“She said something about us, or the grandmother wouldn’t have looked over at us that way,” said Jo Ann. “At least she’s smiling—that’s encouraging.”
They noticed the woman go over into a dark recess, then come back shortly. In the light of the fire they could see that she held a soiled yellowed envelope in her hand.
On coming closer the woman said earnestly, “You are American like his mamá and papá. You have been good to us like they were.” She touched Florence on the cheek first, then Jo Ann. “And you are beautiful like his mamá.”
She held up a sealed envelope. “His mamá give this to me. I keep it for Carlitos. When he get big, I give it to him.”
Florence took the envelope into her hand. She uttered a little gasp. “Why, this is a letter! It is addressed to a man in New York.” She read the name out loud. “Mr. E. P. Eldridge.”
“Well, for Pete’s sake!” exclaimed Jo Ann. “Why didn’t she mail that?”
Not stopping to listen to Jo Ann, Florence asked the woman quickly, “Is Carlitos’ name Eldridge—Carlitos Eldridge?”
The woman hesitated a moment; then, after Florence had repeated the name Eldridge several times, she nodded her head. “Yes, I think that was the name. It has been many years—I forget.”
“This is a letter. Why didn’t you put it in the mail?”
The woman looked blank at this question.