Elizabeth sat gripping the wheel of her car, oblivious to everything except the fierce argument she was waging with herself. It started this morning, in the kitchen of her apartment, and continued unabated during the trip to the cottage. Mr. Smith hadn't called, hadn't contacted the office at all, yet here she was again, less than 24 hours later; this time uninvited and completely unexpected. And if she thought he had been unwelcoming yesterday, he was going to throw her out today, she was certain of it.

But she had already made the drive. The passenger side of her car was piled with packages, and as she peered through the windshield, she saw a figure making its way toward her isolated parking spot. Fine, then. The weather had cleared, although it was still cold, and a nice walk in the brisk air would be pleasant. And she would keep telling herself that even when she was turned away from the door.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Allie shouted happily as soon as she was within distance.

"Hello, Allie!" She waved and then turned to wrench open the car door. She stared at the mound of items teetering on the seat. It hadn't seemed like that much when she left, but it was a fair walk to the cottage. Could she manage everything?

"What do you have there?" Allie asked, moving beside Elizabeth and looking everything over with curiosity.

"Oh, nothing much. A few things I thought you might like while you're not feeling well." She rearranged the shifting packages in her arms. "Speaking of which, are you sure you're supposed to be outside?" Allie was certainly bundled up snugly enough in an overlarge coat, with a long silver and grey scarf twined around her neck, but she was surprised Mr. Smith had allowed her out of the cottage even at that.

"I'm better now," Allie said. "I took my medicine right after you left yesterday."

"Well, good for you," she said. "It certainly seems to have done the trick."

Elizabeth had always heard children were resilient and Allie was proof of that, skipping along beside her, full of energy, her eyes bright. Allie kept up a running commentary as they walked, but would occasionally dart off the path, crouching to study the ground, sometimes reaching out a hand to strip leaves from a plant or digging in the ground to unearth a root. Everything Allie gathered she placed carefully into a small bag in her pocket.

"I usually go out collecting with daddy on Saturday mornings," Allie explained as they neared the cottage. "But he said he was too tired today."

"Is that what you're doing?" Elizabeth asked. "Collecting?"

But Allie ignored her question as she took off at a run. "I'll tell daddy you're here," she called over her shoulder.

"No, Allie, wait..!" Elizabeth said, panic rising.

Excellent. There went her plan to drop everything on the doorstep and run back to her car. Now there was no other choice but to keep walking. As the distance to the cottage grew shorter, she felt her feet beginning to drag even as her mind raced to formulate some excuse for her return visit.

In her enthusiasm, Allie had left the front door wide open and as Elizabeth stepped up to the small porch, she could see Mr. Smith on the couch with Allie at his side. He was inspecting the contents of the bag she had presented to him and his face reflected obvious pride as he let one hand trail down the back of Allie's head.

Allie was leaning into his shoulder and Elizabeth knew the exact moment he was informed of her presence because his smile faded and he passed a hand wearily over his eyes before straightening slowly.

"Hi," she said as he approached the door. It felt like her arms were going to drop off as she waggled the fingers of one hand in a friendly greeting. Then she cringed at his disapproving look.

Oh god. Too informal. Get a grip, Lizzie.

"Uhm, hello. I'm sorry for dropping by like this, but I was, uh, worried about Allie, and.." Elizabeth trailed off again. She could remember few times in her life when she had felt so completely foolish, standing just inside the doorway of their cottage, Allie beaming at her, looking well and healthy. She certainly couldn't pretend that she had forgotten something yesterday, not as laden as she was with containers of soup and a box of cookies.

This morning, working in her kitchen with the memory of Allie's dark, solemn eyes haunting her, it seemed the right thing to do, but now...oh lord, she had made assumptions; dangerous ones, judging by Mr. Smith's expression. She hadn't meant to suggest he couldn't care for his daughter, not at all. He wasn't going to help her out a bit. Just like yesterday, he was going to remain silent and let her make a fool of herself.

"I'm Elizabeth, by the way," she said. She was nothing if not persistent. "I don't think I ever did introduce myself properly yesterday."

And there it was. Just a slight quirk of his eyebrow, but her face colored immediately in embarrassment. How could he manage to make her feel so ridiculous without even saying a word?

"Anyway. I know Allie's feeling better, so if you don't mind, I'll just leave these things with you and be on my way."

He was torn. Had it not been for Allie, she would have already had the door closed in her face, she could see it in his eyes, but he had a definite soft spot when it came to his daughter. After another moment's hesitation, he stood back graciously from the doorway and indicated she should come inside. At this, Allie rushed forward and took her by one arm.

"You can put everything on the table there," Allie said, pointing into the adjoining room. "And I'll hang up your coat." Elizabeth froze. She didn't dare go anywhere in his house without his express permission, but Allie was already pulling her towards the kitchen. Elizabeth gratefully set the packages down, prepared to immediately return to the sitting room, but Mr. Smith had entered after her and was busying himself at the counter, which gave her a moment to look around.

There was a small desk near the window and in a stand on the desktop was...a feather quill? Perhaps it was one of those novelty pens? But he didn't seem the type for frivolities and when Elizabeth spotted the ink well nearby, she knew he must actually use a quill for writing. It made sense, really. Parchment scrolls, feather quills. He was formal and a bit old-fashioned...about everything.

It was completely silent in the kitchen and Elizabeth began talking out of sheer nervousness.

"I brought chicken soup," she said to his back. "Supposed to be good for colds; not that Allie needs it now. Anyway, it's easy enough to reheat, and these containers can go straight from the refrigerator to the microwave..." But as she stared around their tiny kitchen, there was no microwave that she could see. As a matter of fact, with the exception of a wood burning stove in the corner, there were no appliances of any sort. Brilliant. If he hadn't already thought she was an idiot, he most certainly did now.

Elizabeth had to nearly bite her tongue to keep from babbling to fill the awkward silence and instead lifted the lid of one of the boxes as he walked over to her. "Sugar cookies," she said, showing him the contents. "I didn't know what Allie liked." She was encouraged when the atmosphere seemed to thaw a bit and he nodded with a polite smile on his face.

"Miss Elizabeth," Allie said, entering the kitchen, holding out a neatly folded handkerchief. "I thought you might want this back." Noticing her hesitation, Allie added quickly, "I washed it."

"And a very nice job you did, too," Elizabeth assured her. "But I'd like you to keep it. I even brought you a few more." She withdrew a neat stack of hankies from her pocket. This morning she had chosen the frilliest, most delicate ones she could find, hoping that Allie would be pleased. "You won't need them now, but you'll have them for next time."

Allie accepted them and took the handkerchief on top, the one with crocheted daisies, and held it to her face. "Oh, it smells lovely!" she said, her eyes widening. "Like you."

Elizabeth laughed. She seemed to laugh a lot around Allie. "It's lavender," she told Allie. "You probably couldn't tell yesterday with your nose all stuffy."

She turned at a slight touch on her arm to see Mr. Smith with a cup in his hands, his eyebrows raised in query.

"Oh, no," Elizabeth said, when she understood. "Thank you, but no, I can't stay. I only wanted to check on Allie and, well, she seems fine and...I was going to read her a story, but..."

"What kind of story?" Allie interrupted. "With a handsome prince and beautiful princess and a happy ending?"

"Well, eventually, I suppose," Elizabeth said, considering the book she had chosen.

"Oh, please, will you stay? Daddy and I can look at the pictures together," she explained, "But he can't read the stories to me. It hurts his voice." Then Allie went quiet, her manner suggesting that she knew she had said too much.

She hadn't been imagining things, then. Earlier, when Elizabeth thought she saw the trailing end of a deep scar just above his collar, it hadn't been a trick of the light. And his voice - that thin, strangled whisper she had heard only once - it was all that was left and it wasn't coming back. Something had happened to him. Something terrible.

"That's up to your father, Allie," Elizabeth said, looking not at the girl but directly at Mr. Smith. His face had closed down, his expression unreadable as a muscle worked high in his jaw. Elizabeth sensed that if he allowed her to stay, it would be going against every one of his instincts, and as much as she wanted to be here with Allie, she couldn't bear making him so uncomfortable. She nodded then, understanding what he couldn't bring himself to say.

"I think I should go," she said, turning to Allie.

But he had lifted the book from the table and handed it to Allie, motioning towards the couch. A huge smile split the girl's face and she clutched the book to her chest as she eagerly clambered up, looking expectantly toward Elizabeth and patting the seat to her.

Elizabeth laughed again, and as Mr. Smith moved past her to his desk, she caught his arm. She could feel a fine tremor under her fingers, and Elizabeth had to resist a sudden urge to wrap her arms around him and comfort him.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I know it must sound strange, but your daughter, she's, well--I don't know how else to put it. I adore her. I...I didn't mean to barge in on you today, but I know it can't be easy for you, and I just--" She took a step back from him, uncomfortably aware that she was nattering on. "Thank you for letting me spend some time with her." To her relief, he smiled at her then; a genuine smile that lit his eyes for a moment.

Stepping closer to his desk, he set aside his glasses and retrieved a ratty old jumper hanging from the back of his chair. He pulled it over his head in and then settled himself at his desk, his movements deliberate as he drew a piece of parchment towards himself and retrieved the quill from its stand, his head bent low over his work. Okay, so it wasn't exactly a blessing, but it was a beginning and a show of trust on his part. Even at that, she knew his attention would never stray far from Allie, who was waiting patiently on the couch.

"Shall we start?" Elizabeth asked as she took her seat next to Allie. In reply, Allie snuggled up to Elizabeth as she opened the book and turned to the first page.

It was quiet in the house as Elizabeth read; other than her voice, the only sound was the scratching of the quill against parchment. Next to her, Allie was rapt, hardly moving, curled in close. Elizabeth looked down at the top of her dark head, feeling her heart open. She had made up her mind years ago that children were a hindrance, and while it might be fine for her friends, motherhood wasn't for her...so to have an epiphany in a little seaside cottage with a little black-haired girl snuggled up to her side...well, it was disconcerting in the extreme. Allie glanced up at Elizabeth and she smiled and continued the story.

"Then she laid her head on the bird’s breast, but she was alarmed immediately, for it seemed as if something inside the bird went 'thump, thump.' "

"It was the bird’s heart. He was not really dead, only benumbed with the cold, and the warmth had restored him to life."

It had grown quiet in the kitchen and Elizabeth looked over towards Mr. Smith. He had given up any pretense of working and was turning the quill idly in his hands as he listened along with Allie. His eyes met hers and she returned to the book quickly.

“Thank you, pretty little maiden,” said the sick swallow; “I have been so nicely warmed, that I shall soon regain my strength, and be able to fly about again in the warm sunshine.”

“Oh,” said she, “it is cold out of doors now; it snows and freezes. Stay in your warm bed; I will take care of you.”

And then Elizabeth was caught up in the story again, feeling the years recede as she relived the tale of Thumbelina and the swallow and she was nearing the end when she happened to look over at Mr. Smith again. His chin was resting on his chest and he was fast asleep, but even at rest he was frowning slightly, and looked so careworn. Elizabeth felt the same stir of compassion as she had yesterday for Allie, and she wanted very much to tuck him in under a quilt and smooth the hair from his face and take away some of the strain she saw there. And why exactly? What was it about these two that made her want to take care of them when he could obviously care for himself and his daughter without help?

“This is my house,” said the swallow; “but it would not do for you to live there—you would not be comfortable. You must choose for yourself one of those lovely flowers, and I will put you down upon it, and then you shall have everything that you can wish to make you happy.”

As she read the last words of the story, Elizabeth felt Allie sigh.

"Did you enjoy that?" Elizabeth asked. "It was one of my favorites when I was your age. Perhaps you'd like to keep it and read it again?"

"Thank you," she said politely, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere.

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes?"

"Didn't Thumbelina want to stay with the swallow?"

"Well," she said, closing the book and running her finger along the binding, trying to buy herself time to think. "She loved the swallow, of course, and he loved her, but they couldn't stay together. Thumbelina saved his life so he could return to the other swallows, and in return, he helped her find where she truly belonged."

"But were they happy?"

"Very much, I think. Because no matter how far apart, they would always live in each other's hearts."

Allie propped an elbow on her knee, cupping her chin in her hand, a slight frown creasing her forehead. As much as Elizabeth wanted to reach out and comfort her, she sensed Allie needed to process this on her own. She rose from the couch, trying to move quietly so as not to disturb Mr. Smith as he continued to sleep, or Allie, deep in thought.

She wanted more than anything to stay, to read another story to Allie and let him have a long rest, but it felt awkward and too intimate to be near him, with his child curled up at her side, listening to his soft breathing as he slept.

No, not just awkward, she realized, but completely out of character. She had observed how closed off he was, how protective he was of his privacy and his daughter, and if he had lowered his guard enough to fall asleep he was either utterly exhausted, or....

"Allie," she said softly, a sudden thought striking her as all the pieces fell into place. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Allie looked up, and it was obvious she was a girl who had been entrusted with secrets before, because she went very still and very serious.

"The cookies and soup I brought today? They're also good for daddies when they're not feeling well."

Allie nodded, her eyes straying to where her father sat sleeping. God, those eyes. So earnest and already reflecting an understanding and compassion well beyond her years.

"I should go now," Elizabeth said, bending over and wrapping her in an impulsive hug. Allie was loved and cherished, that much was obvious, because this physical expression of affection didn't seem to take her by surprise at all. "You're a good girl, Allie. Take care of yourself." Allie leaned her head against Elizabeth's shoulder and she kissed her on the cheek before adding softly, "Take care of each other."

Elizabeth collected her coat and left, stopping to watch through the window as Allie approached her father, waking him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. She led him to the couch and unfolded the quilt, settling it gently over him. Allie then perched herself on one arm of the couch, near his feet, book resting on her upraised knees.

Elizabeth felt a wrenching tug, irrationally wishing that she could stay, but she knew it would be for her benefit only. Mr. Smith and Allie each had all they needed under the roof of this tiny cottage.

Always in each other's hearts...