He moved uncertainly forward. His sneakered feet scarcely made a sound on the wooden floor.
She heard the faint scuff. Her head turned. A hand touched her throat when she saw him. Her robe, undoubtedly made of finest Chinese silk, was brilliant red with gold piping. As quickly as sunlight slipping across summer water, her face brightened. “Hello.” Her voice was low and sweet.
When young she must have been startlingly beautiful, a beauty of elegant bone structure and mesmerizing character.
She smiled, a kind and gentle smile. “I haven’t had a little boy visit me in a long time.” Tears filmed her eyes but she kept on smiling. “Who are you, my dear?”
“Keith.”
“I’m glad you came to see me, Keith. Come closer, please.”
Steps sounded on the stairs, a rapid, hurried clatter.
Still smiling, she glanced toward the open door. “It sounds as though someone’s coming after you. Please, come close for a moment.”
Keith moved toward her, his face grave. He stopped next to the chair.
She lightly touched his shoulder.
Keith looked back at me.
I nodded energetically.
Keith stood very straight as he must have been told. He spoke in a rush. “I’m Keith Flynn.” His words were indistinct.
Her illness-drained face was quite still. She stared into his dark eyes, so like her own. “Your daddy…”
Gina hurried into the bedroom. She stopped and stared at Keith, her narrow face exasperated. She flung out an accusing hand. “How did he know where to come?”
Keith quailed at her sharp tone.
Susan Flynn curved an arm around his shoulders, pulled him near. “It’s all right. Don’t be frightened, sweet boy.” Her voice was as soft as the sweep of a feather.
Peg pushed past Gina. “Someone left him on the front porch with a note.” She hurried forward, held out the envelope, then sank to her knees beside Keith. “I promised you some hot chocolate.”
Susan opened the envelope with trembling hands, lifted out a stiff sheet.
I peered over her shoulder at script in an unfamiliar language. There was an official seal near the bottom. Gold foil glinted in the flickering firelight.
“It’s in German! Mitch was stationed in Germany.” Quickly she emptied the envelope. “A birth certificate from the military hospital in Wurzburg: Keith Mitchell Flynn, born to Sergeant First Class Mitchell Pritchard Flynn and Marlene Schmidt Flynn.” With every word, her voice grew stronger. Joy lifts voices. “Mitch’s medals and news clippings.” Suddenly, her brows drew down. “Here is a printed notice of his mother’s death from pneumonia. So that’s why she didn’t bring him to me.” Susan’s face was puzzled. “Peg, who brought him here?”
Peg gestured toward the front yard. “We don’t know. The doorbell rang, and there was no one there but Keith. He said his mother’s friend Lou brought him. We don’t know where she is or why she left.”
Susan’s gaze was thoughtful. “We’ll find out.” Suddenly a brilliant smile lifted her lips. “It doesn’t matter really. In any event, he’s here where he should be.” She reached out a shaking hand to smooth a blond curl, gently touched Keith’s shoulder. “It’s warm in here. I keep this room too hot for a little boy. Let me help you with your coat.”
He lifted his arms obediently. She folded the thin little corduroy jacket. “Are you hungry?”
He nodded, his face solemn.
“Do you like roast beef, Keith?” She looked at Peg. “Will you get him some supper?”
“And some cocoa and a cookie. I promised.” Peg’s smile was delighted. She turned to hurry from the room.
Keith lifted rounded fists to rub at his eyes and gave a huge yawn.
Susan gestured sharply at Gina. “Open the corner bedroom. Put on fresh sheets. Make sure there are plenty of blankets.”
I drifted around the room, listening to Susan’s soft murmurs as she talked to Keith and looking at the panoply of photographs in a bookcase and atop a dresser. It took only a moment to realize the pictures were primarily of a boy and girl from babyhood to late teens. The dark-haired girl had irregular gamine features and an aura of energy and enthusiasm and good humor. Snapshots showed her making mud pies when she was about six with a missing tooth and a streak of dirt across one cheek. At around ten, bony and thin with sharp elbows and knees, she held aloft a tennis trophy. As a teenager in a decollete white gown, she smiled up at an older man whose irregular features matched her own. The blond boy was cocky with a square jaw and muscular build. He stood stiff and still with a Webelos salute in his Cub Scout uniform. As a Scout, he dangled from a climbing rope over a sandstone gorge. He pinned an opponent in a wrestling match, caught a pass on a football field, strummed a guitar in a pensive mood.
Two frames held school pictures, starting with kindergarten. The last photo in the frame inscribed
There was no senior class photograph for Ellen.
I looked at the boy’s framed class pictures. He was on top of the world in his senior picture, confident, cocky, charismatic.
