Merry, Merry Ghost

CHAPTER SIX

I hovered near the ceiling of the blue room at Pritchard House. Moonlight spilled through the windows. Keith was a small snug mound in his bed. Peg lay on her side, one hand curled under her cheek, lips curved in a half smile.

Before Wiggins abruptly left the cemetery en route to Tumbulgum, he’d warned me: Keep guard…His meaning seemed clear: Keep guard over Keith. Wiggins could count on me. I’d been dispatched to protect Keith and I would continue to do my best.

Was Wiggins listening or was Tumbulgum out of earshot?

I had no intention of leaving Keith unsupervised. Peg clearly welcomed him. As long as he was with her, I felt he was safe. Before I went to the lawyer’s office to delve into Susan Flynn’s will, I would be certain all was secure at Pritchard House.

First I stopped in Gina’s room. The breeze through the open window ruffled chintz curtains but had yet to dispel the lingering scent of tobacco smoke. I wondered if Gina dismissed other dangers as easily as she ignored the hazards of cigarettes. She was turned toward the wall in bed, her face in shadow, but her breathing was deep and even.

In the next room, Jake wore a padded black sleep mask. In the moonlight, she looked like a raccoon adorned with curlers. She moved restlessly, murmuring aloud.

I swooped near the bed.

“…door locked…can’t get in…not fair…”

Clearly her dreams were troubled.

In Susan’s room, the clock on the mantel chimed, twelve soft bells announcing midnight. She sat in her chair in front of the gas fire. The china cup held a little cocoa, the remnants of her evening drink. In her lap was the manila envelope Keith had brought. She held the papers in her hand, a smile on her face.

All was well at Pritchard House. I felt free to depart.

The computer monitor glowed. I rubbed my eyes as I completed reading the exceedingly complex disposition of the estate of Susan Pritchard Flynn. Upon Susan’s death, her heirs would receive the equivalent in land, stocks, bonds, mineral rights, or property of several million dollars each. Inheriting, after substantial bequests to several charities and St. Mildred’s, were Jacqueline Flynn, Margaret Flynn, Tucker Satterlee, Gina Satterlee, and Harrison Hammond.

I checked the telephone book and jotted down addresses. I knew the location of Burnt Creek, one of Pontotoc County’s largest and most prosperous ranches in my day. I had no reason to doubt that Burnt Creek was still a prime piece of property.

I took a last look at the electronic files and noted one entitled FlynnEstateRecording. I opened the file and found a brief enigmatic statement: Recorded discussion on CD with client Re: Disposition of Flynn estate, Cabinet 3.

Two metal filing cabinets sat behind Kim’s desk. Obviously, neither would be Cabinet 3. In Wade’s office, I turned on the light. I checked and the drapes were drawn. Built into the wall behind the desk were several walnut cabinets. Cabinet 3 revealed shelves with small plastic containers with what appeared to be small records. Apparently, they were called CDs. How interesting. Possibly they didn’t work too differently from the old 33 rpm record players.

I spotted a device on a marble-topped table with spindly-legged chairs. The chairs didn’t look especially comfortable. I snagged a squashy red cushion from the sofa and placed it on a chair. After some punching of buttons, I popped up the lid. Yes, that looked like a turntable. I placed the little record on it, experimented further, and watched with a sense of accomplishment as it began to whir.

There was a moment of silence, then a murmur. “I think that’s got it. I’m all thumbs with recorders. Okay, here we go.” He cleared his throat. “Wade Farrell and Susan Flynn Re: Disposition of the Susan Flynn estate.” Wade’s cheerful voice announced the date.

“My, aren’t we formal.” Susan Flynn’s aristocratic voice sounded amused. “Is this necessary, Wade?”

“This is for your protection.” Wade spoke with dignity. “Since your heirs have no blood ties to you, I feel that it is wise to make a record of your wishes so that there can be no doubt about the instrument reflecting your decisions. Please explain in your own words the circumstances.”

“Very well. I have no family.” There was a pause.

The tape whirred.

After a moment, Susan continued in a brittle tone. “It is my wish that the following persons, who are not related to me, shall share in my estate: my sister-in-law Jake Flynn, her daughter Peg Flynn, Jake’s nephew and niece, Tucker and Gina Satterlee, and my late husband’s cousin Harrison Hammond. I have chosen them to be my legatees because of close association over a number of years. After Jake’s husband died, Jake and Peg came to live with us. At that time our family consisted of my husband Tom, our son Mitchell, and our daughter Ellen. Peg and Ellen became close friends. A few years later, Jake’s sister and her husband were killed in a car wreck. Tom and I offered a home to their children, Tucker and Gina, because Jake was her sister’s only relative. Harrison Hammond was my husband’s first cousin. Tom was very fond of Harrison.” Susan sighed. “Will that do, Wade?”

“That’s perfect, Susan.” Wade sounded satisfied.

“Do you know what?” She sounded distant, weary. “I don’t care what happens to any of it. They might as well inherit as anyone. They’ve been a part of my life. If Mitch and Ellen…But they’re gone. Mitch loved the ranch. Ellen would have created such a happy life, such a good life.” Another pause. “My time is running out. I’ll see them soon. And now, I’m tired. If that’s all, Wade, please go.” The last few words were scarcely audible.

I pictured Susan Flynn in her bed, weak and ill, turning away from the careful lawyer, her eyes seeking the photographs on her wall and the children who would never reach out again to her in this world but awaited her in the next.

I returned the CD to its container and the cushion to the sofa. Now I knew the ins and outs of Susan’s estate. I felt chilled. When Susan changed her will, the current heirs would lose the prospect of certain wealth.

Could I keep Keith safe until Susan signed her new will?

Sunlight spilled into Susan’s bedroom. The bed was made. Jake dusted and straightened. “It’s a shame to have to deal with business matters over the holidays. You don’t want to overdo. Are you sure you want to see Wade today?”

Leaning on her cane, Susan walked slowly to a tufted gold seat in front of a French provincial dresser. “Stop fussing, Jake. I feel wonderful this morning. Now, come and help me choose a necklace.” Susan was elegant in a high-collared silk-blend jacket and matching slacks in a lovely shade of antique rose. Her makeup was perfectly applied and her narrow face with its fine features echoed past beauty. How lovely she must have been as a young and vibrant woman.

Jake’s pudgy hand hovered over the open silver jewel case. Necklaces lay in a heap. “How about the beaded glass necklace, the one with the green and white strands? The colors are such a good contrast to the rose jacket.”

“Let me see.” Susan held out her hand.

Jake stepped behind Susan. “I’ll fasten the clasp.”

In the mirror, Susan appeared distinguished in the silk jacket and trousers, Jake frumpy in a too-tight brown angora sweater and dark brown tweed slacks.

I cautiously edged a necklace of beaten silver coins to the top of the case.

Susan’s pale face had an unaccustomed blush. Her eyes sparkled. She shook her head in rejection. “The white strand disappears.” She glanced again at the case. “My silver coin necklace! That will look best. Tom bought that for me in Santa Fe. Let’s try that one.”

I nodded in satisfaction as the loop of silver coins glittered against the rose jacket. “That’s perfect.” I clapped a hand to my mouth.

Susan’s eyes went to the mirror, seeking the person who spoke. Jake half turned, looking puzzled. Each glanced at the other.

I held my breath. Perhaps each would conclude it was the other’s voice, even though mine is far huskier than Jake’s and much more vigorous than Susan’s. Once again I had acted without thinking. I must remember: I am not here, I am not here, I am not…

A knock sounded on the bedroom door.

Susan stroked the lustrous coins and gave them a satisfied pat. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Wade is always punctual.”

Peg held the door. She looked young and cheerful and pleased. “Good morning, Susan. Wade’s here.” She stood aside for the lawyer to enter.

Jake swung toward the door with a forced smile. “Good morning, Wade.”

Peg darted a concerned glance at her mother.

Susan slowly rose, steadying herself with the cane. She stood stiff and straight and looked across the room. She didn’t speak.

Wade Farrell’s brown eyes were kind. “Keith is Mitchell’s son.”

Susan wavered, one hand on the cane, the other on the dresser, struggling for breath.

Jake fluttered her hands. “Susan, this is too much for you. You’ve had a shock. You know you mustn’t be upset. Wade can leave the file with me.” She looked at the lawyer. “Susan can look at the papers later, when she’s rested.”

Susan’s smile was tremulous. “My grandson.”

The lawyer glanced from Jake to Susan. “Would you like for me to leave the folder? We can talk another time.”

“We will talk now.” Susan’s tone was sharp. She waved a hand toward Jake. “You and Peg may leave.”

Jake’s plump cheeks flushed. Her lips pressed together.

Peg hurried to her mother. “We’ll go down and help Keith decorate the Christmas cookies.”

“Certainly. If we aren’t wanted here.” Jake’s words were clipped. She darted a resentful glance at Susan, then walked swiftly toward the door, her shoes clumping on the floor. She brushed by Wade as if he weren’t there.

When the door closed behind them, Susan gripped her ebony cane and took slow steps to her chair in front of the fireplace. She gestured toward the opposite chair. “Please sit down, Wade. I appreciate the effort you made to get the facts on such short notice.” She paused, struggling to breathe. “And you are wonderful to come here on a Saturday morning.”

He smiled. “I will always come when you call, Susan.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Her breaths came in quick gasps as she lowered herself into her chair.

The lawyer looked at her in concern.

“I’m all right. I’ll get my breath.” Slowly, her breathing eased.

He handed her a green folder and sat down in a Morris chair. “You’ll find everything documented. Mitchell joined the Army two years after he left home. We weren’t able to trace his movements before then.” His voice was carefully uninflected with no hint of the despair that drove Mitchell away and the lost days that now would never be accounted for. “He trained at Fort Sill. He served a three-year tour in Germany and was stationed at the U.S. Army Garrison in Schweinfurt.”

I heard a tiny click. I have acute hearing.

The Morris chair creaked as Wade rose to hand several papers to Susan.

“He met Marlene Schmidt in Bad Kissingen. That’s a resort spa not far from the post. She was nineteen and worked in the gift shop at the Steigenberger Hotel. Here’s a picture taken by a friend. It was sent in a digital file, but I printed it out for you.”

I glanced over Susan’s shoulder.

“What a beautiful girl. What a kind face she had.” Susan’s voice was soft.

Standing amid summer greenery near a placid pond, Marlene tossed a flower into the water. Slender and blond, she was laughing as a light breeze ruffled her pink sundress.

My eyes moved to the hall door. The knob turned ever so slowly, and the door opened a tiny crack.

“Their wedding was an outdoor ceremony in Kurpark an der Saale. Keith was born a year later on June 6 at the Sixty-seventh Combat Support Hospital in Würzburg. Here is a copy of his birth certificate. He is four and a half years old.”

Susan took the printout.

I breezed into the hall.

Jake pressed close to the hairline crack, one hand tight on the knob.

Wade’s voice carried well, as lawyers’ voices usually do. “Mitchell and his wife and son returned to the United States and to Fort Sill. He was deployed to Iraq where he was killed in an ambush in Ramadi. The notification of his death came to you because he listed you and Tom as his next of kin when he joined and never altered the information.”

“Marlene and Keith?”

“They were living in an apartment in Lawton. She thought about going home to Germany, but she decided to stay in the United States for Keith’s sake. She was working at a convenience store not far from the post.”

“Why didn’t she come here?” Susan’s voice was anguished. “She knew about us, didn’t she?”

Wade settled again in the chair. “My secretary spoke to one of the platoon wives who knew Marlene fairly well. She wasn’t certain, but she thought Mitchell had never explained why he wouldn’t go home or contact his parents and Marlene didn’t feel she would be welcome. All she had was your name and the address. You know how it is in the military, Mitchell’s home address was listed here in Adelaide. She approved his body being sent to Adelaide. She wanted him to be buried at home. Last month, Marlene caught a cold and was treated for bronchitis but died four days later of pneumonia. Another friend, Lou Chavez, looked after Keith while Marlene was in the hospital. When Marlene died, Lou took care of him. She decided to bring Keith here because her husband had received orders to Fort Lewis. She didn’t feel she could take Keith with them.”

“Thank God.” Susan’s voice was strong. “My grandson.” She took a breath. “This changes everything.”

The cushion in the Morris chair squeaked. “I assumed such would be the case. I brought a copy of your will.”

Jake took a quick breath, her face strained.

Susan was brisk. “I know the provisions. They don’t matter now. I want Keith to inherit the estate. He will live here. I’d intended to leave Pritchard House to Jake. Instead, I suggest she receive a life interest in the house, contingent upon the house being kept up for Keith. On her death, of course, the house would become Keith’s. That seems a fair solution. I’ll speak with Jake.”

Jake’s face twisted in a scowl.

“More important, I need to choose a guardian for Keith. Peg and Keith have fun together, but she’s still in college. I could ask my friend Jane Ramsey. There is so much to think about. Perhaps Tucker will be willing to remain on the ranch as the operator. Keith may or may not have an interest in running Burnt Creek when he is grown. Oh”—Susan’s tone was passionate—“I wish I could live long enough to see what he likes and what he wants to do and who he will be. Perhaps I’ll get stronger. I have a reason to live now.”

“What about the previous heirs? Do you wish to leave them anything?”

“Yes, of course.” Susan’s answer was quick and decided. “They’ve been a part of my life for so long now. I know the value of the estate has fallen with the hard economic times, but oil is still selling at a fairly good rate. I want to make a difference for all of them. Each should receive a bequest of two hundred thousand dollars.”

Papers rustled. “I’ll put together a draft. Let me check my notes.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked abruptly, “There’s the matter of Dave Lewis. Is that still on the table?”

Susan’s laughter was soft. “Dear Wade. You’ve opposed my loaning money to him from the first, haven’t you?”

Jake’s face folded in a frown.

Wade cleared his throat. “I think it is unwise. He still hasn’t submitted a business plan to me. When I met with him, he was too vague to suit me. And too cocky. With the economy down, it doesn’t seem like a good time to build a clinic that is twice as large and fancy as it needs to be. He’s called me three times to ask when the money will be available.”

“Indeed.” Her tone was considering. “I hadn’t made a final decision. Of course, I want to see Peg happily launched. She’s a wonderful girl. Frankly, I’ve never especially cared for Dave. Sometimes too-handsome men think the world revolves around them. He can be extremely charming when he chooses and I’m afraid Peg is dazzled, but he seems very dictatorial. I’m afraid Peg was too young when her father died and she may be looking for the sense of security that comes from letting other people make decisions. But that’s not my business. I suppose I listened to his plans for her sake. And”—she sounded rueful—“I didn’t really care about the estate then. Now I care. However, there was no commitment. I merely said I would consider providing the money interest-free. Now, I definitely want to see a business plan and also the blueprints for the building. When he calls again”—her voice was cool—“tell him he needs to submit a formal proposal.”

“I’ll do that.” Wade sounded satisfied.

“You give good advice, Wade. Now is no time for extravagance. There seem to be too many demands on me suddenly. Tucker recently asked about buying a new bull. Gina wants me to pay off her credit cards. I am not inclined to do that. She must learn to live within her means.”

“She’ll have to face financial reality sooner or later. Now, about the new will”—he was businesslike—“our office closes on Christmas Eve and we won’t reopen until January second.”

Susan’s words tumbled out. “I hope you don’t think I’m being unreasonable, but I want to sign the will as soon as possible. That will give me peace. Could you possibly have it ready for me by Monday?”

“This coming Monday?” He was clearly dismayed.

“Please, Wade. I know it’s the holidays. But it will mean the world to me to be sure everything is arranged for Keith.”

There was only the shortest hesitation before he answered. “I understand.” His voice was kind. “I’ll bring the instrument here Monday at ten o’clock.”

In the shaft of light from a hall lamp, Jake’s face looked pinched. She began to ease the tension on the knob.

As soon as the panel shut, Jake would hurry downstairs. Susan Flynn would never know her conversation with Wade Farrell had been overheard. I made my decision on the instant. With a firm shove, I pushed the door open. It banged against the wall.

Jake stood frozen in the doorway, a picture of guilt.

Susan turned to look. Her patrician face reflected surprise. And concern.

Wade came to his feet. His eyes narrowed in speculation though his expression was pleasant.

Jake’s face flushed a deep painful red. “I came to see if I could bring some coffee. Something banged into the door.” She looked over her shoulder.

The hall was empty.

“I don’t know what happened.” She stared at the door.

“It is thoughtful of you to ask.” Susan’s voice was light and even, but her eyes held a shadow. “We won’t be needing anything. Thank you.”

Jake turned hurriedly and bolted into the hall, slamming the door behind her.

Susan looked at Wade, started to speak, gave a slight head shake, then said briskly, “I’ll keep the papers about Keith.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll get right to work.”

Susan sank back in her chair, her thin face troubled.

As Peg set the table for lunch in the kitchen, Jake paced near the oven. Her face flushed, she talked rapidly. “…and I think it’s mean as can be. Susan promised the house to me.”

Peg lifted a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. “Mother, what difference does it make? The house will be yours as long as you live.”

Jake slapped napkins next to each plate. “I know how it will go. There will be all kinds of provisions. Everything will be his, really. What if when he”—she jerked her head toward Keith, absorbed in stacking different-sized saucepans one within another—“gets married, his wife doesn’t like me, and they want to live here?” Jake’s voice rose in a wail.

Peg poured tea into bright red tumblers. “Mother”—her tone was patient but exasperated—“don’t borrow trouble. Let him be a little boy and grow up. That’s all years away.”

Gina sliced ham. “Ease up, Jake. Peg’s right. A life interest sounds great. I’d be glad to have a life interest in something.”

“Two hundred thousand dollars for each of us is very generous.” Peg’s tone was sharp.

“It isn’t two million.” Gina’s voice was shaky.

Jake planted her hands on her hips. “Susan promised the house to me and neither of you care. But I’m not the only one who’s going to pay a price. Gina, you can whistle Dixie about those credit cards. Susan’s not going to give you a nickel. As for you, Peg, Susan’s not about to rubber-stamp Dave’s clinic. She wants a business plan and she’ll consider a plain-vanilla building for the clinic, not that fancy stacked stone Dave wants. Both of you can chew that over with your lunch. I’m too upset to eat a thing.” Jake whirled and slammed out of the kitchen.

The knife clattered from Gina’s hand. As she bent slowly down to pick it up, Peg came close and touched her arm. “I’m sorry, Gina. You were counting on that money.”

Gina rose and flung the knife into the sink. “I’m desperate. They have a judgment against me and they’re going to take my car away from me.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“If I can help—”

Gina’s burst of laughter was harsh and ragged. “You’re poor, too, honey. Nothing can help me except cash. If I could take out a loan…But banks won’t loan money to people like me, not when they won’t even loan money to somebody like Dave, a brand-new vet who can make at least seventy thousand a year once he starts his practice. What are you going to do? Isn’t Dave coming right after lunch? Are you going to tell him?”

I finished a hasty lunch, pulled together in a flash when Peg went to answer the front door and Gina took a tray up to Susan.

A remarkably handsome man followed Peg into the living room. Dave Lewis had curly brown hair and film-star features, a broad forehead, straight nose, full lips, cleft chin.

Dave held up a portfolio, his face pink from the cold and excitement. He was magazine-ad attractive in a thick Shetland wool pullover sweater and dark gray slacks and black loafers. His pale brown eyes gleamed with delight. “Got a new concept. It’s even better than the first one.” He stopped, gazed at Keith. “Who’s the kid?”

“Susan’s grandson, Keith.” Quickly, Peg explained.

Keith tugged at a log. He called out, “Let’s make a fire, Peg.”

She moved toward the fireplace.

“That can wait.” Dave pointed at the wood. “Yeah, Keith, why don’t you count the logs.” He turned to Susan. “Look at these.” He knelt to pull out the thick sheets and spread them on the floor. “It makes sense to build as large a clinic as we can. We’ll have boarders, of course. See, here’s the run for dogs—” He looked up, frowned. “Come on, Peg. Take a look.”

Keith tugged on Peg’s sweater. “Can we have a fire?”

“In a minute, sweetie. Run upstairs and get your bag of gold coins and I’ll sell you some wood.”

Keith grinned and pelted for the door.

Dave grinned. “Good move, Peg. Now we can look at my—”

“Dave.” Peg clasped her hands tightly together. Her round expressive face was slightly pale, her eyes anxious. “You need to check with Susan’s lawyer. I think Susan wants a business plan. And”—Peg’s eyes fell away from him—“she may think the building should be scaled back a little. Because of the economy.”

Dave let the plans roll back together. He picked up the roll, stood. “What’s up? Why the roadblock? I’ve got a great concept and it’s all pulled together.”

“Susan’s looking ahead to the future. For her grandson.”

“How about our future? I thought she was on board.” He seemed to realize he’d spoken too loudly. “Look, Peg, Susan’s fond of you. Talk to her. You can smooth everything out.” He walked over, pulled her close. “I’m counting on you. This is for us.”

Keith pounded into the living room, holding the little leather bag. “I’ll buy two logs.”

Dave took an irritated breath. “I’m going out to take some pix of a good property that’s selling for a song. I’ll show them to you later.” He glanced at Keith. “When you aren’t playing nursemaid. Maybe we can get out after the tree party.” He turned and strode toward the hall.

I love a good party, but I didn’t feel a part of the festivities hovering above the crowd. I landed behind a huge evergreen. After looking carefully in all directions, I swirled into being. I’d noted the coats and jackets of the onlookers crowding the front lawn of Pritchard House. The styles were casual. I much preferred dressier selections, but I wanted to blend into the festive gathering. I wasn’t willing to don the slick bulky coats worn by many. I decided on a double-breasted black wool cropped jacket with oversize buttons on the sleeve cuffs, a magenta blouse, black wool trousers, argyle socks, and black boots.

Earlier in the afternoon, Leon and Tucker had erected scaffolding next to the big tree and wound the light strands around and around from the top of the tree to the bottom. Promptly at four o’clock the neighbors converged. Children from toddlers to teenagers formed an orderly line at the base of the scaffolding steps. For the past hour, Leon had guided children up the steps to a platform. Each child carried a decoration large enough to be visible on the big tree.

The decorations were both everyday and extraordinary:

Red-and-white-striped candy canes.

Models of sleds, reindeer, angels, snowmen, antique cars, even a rescue helicopter.

Wooden carvings of a giraffe, elephant, seal, whale, lion, lamb, cow, horse, armadillo, dog, cat, goat, chimpanzee, polar bear, and eagle.

Bright plastic balls with painted scenes of a skating party, roasting chestnuts, a sleigh ride, carolers, presents piled beneath a tree, a family dinner, the Salvation Army kettle, lampposts decorated with strands of red and green lights.

Leon helped the last child, a little girl in a pink snowsuit, place a sparkling candy cane on a branch. As he swung her up to wave, the crowd stirred expectantly.

The woman in front of me lifted a little boy. “Look up, Bobby. Watch the balcony.”

I stood on tiptoe trying to see.

She gave me a quick bright smile. “Here, you can squeeze in beside me. Isn’t this wonderful. It’s just like old times.” Dark curls framed a cheerful face, her cheeks red with cold.

“I’m visiting around the corner.” I gestured to my left. “Is this a church party?”

She shifted the child onto one hip. “A neighborhood party. It will really make you feel like Christmas.” Her smile was infectious. “I’m Kay Kelly.”

I hesitated only an instant. “Jerrie Emiliani.”

Kay gave an expansive wave with her free hand. “I grew up in Adelaide and this has always been my very favorite Christmas celebration. It was started by the Pritchard family years and years ago. Susan Flynn, who lives here now, is the last of the Pritchards. Everyone is welcome. It started off as a little party for children who were friends of the family’s children, but now people come from all over town. Mrs. Flynn doesn’t mind. The children help decorate a big Scotch pine cut fresh from the Pritchard ranch. The tree isn’t like the tree at Rockefeller Center, but for Adelaide it’s a big, big tree. After the decorating is done, there’s a bonfire and kids roast marshmallows and there are cookies and punch and hot chocolate and every child gets a little wrapped present. One of the family members hands out gifts to each boy and girl. The gifts are assorted by age. I still have all my gifts. My favorite was a little charm bracelet with a rose rock.”

I knew all about rose rocks, the official rock of Oklahoma. Barite crystals combined with Oklahoma’s iron-rich sand to produce reddish rocks shaped like roses. The Cherokee believed that each rock represented the blood of those who died on the Trail of Tears when the Cherokee were forcibly removed from Georgia in 1838 to Indian Territory.

“Mrs. Flynn”—my new friend nodded toward the house—“has been ill the last few years and hasn’t come out on the balcony with the rest of the family to welcome everyone. One child will be picked to place the star at the very top of the tree and switch on the tree lights. Every year the lights are a different color. Last year they were all blue. Oh look, here comes the family.”

Twin lanterns flashed on, illuminating the now shadowy balcony in a golden glow, making it a bright stage in the deepening dusk. Susan Flynn stepped outside. She was elegant in a full-length black mink coat with a wing collar and turned-back cuffs. A crimson turtleneck emphasized the dark sheen of the mink. A matching fur fedora was tilted at a jaunty angle.

A cheer rose.

My new friend was joyful. “How wonderful. That’s Mrs. Flynn. She must be feeling better, though her face is awfully thin.”

Susan held up both hands, smiling and blinking back tears, touched by the exuberant welcome.

I sorted them out as they stepped onto the balcony.

Plump Jake Flynn nodded this way and that as if the welcome was for her, not Susan. Jake looked like a plump robin in a red quilted vest.

A wide-eyed Keith clutched Peg Flynn’s hand. Dave stood on Peg’s other side. He held possessively to her elbow. His camel-hair coat looked new and was undoubtedly expensive.

Gina Satterlee drew some admiring glances for her silver fur and stylish red-and-black-plaid slacks.

An ebullient smile was bright as a Christmas wreath on Harrison Hammond’s florid face. His wife Charlotte shivered and tied a red wool scarf beneath her chin. She moved toward a remaining sunny spot on the balcony.

Tucker Satterlee sauntered out last. Unlike the other men, he had a rugged outdoor appearance in his tan shearling coat and snug jeans. Tucker pulled the hall door shut and joined his sister. He leaned against the railing and folded his arms.

Gina gave Tucker a quick, unreadable glance.

Susan moved to the railing. “Merry Christmas.” Her voice rang clear and true.

“Merry Christmas.” The shouts rose on the clear cold air.

“Thank you for coming to our tree party.” The breeze ruffled the lustrous fur of her coat. She took a quick breath. “Every year a child is invited to put the Star of Bethlehem atop the tree when the other decorations are in place.” Susan gripped the railing with both hands, steadied herself. “This year, the child is special to me and this Christmas will be one of the most joyous of my life. My grandson Keith has come to live with me. Keith will crown our tree.”

Murmurs rose and the crowd pressed forward.

Peg picked up Keith, held him high. “Wave, honey,” she whispered.

Keith’s face was solemn, but he lifted a hand and waved.

“We’ll be right down.” Peg swung Keith to the balcony floor.

Tucker pushed away from the railing. “Hey, buckaroo. How about a Tarzan swing?” He held out his arms for Keith, shouted to Leon, who stood by the steps to the scaffolding. “Want to catch him, Leon? Here he comes.” Tucker picked up Keith and swung him out over the balcony.

Gasps and cries rose.

Susan lifted a hand in protest. “Tucker, no.”

Leon hurried forward, his weathered face drawn in a frown. “Wait up, Tucker. I can’t reach him.”

“Uh-one. Uh-two.” Tucker swung Keith from side to side. In mid-swing, he let go. “Here he comes.”

Leon shifted a foot or so to one side as he held up his arms.

Keith’s laughter was a gurgle of delight.

Leon staggered a bit as he caught Keith.

“Tucker, that was dangerous.” Susan’s voice was sharp.

He looked around, grinned. “Keith’s having a blast.”

Leon looked up. “I’ve got him all right.”

Susan took a deep breath, but her eyes were still angry.

Tucker spread his hands in a charming plea for approval. “Hey, Susan, guys have to be guys. Now you wait and see if Keith doesn’t remember next Christmas and insist we do it again.”

“Next Christmas…” There was an odd note in Susan’s voice.

Keith looked up from below. He wriggled in Leon’s grasp. “Swing me again.”

Tucker laughed out loud. “Keith’s got the right idea. How about it, Susan?”

“Once is enough.” She came to the railing. “Hold tight to Leon, Keith. He’s taking you up to the top of the tree.”

Leon wrapped an arm around Keith. At a card table at the base of the scaffolding, Leon picked up a huge white star. “Here we go.” He mounted two steps at a time, carrying Keith to the top platform. Leon steadied Keith on the metal railing and, bending forward, reaching out to the tip-top of the pine, Leon’s big hand over Keith’s small one, they put the star in place.

Another cheer rose.

Susan watched Keith, her face shining with delight.

I looked at those around Susan.

Jake’s lips compressed into a tight hard line. Peg took a step toward her mother, stopped. A frown marred Dave Lewis’s handsome features. Gina hunched her shoulders and jammed her hands into the pockets of her coat. Harrison looked worried. His wife put a hand on his sleeve. Tucker gave a dismissive shrug and turned toward the hall door.

Susan lifted her hands in a gesture of hospitality. “It’s time for cookies and cocoa.”

In an instant, Susan would turn. Though she was caught up in the moment, thrilled with Keith and with the tree, she would surely see the closed faces of those who surrounded her, closed against Keith, closed against her.

My voice rose clear and distinct. Soon voices joined me, one after another, until everyone sang the light and lilting “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

Susan moved back to the railing, eyes shining. She turned toward those behind her and gestured like a conductor. One by one they joined in.

I nodded in satisfaction. It is difficult to frown and sing at the same time.

As the song ended, Susan beamed. “We’re coming down and we’ll sing more songs.” She turned and walked to the balcony door and those around her followed.

By the time they came out onto the porch, Susan had to stop and grip a pillar. Peg took her arm and after a moment they came down the front steps.

I launched into “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

Voices rose enthusiastically around me.

Despite the upbeat music, I felt a chill as I recalled the stony faces on the balcony before I started to sing.