I moved past him and tapped the screen.
She looked down. “Hello there!” Astonishment lifted her voice. She looked around, seeking an adult. “Are you lost, honey?” Quickly, she opened the screen door and stepped outside. She scanned the paved terrace, seeking life and movement, someone to care for a small boy. “Hello?” she called out into the night.
An owl hooted. A car drove past. Her call seemed to hang in the frosty night.
Beyond the pool of light from the porch and the diffused colors of the Christmas lights, the shadows were deep and dark.
She looked down at Keith, her expressive face troubled. Steps sounded behind her.
“What are you doing out there, Peg? Come in and close the door. That air’s cold as a freezer.” A slim young woman in a creamy shaker-stitch silk sweater and black-and-white silk skirt reached the door and stopped in surprise. “Who’s the kid? What’s going on?”
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?”
“Mutter’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. “Mutter said we didn’t have anywhere to live after Daddy died. Lou let us stay with them. But when Mutter 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. Mutter 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.
