Francis Hardy frowned as he looked up at the darkening grey Christmas sky.

“There’s going to be snow,” he commented to his wife when Agnes Hardy came out of the old house to stand on the porch next to him. They gazed out over the snow-laden front yard and winding driveway that led to the main road. A young golden retriever frolicked in the snow a couple of yards away as bright Christmas lights twinkled behind them, casting the early evening in a postcard-worthy view.

“Looks like it might already be snowing in the city,” Agnes commented quietly as she stepped closer to her husband, her words hanging in the cold air as puffs of whisper-white. Her pale blue eyes gazed towards the south; towards Bayport.

The retired ex-cop put an arm around his wife and pulled her a bit closer. “I hope Fenton drives carefully!” Agnes added, shivering against her husband’s larger frame and thinking of their son.

“He will,” Francis assured her and then turned them both around to go back inside the warm house. He glanced over his shoulder once again at the forbidding sky.  “Especially with Laura and the boys in the car.” He gave a short whistle and the dog beat a path towards the porch, up the stairs and into the house before them, his snout still crusted in snow and his tail wagging happily in perpetual motion.

“Boys,” Agnes said as they stepped into the living room and then continued on into the kitchen where a freshly brewed pot of coffee called out to them.  “I can’t get used to that.  Boys,” she repeated, her eyes capturing the gaze of her husband’s darker brown ones. “I really hope Fenton and Laura know what they’ve gotten themselves into. I mean it’s one thing to have a child and raise it from infancy, but quite another to adopt—”

“I wasn’t aware you had anything against adoption,” Francis said mildly as he sat down at the table and took the cup of coffee his wife offered. His tone belied his surprise at hearing his wife make that comment. He reached down to scratch behind the large dog’s ears when the animal laid his head on the man’s knee and looked up at him.

“I don’t,” Agnes rushed to assure him, “I’m just cautious.” She sat down across from her dark-haired husband and sighed, “I suppose I’ll feel better about all this once I’ve had a chance to actually meet the child. Frankie is certainly excited enough over him…” Her six-year-old grandson had done nothing except rave about his new little brother each time the senior Hardys called Bayport.

“Well,” Francis reminded her, “we could have gone to see him before now.”

“No, no, I still think we did the right thing,” the woman defended, tucking a strand of graying dark hair behind her ear, “giving the child a little while to settle in before overwhelming him with extended family.” Although anxious to meet their new grandson, Francis and Agnes decided to wait until Fenton and his family made their annual Christmas trek to visit them, to meet the little boy.

Although originally Bayport residents, the older Hardys had moved two hours away and into an old farmhouse on a small parcel of farmland after Francis retired from the force. As his retirement project, the spry retiree devoted his time to renovating the old house, and keeping out of his wife’s hair…well, mostly.

“I’m still a bit anxious though,” she admitted, “and nervous.” Her blue eyes fixed on her mug of coffee. She sighed.  “Probably most for Frankie.”

“I’m sure it will be just fine,” Francis tried to assure her. “We just have to have a little faith in Fenton and Laura.” He reached across and squeezed his wife’s hand. She looked up. “You know they would not have opened their home to this boy if they thought there would be any problem for Frankie…or for the child.” He released her hand and leaned back heavily in his chair.  “I can’t help but be proud of their choice actually – adopting instead of trying to have another child again—”

“Well, they did have Laura’s health to think about,” Agnes admitted, thinking of her daughter-in-law. Laura’s pregnancy with Frank had not been an easy one and then, when she did get pregnant again two years later, the baby girl had been still-born. Her voice softened and she sighed, “Physical and mental.”

A sad sense of helplessness crept into the kitchen, broken only when the dog started to bark and raced towards the front door.

Francis stood at the unmistakable sound of a car nearing the house. He leaned over the table and placed a soft kiss on his wife’s forehead. “It’ll be just fine,” he promised and then hurried to meet his new grandson.

* * *

Five-year-old Joe Doe sat in the backseat of the car and tried not to throw up. Beside him, his new brother Frank was peering excitedly out the window at the passing scenery, but try as he might, Joe could not get excited about this at all.

His new family – the Hardy family – were taking him on their yearly Christmas Eve pilgrimage to Frank’s grandparents’ house, where they would spend a week visiting before returning back to their own house on the corner of Elm and High streets in Bayport…and Joe didn’t really want to go.

In fact, it was more than not wanting to go…it was sheer terror. A fear so intense, he had not been able to eat much all day and what little he had forced down to placate an increasingly concerned Fenton and Laura – his new daddy and mommy – was bubbling around in his stomach with an uncertainty about staying there!

Joe had never met Fenton’s parents or older sister, who was also supposed to be there, and he was afraid to. So far he counted himself lucky as his adopted family seemed to be everything the little boy had prayed for with desperate fervency; but he was terrified that his luck would run out when he met the extended family and he trembled lightly at the thought of possible hostility, regardless of subtlety.

Although only five, the child was hypersensitive to animosity – the lessons of subtle aggression having been branded into his soul in the form of a vicious twin brother. A brother that he was working hard to forget, upon the advice of the social worker who taken great care to place Joe with this family. The Hardys knew nothing of William Doe and it was better that way….

* * *

“Did I tell you that Poppy has a big dog named Sam?” dark-haired Frank Hardy asked out of the blue as he turned towards the pale-faced blond boy.

“Sam?” Joe repeated, his young face crinkled in confusion, “isn’t that the name of—” he paused, still uncomfortable with calling Fenton ‘Dad’.  Although he had never known his real father, the younger boy just felt a bit awkward over it; as did he with Laura being ‘Mom’ – though that was more understandable as he had known his real mother….To their credit, Fenton and Laura seemed to understand and didn’t pressure him on either account.

“Yeah. Uncle Sam is Daddy’s partner,” the six-year-old proudly boasted. “So we have an uncle Sam and a dog Sam.”

“That’s confusing,” Joe admitted with a frown, “How can they tell who anyone’s talking about if they just say ‘Sam’?”

Frank shrugged and grinned, “I dunno but it ain’t no problem since Uncle Sam never comes to Poppy’s anyway!”

* * *

“Isn’t a problem,” Laura corrected from the front passenger seat as she shook her head at her son’s grammar.

“Isn’t a problem” Frank enunciated loudly from the back seat.

Stifling a sigh, the pretty blond woman looked at her husband, who was trying to hide his grin, and asked, “Are we there yet?”

“As a matter of fact,” the young detective chuckled, “we are.” And on that note, he pulled the car into the opening of a long driveway and carefully drove over the snow-slick gravel road towards the two-story farmhouse.

Joe felt his stomach drop, as his heart pounded painfully in his chest. They were here. It was time to meet the rest of the family.

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.