Snow fell like whispers over the city, the world softly illuminated by amber candles in darkened windows. The world had become soft with silver shimmer under the watchful eye of the full Christmas moon. The normally sleepy city was waiting to rest, as the bells of St. Leonardo’s Chapel tolled into the midnight air, as the gentle hum of voices rang out with hymns. Inside, candles flickered in golden rows, their flames bowing in reverence as hymns rose gently, muffled by the ancient stone.

Across the street from the chapel, hands trembled inside tattered mittens as a man peered from around the corner of the corner store. He had placed a bundle on the steps, just as he heard the closing hymns of midnight mass.

There, cradled in a woven basket, lay a small rosy-faced baby swaddled in a faded knit blanket, red knit scarf wrapped warm around her little face. She was quiet, eyes wide and bright as she was lulled by the hum of the hymns from inside, her tiny fingers curled around a golden chain beneath her blanket. A note written on tattered paper lay at her feet.

The man watched carefully, tucked inside the shadows. The wait was painful, he was filled with regret, and yet he couldn’t turn back now, so instead he waited.

The doors of St. Leonardo’s creaked open, releasing a breath of warm air and twinkling light and joyous music into the crisp winter night. The choir’s final note drifted slowly into silence as the Father took his place by the door. Footsteps soon followed him down the aisle, soft against the snow, like prayers being spoken into the Christmas moon.

Father Alexander glanced towards the Christmas moon as his congregation began to join him at the door. Suddenly, he spotted the small bundle wrapped so tight, tucked behind the stone column away from the wind. His heart paused, caught between fear and wonder as he glanced along the street looking for any sign of life. His eyes caught on a shadow near the corner store, he bowed his head with a small nod, and watched as the figure disappeared into the darkened street.

He dropped to his knees beside the basket, his robes dampening with snow. He lifted the blanket from atop the basket, candlelight from the chapel haloing the baby’s face. The infant looked up at him with calm emerald eyes, as if she had been waiting so patiently.

He brushed his aging fingers against her soft cheek, they were warm. He touched the golden chain peeking out from beneath the blanket, pulling the tiny charm that hung from it a little closer for a better look. The tiny charm was shaped like a treble clef. His eyes stung with sudden tears, pulling the tattered note from her feet. The paper was weathered wrap from delicate china, the handwriting rushed but gentle.

“Please keep her safe, and be sure she is loved, I had no choice.”

The man from the shadows made one last glance around the corner, he pressed a hand to his mouth. His shoulders shook once a sob or a breath, even he couldn’t tell anymore. She deserved a life he couldn’t give, and now she would be safe. He backed further into the alley, heart clenched like a fist.

Behind the Father, his congregation slowly stepped out of the chapel and joined him on the steps, the small baby now cradled in his arms. An old woman stood at his elbow and took one look at the small bundle and understood. “A blessing,” she said, quietly. “On Christmas Eve, no less, like a sweet holiday Melody.”

“A sweet little Melody,” he whispered back, casting one last longing look towards the empty street.

In the weeks that followed, the congregation spoke often of the miracle child. Melody became the soul of the chapel, swaddled in borrowed blankets, passed from hand to hand with soft laughter and lullabies. Her tiny body placed into the loving arms of a family who would cherish her. A family that had dreamed of her.