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On the doorstep of a townhome in New York City, a basket is placed.
The doorbell rings.
There are footsteps, and then there are not.
queensidecastle
A woman answers the door.
She looks in the basket.
She says, "What."
She looks in the basket.
She says, "What."
There is a toddler in the basket. She's about three, based on her size - the face looks a little more mature and she has negligible baby fat, though - and she's fast asleep and wrapped up tight in a blanket. She's pale and pale-haired and sitting right on this here doorstep.
queensidecastle
Yes. Yes, she is all of those.
Well, regardless of wider concerns about who she is and where she came from, the immediate problem is that there is a small child in a basket on Chris's doorstep. And it is really, really easy to solve.
She picks up the basket and carries it inside.
Well, regardless of wider concerns about who she is and where she came from, the immediate problem is that there is a small child in a basket on Chris's doorstep. And it is really, really easy to solve.
She picks up the basket and carries it inside.
queensidecastle
That's convenient.
Chris puts the basket on the couch, and sits down next to it, and contemplates her situation.
Chris puts the basket on the couch, and sits down next to it, and contemplates her situation.
Speaking of small children, a five-year-old girl comes thumping down the stairs.
"Who was at the door?" she says quietly.
"Who was at the door?" she says quietly.
The girl ventures into the living room.
She sees the basket.
She looks in.
She looks expectantly at Chris.
She sees the basket.
She looks in.
She looks expectantly at Chris.
"Oh," she says.
"What are you going to do?"
"What are you going to do?"
She looks at Chris; she looks at the basket.
She says, "Then what?"
She says, "Then what?"
queensidecastle
"Gooood question," says Chris.
She gets up.
"I'm gonna go think about this. If she wakes up, can you ask her where she came from?"
She gets up.
"I'm gonna go think about this. If she wakes up, can you ask her where she came from?"
"Okay."
It doesn't take that long for the small girl to open her eyes and start trying to squirm out of her blankets, looking around with bleary confusion.
The somewhat less small girl reaches into the basket to help disentangle her.
Eventually she is disentangled, and sitting in her basket.
"Where'm I?" she wants to know. Her accent is strange - not American. Closer to Scottish than anything else, but not that close.
"Where'm I?" she wants to know. Her accent is strange - not American. Closer to Scottish than anything else, but not that close.
"In my house. In New York. What's your name? I'm Elizabeth."
"I -" The girl blinks, and looks down at herself. "I - I don't know."
"...What do you know?" says Elizabeth. "Do you know where you came from?"
The girl shakes her head slowly. "I'm not... just... new?" she asks haltingly.
"Well, you're new here," Elizabeth says consideringly, "but you have to have come from somewhere. And the doorbell rang, and you were sleeping so you didn't do it, so somebody has to have rang it and then put you down and ran away."
"And you're too big to be a baby, and you can talk. Babies can't talk," she says.