They had not written to Howie “Ebenezer” Flint to tell him they were coming. They had not even phoned, in case he put them off. Therefore when he opened his front door a crack and saw them standing on his sagging front porch, his jaw dropped and his face flushed, deepening from pink to purple. Howie had never met Homer and he had not seen Mary since they were children. And yet he seemed to guess at once that they were a threat. “You can’t come in,” he whispered. “I am the hair presumptive.” “You’re what?” Mary put out her hand. “Oh, come on, Howie, we’re kinfolk. Remember when you came to Concord with your family? When we were children? I’m Gwen’s sister Mary and this is my husband, Homer. We just want to talk to you.” Howie’s eyes swiveled back and forth between the two tall people standing on the drooping floorboards of his front porch. His eyes were small and glittering behind little old-fashioned glasses. They failed to see Mary’s friendly hand. It was obvious that the idiotic boy Gwen had known as a child had fulfilled his early promise.
