly burst at the seams with joy.

"I love you, Phoenix," he said, his arms tightening around me as he held me close against him, "more than anyone else in the world."

"I love you, too, Miles," I replied, resting my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes, my heart brimming with happiness, "more than I can ever hope to say to you in words."

I heard him sigh with happiness while we stood there in silence, enjoying our closeness and the snow that fell steadily, covering the ground in a soft, white blanket; I could feel his hand press against my back and I snuggled close, my mouth wreathed in a soft, happy smile.

After some time had passed, we reluctantly stepped apart and turned to leave; I happened to glance over in the direction of the house and was momentarily startled to see that there was nothing there... except the ruins of what had once been a cellar and the crumbling brick foundation on which the farmhouse had once stood.

I blinked a couple of times and looked again to make sure that I was seeing what my eyes told me I was seeing before a slow, mischievous grin spread over my face.

I knew that there was something otherworldly about them... and I was right! I chewed my lip thoughtfully as Miles, taking my hand in his, pivoted and started walking to where we had parked the pickup truck. But, I suspect, there's more to the story than that; there's still the question of why they feel so familiar and what, exactly, is the reason that they do?

I looked briefly at the ruins once more, smiled as we walked along and sent up a silent thank you to Farmer and Mrs. Prescott for helping me to remember not only the joy of the season but what really mattered most in this life: faith, friends, family and loved ones.

Thank you, Farmer and Mrs. Prescott. Thank you.

::You're welcome, beloved great-great-great grandson,:: two bright, cheery voices said softly in my ear, the words brimming with love and warmth.

Great-great-great-grandson? I nearly jumped a foot, giving an undignified squeak that earned me an odd look from Miles who had stopped walking and was looking at me, his expression one of surprise. I started to shake as the realization of just who these people were... and how I knew them.

They're... family... They're my maternal great-great-great-grandparents! But... they died one hundred years ago! How could they have possibly...?

"Are you all right?" Miles asked, noting the stunned expression on my face. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

I think I have!

"Miles," I blurted, my voice trembling with emotion, trying to get my jumbled thoughts into some kind of coherent order although it was difficult to do when they were tumbling over one another at lightning speed. "Farmer and Mrs. Prescott... they're... you see, I do know them... and … and they're..."

Miles looked at me, his eyes narrowing.

"You... know them?" he asked incredulously, stopping a short distance from the pickup, his voice echoing his skepticism. "Phoenix, how could you know them? We'd only just met them tonight!"

I lifted up my hands. "I know it sounds crazy, but I'm telling the truth. I know these people!"

Miles raised his eyebrow.

He chuckled, asking in a teasing tone of voice, "You know them... how? Are they relatives of yours?"

I knew that he had meant it as a joke but I nodded briskly just the same.

"They're my maternal great-great-great grandparents," I explained while Miles gave me an incredulous look, his eyebrow raising. "I heard stories of about them from my great-grandparents. Apparently, they died in a house fire December 23rd, 1922 in an attempt to rescue one of their infant grandchildren who was still inside after a fire started in the kitchen from a kerosene lamp that had been accidentally knocked over. They didn't make it out although they managed to push the little one out of a hole in the side of the house to safety just before the roof collapsed, burying them in the debris." I shook my head as all the stories I'd heard came back in a wave of remembrance, my head spinning. "After they managed to finally put the fire out, I'm told that they were found in the kitchen by the fireplace underneath the rubble of the roof, clasped in each others' arms... " What great love they had, not only for each other but for their grandchild, sacrificing their lives to save his... "I know it sounds crazy but the people we met tonight are my deceased great-great-great grandparents!" My eyes glistened. "It's been so long since they passed that I'd forgotten about them..."

But they didn't forget about me... and came when I needed them most even if I wasn't aware that I did need them. My heart swelled with emotion at the realization, my eyes misting. It really is humbling when you think about it...

Miles shook his head and started walking again, snow crunching under his boots and muttering something under his breath about 'Christmas spooks... ridiculous!' I grinned crookedly as I followed him, shaking my head.

I knew that Miles was having a hard time coming to terms with the concept and I held my peace; there really wasn't anything that I could really say to convince him otherwise and decided to just let the matter rest. Besides, I knew what had happened and it warmed to my very core that two members of my family, even though they had long passed out of this world many years earlier, were still watching over me even now and came to offer their love, comfort and kindness when I need it most.

We reached the pickup and, with my hand on the truck's handle, I turned around once again and was surprised, but very happy, to see the faint, shimmering outlines of my great grandparents materialize three feet from where I stood.

I drew in my breath sharply which caused Miles to look over the hood at me and noticed that I was looking intently at something.

"What are you looking at?" he asked as he put the key in the lock and unlocked it, opening the door.

I was about to say something but stopped when I realized what is was that he had just asked: what are you looking at? Which meant...

He can't see them. I looked over and saw them standing there, my great-grandfather's arm holding my great-grandmother close, brilliant smiles on their faces.

"Phoenix?" Miles asked, concerned about the distant look he saw on my face while I stared off into the distance, a sweet, seraphic smile on my face. "Phoenix?"

He can't see them... but I can. I wonder why he can't see them...?

"PHOENIX!"

"WHAT?" Brought back rather forcefully to the present, I jumped, startled, a loud oath emerging from my lips before I had a chance to stop it as I fell against the door of the pickup, my breath coming in short, ragged pants. I stayed that way for a few minutes while I waited for my heart to return to its proper place in my chest after it's impromptu trip into my throat.

"I said, for the third time, are you all right?" He looked at me critically for a few moments as he opened the door, slid in and leaned over the seat, unlocking the door for me. "You were obviously very interested in something and you had such a strange, distant look on your face that I was getting worried."

I stood up straight, taking a deep breath before I looked over my shoulder again; they were still there, motes of light ebbing and flowing with the wind, the same beatific expressions on their faces. I smiled as I stepped inside and sat down, shutting the door behind me, chuckling at the look on Miles' face. He looked sourly at me, rolling his eyes as he put the key in the ignition and twisted it.

"I'm all right, Miles," I said happily, looking out of the window briefly before I turned my head to look at him. "In fact, I've never been more right in my life!"

He made no comment to that-though I swore I could hear the wheels turning in his head with a variety of pithy responses-as the truck roared into life. He turned his head to look out of the back window over his shoulder and started to back up; he took a last look around to make sure that there wasn't anything that he would run into with the exception of the ruins of a cellar and brick foundation a short distance away and gently eased the truck onto the highway.

::Merry Christmas, beloved, and all the best to you in the years to come. We wish you and Miles all the happiness in the world...::

Merry Christmas. And thanks.

::It was our pleasure. Take good care of Miles, now.::

I will. I promise.

And I firmly intended to keep that promise... for the rest of our lives.

I smiled softly as I watched the scenery passing by the window, snow falling all around us in thick sheets as we slowly made our way home, Miles squinting as he peered out into the snowy darkness while I dreamed of hot chocolate in front of the fireplace and tree trimming as we drove toward home. Our home.

Yes, it's going to be a wonderful Christmas.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Deserted Lot
Twelve miles east of Los Angeles
December 24th, 2022
4 A.M.

A short distance away, two shimmering figures watched as the pickup slowly made its way down the highway until it was lost to sight, swallowed up by the dark, snowy night.

::I'm a little worried, Pa... do you think they'll be all right:: she asked anxiously as she looked at her husband before her gaze returned to the empty road, snowflakes swirling thickly through the air.

He nodded ::They will be,:: he replied, smiling reassuringly at her as he gently smoothed down a loose wisp of hair that had worked itself free. ::The boy's a Wright and we Prescotts, and Wrights, tend to stick together.:: He paused a moment before continuing, ::Don't worry about them; they'll make it through.:: He hugged her close and she smiled, closing her eyes and leaning her head on his shoulder. ::They have each other to lean on when they need to.::

He looked off into the distance, his lips curling into a fond smile. ::There is great love between them, Ma, and it is that love that will give them the strength they will need in the years yet to come. They'll be all right; the boys have each other and that's what is really important. Besides- :: he grinned roguishly at her while she laughed, gently cuffing his shoulder - ::we'll be watching over them to make sure that no harm comes to them so we really don't have anything to worry about. It will be a pleasure watching them both as they make a life together.:: He looked wistfully around the acerage that had once been their home and tree farm, his eyes misting as he remembered. ::It's been far too long since we were in the world, Ma, and a lot has changed but it's nice to see that some things, like faith, family and love, haven't.::

She nodded, leaning in closer to him. ::It will indeed and you're right: it is nice to see that some things, at least, haven't changed...

They stood together for a long time after in silence, holding each other close and enjoying the snow as it continued to fall, the wind picking up and blowing the snowflakes every which way as they fell in a thick, winding sheet.

::It's time to go, Ma,:: Farmer Prescott said gently and she acquiesced with a smile as he held her for awhile longer.

::Yes, I suppose it is...:: she said wistfully, looking at the ruins at was once their home behind her, her eyes sparkling with the memories of many years ago. ::It's been so long...::

They stood in companionable silence for some time before he broke it.

::It was wonderful to see Phoenix for the first time and to meet his partner, Miles.::

::Yes, it was.:: She hugged him. ::I was glad that we were finally able to meet both of them and Miles, in particular. They're both wonderful men and Miles is a perfect match for our dear Phoenix.::

He nodded.

::Undoubtedly.:: He drew her close to him once more and planted a tender kiss on the top of her head, rocking slowly from side to side. ::Merry Christmas Eve day, darling.::

::Merry Christmas Eve day, sweetheart,:: she replied, burrowing her face in his neck. ::I love you.::

::I love you, too.::

As one, they turned toward the ruins and, with a last, long filial look over their shoulders at the stretch of empty road and a last fervent wish, they slowly faded from sight, the ruins, and the two crumbling, fading headstones that stood behind the foundation were all that remained as silent witnesses as to the events that had occurred.

The snow continued to fall as silence reclaimed what was rightfully its due and history faded in the dark night.

~FIN~