The Christmas Kite

by Gail Gaymer Martin

  He eyed her. “You’re eating your words, aren’t you.” His head teetered in a silent chuckle. “It wasn’t that long ago. You remember my Private Property sign?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “I stumbled over it the other day. I’d forgotten I tucked it beside the house. I cringed. Those days are like a dream to me—my reclusive, lonely existence.”

  He rose and put his arm around her waist. “How can I thank you and…Hatcher?” He chuckled aloud.

  “Hatcher?”

  “If it weren’t for his saloon, I might still be sitting in my house afraid to face the world again. Naturally, you’d be by my side…no matter what. And I thank you for your patience.” He tucked his arm more fully around her and coaxed her nearer.

  Meara drew in a ragged breath, longing to lift her lips to his. His love was all the thanks she needed. But she heard a sound and turned.

  Mac gazed at them from the doorway, his eyes wide and curious. He edged into the room. “Do you love us, Jor-dan?”

  An empty sadness washed over Jordan. Mac had asked a similar question months earlier, and he’d avoided the answer. Today he saw the child and his mother with different eyes, but still he couldn’t say the words. His chest tightened as he kneeled beside the boy, resting his hands on the small upper arms. “You and your mom are my best pals, son.”

  Son. The word soared through the room, echoing in his mind and ricocheting through this heart. Son. He’d lost his own. Was God offering him another? A child who needed him and adored him without question.

  “Best pals.” Mac wrapped his arms around Jordan’s neck and planted a loud, wet kiss on his cheek.

  Unbidden tears filled Jordan’s eyes, and he buried his face in the boy’s warm neck to hide his emotion. He had to tell Meara soon what had happened that horrible night—before he cared too much. He couldn’t bear to hurt her.

  He couldn’t bear another loss.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With Mac at her side, Meara marched into Beaumont Elementary School on Monday morning to withdraw him from classes.

  The secretary looked at her with placating eyes. “Mr. Baumgarten will want to speak with you before you remove him from classes.”

  Meara released a stream of pent-up air. “Fine. May I speak with him, then?” She fumbled with the release forms clutched in her hand.

  “But he’s not here. Mr. Baumgarten’s attending meetings out of town and won’t be back until the end of the week. Could you wait?”

  “I’m sorry, I’ve made my decision, and your principal won’t change it. Let’s just fill out the papers, please.”

  With a look of frustration, the secretary finally acquiesced.

  After collecting Mac’s belongings, Meara headed home. Yet something prodded her to change direction and keep her promise to Mother Hayden. After her first visit, Meara had searched the Scriptures for answers, and her conversation with Jordan had prompted her to pray. Between the two, she’d garnered courage and unearthed compassion. Before the opportunity was taken from her, she wanted to face Dunstan Sr. again. And this time with Mac.

  But her sense of propriety intervened. She wouldn’t feel right visiting without a telephone call first.

  When she pulled behind the kite shop, Otis beckoned her from the doorway. She climbed out of the car, gathered Mac’s school materials and greeted Otis.

  “Wanted to tell you before you go upstairs,” he said. “Jordan stopped by to talk to you, but you were out.” He eyed Mac and the stack of papers in her arm.

  “I withdrew Mac from school today.”

  “Is that right? Decided to homeschool, then?”

  Meara’s chest tightened, recalling her reasoning. “I told you what happened. Maybe I’m not giving it time, but I think this is best.” Noticing the confused look on Mac’s face, she wrapped her free arm around his shoulder. “We’ll make out fine, won’t we.”

  Though he looked puzzled, he nodded as if he trusted her opinion.

  “I took him to a new eye doctor this morning,” Meara added. “He’ll have his glasses in a couple of days.” She gazed at the lopsided, taped repair job. “I hope these hold out.”

  Otis gave Mac a wink. “They’d better, huh, lad? Or you’ll be bumpin’ into everything.”

  “Me,” Mac said, poking his chest. “Bumpin’ into everything.” His face glowed. He released his hold on Meara’s skirt for the first time that morning and ambled to Otis’s side.

  “Did Jordan say I should call him?” Meara asked.

  “Oh, sorry. No, he’ll drop by in a bit.” Otis motioned to Mac. “Want to help me sweep up in here, lad?”

  “Sure,” Mac said, and darted behind him into the shop.

  Meara gave Otis a wave and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She unloaded Mac’s materials on the kitchen table and plopped into the chair, her head in her hands. She’d taken on a huge task, homeschooling Mac. Sending him to classes with other special needs children had been her plan. But it wasn’t to be. Mainstream or no stream—those were her choices.

  She leaned back in the chair and looked around the kitchen. They’d managed so far. And they would continue to manage. The apartment and job had fallen into her lap. And Jordan—he’d flown into her life like one of his lovely, extraordinary kites. God had been good.

  God was good. If so, though, why did she feel empty and afraid? She rubbed her hand along the muscles in her neck, pressing against the tense knots under her hairline. What was she waiting for?

  Even forgiveness had come—forgiving and being forgiven. She paused, remembering. Dunstan Hayden Sr. She had one more act of contrition, and the hurt would be where it belonged—in the past. Penance.

  Meara pushed herself up from the table, feeling tired. She would call Mother Hayden and plan the visit. After punching in the numbers on the wall phone, Meara sank into a nearby chair. Two rings. Three. A servant answered.

  She waited for Edna Hayden’s voice, her stomach tightening in anticipation. When the woman answered, her voice was subdued.

  “Is something wrong, Mother Hayden?”

  A heavy pause hung in the air. Then she answered. “Dunstan passed this morning, Meara.”

  A hard lump knotted in Meara’s throat, and her voice caught behind it. She forced the words out with a sob. “I’m sorry. I’d called to bring Mac over for a visit.” Meara’s anticipated restitution tumbled to the ground like a dying leaf and sorrow pierced her heart. For Dunstan Sr. or for the doomed visit? She didn’t know.

  “Bless you, Meara, for thinking of us. It will be wonderful to see the boy again. I’ll have something to look forward to.”

  “Are you all right? Do you have help?”

  “I’m fine. Truly. Dunstan’s death was inevitable. I had accepted it weeks before he was taken. Now, it’s a matter of lawyers and financial planners. I’ll be fine.”

  “And the funeral?” Should she take Mac?

  “Dunstan will be cremated, Meara. I’ve planned a memorial service for next Friday.”

  “I’ll be there…with Mac.” Though she had hesitated, her path was obvious. Edna needed Mac. Now more than ever.

  She hung up the telephone and rose. Pressing her chin toward her chest, she ran her hand across the taut cords of her neck. She trudged to the stove and turned on the burner under the teakettle. Then she sat at the table, resting her forehead in her hand, thinking. If only she had finished what she had started. Total forgiveness had been so close.

  Tapping sounded at the door. Jordan. “Come in,” she said, eyeing the doorway until she saw his face.

  Hearing her voice, Jordan sensed something wrong. Meara always answered the door. He hesitated, then turned the knob and entered. Looking at her downhearted expression, he knew he’d been right.

  “What is it, Meara?”

  She straightened her back. “Dunstan’s father died this morning.” Closing her eyes, she sighed, then she opened them. “And I withdrew Mac from school today.”

  “Heavy-dut
y day.” He walked toward her and rested his hand on a chair back.

  “I called to tell Mother Hayden I was coming for a visit with Mac. I wanted to make amends with Dunstan’s father. And now…” She paused, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

  “The forgiveness is complete, Meara. Unspoken, yes, but your heart offered the forgiveness. That’s what counts.”

  Jordan was right. God knew that forgiveness was in her heart. Now all she could do was pray that Dunstan’s father had been forgiven by God and was in heaven.

  “When’s the funeral?”

  “Cremation. She’s having a memorial service on Friday. I told her I’d bring Mac.” She plied her fingers along the back of her neck.

  “Are you ready to handle that?”

  “I’ll talk to God. With Him, everything is possible.”

  Jordan wandered behind her and rested his thumbs against her shoulders. “I think you need a masseuse…or a good friend.” Working his fingers along her hairline to her shoulders, he massaged the knots in her neck.

  A pleasant sigh left her, and her shoulders relaxed as the tension vanished. “Thanks. Today’s not my day, I guess.”

  Knowing he had more unpleasant news, Jordan felt his stomach roll. When she leaned back, rested, he swiveled a chair around, moved it close and straddled it. Leaning one hand against the chair back, he reached for her hand with the other. Apprehensive, he studied her troubled face, until she winced as if understanding what was to come.

  “Tell me,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  “You’re getting to know me too well.” He squeezed her hand. “It’s not really that bad.” He paused, thinking of how to tell her. “I heard from the zoning board today. They’ve given me a grace period on the apartment.” He stifled a deep sigh struggling to escape his lungs.

  “Grace period?” She lifted an eyebrow and waited.

  “You can stay in the apartment until school’s out for the summer. They know you have a young child.” He tried to lighten his voice. “But don’t worry, I can…I’m going to fight it. I’ll go back again and—”

  “No, Jordan, it’s not necessary. You’ve done enough. When spring comes, I’ll look for another place. Who knows—my life may be heading in a different direction by then.” Her eyelids looked heavy, as if she needed sleep.

  Jordan rose and pulled the chair from between his legs, then slid it beneath the table. Grasping Meara’s hands, he coaxed her up and wrapped his arms around her. She accepted his invitation and laid her head against his chest, her arms circling his back.

  Jordan wished he could erase her fears and discontentment. Moments passed without a word—silent, except for his throbbing, racing pulse.

  Finally Meara gazed into his eyes. “Thanks. What would I do without you?”

  What would he do without her? The question washed him with icy foreboding. He slid his hand up her arm and tilted her chin as he gazed into her eyes. “No thanks needed.” He lowered his mouth. Her lips met his kiss while her arms slid shyly upward to his neck, her fingers weaving through his hair. A tremor rolled through her body as he drew his hand in gentle circles across her back until she slowly relaxed against him.

  When he eased back, he nuzzled her nose with his. “That was better than any thank-you. And much better than a million bucks.”

  Warmth rippled over him as the lonely years tumbled away. “Guess I’m not too good at being romantic.”

  She rested her heated palm against his cheek. “Not at all. You’re too good.”

  He captured her hand, drew it to his mouth and covered it with kisses. Her sweet words seemed ripe with promise. Hope. If only he could allow himself to feel the same possibility.

  Mac rested his cheek against his fist and stared at the table covered with pennies.

  “Mac, you still haven’t answered me,” Meara said. “How many pennies do you have if you have five cents and four more?” She glanced at him, her patience ready to run out the door. “It’s the same as yesterday, Mac.”

  Grudgingly, he jabbed the pennies into a neat line. “I know.”

  “What do you know?” Meara asked.

  “Like yesterday. Five pennies and six. Three pennies and two.”

  “But I need the answers.” Her shoulders nearly hit her ears with her deep sigh. She closed her eyes for a heartbeat and prayed in silence. Patience, Lord. Like Job or…You know what I mean, Father. I need patience. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

  She slid onto a chair beside him and captured his fisted hand. “Listen to Mama. I took you out of school so things will be better. But that means we must have your lessons here. Counting the pennies is arithmetic.”

  Meara slid the coins around into groups. “See. Five pennies. Count them with me, Mac.” She pointed to each as Mac recited the number. “Now, look. Here are four more. One. Two. Three. Four. Now if I push the two lines together, how many pennies do we have?” She watched him fingering the coins.

  “Mama?”

  “What, Mac?”

  “Why can’t I go to the real school?”

  Meara blew out a stream of pent-up air. “This is real school.”

  His brows knit and he tilted his head, peering at her. “But I mean the real one.”

  She thumped her index finger in front of the row of pennies. “How many, Mac? Count.” Meara might have laughed at his expression if she weren’t frustrated. She was failing as a teacher. That was for sure.

  Mac touched each coin in the row. “Nine.” He lifted his face to hers, his perplexed expression shifting to a grin. “Nine pennies.”

  Her heart tumbled. “Ah, Mac. Nine is correct. Thank you. And forgive your mama for being so—”

  “Crabby.”

  Meara snatched him into her arms and gave him a hug. “I had a different word in mind. But ‘crabby’ it is.”

  She released him and rose from the table. “I think that’s enough school for today. You have to change clothes. We’re going to see someone special today.”

  His beaming smile signaled a false assumption.

  “Not Jordan. Someone else special. Grandma Hayden.”

  The new information excited him as much as had thinking it was Jordan. Mac scooted from the chair, poking himself in the chest. “I…can see my grandmother.” He took a step and stopped. “Today?”

  “Today, but you have to get dressed up like we’re going to church.”

  His nose wrinkled in displeasure.

  “Grandfather Hayden died, Mac, and we’re going to the funeral.”

  “Died?” A frown creaked his narrow forehead.

  Meara knelt down to give him another hug. “He’s in heaven now.” She couldn’t imagine it, but the merciful Lord could work miracles.

  The frown faded from Mac’s face. “Three fathers in heaven.” He spread out his fingers. “One. Two. Three.” Counting as he turned, he headed for his bedroom.

  Meara placed the coins in a ceramic jar and put it on the shelf. She had known teaching wouldn’t be easy, especially with her work in the gift shop, but the task seemed more frustrating than she had anticipated. As she turned to leave the room, the telephone rang, and she grabbed the receiver.

  “Mrs. Hayden, this is Mr. Baumgarten from Beaumont Elementary.”

  “Oh yes.” Meara hesitated, waiting for his attack.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you took Mac out of school. My secretary told you I was out of town, I hope.”

  “Yes, she did. Until today.” Her voice sounded breathy, and she felt nervous, like a schoolchild being dragged to the principal’s office.

  “I wondered if there’s anything that I can do to change your mind. Mac was adjusting well here. His teachers all came to ask what was wrong. Even a couple of our students missed him and stopped to see if he were ill.”

  Adjusting? Missed? “Thank you, but it didn’t seem to me that he was doing well. Someone knocked him off the slide. I’ve had to replace his glasses.”

  “I’m sorry about the glasses. The
recess teacher said one of the students accidentally stepped on them when Mac fell off the—”

  “Fell? I thought he was knocked off.”

  “Mrs. Hayden, if you’d like, I could have the teacher who was in charge that day give you a call. But what I understood is Mac and another boy decided to come down the slide together. Before the teacher could stop them, they let go and flew down, out of control. Apparently, the boy’s foot bumped Mac as he came to the bottom, and instead of Mac catching himself, he flew off and hit the ground.”

  Humiliated at her misdirected anger, she steadied her voice. “You mean, it was an accident.”

  “Well, yes. If it hadn’t been, we’d have brought the parents in to meet with you. I’m very sorry about Mac’s glasses. One of his buddies rushed over to help and—”

  Buddy? “I understand, Mr. Baumgarten. I guess I assumed someone pushed him…on purpose.”

  “No. I’m positive it was an accident. Mac’s a great boy. We’ve never had a Down syndrome student at Beaumont, but I’ll tell you more than one teacher has said they’d prefer your son in their rooms over most of the other children—special or not.”

  Heat rose in her face. “I’m sorry I misunderstood. I appreciate your calling.”

  “I’d hoped you might change your mind. He’ll easily fit back into his—”

  “No, I don’t want him to get confused. We’ll just continue as we are.” It was tempting. How easy it would be to send Mac back to school. Teaching was not her cup of…anything.

  “The next marking period begins the third week in October. We’d welcome him then, if you change your mind.”

  “I’ll see, Mr. Baumgarten.”

  When she hung up, she plopped onto the kitchen chair and stared at the ceiling. She’d had a bad attitude about public school from the beginning. Meara realized she’d judged without giving the situation a fair trial. She’d jumped to conclusions. Rash. Isn’t that what Jordan called her?

  Not much she could do now. She’d made her bed, and, as her mother always said, now she’d have to lie in it.