The Christmas Kite (13 page)

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 was 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.

I
n 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 novelties 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.”

Folding onto the wicker settee, Jordan rested his cheek on his thumb and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

“They won’t move until the tourist season ends. There’s a line of shops going up on the south side of Main. That location gets a lot of traffic, and word has it they might move there.” Otis rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands, staring at the floor. “It’s only scuttlebutt.”

“Scuttlebutt, but something we need to think about. We can’t win the battle by ourselves, Otis.”

“That’s what I was thinkin’.”

“Maybe we’re the only ones who care about the saloon.”

Otis shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jordan. Ya know, I think people jus’ aren’t realizin’ it could be a problem. Some don’t even know.”

“That could be our solution. Make the community aware of Hatcher’s plan. If people don’t care about the saloon, then we’re already defeated. We can stop fighting.”

“But what about the kite shop? And what—”

“I know, Otis. I know.” What about Meara? The college job opportunity came to mind. Perhaps he should pull himself together and go back to Kalamazoo. Go back to his world of books, theses and examinations. But it was Meara’s face he saw. Then Mac’s. He wanted them to be secure and happy first. Then maybe…

“So what, then?” Otis asked, giving him a questioning stare.

“Sorry, I was thinking. Who in the community cares about the city’s family image? Motels? Some of the shop owners, perhaps?” He paused, his mind racing for ideas.

“The churches. We have four in town. That’s a lot of people.”

“Great suggestion. If they don’t care, then it’s over. A letter, maybe, or a flyer?”

“And we could contact the clergy. Once the people talk it up, word should spread all over town.”

A car door slammed. Jordan rose and peered from the porch doorway through the house. “Sounds like someone’s here.” He walked to the back door and saw Meara’s car, but no Meara.

“I’m here,” she called from the front.

He grinned and headed back to the porch, his pulse stumbling along with him.

She was standing beside the door when he returned. “I saw Otis’s car and figured you two were on the porch.” She glanced through the screen. “You’re getting a wonderful breeze from the lake.”

“We’re getting June weather in August. Have a seat.” Jordan motioned to a chair. “Something to drink?” His stomach tightened as he gazed at her, her hair in flyaway fashion and her freckles dark from the summer sun.

“No, I can only stay a minute. I just had a couple of things to talk to you about.”

“Problems at the store?”

“No, business in the new shop has been wonderful. The end-of-the-season rush has the two new clerks flying. In fact, I’ve had a hard time keeping merchandise on the shelves.”

“We apparently made one right decision.”

Frowning, she tilted her head.

“I mean, keeping the gift shop open and getting rid of the junk.”

“Now that school’s begun, it’ll quiet down. We might need to think about some advertising then.”

The
we
in her conversation had become familiar, and he liked the sound.

Otis rose. “I’d better git on the road. We’ve hashed our ideas around enough. If you hop on the letter, I’ll be happy to talk to the clergy.”

Jordan rose and extended his hand. “Thanks, Otis. Maybe we can lick this thing yet.”

Otis grasped his hand in a friendly shake and, with a wave, left through the porch door.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Meara said, eyeing Otis’s exit.

“We were finished. Otis stopped by, worried about some of the latest Hatcher gossip.”

“Gossip?” There was concern in her eyes. “Is it serious?”

He recounted Otis’s scuttlebutt.

“Sometimes it seems like we’re fighting a losing battle. I should say
my
battle.” Her voice sank. She glanced toward him. “Sorry. I’m just discouraged.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s Mac. I’m not happy with the school situation. I wish they hadn’t started early this year. The new shop’s been so busy I haven’t had time to monitor what’s going on there.”

“Is something wrong?”

“First day of school someone stole his notebooks. The next day he told me a group of boys laughed at him.”

“Laughed?” His chest tightened, thinking of Mac surrounded by bullies. “What did he do?”

She shook her head. “He told them it wasn’t nice to laugh at people.”

Jordan fell back against the cushion. “That was it?” Mac was amazing.

“Yes. And he said they walked away.”

“Okay, Mac!” His arms flew upward in an exuberant cheer while a grin yanked at his mouth.

“It’s not funny. Next time they could hurt him—”

“Meara, be proud of your son. He handled the situation with tact and decorum. What more could you ask of any child?”

She sighed, her shoulders drooping as she caved into the chair cushion. “I don’t know what I expect. I just don’t want him hurt. Physically or otherwise.”

“But we’re all hurt at one time or another. It’s part of life.” He saw her downhearted expression. “Haven’t you been hurt?”

“Yes.” She lifted her disparaged face to his. “You know I have.”

“So cheer up. Mac is learning to handle himself. Be proud of him.”

“You’re right, I suppose, but…I can’t help it. I—” She stared at her hands twisting in her lap. “And besides, I’m so filled with guilt I can’t bear it.”

“Guilt? Why?” He held his breath, waiting for her revelation.

“I’ve avoided my in-laws far too long. I know I should contact them.” Her eyes shrouded with frustration. “A telephone call seems…shoddy under the circumstances. I should visit.”

“And take Mac?”

Her face blanched. “No. No, not Mac. I’d go myself.”

“But he’s asked to see his grandmother. He’d be disappointed. And wouldn’t they be upset, too?”

“I’ll go during the day and tell them he’s in school. They should understand.”

“Meara, you’re clinging to those old wounds too long. Why not bury the past?” The words kicked him in the gut and, looking at Meara’s expression, he realized he’d overstepped his bounds. He softened his voice. “Take Mac with you.”