I walked around to the side of the house, afraid that the next light to go on would be on the second floor, but I was wrong. The child had a ground-floor bedroom.

I watched her change into red pajamas, her round little tummy smooth as a drum above the little red-and-white underpants. I saw her mother come in and together they knelt by the side of the bed and said prayers, then the little one crawled into bed while the mother read a story.

I stood outside, feet firmly planted in the snow, fingers gripping the outside edge of the windowsill, and watched. I watched the love and joy transpire between them, knew the child was well nourished, and my impatience grew.

At last the mother kissed the child, turned out the light, and left the room. I began to examine the framework of the windows.

The outside was a storm window, held on by little screw-in catches. I thumbed them down and lifted the window to the ground. The inside window was locked, so I began the music, quietly, gently.

Within a few moments, the child opened her eyes, and I spun for her the music of a circus, of Mommy’s approval, of excitement and fun, a special treat for being such a marvelous little girl. She came right out of bed and over to the window, then had to go back for a little chair to stand on in order to reach the catch. She wrestled with it. Her little cherub face grimaced with the strain, then she smiled as the half moon slid around.

I opened the window, and she looked at me with huge brown eyes. “Is it true?” she whispered with a tiny lisp, and when I nodded, she got off her chair and toddled back to her bed. She pulled the dark green blanket from the bed and held it up to her face—thumb securely in her mouth—and padded again to the window. She regarded me for a solemn moment, then released her thumb and held her hands up to me. I lifted her out the window and closed it.

This was the warmth that my body required. I sat with my back to her house and hugged her tinyness to me, wrapping her dark blanket around us both. I continued the music for her, weaving a magic spell, taking her to the circus, the carnival, safe and happy, and she, with thumb in mouth, giggled gently against my chest.