The Christmas Kite

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  Jordan parked his car, then strolled toward the beach and rested on a bench to enjoy the early-September sun. Squalling seagulls soared overhead, dipping down to snatch leftovers dropped by a picnicker. Cars streamed across the arching bridge, returning from the upper peninsula or heading farther north on vacation.

  Children scampered along the water’s edge, gathering shells and driftwood, tended by mothers with watchful eyes. Jordan’s attention drifted farther out, across the water to the island and off to the horizon. Drifting in and out of reveries and confusion, his mind flagged behind his gaze.

  Time ticked away as he thought. What was happening with his life? What hid behind that dark glass the Bible referred to? What picture might rise from his shadowed imaginings? Meara and Mac filled his mind so often. His incomplete life seemed whole in their presence.

  The sun lowered in the sky, sprinkling shimmering silver sequins on the rippling water. In the late-afternoon glow, bright sails, minuscule colorful triangles, skimmed across the dusky blue lake. Jordan glanced at his wristwatch. Mac must be home by now. He rose from the bench and returned to the car.

  When he parked behind the shop, he grabbed the gift and climbed the staircase, wondering if Meara would be pleased to see him.

  The door flew open, and her face flickered with a series of unnamed emotions. “Jordan, what are you doing here?” She didn’t widen the door or invite him in.

  He stood, clutching the gift in his hand, his tongue tangled in his response.

  Finally she drew back and opened the door. “I’m sorry. Come in.”

  When he stepped inside, another voice greeted him with a rush of excitement.

  “Jor-dan!” Mac propelled toward him as fast as his stubby legs would carry him. “Jor-dan,” he repeated, and his arms wrapped around Jordan’s trousers.

  “Happy birthday, Mac.”

  “Me,” he said, jabbing his chest. “My birthday.”

  “Yes, I know. I have a present for you. See?” He lifted the gift toward the child.

  “For me?”

  “Sure enough.”

  Meara closed the door. “Let’s invite Jordan to have a seat, Mac.”

  Jordan sat on the sofa, and Mac, at his side, stared at the unopened gift. Meara remained silent, seated across from him. As subtly as possible, he glanced at her. Filled with discomfiture, Jordan wondered what she was thinking.

  “Jor-dan?” Mac said, watching him with curiosity.

  His gaze flew to the child. “You’re nine today, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “You can open the gift, Mac. At least if—” he searched Meara’s face “—if your mother doesn’t mind.”

  “Yes, go ahead.”

  The child tore the paper from the gift and pulled out a large book. A colorful kite radiated from the cover.

  “Kites,” Mac said, flipping through the pages filled with kites of all descriptions.

  “I thought you might like the book,” Jordan said. “In one more year, you’ll be ready to fly one of your own.”

  “I’m ready,” Mac said, his mouth open in a beaming smile.

  Meara’s gentle laugh swept across the room. Jordan lifted his eyes to her smiling face.

  “You’ll learn to make very cautious statements around my son,” she said. “He’s like an elephant. He doesn’t—”

  Mac giggled. “Not an elephant.”

  “No, your memory is like an elephant’s. They never forget one thing. And neither do you.”

  “I don’t forget.”

  “You sure don’t,” Jordan said, leaning back against the sofa cushion.

  “Jordan has a good idea, Mac. The kite book will teach you about kites, and when you’re a little bigger you can fly a real one.”

  Though obviously disappointed he had to wait, Mac wasn’t disappointed about the book. He nodded and returned his attention to the colorful pages.

  “Would you like some cake?” Meara asked. “We cut it earlier when Otis brought Mac home. Nettie was here, too. But we have lots. I’ll make some coffee.”

  Jordan nodded, and she rose, heading for the kitchen.

  “Come here, Mac, and I’ll tell you all about the kites.” Jordan patted the seat beside him on the sofa.

  Mac clutched the book against his chest and carried it to Jordan. He slid in beside him, and Jordan felt the warmth of the child’s body leaning against his to gaze at the pictures. Mac’s wide eyes and gleeful giggles sent Jordan’s heart on a journey of silent pain. He’d grown to love Mac. But he couldn’t trust love. Not anymore.

  Meara returned and handed Jordan the cake plate. She placed the coffee mug on the table, then returned to the chair.

  Mac stayed snuggled to Jordan’s side, turning the pages, his conversation a singsong rhyme about the pictures.

  Distracted by Mac’s closeness, Jordan struggled to stay in control. “None for yourself?” he asked, focusing on everyday things rather than the warm feeling that soared through him.

  “No, we just finished ours a while ago. Mac had way too many sweets today, between the cake and the ice cream.”

  Jordan lifted a forkful of cake to his mouth. The yellow cake was laced with cream and pieces of red cherry. He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin she’d given him. “It’s great.”

  “I bought it next door at the bakery.”

  “I should have guessed.” His lips curved to a grin.

  “That was understood, I suppose.”

  He leaned back, enjoying her tender gaze, her full, naturally pink lips parted in a sweet smile. She wasn’t angry—at least, not that angry—and he relaxed. “You’re smiling at me. It’s more than I deserve.”

  “Look at Mac,” she said, tilting her head toward him. “Anyone who makes him that happy deserves a smile.”

  “Thanks, but I’m really sorry I didn’t take Mac today. If you’d seen me earlier, you’d believe me. I drove around in circles outside the church, wishing I’d gone. I’m surprised someone didn’t call the cops.”

  “I’m thankful they didn’t. You would’ve expected me to bail you out.”

  “You’ve been bailing me out on a regular basis, Meara. I don’t think you know what you’ve done for me.”

  She leaned toward him and pressed her finger to his lips. “The feeling is mutual, Jordan.”

  Her touch sent his mind soaring as high as the kites pictured in Mac’s birthday book. He’d said enough for now.

  Meara sat at the curb, staring at the sprawling stone mansion she had once called home. Home? No, only her place of residence. Home is where the heart is, and this monstrous house had never captured her heart. And sadly, neither had her husband.

  The admission’s sin and sorrow weighed on her shoulders. She had been younger then. And eager. America touted a land of fulfilled dreams and promises. She shuddered, ashamed of the reality. When Dunstan stepped into her life, she was swept into a dream, and Alison, unknowingly, encouraged the worst mistake Meara ever made.

  Gazing again at the cold stone walls, Meara thawed her frozen heart. The Haydens needed her forgiveness. No, she needed to forgive and be forgiven. She lowered her eyelids in silent prayer, then climbed from the car.

  Trembling legs carried her up the brick walk and onto the broad cement porch. Before her hand touched the bell, the door swung open, and a gaunt Edna Hayden searched Meara’s face with apprehensive eyes.

  “How kind of you to come, Meara.” Edna stepped back and widened the entrance. “Thank you for calling me. Waiting for your visit has been a bright spot in my difficult days.”

  Meara couldn’t believe that she had been a bright spot in the older woman’s life. Previously her presence seemed to have been like a ponderous, unwanted cloud. “Thank you, Mother Hayden. I’d hesitated calling for far too long.” She forced herself to press her lips to the woman’s cheek.

  Edna motioned her toward the parlor, and Meara slid out of her lightweight jacket and carried it with her. She dropped the garment on a chair inside the doo
r and waited for further direction.

  “Please make yourself comfortable.” Edna’s hand swept toward the seating arrangement around the huge stone fireplace.

  Meara selected one of the brocade chairs and sank into its thick cushion. Her gaze rested on a coffee carafe and glass-covered pastry tray that had been arranged on a nearby table. Her stomach churned. Could she swallow even a bite of the offerings?

  Edna sat on the settee and studied Meara for an awkward span before speaking. “I’d hoped you might bring MacAuley along with you.” She lowered her gaze. “But I understand, I suppose.” Her sad eyes rose again to Meara’s. “You do look well, Meara. Suntanned and full-cheeked. You were looking so drawn before you left. I worried about you.”

  Meara’s mouth dried, and words jammed against her tongue. Edna’s warm greeting was unexpected, and Meara’s heart twisted in aching confusion. “We’re doing well. Mac is in school. Public school for now, but I’m considering another option.”

  “Yes, Dunstan preferred tutors, you know, but…” She lifted her eyes to Meara’s. “But I suppose that is costly. You wouldn’t accept a gift of—”

  “No. No, thanks. I may homeschool Mac if things don’t improve. I wanted him to be with other children, but…” She paused. “But I may have made a poor judgment.”

  “We’d heard such terrible things. No, Dunstan—my husband—heard unpleasant details about public schools. I’ve heard nothing.” Her eyes widened, and a spark lit her gaze. “It’s time I speak for myself, Meara. I’ve cowered under my husband’s demands too long.”

  Meara’s pulse skipped, then pounded in her temples. “I understand, Mother Hayden.” And for once, she did. The picture spilled into her thoughts, remembering her earlier confession. As she had been under Dunstan’s thumb, so Edna had been under her husband’s. Roses between the thorns.

  Edna’s hand trembled as she raised it to adjust the high collar of her shirtwaist dress. “I’ve longed to ask for your forgiveness. You needed a comrade—a friend—and I didn’t come to you. I am so sorry.”

  Tears welled in Edna’s eyes, and Meara responded without hesitation. She kneeled at the elderly woman’s side, grasping her frail hand. “It’s I that needs forgiveness. I saw the pressure you lived under. Just as I did. We were both women afraid to stand up for what we knew was right. I buried my heart in self-pity and my time in Mac’s needs.”

  “But you were the stranger here, Meara. And we offered you no love. No chance to win our stiff, unmoving hearts. And Mac…” Sadness rolled from Edna’s eyes in wet tears.

  Meara’s heart filled with grief for the woman and for the past sorrow that might have been eased if she’d taken the chance to approach her mother-in-law. She had been as guilty as they. Meara lowered her head and pressed her own tears against their clutched hands. Surrounded by sorrowing silence, they wept.

  When Meara’s mind cleared, she raised her eyes to Edna’s sallow face and touched her cheek. “Let’s say no more. Our hearts know and understand. Forgiveness is our gift to each other.”

  Edna nodded and straightened in the chair. She patted Meara’s hands with a lingering gaze and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Weary and drained, yet more reassured than she’d felt in many months, Meara stood and returned to her chair. She pressed her tense body against the chair back and drew in a calming breath. “Now, I’d love a cup of that coffee.”

  Her taut face relaxing, Edna poured the dark liquid into the delicate china cups. Preparing it to Meara’s liking, she handed her the cup, then offered the plate of pastries.

  Meara rested against the cushion and talked about her days since she’d left the Hayden mansion. Though Jordan was not part of the conversation, he rose continually in Meara’s thoughts, and she couldn’t wait to tell him about the visit.

  When the carafe was drained, Meara eyed her wristwatch and suggested what her heart least wanted to hear. “May I see Father Hayden before I leave?”

  Edna’s face registered surprise. A glow lit her cheeks and thanks filled her eyes. “Certainly. He’s a changed man, Meara. In many ways.”

  They rose, and she followed Edna up the long, curved staircase—the staircase that led to her old chambers, the prison where she had lived in exile. Her cold hands clutched the banister while she garnered courage to face her former father-in-law.

  But her efforts were wasted: no courage was needed. As she gazed down at the shriveled overlord who’d made her life miserable, only pity filled her. His twisted face turned toward her with glassy, saddened eyes. A rivulet of drool ran from the corner of his mouth while unintelligible rasping words droned from his throat.

  Meara shifted to step aside, and gnarled fingers extended from the bedcovers, capturing her hand. Repressing her instinct to pull away, she controlled her reactions and calmed her thoughts. A mournful look came into her father-in-law’s eyes, filling her with deep sorrow. But forgiveness lay like a lump of dry bread in her throat. She could not say the words, though she saw the desperate question in his eyes.

  With only a few mumbled amenities, Meara drew back and commented on the time. Edna patted her husband’s hand, then led Meara from the room and down the stairs.

  At the bottom, Meara gathered her jacket and purse. “You’ll be in my prayers, Mother Hayden. And I promise I’ll bring Mac for a visit. He’s asked about you.”

  Edna’s eyes widened. “Mac has asked about me?” Joy transformed her face.

  “Yes, many times.” Deep sadness knifed through Meara.

  Edna grasped her shoulders and pressed her dry, thin lips against Meara’s cheek. “Thank you. Today, you’ve given me more than I had dreamed of. Thank you.”

  Meara wrapped the frail woman in her embrace, then turned and fled down the stairs to hide her own tumbling emotions. At her car door she lifted her hand in a final parting, then closed her eyes to the depressing memories as she slid inside. She prayed that the only image that would remain was the glow on Edna’s face when she spoke of Mac.

  The flowers drooped in the afternoon sun, and Jordan pulled the garden hose from the side of the house and turned on the spigot. His concentration had waned throughout the day as he wondered how Meara had endured her visit with the Haydens. She had called in the morning to announce her decision to go.

  He was proud of her, yet apprehensive. The hurt she felt for herself and Mac had created a deep hole in her compassion. A prayer rose from his thoughts for the outcome. Would God listen to him?

  The telephone’s ring sounded through the porch screen. Jordan dropped the garden hose and hurried inside, anticipating Meara’s call. When her greeting touched his ear, his stomach toppled. He closed his eyes, facing the unwanted truth. Truth he’d stifled and pushed from his mind. But a truth that filled him, despite his attempts to destroy it. She and Mac meant too much to him. His emotions scraped raw against his heart.

  Sentences tumbled through the line, a jumble of words and tears. “Meara, wait. I can barely understand you. Slow down, please.”

  He heard Meara’s gasping over the line.

  “Can you talk now?” Jordan asked.

  A controlled “yes” hit his ear.

  “Okay, now tell me. What happened to Mac?”

  “They broke his glasses.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I picked him up later than I had expected and the principal met me in the hall with Mac.”

  “Did you ask for details?”

  “Mac cried when he saw me. And I was so upset I didn’t listen. I just grabbed the glasses and marched—”

  “Meara, there may have been a good explanation.” He envisioned her as a staunch warrior, protecting her child. “What did Mac tell you?”

  “Something about getting knocked off the slide during recess. I don’t know.”

  “From the top? Someone pushed him?” He climbed into his battle gear as easily as Meara had.

  “I don’t know. Top or middle, but his glasses were broken.”

  “
Maybe he fell off?”

  “Knocked…I think…” Her voice trailed off, then surged. “I’ve had it, Jordan. I’m taking him out of that school on Monday.”

  “Don’t be rash, Meara. Hold on. I’ll come over. We can talk.” His thoughts bounded wildly. She needed someone, and he longed to be the one. He wanted her in his arms. In his life. Yet there were so many things that kept her at arm’s length. So much she didn’t know. Too much guilt to share.

  When he replaced the receiver, Jordan locked the house and hurried to the car. Urgency filled him. But why? She would be in the apartment waiting for him, and he would change nothing.

  Meara had overprotected Mac for too long. It would take more than his feeble urging to change her mind. Eventually she would learn for herself that Mac needed to grow strong and deal with life in his own way. Yes, he was disabled. Special. But he was also special in some wonderful ways that Meara had yet to understand.

  Jordan wished he’d learned his own son’s specialness before it was too late. Robbie had been bright and loving. Yes, and maybe too mouthy for his own good, but—Jordan cut off his thoughts. Not now. Other things filled his mind. He’d suffered enough with the memories. Tonight was Meara’s.

  Calming his thoughts, Jordan followed the two-lane highway, focusing on the road but unable to direct his rambling thoughts. His heart pounded with anticipation. For what? Longings shivered to the surface. Emotions. Feelings he’d covered, smashed, destroyed. Yet they were rousing from their years of sleep.

  Trees and isolated buildings flashed past his peripheral vision. He was driven by a surging, aching awareness. He hit his brake at the first stoplight. Motels and shops lined the street ahead of him. He drew in a deep breath, amazed at his rattled emotions—excited, anxious and overwhelmed by the feelings.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mac rose from his nap, and Meara calmed herself. He ambled from his bedroom with a dazed squint and shielded his eyes from the late-afternoon sun piercing through the window like a fiery arrow.