The Christmas Kite (14 page)

This time it was her eyebrows that arched, and his stomach took a bungee dive. Who was he to criticize anyone about hanging on to the past?

She validated his thought. “Don’t make me respond to that.”

“I know, I have no right to talk.”

“I need to go.” She rose. “Mac’ll be home from school soon.” She stepped forward, then faltered. “Actually I stopped by to ask you something. The church is having a father-and-son ice-cream social next week, you know, instead of a banquet. And it happens to be Mac’s birthday. I wondered if you’d be willing to take him. He thinks so much of you.”

Her voice faded, and she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t put you on the spot like that.”

“It’s okay, Meara. Really. I just—” He cringed at the thought of taking someone else’s child to a father-and-son activity. Even Mac. The hurt was a pressure against his chest.

“No, I understand. I just feel bad that Mac doesn’t have a real father. I’m his mother, but I can’t be both. He needs a man in his life.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m ashamed of myself. Please forgive me. Mac has so many needs, and I—”

“Mac will survive, Meara. He’ll more than survive.” With a gentle motion he turned her face and tilted her head upward. “Give him time.”

He lifted his finger to her cheek, tracing its delicate line to her full, pink lips. A longing to press his mouth against hers surged through him, but fear and wisdom shackled him.

Her wide-eyed, expectant stare tugged at his awareness. Tenderly he brushed her full bottom lip with the tip of his unsteady finger. “Please. Give us both time.”

In The New Curiosity Shop, Meara bent down to pick up a fallen toss pillow and jammed it back onto the stack. The action jarred another one and it toppled to the floor. She closed her eyes, fighting her frustration. She reached down for the pillow and shoved it onto the stack as two more slipped to the tile.

Unbidden tears came to her eyes while her frustration wavered between anger and fear. She pushed a knuckle below her lashes and wiped away the moisture, then kept her hand there, her head bent forward, to gain control.

“Meara, what’s wrong?”

She took another swipe at her tears and spun around to face Nettie. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Nettie’s kindly eyes filled with worry.

“Almost fine,” Meara corrected, knowing she couldn’t keep much from Nettie.

The older woman moved closer, bending as she came to gather up the two disturbed pillows. She lifted them, and they settled on the pile as if afraid to move or face Nettie’s famous bar of soap.

“You’re not fine at all from the looks of it,” Nettie said, patting Meara’s arm.

“I need a break, that’s all.”

“Fine. Then we can talk.”

Meara didn’t want to talk. What could she say that hadn’t already gone through her mind a thousand times. She’d allowed herself to have hopes she couldn’t have. Yet, looking at Nettie’s determined face, Meara knew she would never win a refusal.

She signaled the new clerk she’d hired a week ago and followed Nettie through the door to the kite shop.

“We can go upstairs,” Meara said, realizing she had no other quiet place to convince Nettie she was fine.

“Good, and I’ll make you some tea,” Nettie said.

Meara stepped out into the late-August sunshine, letting the chill of her worries seep into the summer air. Nettie followed behind her up the covered stairs, and at the top, Meara opened the door and motioned Nettie inside.

Nettie headed for the kettle, snapped it on and pulled two mugs from the cabinet. “You go in there and put up your feet. I’ll take care of this.”

Having little choice, Meara followed her instructions, pleased for a moment that she didn’t have to think or make a decision on her own.

She flopped onto the sofa and slid her legs onto the cushion. Sunlight slipped through the curtains and sprinkled the upholstery with flickering shadows, the movement distracting her from her stress. Soon the scent of lemony tea drifted into the room along with Nettie, her face set with purpose.

“Here you are,” Nettie said, handing her the mug, then settled across from her. “Now…what’s this all about? Mac’s school? I know you’ve been worried.”

Meara shrugged. Mac’s schooling hadn’t rested easy in her mind, but the problem was much more than that.

Nettie’s wise eyes narrowed in thought. “Could it be Jordan?” She nodded her head as if she’d answered her own question.

“It’s a lot of things, Nettie. Too many to talk about.”

“Never. Start with the first one. It’ll get easier.” The older woman took a sip of tea and settled the mug against her palm resting in her lap. Her gaze didn’t waver.

Meara squirmed beneath the woman’s intense look until she finally nodded. “It’s Mac…and Jordan.”

“Two big problems, then.”

Meara didn’t understand. Puzzled, she waited to hear what else Nettie would say but she remained silent. “What do you mean, two big problems?”

“It’s like Otis. I have more worries over him than anyone else. The people we love cause us the most concern.”

Love.
The word rocked her. Meara didn’t want to love Jordan. She’d done everything to keep herself from it, but she’d lost the struggle. Even Nettie knew the truth.

“You do love him, dear,” Nettie said. “I see it in your face.”

The truth charged through her. “I can’t. It’s impossible.”

“Why?”

Nettie’s simple question hung before her. What was the truth? She did love him, but she didn’t want to. “Because. Because I can’t trust him. I trusted once, Nettie. Foolish. Naive. How can I trust a man who has his own problems so bottled up inside him he’s ready to burst. One day he’ll walk away. I’ve dealt with rejection before. I can’t let it happen again.”

Nettie concentrated on her tea in silence—the rare moment made Meara certain she agreed. Finally Nettie shifted and leaned forward.

“Jordan has problems. Deep ones. I can’t deny that. Maybe I’m an old woman talking through my hat, but I don’t think Jordan has it in his heart to walk away from you and Mac. If any man can be trusted, it’s Jordan. Look what you’ve done for him…and he for you.”

Meara had relied on Jordan too much. She knew that. And he had done so much for her and Mac. In comparison, she’d done so little. She’d tried to open doors for him. Especially to his faith. She’d failed.

“He’s not a believer, Nettie. How can I have
faith
in a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word?”

Nettie’s eyes misted and she pressed her hand against her chest near her heart. “He needs time. Jordan has a good heart…and a soul. He’s had a deep loss, and now that he’s regained the world, he’ll find his faith again.”

The depth of her words touched Meara’s mind and heart. Still, her doubt, her fear pierced the brighter picture Nettie had painted.

“Maybe in time. But I can’t take the chance. I can’t love anyone, Nettie. Mac needs all the love and attention I have. I don’t have room for anyone else.”

Nettie tsked and shook her head. “My, oh my. Do you think love has a limit? The Lord has given us the capacity to love as He loves, Meara. It’s limitless. You’re a young woman, and the Almighty certainly wants you to find a partner to fill your days. Mac keeps you busy…but he’s a boy now. He’ll grow up and—”

“Will he, Nettie? We don’t know that for sure. Neither you nor I have any idea how long Mac will be on this earth, and while he’s here, I’ll protect him. I want—” Her voice caught in her throat and she felt the quaver of emotion taking control.

“Aah, Meara.” Nettie set her mug on the side table. “We can’t second-guess God. Neither one of us knows if we might walk outside and die on the street. Life is a gift and we have it as long as the good Lord allows. But you can’t spend your life wondering about things like that. Life is meant to be lived.”

Meara lost the battle with her tears as they rolled from her eyes and chose a path down her cheeks. Concern and compassion filled Nettie’s face while Meara struggled to make sense of her emotion. Finally she swallowed back the disquiet that raked through her and drew in a calming breath.

“You’re right, Nettie, but I don’t know if I have the capacity to live. I was bound for so long in my in-laws’ world, and when I left, I felt forsaken by everyone. My husband’s family, my cousin, my homeland. I had nowhere to turn. Then…I came here and began a new life, but I’m depending too much on Jordan…and my need—our need—frightens him.”

“First remember one thing, Meara. You’re never forsaken. I think you’ve forgotten that the Lord holds you in His heart. When things look blackest, God is there and can lift you up.” Nettie rose, her gaze directed at the curtains along the front windows. “But you have to ask God. Then you have to listen.”

Her words settled over Meara like sackcloth, making her uncomfortable. “I’ll try” was all she could say.

Nettie ambled across the room and pushed back the curtain, running her hand across the fabric. “Cobweb,” she said, sending Meara a tender grin. She brushed the dust from her hand, then turned back. “It’s not easy. We all struggle with giving our problems to the Lord. Jordan still suffers over the loss of his family. He hangs on to his pain as if it’s a gift. But you can trust that God won’t give up…and you could help Jordan let go.”

“Me?” Meara felt a spark of offense. “But that’s unfair, Nettie. The closer I get to him, the more he pushes me away. He even pushes God away.” She rolled her neck and pressed her fingers against the tense cords of her shoulders.

“You’re afraid to trust the Lord?”

“Trust the Lord? What do you mean? We’re talking about Jordan.”

“We’re talking about both. God works in His own time. You’ve only known Jordan for a few months. You don’t realize what you’ve done for him. He’s come out of his shell. He’s beginning to live again because of you and Mac. The Lord needs time to work His way. Jordan needs time to accept it.”

Meara had heard this before.
Please…give us both time.
Nettie’s words settled in Meara’s heart. She needed to let God move mountains. With guilt she recalled how she’d backed Jordan into a corner. “I asked Jordan to take Mac to the father-son social at church.”

Nettie settled in the chair again and lifted her teacup, her eyes thoughtful. “What did he say?”

A sheepish grin pulled at her cheek. “He said he needed time.”

“And he does, Meara. So does the Lord.”

J
ordan had driven past the church at least three times, fighting to keep from turning into the parking lot and surprising Mac in the fellowship hall. He winced at the thought of Mac missing the ice-cream social because of his personal cowardice. But good old Otis had escorted the boy.

Now Jordan inched down the street and around the block for a second time, hoping to catch them leaving the social. In his slow-moving car, he felt like a stalker watching for them. A package sat on the seat beside him. A gift for Mac’s birthday. He could miss the church function, but not the birthday. He didn’t want to show up at Meara’s without Mac there. She might toss him out on his ear.

Though a part of him yearned to attend the gathering, his brain led him away. His personal pain dominated his thoughts, and he could do nothing but hurt the boy. The child was already too fond of him. The fact was clear. And Meara? Was she fond of him, too, or was her interest more for her son?

He pulled to the side of the road and waited. Too early, he finally realized. He pulled away from the church and drove to the waterfront park near the lighthouse. The setting brought back warm memories of the Fourth of July, when Meara had leaned her back against him. And he had carried Mac home in his arms.

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 door 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.”