THE SONG IN MY HEART

It had been a couple of weeks since that Christmas Eve night when my whole life had changed, and now I had a newly adopted daughter to look after, and my business had finally closed down for good.

Elizabeth Smith, the girl who was the volcano to the blizzard in my heart, had melted it, along with various other factors, including my former employee's youngest son Tiny Tim. I had learned all about her painful past, as she had learned about mine.

We were similar when it came to the dark pasts that haunted us, but the way we handled  it was very much different. While I became a blizzard—cold, hard and emotionless, she became a volcano—hot, intense and emotional.

After dining with Fred (finally) that Christmas night, she had fallen into a deep sleep on my bed as soon as she bathed and dressed into her sleepwear. I could not, at least not yet. I just simply watched my new daughter sleep, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, her red curly hair strewn about her and framing her beautiful freckle adorned pale face, her eyes as blue as the sky were closed. I smiled at the memory.

Now, Liza was ill, running a cold and fever, and I was now getting some medicine for her. As soon as I bought the medicine, I hurried back home. As soon as I came back, Liza was in the throes of a feverish nightmare, clutching the sheets and sobbing.

"Don't, please—I don't—no! Please don't take me, please!" Liza feverishly sobbed.

I knew who she had nightmares about. That Christmas Eve night, she had told me much about those three awful sets of foster parents who would abuse her, and threaten to kill her. Just last week, they had tried to abduct her, seeing that she was with me now, and they had tried again a few days ago. They broke into my house, and it was then I used the fire poker to defend myself and her. The authorities locked them all up, charged them with breaking in and premeditated murder, and sentenced them all to death by boiling, but I was still very wary of leaving Liza alone while I went out to get medicine, so as soon as he could, I had sent one of Liza's friends from the orphanage to go to my former employee Bob Cratchit, and have him come over to my house and watch her while I went out.

After taking my coat and hat off, I immediately came to her side and gently woke her. I thanked Bob as he went out and back home to his family.

"Shh, I'm here, Liza. No one will hurt you." I calmed her.

"Papa," she said weakly and in relief.

A lump caught in my throat as I caressed her curly hair and kissed her hot forehead. I hated to see her suffer. Getting my bearings, I got the medicine from my pocket, and had her take it.

I cleaned myself and changed into sleepwear, and joined Liza in bed, the fireplace crackling the only sound. Sensing another nightmare looming from the way she shook with fear, I gathered my girl into my arms as I thought of another way to calm her.

My mother would often sing to me when I was feverish or having nightmares. So I sang a lullaby that my mother sang to me as a child.

Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleep my little baby.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little horses.
Black and bays, dapples, grays,
All the pretty little horses.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleep my little baby.
Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,
Go to sleep my little baby.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little horses.

Liza's eyelids fluttered closed as I smoothed her hair away from her face, and her breathing calmed as I sang softly. She nestled into me, curled up like a cat, her head against my heart.

Pretty soon, I had fallen asleep to the crackle of the fireplace, still holding my child as we both rested in peaceful sleep, undisturbed.