The Christmas Kite

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  “My idea seems easier,” Jordan said. He stared into space.

  They waited, neither saying a word.

  “Let me think on it,” he said finally. “I suppose I could hire a couple more clerks and move you into the new shop.” His eyes pinned Meara. “What do you say? That means full-time work. At least, full-time responsibility.”

  She hadn’t considered that. If Mac attended school, her days would be free. But she’d balked at sending him to public school. Yet so far, that was her only choice…or homeschooling again. “Might be taxing at first with Mac around, but I’d like to give it a try. And I’m still determined to find a school for him this September.”

  “I’d really thought of storage or renting the place, but I suppose that could be a hassle, too.”

  “You ain’t a-kiddin’. This town has had some pretty cheesy shops,” Otis said. “Yours could be a breath of fresh air.”

  “You’re right.” Jordan grinned at his “pretty cheesy” phrase. “Let me think on it. I don’t want to rush—”

  Before the sentence left his mouth, a piercing blue light shot across the sky, filling the air with an acrid stench of sulphur. A clap of thunder that shook the house followed on its heels.

  “Now, that was close,” Jordan said as the lights flickered and died.

  The outdoor pandemonium was trailed by Mac’s hoot, sailing into the kitchen from the living room.

  Meara bolted from her chair, but in the darkness, she faltered. “It’s okay, Mac. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I’ll get him,” Jordan said, rising and edging his way from the table. “Hang on, Mac,” he called. “I have a flashlight right here, and some candles if we need them. Usually the lights are off only a couple of minutes.”

  In one moment, a beam of light shot from across the kitchen, then bobbed past as Jordan headed into the living room for Mac.

  After Jordan guided him back to Meara, Mac clung to her side. She patted his cheeks and felt a few stray tears rolling from his eyes.

  “Well, I imagine Nettie’s under the table, talking to the Lord a mile a minute, so I’d better get.”

  “Let me light a candle, Otis.” The flashlight swayed through the room, and in a second, Jordan returned with a candlestick. Meara took the matches from his hand and lit the broad taper. A warm glow brightened the room.

  Jordan led Otis to the door with the flashlight, and Meara sank back into her chair with Mac fastened to her lap.

  “I suppose we should go, too,” she said when Jordan returned.

  “No way. You’re not going out in this weather. And who knows if the lights are on in town? Grab that candle and let’s go to the living room where it’s comfortable.”

  Meara lifted the candle and moved slowly in the dim light, Mac at her side. Jordan lit two more thick, sturdy candles, and a warm glimmer flickered around the room.

  The thunder rolled in the distance, and in minutes, the lightning had softened to a faraway flash zigzagging over the lake. With the ebbing storm, Mac relaxed and stretched out on the sofa.

  Jordan punched the TV “off” switch, then sat in the chair across from her. “The storm’s quieting. At least for now.”

  Sitting in silence, Meara soothed Mac with her hand until his breathing became slow and even.

  “He’s asleep,” she whispered. “I figured that would happen.”

  “It’s late, too.” He leaned toward the light. “Nine-thirty.”

  “I wonder if the lights will come on tonight? I can’t stay here forever.”

  “I suppose not,” he said.

  In the cover of shadows, Meara gathered her courage, longing for the answers to questions she’d been wondering about. “Remember the day your coworker was here? Blair somebody?”

  “Yes, Blair Dunham.”

  “Well, he mentioned…making an offer to you. Is it too personal to ask what that’s about? I’ve wondered.”

  Jordan chuckled. “Not as long as you don’t mind my probing, too. Blair’s from the university where I taught. There’ll be an opening sometime next year, and he told the dean he’d let me know about it.”

  “You’re going back?” She suspended breathing, waiting for his answer.

  “I’m not sure. I’m thinking.”

  “Oh.” Like the distant thunder, anxious thoughts rumbled within her. Would he leave? In the silence, she waited for his “probing” question. An uneasy feeling settled over her until he finally spoke.

  “I didn’t know you had relatives nearby.”

  “Alison? She lives over on Lake Michigan. I just happened to run into her. We were close once, but things happened, and, well, it was sad really.” She hesitated, wondering if she wanted to tell the story.

  “I didn’t mean to pry. I was just surprised.”

  “You’re not prying. It just hurts a little yet.” The story rolled from her tongue—Alison’s coldness after Mac was born, the hurt, the loneliness for family. “And I didn’t really have family with Dunstan. He changed after we were married and was terribly distant after Mac was born. And Dunstan Senior was the same. Worse, maybe.”

  “You said you’d been unhappy.” His voice sounded weighted.

  “Alison told me Dunstan’s father had a bad stroke. When I first heard, I had such mixed feelings. Do you know what I thought?”

  The candlelight flickered across his serious face. So tender, the look in his eyes. And kind.

  “No, what did you think?”

  “I was glad. That was my first reaction. The old man got what he deserved. God punished him for his unkindness. But…then I felt horribly guilty. God doesn’t punish people like that.”

  “What makes you believe that, Meara? Maybe God does use His power to chasten. To get even.”

  “How can you say that? We’re His children.” Her hands trembled as she clutched them to her breast. “Parents aren’t vindictive. They don’t intentionally hurt their children. Discipline them maybe, but not hurt them.”

  “Have you heard of child abuse?”

  Her chest tightened. This was not a side of Jordan she knew at all. Wasn’t he a Christian? He bowed his head when they blessed the food. He…She stopped. He did little else. But he was filled with gifts of the Spirit—compassion, kindness, humility. She leaned forward to look in his eyes, amazed she’d never asked him.

  “Are you a Christian, Jordan?”

  Are you a Christian? Jordan’s stomach twisted like a hangman’s knot, and his thoughts whirled out of control. How could he answer her? If he told her where his convictions had been for the past three years, she’d walk out the door and never look back.

  But things had changed. Since he’d met her, Meara had caused him to face a decisive fact. Two women that touched his life in the most amazing way believed in God. Were they God’s catalyst that would stir his faith?

  “Jordan?” Meara leaned forward into the candlelight, her lovely face marked by deep, strained furrows. “Are you a Christian?”

  Words jumbled on his lips, and he prayed his first prayer. God, if You are real, give me the right words. A rush of anxiety swept through him. He lowered his eyelids, waiting for something to happen. But not knowing what. When he opened them, Meara’s anguished eyes locked with his.

  “I can’t answer your question, Meara.”

  “You what?” She fell back against the cushion. Her face a shadow.

  “I don’t have a clear answer for you. I’m like a student who stares at a true-and-false question and sees both sides as the answer.”

  “How could I have known you this long and not realize that you aren’t a Christian?”

  “I didn’t let you. I’ve read the Bible so many times. I’ve taught it in a class. But I was the teacher. I was supposed to have the answers. How could I ask my students to explain their faith?”

  “Then your heart was open? You were asking yourself questions?” Her tone brightened.

  “Yes, Lila believed, and I had begun to listen and learn from her. But I wa
s like a pendulum, swinging from one side to the other. I had opened my heart to understand, but—”

  “But what, Jordan? What would close the door to the Spirit’s prodding?”

  He wasn’t ready to open the wound again, to spill out the details of that horrible night. But she deserved an answer. “A tragedy. A horrifying tragedy.”

  “What happened?”

  “My wife…” The words seared his throat. “My wife and son were killed.” Hot sorrow pressed against his eyes, and he turned his face away from her. In the dim light, he hoped she didn’t see his tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Jordan.” Her voice was a whisper. “I can’t imagine your grief. How did it happen?”

  “Car accident.” Accident. The word jabbed his memory.

  “Oh, how horrible. Your wife and son.” She rose and knelt at his feet. “But you can’t turn against God. You can’t.”

  “And why not? If God is Almighty, why not? He could have prevented it. But I was punished for my wavering faith.”

  She grasped his hands and pressed her forehead against their entwined fingers. “If you’ve read God’s Word, you know that evil forces work night and day to undermine our faith, to destroy our trust in God and in each other, to twist love from our hearts, to replace forgiveness with doubt and fear. God doesn’t do that.”

  Tears flowed from her eyes, washing his icy fingers. He longed to hold her against him, to comfort her, but he had little to offer except hope. “Meara, please, I—”

  “Read the Bible again, Jordan. You said you’ve read it many times, but this time open your heart and mind. Read it again. God planned for our salvation long before the earth was made. Sin, death, evil—God knew we would need His saving grace.”

  He felt drained. “I have moments when I know God is real, but I don’t trust my judgment anymore.” A sudden, icy awareness shivered through him. “Maybe I don’t have faith in myself.”

  “But you’re intelligent. With the seed of faith you already have, study the Bible. I’ll help you find answers if I can.”

  He responded with a nod.

  In the hushed silence, Mac’s deep, even breaths confirmed his sleep. Jordan slid his hands from Meara’s and rested them against her concerned face. Her cheeks were warm, and he brushed his fingers along the graceful contour to her lips, tracing her perfectly shaped mouth.

  Her eyes widened, yet she remained silent and unmoving, except for a breath that shivered into the darkness.

  His failing defenses rearmed, and he shrunk back, killing his powerful longing to kiss her.

  “The storm’s passed.” Meara’s whisper broke the stillness, and her questioning eyes remained locked with his. “We’d better go.”

  Jordan stood, overwhelmed by the emotion that tangled in his heart. “I’ll follow you home.”

  “No. That’s not necessary.”

  “Not necessary, but I want to. Just to make sure you’re home safe. Might be a tree down or something along the way. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.” The words seared like a flaming arrow, and his past, like a mound of ashes, rose in his mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the quiet of the new store, dust rose from the display shelves as Meara boxed trinkets and cheap souvenirs. The Bargain Hut had offered a fair price for the lot.

  After much scrutiny, they had agreed upon what to sell and what to keep for The New Curiosity Shop. Jordan had laughed when she’d suggested the name—with a twist—that she had borrowed from Charles Dickens. Jordan had laughed. When they’d first met, he’d never laughed. Rarely grinned, for that matter.

  She closed the lid on a box, shoving it aside, and pulled another forward. She wrestled with her thoughts, trying to stay focused on the seemingly eternal task, but the mundane activity allowed her mind to wander. For the fourth time that afternoon, tears filled her eyes and sneaked a lazy trail down her cheeks. Pulling her hand across her face, she erased signs of her frustration.

  “Looks like the job may take a lifetime.”

  She jumped at the voice and swung around. “Jordan, you scared me.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know. It’s not you, it’s me.”

  “I stopped to see how you’re doing.” He stood at the storeroom entrance, gazing at the wall to his left. “I think I’ll put an opening between the two shops.” He returned his focus to her. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “A lot of sense. Customers can’t help but wander through an open doorway.” She tried to form a grin but her muscles struggled against her effort.

  Jordan closed the distance between them. “Something’s wrong. Can I help?”

  “Not unless you can build a school for special students.” Her attempt at being lighthearted was failing.

  “Ah, I forgot. You went to school this morning.”

  She nodded. “IEPC meeting. That’s the individualized educational planning committee.” The sentence faded and her tears won the battle again. “It was terrible.”

  He lay his hand on her shoulder. “How?”

  “They tried to be nice but they don’t understand Mac. He’s the first Down child they’ve had.” She brushed away a stray hair glued to her cheek by a tear. “The special education teacher talked so loudly to Mac—right in his face—he covered his ears. I almost threw my hand over Mac’s mouth to keep him from telling her to be quiet.”

  A grin brightened Jordan’s face.

  She shrugged. “You know Mac.”

  He nodded.

  “He’ll be in the learning center for four hours a day with other special students, then mainstreamed for the rest.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “I don’t know. He’ll have classes with regular kids in art, music and physical education. I can’t believe I’m even considering this. Mac needs attention and special training…not being jumbled up with regular students. Being with those children might be horrible.”

  “And might not be, Meara.” He grasped her shoulders and caught her gaze. “Give the school a chance. And give Mac a chance.”

  A sob rose from her throat, and she pushed her face against his chest to mask her rising emotion. His hands slid from her shoulder to her back, and he drew her close, soothing her with quiet, comforting words. A sense of wholeness…of warmth spread through her, feeling at this moment protected and…And what?

  She captured the reins of self-control and lifted her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart.”

  He tilted her chin upward with his thumb and finger. “And what about faith? And prayer? You’re the lady that drills all that into my head. Should I assume that God can’t help you?”

  “Remind me what the Scriptures say, Jordan?” She studied his face, wondering if he were actually reading the Bible.

  “‘Ask and you shall receive.’” In thought, he lifted his face heavenward. “And how about ‘Then you call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you.’”

  Jordan had made his point. Once again she hadn’t leaned on God for support. Hiding both her chagrin and delight, she lowered her eyes. “I’ll try to do better.”

  Yet, hearing his testimony, her heart skipped and her gaze drifted to his. “And you’ve been reading, haven’t you.”

  “Rereading, you mean. Yes.” For a moment, his hand caressed her back, then he shifted it upward to her shoulder. “But this time, I’m listening.”

  “I’m glad.” She sighed. “And I’ll listen, too.”

  Their gazes locked, and a discomforting awareness of their close proximity awakened in Meara. She broke from his eyes, stepped back and grasped a handful of plastic tomahawks. “The Bargain Hut’s getting a real deal here.”

  Jordan nodded and followed her example, scooping a huge handful of the plastic Indian souvenirs into the carton.

  Clasping another load, Meara stopped in midair. “So to what do I owe this unusual visit? Did you stop by to make sure I’m earning my keep?” With a grin she released the n
ovelties from her grasp.

  “I met with the board of appeals this morning.”

  Her grin faded and her hand flew to her chest. “And?”

  “I thought we would have the answer, but we have to wait.”

  “But why? I thought your lawyer said it looked good.”

  “I think they’re getting static from Hatcher. I only hope that’s all they’re getting.”

  Her mind whirred. “You mean…like a payoff.”

  He drew his hand across his face. “Ignore me, Meara. That was wrong. They’re an honest bunch. But Hatcher is stirring up the water.”

  “How long must we wait?”

  “In two weeks I should have their answer.”

  Her heart yo-yoed to her stomach and back. “Two weeks. If Mac and I have to move, I’d rather do it now before the store opens and—”

  “You won’t have to move.” He gazed into her eyes and tilted her chin. “Remember, ‘Ask and you—’”

  “‘Shall receive.’ See how easily I forget.” He amazed her. Jordan quoting the Bible, and better yet, sounding like he believed it. “I won’t say another word. Promise.”

  “Hearing is believing.” He squeezed her arm and headed toward the storeroom.

  When Dooley let out a welcoming bark, Jordan looked toward the house, where Otis gave him a wave. Jordan whistled, and Dooley darted from the lake and joined him with an energetic shake of his wet fur.

  Startled, Jordan jumped back, but it was too late.

  Otis’s chuckle floated on the breeze, and Jordan shrugged with an embarrassed laugh and climbed the hill, wiping the sandy water from his face.

  “What’s up?” Jordan asked when he reached the top.

  “Had some errands to run and thought I’d drop by with some gossip.”

  Jordan opened the screen and waved Otis inside. “What gossip is that?” He motioned for Otis to sit.

  Otis sank into the chair. “I got wind that the T-shirt shop and the restaurant are considering Hatcher’s offer.”