Keith tried to pull back. I kept a firm grip and whispered, “It will be all right.” I was banking on Peg.
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Peg knelt in front of Keith. “Hi. I’m Peg. Is someone with you?” Her voice was soft and kind.
“Lou.” His little boy voice was scarcely audible.
Peg looked relieved. “Who is Lou?”
“Mütter’s friend.” He watched Peg with uncertain eyes.
The screen door opened and the slender young woman stepped outside. Impatiently, she brushed back a strand of straight dark hair. Silver bracelets jangled on her arm. She stared out at the Christmas lights and the dark shadows, empty of movement. “Do you suppose somebody’s dumped this kid here? Or maybe someone has car trouble and sent him up to the house. Anyway, we’d better call the police.”
Keith pressed against me, and I squeezed his shoulder.
“Wait a minute, Gina.” Peg turned back to Keith. “Where do you live?”
He responded to the kindness in her voice. “Mütter said we didn’t have anywhere to live after Daddy died. Lou let us stay with them. But when Mütter didn’t come home, Lou said she had to bring me where I had family. She said I didn’t have anywhere else to go and she couldn’t keep me.”
“Lou left you here? By yourself?” Peg’s voice rose in dismay.
“I don’t know.” His high voice wobbled.
Gina gestured toward the open door. “There’s no point in standing out here and freezing to death. Bring him inside and let’s call the police.”
I bent close and whispered, “Give Peg the envelope.”
He thrust out his arm, the manila envelope clutched in a red mitten. His tan corduroy jacket was too small and rode high on his wrist. He shivered from cold. The jacket was worn and thin. He should have a nice wool coat.
Peg took the envelope. She glanced at dark printing on the outside and drew in a sharp breath. “Oh dear heaven.” Her voice shook. She looked up at Gina. “This says he’s Mitch’s son.”
Gina looked as if the ground had rocked beneath her feet. She whirled, stared at Keith. “Mitch’s son?”
Keith stood straight. “My daddy was Sergeant First Class Mitchell Pritchard Flynn. My daddy was a hero.” His little boy voice was thin and high.
I doubt Keith had any inkling of what “hero” meant. He was repeating what he’d been told.
“Daddy saved his men. Daddy was hurt but he kept on going. Mütter said he was a hero and that’s why he couldn’t come home to us.”
“Oh dear God.” Peg reached out and gently touched Keith’s face.
Gina yanked the envelope from Peg and read aloud the inscription on the envelope. “I am Keith Flynn. My daddy was Sergeant First Class Mitchell Pritchard Flynn.’ How could Mitch have a son and we didn’t know?”
“We didn’t know Mitch was still alive until the Army told us he was dead.” Peg’s voice was ragged.
I was startled. Peg’s words made no sense to me.
Peg made a sound between a laugh and a sob. “How do we know Mitch hadn’t married? For that matter, if this is Mitch’s son, what difference does it make whether he was married. Let me have the envelope. It belongs to Keith.”
Gina slowly handed the envelope to Peg. “This is some kind of scam.”
“Maybe. But maybe not. Maybe this really is Mitch’s little boy.” Peg’s tone was hopeful, incredulous, joyful. She reached down for Keith’s mittened hand. “For now, Keith’s here and he’s cold and we’re going inside.”
Keith looked up at me. His thin face was tired, and he looked on the verge of tears.
I gave him a warm smile, turned a thumbs-up, gestured toward the house.
Gina wrapped her arms tight across her front. “Who brought him here? Someone brought him. He didn’t get here on a broomstick. We have to call the police. He’s an abandoned child. It’s nonsense to say he’s Mitch’s son.”
Peg ignored her and gently steered Keith into the warm and cheerful foyer. Gina followed with a frown.
An ornate oak staircase led upward. Scarlet ribbons and frosted pinecones decorated a magnificent pine garland draped on the railing. The scent of fresh pine mingled with the yeasty smell of baking and the lemon of furniture polish. Vivid red poinsettias, their containers wrapped in silver or gold foil, were bunched on the landing. Clumps of mistletoe hung above the double doors to the right and the left in the main entrance hallway.
As I recalled from long ago, the doors to the right opened into a dining room. The double doors to the left were partially open. Light streamed out into the hallway. Voices murmured. I’d attended many a Christmas tea for the Altar Guild in that ornate room with a low beamed ceiling, gilded Louis XVI furnishings, and a hand-carved green Italian marble fireplace.
Gina moved swiftly past Peg down the central hall, heading toward an oak door. Her silk skirt swirled as she walked.
“Don’t call the police.” Peg’s voice was low but sharp. “I’m taking him upstairs.”
Gina stopped and faced Peg. “Up to see Susan? That’s crazy. We don’t know anything about him.”
Peg held up the envelope. “It’s written here. He’s Mitch’s son. Do you honestly think someone would drop a strange child on the front porch and make that claim? Everyone knows about DNA. No one would try to foist off a child as Mitch’s. There are tests that can be done and then we’ll know without a doubt. For now, if you think Susan will thank you for trying to turn away her grandson, a grandson she never knew about, even for a few minutes, you can think again.”
Gina lifted her hands. “All right, maybe he’s for real. I don’t know and neither do you. But we do know how sick Susan is. Do you want to kill her?”
Her round face uncertain for an instant, Peg drew in a sharp breath. “Joy never killed anyone.”
They stood a foot apart on the Oriental runner in the center of the main hallway, Peg’s eyes determined, Gina’s sharp features resistant.
One of the doors to the left squeaked as a plump woman in her fifties stepped into the hallway. “Girls, you’re missing the most fascinating description of Christmas in Lapland. Did you know Santa lives on a fell called Big Ear? Harrison knows so many things.” Her voice was cheerful and only slightly tongue-in-cheek.
With a sidelong glance, Peg moved a little to her left, shielding Keith from the woman’s line of vision. Peg managed a bright smile. “Please tell Harrison we’ll be there in a minute. I’m sure he has much more to say. I’m going to run up and see Susan for a minute. A message came for her. Gina and I will see to it and be down in a little while. Susan may want to talk to us.”
“Tell Susan we are all thinking about her. It isn’t the same not to have her downstairs with us. I think this is the first time she’s missed Harrison’s birthday celebration. She must not be feeling well. Don’t stay too long and tire her.” With a quick smile, she turned away. Before the door closed, her high dithery voice could be heard. “The girls will be back in a few minutes.” The door squeaked shut.
Gina jerked her head toward the closed living room door. “You had your chance to tell Jake. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
Jake. It was an interesting name. I wondered if the name reflected a wish to be different or a streak of boyishness not evident in the heavyset blonde’s matronly appearance.
Peg looked both uneasy and defiant. “I don’t want to bother her.”
Gina’s grin was malicious. “She’ll have a fit when she finds out, cuz. Your mom fancies herself queen of the hive in this house.”
Peg’s hands clenched. “Mother will understand. Besides, this is Susan’s house. We have no right to keep Keith’s arrival from her.”
Gina shrugged. “What if this is a hoax? If he’s truly Mitch’s son, why would he arrive like this?”
Keith pressed against me. Gina’s words held little meaning for him, but he saw her frowning face. Tears glistened in his dark eyes.