her son playing with contentment on the shore, she felt her heart squeeze and tears appear behind her eyes. They had lived like prisoners in the Hayden mansion. Their presence had brought discomfort and shame to the arrogant, wealthy family. Life had, for once, turned the tables on their elaborate plans.
Following the death of Dunstan’s childless wife, his parents had pushed their only heir, Dunstan Alfred Hayden, to woo and marry Meara MacAuley for the sole purpose of an heir. And what did Meara give him? A child with Down syndrome. And who did they blame? Her. Her Irish heritage, her lack of education and her awkward ways.
Had they considered Dunstan’s age? He was more than twice her twenty-seven years. She had been foolishly flattered—encouraged by her cousin to marry the wealthy man. “You can stay in America,” Alison had said. “We’ll be such friends.” But instead, she, too, had turned her back when Mac was born, perhaps feeling to blame for arranging Meara’s introduction to Dunstan.
Often Meara wondered why God had allowed those terrible things to happen to her. She’d been strong in her faith back then. She’d convinced herself that Dunstan glided into her life because God had planned it. He offered her a world she’d never known: wealth, security…and love. Or so she had thought. But Meara had been entirely wrong. Without love and tenderness, a baby-making machine was what she had become. She’d been the means to procreate, and once the child lived inside her, Dunstan might as well have vanished from her life. Once Mac was born, things became worse. She’d prayed and asked God “why,” but no answer came to her—until she looked at Mac. Her child was God’s gift and her special challenge. Meara clung to that belief.
No matter. Those days were over. Never again would she put herself in that position. Never again would she fall in love and allow her son to be hurt and abandoned…and let herself be hurt and abandoned.
Meara had new experiences awaiting her, and she prayed they would be blessings. Meara lifted her gaze toward heaven, then pulled her thoughts to the present and dove again into the clear, calm water, this time feeling less chilled.
The pleasant afternoon sun lay upon her arms, and she gauged from its position that it was nearly noon. She dragged her legs through the water to shore. Today she would drive into town to check the apartment. Hopefully Otis Manning would have some information.
“Hello, there,” Otis said with an easy smile as they came through the shop door.
Mac shot forward, extending his hand in greeting. Otis grinned and grasped the child’s hand in a hearty shake. “And how’s the kite-flying, son?”
Mac poked himself in the chest. “Me? Nope. But Mama’s good.”
“She is, huh? And why can’t you fly a kite?” He bent his pleasant face toward Mac’s.
“Too small. Mr…. Baird said…maybe a year.”
“Well, if anyone knows about kite-flying, he’s your man. You were talking to the horse’s mouth.” Otis patted the child’s head.
Mac let out a loud chortle. “Horse’s mouth.” He poked at Meara.
She rolled her eyes at Otis, and the elderly man grimaced.
“That’s only an expression, Mac,” Meara said. “He means Mr. Baird knows what he’s talking about.”
“Okay,” Mac said, eyeing the kites. The “horse’s mouth” was forgotten as he wandered through the shop.
“Sorry about that,” Otis whispered. “I’d better watch what slips off this tongue with that young ’un around.”
He looked so downtrodden, forgiveness was easy. “No problem. I do it myself.”
A relieved expression swept over his face. “So I s’pose you’re anxious to hear about the apartment.”
“Yes. Did you talk to the owner?”
“Sure did. Jordan told me to give the place a once-over and—”
“Jordan?” Hearing the name, she stopped breathing for a moment.
“The owner. Jordan Baird. I understand you’ve met.” He let loose a quiet chuckle. “Met head-on from what I’m told. He tells me Dooley gave you a topple. Jordan sure has amusing ways to knock a woman off her feet. Well, at least Dooley does.”
“Jordan owns this shop?” A contained breath burst from her lungs. “The other day Mac noticed a kite that we figured he had made. But I thought maybe he sold them to you.”
“Jordan made all the kites in this shop. Every last one of them.” His arm made a broad sweep of the surroundings. “Right pretty, aren’t they?”
Meara craned her neck, gazing around the room with a new appreciation. “You mean every single kite is handmade…by him?”
“None other. He’s got quite a talent, for a college professor.”
College professor. She reeled again. What else would she learn about this man? Then her heart sank. No college campus was nearby that she knew about. “Then, he only lives here in the summer.” She faltered while finding the breath to speak. “I didn’t realize.”
“Oh, no. He doesn’t teach anymore. Something happened. He doesn’t talk about it.” He dragged his hand along his jaw and chin, then pressed his forefinger against his lips and shook his head. “Avoids the subject. I only figured it out putting bits and pieces together. Must have been a tragedy.”
Like a fist, pity and sorrow smacked her in the stomach. “A tragedy? I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine—”
“Nothin’ we need talk about. It’s his private affair, and I think that’s the way he wants it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He shook his head. “Me and my big mouth.”
“Please, Otis, don’t worry. I won’t say anything.” With her finger, she made a small cross over her heart. “I promise.”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t want to hurt him.” He quieted for a moment as if in thought. Then, rejuvenated, he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So, let’s get on with business. He told me to go up and take a look-see. I even dragged the wife upstairs. It’s not bad. Needs a cleaning, but otherwise, it just might work for you.” He beckoned her to follow.
With her mind still sorting Jordan’s possible tragedies, Meara stuck close to Otis’s heels. As she reached the back of the congested shop, she waved to Mac, and they passed through the outside doorway and up an enclosed staircase to the second floor.
Through the windows of the enclosure, Meara viewed the wide parking lot of the ferry landing and the lake beyond. With the official summer still a month away, the lot held many empty spaces. She guessed that in the thick of summer when the public schools let out, the slots would be packed with sightseers.
As they neared the top landing, sounds came from the open doorway. Stepping inside, Meara was greeted by a smiling, rosy face framed by a halo of white hair.
“So, this must be Meara and Mac.” The woman scurried across the room, one arm spread open wide and the other sporting a broom. “I’m Nettie, Otis’s wife. Come in and see the place.”
Meara
