Mellissa opened her eyes and smiled. “In glorious days of old, that angels bending near the earth, did play their harps of gold…”

The sister’s voices merged and floated into the house of Mary Atkins. Enveloped in music, the old woman stood a little straighter and didn’t notice the tears running down her cheeks as the last notes wrapped themselves around her. “Blessed be,” she croaked, for she rarely spoke. For the first time in years, she was warm.

Outside, Mellissa and Stacy exchanged shy smiles. They waved to the figure behind the lace curtain then turned to walk home, still holding hands, silent except for the crunch of snow beneath their boots.

Mary Atkins, more woman than shadow now, pulled back the curtain and watched the angels fade from sight.