Audrey Moran was singing to herself as she washed up the dishes from supper. When she was done, she would check on the man in her bedroom again. The door was closed, and when she'd left he had been sleeping peacefully. She had saved some of the hot broth from the soup they had eaten for supper, and she thought she would see if he would drink it, like he did the water.

Once, Audrey had known many songs from her own world, but her memories of those times had faded so much that she could only remember three in their entirety. Right now, she was singing "Joy to the World" - not the Christmas carol, but the one on her stepfather's Three Dog Night record. He used to put it on their dilapidated old record player, crank the volume, and whirl her around their basement kitchen, singing along to the music and dancing. It used to make her mother laugh. She smiled to herself at the thought as she belted out the chorus, scrubbing at the soup pot.

Sometimes, usually when she was in the bedroom at night, sewing in front of the fire with her dog, Sam, curled up at her feet, she would sing an old Gaelic lullaby her mother had sung for her when she was little.

Bidh Clann an Rìgh, bidh Clann an Rìgh,
Bidh Clann an Rìgh air do bhanais;
Bidh Clann an Rìgh, seinnear a' phìob,
Òlar am fìon air do bhanais.

She would sing it softly, almost in a whisper, as she stitched on a quilt or mended clothes.

The last song, which she had lately taken to singing while she was tending the stranger in her bed, was "Amazing Grace." She had gone to church as a girl, and out of all the singing they did each Sunday, this one had always been her favorite. By the time she was four, she knew all five verses, and she performed it all by herself in front of the congregation at age nine.

Whenever the man was restless, she would take up her basin and the damp rag, and bathe him in cool water as she sang the old hymn. The stranger's breathing would calm, his racing heart would slow its pace, and his body would relax into the mattress. Then he would drink his water, and drift into a peaceful sleep.

His fits were getting fewer and further between, which was good.

Audrey set the pot upside down to dry and flicked water from her hands. Then, wiping her fingers on a thin towel, she crossed to the oven. Inside was the bowl of broth for the stranger. She lifted the warm bowl with the towel wrapped around it and grabbed a spoon with her other hand. Sam, lying on a rug near the door, looked up from the floor, his brown eyes looking hungrily at the soup.

"You already ate, you old beggar," Audrey whispered to him, grinning. "Come and keep me company while I feed our new friend."

She opened the door off the kitchen that led into her bedroom, Sam at her heels, and crossed to the bedside where she had set up a chair. Setting the bowl of broth on the table, she gently brushed the man's long hair out of his face. He looked almost content, lying there in her bed.

She would need to stoke the fire once more before going to sleep. Outside the tiny cottage, the snow was swirling and the temperature was lower than it had been since the day the stranger had staggered into their yard.

Propping the stranger up gently with an extra pillow, Audrey tucked her warm blankets up around the man's belly and laid the towel over his chest. Sam sat beside her, his long muzzle resting on his paws. He watched as the woman took up the bowl, loaded the spoon with hot, strong broth and lowered it to the stranger's mouth. She ran the warm bowl of the spoon over his parched-looking lips, praying he would eat. To her delight, the man opened his mouth just the tiniest bit. Audrey poured the spoonful in, and the stranger swallowed hungrily, then opened his mouth, again just the tiniest bit, wanting more.

Yes, it definitely looked like the man would recover.

Audrey wondered who she would meet when the man's eyes finally opened.