Little Sparrow

Chapter Twenty-Four

That evening, after dressing the snowman and adding some sticks for arms, we crowded around a small piano the Atkinsons had.

The only music we had at the orphanage had been the ringing of the church bells and the sound of Christmas carollers that seeped in through the cracks in the windows. I remembered my foster family and hearing them sing carols in front of the fire every Christmas evening whilst I was still locked in the small upstairs room to stop me from trying to join in at all. I would sit there and listen to the light notes of the piano, the soft singing from the family and wish I could be part of it

I had never had the opportunity to just in front of the fire and listen to the sound of a piano or that of someone singing. The Atkinsons were offering me the opportunity to do the one thing I dreamed about as a child but never had the opportunity to partake in. For the first time, I had been included in something that I had dreamed of taking part in, things that almost everyone else had the joy of doing and oftentimes took for granted. I was of the belief that almost all ordinary people would not last a day in an orphanage.

The Atkinsons had a small room at the end of the hall with large windows that looked out into a small garden area also blanketed in snow. Inside that room sat large bookshelves lined with different titles, from accounting to fiction books and everything in between. In the far corner of the room, in front of the windows sat a wooden, upright piano. When Mr Atkinson sat in front of it, he managed to disappear behind the wooden back until just the top of his head was showing.

William stood beside the piano to change the sheet music, so his father did not have to pause whilst playing. I found myself lingering off to the side, unsure of where to sit or just what to do whilst the piano was played. All of these new adventures somehow managed to make me feel uncomfortable as I had no idea what I was doing or whether there was a certain way I had to act. Perhaps there needed to be a book on how someone blends in with new surroundings. Or at least a guide on just how to act or do the basic of family tasks.

"Lizzie, pick a song," Mr Atkinson said, peering over the top of the piano.

"I don't know any," I said.

"None?"

"We've never done Christmas carols before and I don't really remember the ones from church."

"Alright. William, you pick one and we can teach Lizzie the words."

"How about Deck the Halls. That's a good one."

"Very well. Come around here, Lizzie, you can read the words from under the music."

I walked around to the other side of the piano and looked down at the sheet of music that rested on top of the piano shelf. The music notes just looked like foreign scribbles to me and I did not understand how that correlated to music and I had no intention of asking. Underneath the music notes were the pencilled words to the song, but I did not understand when the singing started or how it really connected to the music notes.

William made sure that the sheet of music was facing the right way and Mr Atkinson started to play. The soft music notes filed the room and I tried my hardest to follow along with what he was playing and try to connect it to the words, but I couldn't. Behind me, Mrs Atkinson took a breath and started to sing the words with William following, although he was being rather loud, and I do not think he was entirely in time. I was clueless as to how it all worked and just tried to follow along as best I could.

My foster family had taught me to read as they thought it would be a way to stop me from falling into the same sinful trap as my mother. I could read the words written under the music, but I could not figure out how they fitted and just stumbled my way through the words as best I could. No one noticed and if they did, they did not say anything on the matter. By the time the song ended, I resolved to never open my mouth and sing again.