The Christmas Kite

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Chapter Four

  The next morning Meara sat on the beach, longing for Jordan to stroll past taking Dooley for a walk. But only squawking gulls and lapping waves—and Mac—disturbed her silence. She grinned at the child making fortlike mounds in the sand and singing in his sweet voice a repetitive tune with lyrics only a mother could love.

  “Dig the sand and dig the sand. Dig the sand and make a hole. Dig the sand and make a hole. Make a hole and dig the sand,” he sang.

  Listening, she recognized the tune was one she’d taught him, “Jesus Loves Me.” To laugh or scream was her only way to handle his repetitiveness. She chuckled at the endless monotony. How could she do otherwise? Mac enjoyed music and loved to sing. Though he was cheated in one way, God had given him a gift.

  Her heart tugged as she studied her son. He’d been cheated, and she would be, too…one day when he was gone. Life expectancy. She reeled, remembering the doctor’s words. It would be shortened, he had said. Tears found her eyes. She pushed them away with angry fingers.

  Not her son. Not Mac. Life expectancy had nothing to do with God’s will. If she had anything to do about it, God’s will would be a long life for Mac, if…

  Mac’s clear voice crooned the words again. Meara dragged her saddened thoughts upward and glanced for the fourth time in the direction of Jordan’s house, hoping. Her vision reached the curve in the shoreline. Nothing. Why he interested her, she had no idea. She recalled the day they met. He had been rude and abrupt. But since that day, he had softened and had shown kindness to Mac and to her. And beneath Jordan’s rough exterior, she suspected he was as vulnerable as she. Though she’d tried to read the hidden message in his brooding eyes, he had blocked it behind a wall of silence.

  She rose from the sand chair and took a cautious step into the water. The sun’s warmth had yet to raise the temperature of the lake, and she shivered as her foot sank into the frigid surf, jolting her senses. Yet she needed a jolt. She had been protected too long from everything, including living.

  “Mac, want to walk in the water?” she called.

  He shook his head without a break in his song.

  “Don’t go anywhere, then. I’m going for a swim.”

  With one rapid motion, she dived into the water, her body tingling with exhilaration. It had been forever since she’d gone swimming—until this past week. How many empty years had passed since she’d walked along a beach and watched the sun sink into a deep purple horizon? Or watched the birds flying free—the way she felt today? Free and optimistic…and happy. She bounced to her feet, feeling the sandy bottom against her toes. She wanted to yell, sing out like Mac.

  Seeing her son playing with contentment on the shore, she felt her heart squeeze and tears appear behind her eyes. They had lived like prisoners in the Hayden mansion. Their presence had brought discomfort and shame to the arrogant, wealthy family. Life had, for once, turned the tables on their elaborate plans.

  Following the death of Dunstan’s childless wife, his parents had pushed their only heir, Dunstan Alfred Hayden, to woo and marry Meara MacAuley for the sole purpose of an heir. And what did Meara give him? A child with Down syndrome. And who did they blame? Her. Her Irish heritage, her lack of education and her awkward ways.

  Had they considered Dunstan’s age? He was more than twice her twenty-seven years. She had been foolishly flattered—encouraged by her cousin to marry the wealthy man. “You can stay in America,” Alison had said. “We’ll be such friends.” But instead, she, too, had turned her back when Mac was born, perhaps feeling to blame for arranging Meara’s introduction to Dunstan.

  Often Meara wondered why God had allowed those terrible things to happen to her. She’d been strong in her faith back then. She’d convinced herself that Dunstan glided into her life because God had planned it. He offered her a world she’d never known: wealth, security…and love. Or so she had thought. But Meara had been entirely wrong. Without love and tenderness, a baby-making machine was what she had become. She’d been the means to procreate, and once the child lived inside her, Dunstan might as well have vanished from her life. Once Mac was born, things became worse. She’d prayed and asked God “why,” but no answer came to her—until she looked at Mac. Her child was God’s gift and her special challenge. Meara clung to that belief.

  No matter. Those days were over. Never again would she put herself in that position. Never again would she fall in love and allow her son to be hurt and abandoned…and let herself be hurt and abandoned.

  Meara had new experiences awaiting her, and she prayed they would be blessings. Meara lifted her gaze toward heaven, then pulled her thoughts to the present and dove again into the clear, calm water, this time feeling less chilled.

  The pleasant afternoon sun lay upon her arms, and she gauged from its position that it was nearly noon. She dragged her legs through the water to shore. Today she would drive into town to check the apartment. Hopefully Otis Manning would have some information.

  “Hello, there,” Otis said with an easy smile as they came through the shop door.

  Mac shot forward, extending his hand in greeting. Otis grinned and grasped the child’s hand in a hearty shake. “And how’s the kite-flying, son?”

  Mac poked himself in the chest. “Me? Nope. But Mama’s good.”

  “She is, huh? And why can’t you fly a kite?” He bent his pleasant face toward Mac’s.

  “Too small. Mr…. Baird said…maybe a year.”

  “Well, if anyone knows about kite-flying, he’s your man. You were talking to the horse’s mouth.” Otis patted the child’s head.

  Mac let out a loud chortle. “Horse’s mouth.” He poked at Meara.

  She rolled her eyes at Otis, and the elderly man grimaced.

  “That’s only an expression, Mac,” Meara said. “He means Mr. Baird knows what he’s talking about.”

  “Okay,” Mac said, eyeing the kites. The “horse’s mouth” was forgotten as he wandered through the shop.

  “Sorry about that,” Otis whispered. “I’d better watch what slips off this tongue with that young ’un around.”

  He looked so downtrodden, forgiveness was easy. “No problem. I do it myself.”

  A relieved expression swept over his face. “So I s’pose you’re anxious to hear about the apartment.”

  “Yes. Did you talk to the owner?”

  “Sure did. Jordan told me to give the place a once-over and—”

  “Jordan?” Hearing the name, she stopped breathing for a moment.

  “The owner. Jordan Baird. I understand you’ve met.” He let loose a quiet chuckle. “Met head-on from what I’m told. He tells me Dooley gave you a topple. Jordan sure has amusing ways to knock a woman off her feet. Well, at least Dooley does.”

  “Jordan owns this shop?” A contained breath burst from her lungs. “The other day Mac noticed a kite that we figured he had made. But I thought maybe he sold them to you.”

  “Jordan made all the kites in this shop. Every last one of them.” His arm made a broad sweep of the surroundings. “Right pretty, aren’t they?”

  Meara craned her neck, gazing around the room with a new appreciation. “You mean every single kite is handmade…by him?”

  “None other. He’s got quite a talent, for a college professor.”

  College professor. She reeled again. What else would she learn about this man? Then her heart sank. No college campus was nearby that she knew about. “Then, he only lives here in the summer.” She faltered while finding the breath to speak. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Oh, no. He doesn’t teach anymore. Something happened. He doesn’t talk about it.” He dragged his hand along his jaw and chin, then pressed his forefinger against his lips and shook his head. “Avoids the subject. I only figured it out putting bits and pieces together. Must have been a tragedy.”

  Like a fist, pity and sorrow smacked her in the stomach. “A tragedy? I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine—”

  “Nothin’ we need talk about.
It’s his private affair, and I think that’s the way he wants it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He shook his head. “Me and my big mouth.”

  “Please, Otis, don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” With her finger, she made a small cross over her heart. “I promise.”

  “Oh, I know you wouldn’t want to hurt him.” He quieted for a moment as if in thought. Then, rejuvenated, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So, let’s get on with business. He told me to go up and take a look-see. I even dragged the wife upstairs. It’s not bad. Needs a cleaning, but otherwise, it just might work for you.” He beckoned her to follow.

  With her mind still sorting Jordan’s possible tragedies, Meara stuck close to Otis’s heels. As she reached the back of the congested shop, she waved to Mac, and they passed through the outside doorway and up an enclosed staircase to the second floor.

  Through the windows of the enclosure, Meara viewed the wide parking lot of the ferry landing and the lake beyond. With the official summer still a month away, the lot held many empty spaces. She guessed that in the thick of summer when the public schools let out, the slots would be packed with sightseers.

  As they neared the top landing, sounds came from the open doorway. Stepping inside, Meara was greeted by a smiling, rosy face framed by a halo of white hair.

  “So, this must be Meara and Mac.” The woman scurried across the room, one arm spread open wide and the other sporting a broom. “I’m Nettie, Otis’s wife. Come in and see the place.”

  Meara gazed at the bright, cozy kitchen with apricot walls lined with cabinets, a long Formica counter and a small maple table surrounded by four chairs.

  “The kitchen is nice,” Nettie said. “Lots of cupboards. Someone must have remodeled not too many years ago. Go ahead. Go inside.” She shooed them through the next doorway.

  Meara stepped into the large living room. Tall windows in front looked out on the busy street below. An arch opened on the right to a hallway with a front and back bedroom and bath in between. Exactly what they needed…at least, for the time being.

  “You’ve cleaned,” Meara said, looking at the gleaming table next to a love seat and the shiny windows.

  “Oh, not much. Just dusted and swept,” she said.

  Meara chuckled, adding, “And ran the vacuum, washed the windows and…” She stepped into the bathroom. “You cleaned the tub, sink, everything.”

  “Makes a place look more homey when it’s not covered with dust.”

  “Well, thank you so much.” Meara longed to give her a hug.

  Otis stepped beside his wife and slid an arm around her shoulder. “I’ve got quite a woman here. Always doin’ somethin’ for someone. Over at the church, she’s got her nose in every committee. Visits the sick, cares for the altar, attends Bible study, works on the dinners. You name it.”

  “You’re a blessed man, Otis,” Meara agreed.

  “S’pose I am.” He gave Nettie a loving hug and strode across the room to the front windows.

  “What do you think?” Nettie asked.

  “I think it’ll do fine for us,” Meara said. “But I need to pick up a few things before we can move in. I’ll make a list of necessities before I leave.”

  “Now, you check with us first,” Otis offered. “We got a pile of furniture sittin’ in the basement and all just lookin’ for a home.”

  “He means that, Meara.” Nettie gave her a warm smile. “Such a pretty name,” she added.

  “Thank you,” Meara said. “Both of you are too kind.” Recalling the years she had rarely heard a kind or loving word, she felt about to bust with gratitude. She looked across the room at Mac and a twinge of sadness ran through her. He’d never experienced a loving father or grandfather.

  A sound drew her attention. Mac had his nose pressed against the single window that overlooked the other single-story shops. “Kites,” he called, pointing wildly through the pane.

  Meara joined him and witnessed a multitude of kites sailing high above them from the small park between the road and the ferry parking lot. “I suppose you like this apartment, huh, Mac?”

  “I like it,” he said, keeping his focus fastened to the view outside.

  Meara turned to Otis. “Before I get too excited, I’d better hear what he’s asking for rent.”

  “We didn’t discuss that, fully.” Otis pinched his lip. “He said the place has been sittin’ empty for so long that five dollars would be more than he was gettin’ before.” He chortled.

  “Yes, but I expect it’ll be more than five dollars. I’d have to pay a fortune anywhere else.”

  “I think two hundred a month should do it.”

  Meara gaped. “Two hundred. No. You mean four hundred.”

  “Cat’s whiskers,” Otis said with a grin. “Two hundred is about right.”

  “Oh, I feel—”

  “You feel like you’ll say, ‘It’s a deal,’” he said.

  She nodded and smiled. “Mac, you think we should move in here?”

  Mac giggled. “Cat’s whiskers,” he said.

  Otis stepped back. “Oops! There I go again.”

  “Otis Manning,” Nettie said, shaking her finger at him. “I’d better wash both your mouths out with soap.”

  Bubbling with giggles, Mac hurried to Otis’s side and wrapped his arm around him. “Both get our mouths washed out, don’t we?”

  “Looks like it, son,” Otis said, rumpling Mac’s hair.

  With her spirits lifted, Meara drove down the lane to their cabin. Soon they’d be in a more comfortable setting, but first she had work to do and so much to buy. Supplies and linens, dishes and pans, and beds. The Mannings had taken her list and had said they would gather up what they had, and Nettie had said the church was having a rummage sale the next day. She could pick up a few things there, perhaps.

  She parked, and Mac flung open the door, anxious to get outside. He’d been in the shop and apartment much of the afternoon, and his energy was straining for release.

  As she unlocked the cabin, a new thought struck like a hammer. She would be five miles away from Jordan. From what she could tell, he went into town for groceries and supplies, but little else. And she had no reason to come here anymore.

  Her thoughts clogged like a bad drain. Why did she care about Jordan? He’d been kind to Mac…and to her. Picturing herself sprawled on the sand by Dooley’s exuberance, she smiled. Life in the cabin had offered her fresh air. Sunshine. A new beginning. Forget Jordan. She and Mac would create a new life in town.

  Meara tossed her purse on the sofa, locked the door and dropped the keys into her pocket. She would thank Jordan for the apartment. This time she had a reason to speak with him. She and Mac followed the pine-shaded path to the sunny beach. The glimmering lake rolled in like blue corrugated paper sprinkled with gold dust.

  She drew in a deep, refreshing breath. Her life was about to begin, a new adventure. Her life before…She stopped herself. Memories rushed in like a river, washing away the joy that she had gathered on the banks. She did not need self-pity. Her new adventure had opened doors she’d never known before. Hope and happiness flooded her.

  Mac toddled along beside her while she reviewed her plans for the coming days. Tomorrow morning she would go to the church, and then she could shop for the other things she needed. Perhaps she’d go into Cheboygan. The town was larger and had well-stocked shops. But thinking of Mac, her spirits were dampened. She’d kept him bound up in the apartment all morning, and tomorrow would be the same.

  As they rounded the tree-lined curve in the shore, a long, disjointed kite drifted in the sky above the water ahead of them, its sections undulating on the lake breeze. Her pulse skipped. Mac saw it, too, and let out a joyful cry. They hurried ahead, and the distant figure of Jordan grew nearer until they were at his side.

  “What is that?” Meara asked, gasping for breath.

  Mac’s face skewed, and a giggle rose. “A kite, Mama!”

  She dropped her hand on his shoulde
r. “Yes, a kite, Mac, but what kind?” She pointed at the sections rising and falling with the air current. “See how it moves on the wind.” She looked to Jordan for the answer.

  “It’s centipede style,” he responded. “It’s created in sections.” He aimed Mac toward the front of the kite and pointed. “See the head, Mac? It’s a dragon. When the Chinese fly this kite for their New Year’s celebration, they’re asking the gods for good luck.”

  “God?” Mac said. “Ask Jesus for good luck.”

  Jordan raised an eyebrow. “No, they…well, something like that.” His shoulders tensed, and he tightened his rein on the thick string as the kite looped on the billowing wind.

  Mac clapped his hands. “Me. Me.”

  “This one is hard to manage, Mac. I’ll let you try a smaller kite another time. Okay?”

  Disappointment registered on Mac’s face, but he nodded, his focus still glued to the mesmerizing kite.

  Jordan tightened his grip and wound the thick string, bringing the lovely creation back to earth. The kite soared and plummeted as he manipulated the cord. Finally, he took backward steps to avoid the water, and Meara shot forward to grasp the kite as it dipped toward the damp, shell-speckled sand.

  “A save,” she called, smiling over her shoulder at Jordan, then returning her gaze to the amazing centipede. Its body was sectioned, and the colorful green-and-red cloth was connected with some kind of plastic tubing. The dragon’s head appeared painted, rather than dyed, in blues and greens with blazing red eyes.

  “It’s wonderful,” Meara said, lugging the cumbersome kite toward him. “It must have taken you forever to make this.”

  In awe, Mac clung to the centipede’s red-rimmed tail. “I helped,” he said, settling his section of the kite in Jordan’s outstretched hand.

  “You’re a big help, Mac. Thank you.”

  The fluttering wind tugged at the taut fabric, and Meara struggled to keep it close to her side until she could place the burden in Jordan’s arms. He gathered the cloth-covered frame and headed toward the house.