The Christmas Kite

to the ground.

Its spirit silenced like a whimper,

Or the string may slip from the hands

And the kite caught on the wind

sails away

a memory.

Patience and love is the cord.

Learn to bend with the wind,

To understand when to give

And when to hold back,

So your kites will soar on any wind

Independent, yet together.

Gail Gaymer Martin

1988

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Be careful, Mac.” Meara Hayden’s heart rose to her throat as her son wandered toward the white-capped waves. “Stay back.”

He turned toward her, his mouth bent into a gleeful smile. “Birds.” He pointed upward where seagulls curled and dipped above the rolling waters of Lake Huron.

“Yes,” she yelled, forcing her soft voice above the dashing waves, fear gripping her heart. “Come back, Mac.”

A new crest rose, its frothy cap arching high above the surface. Meara dashed forward. But too late.

The surging water thundered upward, crashing to the shore, then siphoned back in a powerful undertow. Mac staggered against its strength, and as the swell washed the earth from beneath his feet, the water dragged driftwood, debris and Mac into its roiling depths.

As a heart-wrenching gasp tore from Meara’s throat, she dashed into the retreating wave, grabbed him by one flailing arm and lifted him to safety.

“Mac,” she whispered, her voice quaking with fear. She clutched him to her side and guided him back to the dry sand.

“Wet,” he moaned, pulling at his soggy shorts. Tears brimmed in his eyes.

“It’s all right. They’ll dry.” To distract him, Meara pulled a wrapped cookie from her blouse pocket. “Here, Mac.” Her ploy worked.

“Cookie,” he said, brushing his moist eyes with a finger before grasping the treat.

Meara captured his free hand and continued their journey along the warm sandy beach. Glancing over her shoulder, she estimated the distance they’d wandered from the rough, rented cabin. Obviously her choice was a poor one. She hadn’t considered the inherent dangers of the water…and her son.

Mac paused and gazed above his head. “Birds,” he said again, waving the sugar cookie in the air.