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She sat in the chair, telling her daughter that her father was safe. "He couldn't make it back because of the storm," she said. "He sent you a card. Do you want to know what it says?"

She reached over and looked at the card, post-marked from Tennessee. The storm had hit that state just as bad as it had in 1993, and her husband was lucky to get the cards in the mail just before everything shut down. It was a lovely painting depicting the passage from Isaiah about the wolf and the lamb. She gazed at the picture a moment before opening it up to read his note to Gabriella.

"'Merry Christmas, Gabby,'" she read. "'Hope you're feeling better. It's hard to be here when you're going in, but I know your mother will be working extra hard to make up for me. Everyone here's a little jumpy about the storm; they're all remembering the last big one. I left the airport and booked a room nearby because the only thing still getting out of here is mail and, soon, a whole heck of a lot of snow. We'll be together as soon as I can find a plane, train, or anything else to bring me back. When you're fixed up, I hope it's still in time to enjoy all of the snow we're going to be getting. I know you're not a little kid anymore, but you and I both know how much fun it would be to get out there and build a snow fort. Lots of love, Dad.'"

She looked down at a movement, and saw her daughter's hand clench the sheet for a minute. She put her hand on top of it and smiled. "I'll tell him you said you love him too."

God rest ye merry, gentlemen...

Too little time.

The snow was still too thick. Nothing could help it; for my sake, for the sake of the dogs, we had to go slow. First rule of rescue: the rescuer can't turn into the one needing rescue.

Let nothing you dismay...

Too little time.

Somewhere to my right, I would be seeing the Frankenstein Trestle, if the storm had not enveloped me in a pocket that was now making Odin and Freyja wraiths at the head of the team.

Remember Christ our Savior...

Too little time.

Nine thirty and I passed a sign: Sawyer River Road. I had only gotten that far? Well, that was a few towns away; I was nearly in Bartlett. But how much longer would it take me? I chased the thoughts away. The heart was still good, but that six hours maximum came with a four hour minimum. It could lose its usefulness, and the thought of something so special becoming useless... I chased that thought away.

Was born to us this day...

Too little time.

The harnesses snapped tight as I felt the sled jerk. "Oh God, Odin spooked." I felt stupid just after muttering that, assuming something like that from one of the dogs. I shook my head and shouted out, "Létta!" Stop!

They didn't stop. Instead, I felt the sled lurch forward, glide straight down the road with purpose. I looked along the backs of the dogs, every one of them arching and bowing as they continued to build their speed. Each head focused straight forward. No confusion, no panic, no indication that the lead or any other dog was spooked. They went on with a single drive, swerving around a downed tree I had not even noticed, their control not wavering in the least.

My eyes searched for the leads, the snow growing thicker showing only their silhouettes now. I could not make out details, but they seemed as focused as the others. The sled skirted more debris, picked up speed. I didn't know what to do at that point, and decided the only option open to me was to hold on tight.

And pray.

"Gabby?" God, she wanted to hear her daughter's voice. But the sedatives were keeping her asleep or just at its edge. They kept her heart as steady as they could, waiting for relief that may never come. "Honey, it's snowing. Hold in there, okay? When it's over Daddy's going to be coming home and the doctors might have a heart for you. Or they might be able to get this one working again. Experts could come in, baby. Hold..."

She couldn't talk anymore, and just held her daughter's hand. If she talked anymore, Gabriella would hear the quiver in her voice. She couldn't cry. Not when this girl needed her mother's strength.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy...

Wind was blowing differently now, just enough to reveal Odin and Freyja as more than fleeting ghosts in the shadows ahead. I couldn't tell, but there was something ahead. My eyes registered... light. Snow, lack of sleep, silence, and isolation did things on the Iditarod. I heard things, I saw shapes, and others always talked about their minds playing tricks from all the effort. I mused that the dogs probably kept their wits about them better than the humans. But this was different from mind-tricks. It was different from needing a good night's rest and maybe some conversation.

Something was up there, ahead of Odin and Freyja.

I was so focused I barely perceived our passage through Glen; the Storybook Inn and Dairy Queen at the intersection were invisible to me. I gave up trying to glance down at my watch, both because I needed all the energy to hang on, and because I was not willing to start counting down the minutes before everything I was doing became a vain, near-suicidal madman's race. I peered into the whirling snow just ahead of the dogs, trying to flesh out the mystery.

It provided a decent distraction from the thought that one wrong move would end this wild ride in an instant. Another tree in the road given a wide berth, a supernatural premonition on the team's part, and the sled veered south again. The turn was hard, but the dogs kept control. Without my GPS, I tried to guess where that had placed us. I knew the path was going to take us south once again, and stay that way up to the hospital's entrance. But how far was that?

I put it away. Some time later, I don't know how long, we made another slight turn, a mild swing to the right. My attention was once again focused on the -- whatever -- ahead of the team. As we went on, snow cleared a little more, and I began to make out details. It looked like a small animal was running ahead of the dogs. More than just its light coloring, it seemed to have something of a glow to it. I made out a small head pressed forward, much like the dogs, ears upright and alert. As I tried to make more of it, the animal veered off to the left, Odin and Freyja following suit, Baldur and Skadi behaving just as if I had shouted the command. I saw the van, stranded in the break-down lane a few moments later.

So close to the derelict vehicle, I was able to estimate our speed, and instantly wished I hadn't. It seemed like the team was pushing twenty, maybe twenty-five miles per hour. I chalked my estimate up to the speed of the snow, and gave a moment's worry to anyone who may have still been in the van. It left when I tried barking the halt command again, and getting the same response as before. Far from believing I had been mutinied upon, I decided that they would have stopped if they sensed trouble. Considering this almost clairvoyant creature they seemed to be following was able to predict obstacles that would have otherwise killed me, I went on that theory.

Another wide turn to the right, and then following the soft curve of the road back to the left, and I gave up trying to identify what it was. I still wasn't writing it off as illusion; the dogs were reacting. They followed it, for whatever reason, and I wasn't about to say a vivid hallucination had saved me four times now from collision with debris. The sled turned left, hard, and I saw a hill ahead of us. I could almost make out a building and lights.

I was in denial when, mounting the hill, the team and sled pulled into the parking lot of Memorial Hospital. They stopped. I looked down, finally, at my wrist. Just minutes shy of ten thirty, about four hours after I started. My brain was still trying to tell me I wasn't there, but my body had already taken over. Hands released the bungee cords, taking care to retrieve the picture of Faye before it fell into the snow. Cooler in one hand, I doffed the glove off of the other and unzipped my jacket pocket, pulling out the papers. My legs began to carry me, all the while a voice inside rattling off calculations of speed and time, trying desperately to convince me it was impossible to be here already.

A man, just as mystified as my inner logic, came through the doors at a half-jog. My eyes took in the name tag: Dr. Wesley Gates. I presented without a word the cooler and the paperwork. Taking the latter, he ushered me inside with a muttered, "Crazy sunuva..." Raising his voice, he called a nurse and gestured to the cooler in my hand. "Get it checked out, and start prepping Gabby, stat!"

I released the cooler into the nurse's waiting hands. With its weight gone from my hand, the warmth of the heated lobby, and the sounds of wind replaced by the now-familiar hospital din, my mind was forced to accept where I was. I turned and looked back out the sliding doors to the dogs. Winded, but all in good shape, they gazed back at me through the glass. "Doctor," I said, stopping him for one moment, "how many dogs are out there?"

He looked like he was about to ignore the question, but thought twice about it and quickly did a head-count. "Ten, sir. Mark! Get him checked out; just make sure his core's a good temperature." He started off, then called back, "Oh, and help him with the dogs if he checks out."

As a male nurse walked up to usher me down the hall, I looked back at the dogs. Funny, but I was counting eleven. It was the puppy, sitting right in front of Odin and Freyja. The gray, almost silver coat shimmered just a little bit and warm, intense eyes followed me until I passed out of sight. Maybe I should ask for a CAT scan while I'm here, I thought.

No doubt half of them think I need one already.

"We thought you were crazy until I saw the name 'Whelan,'" Doctor Gates said. "I just can't understand how you could bring yourself to... well..."

"Few people get to say goodbye like I did," I replied. "The heart was still good?"

"Better than good," he replied. "You clocked in at around four and a half hours, and four's the minimum. We had to do a quick check for ischemia -- that's when too much time passes without blood and the organ itself dies out -- but her heart was perfect. The transplant was the first thing in a long time that's gone down without complications. If there was a miracle tonight, I'll vote that as the candidate."

I laughed, looking out the doors at the team, moved now to a more sheltered area near the building. I counted ten now, but kept my earlier count secret. No matter; I had my candidate for a miracle. "Wherever you can put the dogs up, they're even used to roughing it out there." I grinned, adding, "Give me a tent and sleeping bag and so am I."

"You deserve at least a sofa and a fireplace," a woman said, walking up to the two of us with a cup of coffee in one hand. "All of you." She extended her free hand. "Julia Agnelli. I'm the young lady's aunt. I live close enough for you to bring them inside and get warmed up. And it's the least I can do." She leaned in closer, adding, "Listen, this is a hospital, and hospital food is good for you. You know what that means." She made a gagging motion with her finger. "I can char you up -- I mean cook you up something nice for breakfast."

I smiled, debating whether or not to gratefully decline. But then again, having enough extended stays at the hospital, I knew she spoke the truth. As pleased as my doctor was with my improved nutrition and weight, bacon and eggs would be heavenly. I nodded. "Just be careful," I added with a toss of the head to the dogs. "Spoil them and they own you."

"Ugh..." Gabriella opened her eyes and winced. "Mom? Mom, I don't feel --"

"Shh-shh..." Francesca hushed her daughter. "Your chest is going to be a little sore. The ribcage has to heal. Don't worry; I've got lots of good news for you. Your dad pulled every string he could and got out before the storm. He made it to Conway Village early last night and he's got a friend bringing him on his snowmobile later this morning."

"I'm... not in my room..."

"It's the ICU. They took you here to recover, baby," she replied. "It's early Christmas morning, but, Gabby..." She laid a hand on her daughter's chest. "You got an early present last night."

Gabriella was silent for a minute as the words sunk in. Her face lit up and tears came to her eyes. Francesca leaned in to hug her daughter, gazing at the small laminated photograph the doctor had taped to the side of one of the monitors. Looking at the face beaming from the picture, she rubbed a tear off on her shoulder and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

The sun wasn't up yet that morning. The fire was still going strong in the living room; Julia must have come by while I was asleep and added another log. All ten dogs were inside, sleeping in two pairs and two groups of three -- their normal arrangement. Odin was awake, his head still down but his eyes open and looking at me. His tail thumped the floor as my eyes began to focus. I was startled then by the small hand scratching him gently behind one ear.

Following the hand up the arm, I saw a young boy in what looked like gray-white bedclothes sitting next to the dog, patting him with a radiant smile on his face. As if aware I was awake before looking, he whispered, "Good morning," to me as he turned, casting the smile and two glittering blue eyes on me, adding, "Merry Christmas."

My mind tried to work out what I was seeing. Julia and I had talked a little on the way to her house, and I knew she had no children. After her ex husband realized she couldn't, he left her after a hurried divorce and never spoke to her again. Adoption for a single person was even more of a daunting challenge than for married couples, so she was left by herself. Whose child sat before the fireplace was a mystery, but Odin had no problem letting the boy near him. Of course, find the right spot just behind the ears on the old softy, and you could be robbing the place blind. I looked at the boy another minute, and the words came out unbidden. "You... have my eyes."

The boy laughed, almost familiar, almost like Faye's. I had to still be half asleep, half dreaming. He stood and as my eyes drifted closed again, I felt two small arms wrap tight around my shoulders and heard a whisper in my ear. My eyes snapped open and no one was there. I sat up straight, the whisper repeating in my mind. A gust of wind passed, rattling the window near the front door, and I walked over and peered out. Small, canine footprints showed in the growing light, leading from the door, new enough to be untouched by the wind.

I looked at them as the wind erased their existence. "Love you..." the voice had whispered.

"Daddy," I said, completing the sentence from my memory.

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