She clutched her sweater tight against the wind. The snow blew into her face, leaving tiny crystals sparkling in her hair. Her fingers and toes were numb. Still she stumbled on along the brick walkway along the street wondering if anyone would be kind enough to give her shelter.

A door opened just ahead. Light poured upon the icy bricks and a burst of warm air called to her.

A tall gentleman in top hat, black coat, boots and gloves closed the door behind him, turned an nearly ran her down. “My goodness, what are you doing wandering about in this weather without a coat?”

She looked up into blue-gray eyes. She saw no animosity or judgement there.

“Please Sir, I have no shelter and no clothes but what I’m wearin’.”

“Well, you’ll catch your death out here. Hurry, let’s get you where it’s warm.”

He reopened the door from which he had just come and ushered her inside. The first thing she noticed was the roaring fire in the fireplace and she rushed toward it and stood before it rubbing her hands together.

Her stomach began to grumble as the aroma of apples and cinnamon teased her nose.

“What’s this? A ragamuffin?”

“Now, Mrs. Kettering, do be kind and get this poor girl cleaned up and dressed in something more suitable to wear, give her a good, warm meal and she shall spend the night in the guest room. We shall determine what more to do about her in the morning.”

With that, the man once again exited the warm home, leaving her alone with Mrs. Kettering.

“Well, come along then. I’ll run you a nice warm bath, get you some clean, thick clothes and then feed you good and proper. What’s your name, dearie?”

“Blessing, mum.”

“Blessing? Well, glory be, don’t that beat all?”