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.”
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, expecta
nt 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?” M
eara 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.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jordan 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.
The Christmas Kite Page 14