The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,50

wrinkled her nose. “Do I even own a parasol?”

“You must,” her mother said, folding the blanket. “I found it last night when I was looking for the kite. It might provide shade if we need it.”

It might at that, Abigail saw when they embarked shortly afterward. The sky was cloudless, the air warming, as they climbed the path leading up to the headland. Linus went first, carrying the hamper and making it look surprisingly easy. Ethan followed, holding the kite protectively close. Her mother came next with the blanket, and Abigail brought up the rear, holding a fringed lime-green parasol she couldn’t remember seeing before.

The wildflowers had faded since she’d last visited the headland a fortnight ago, but heads of red, pink, blue, and white still poked up among the grass. Ringed by trees and a wide lawn, Castle How stood tall and stately, the pale stones gleaming gold in the sunlight. Beyond it, the Channel stretched endless.

Abigail stopped to regard it. “That color. That’s what I need to capture for Jess and Lark’s painting. Every shade of blue.”

“Green, too,” Ethan said beside her. “And brown.”

She squinted against the light bouncing off the waves. “You’re right. Very observant. And spoken like an artist.”

Ethan’s cheeks pinked as he smiled at her.

“There,” her mother said, nodding to a patch of lawn partly shaded by trees. “The perfect spot for our picnic.”

Linus carried the hamper over, waiting only until she had spread the blanket to her liking before setting it down at one end. Abigail and Ethan came to join them.

She tilted her head to the sun, and the breeze fanned her cheeks. “West-southwest wind today. That means we’ll need to run in that direction if you want the kite to fly.”

“Yes, ma’am, please,” Ethan said, clutching the kite closer still. She and her brother had decorated the diamond-shaped piece of parchment with charcoals so that it resembled a mighty falcon. Patches here and there told of collisions with a tree, and, once, her father’s fists. The new rag tail held bright gingham, sprigged muslin, and printed cotton, remnants of gowns others had donated to them during the time they had lived on the village’s charity.

Linus frowned out over the Channel. “Running west-southwest will bring you to the cliffs. Perhaps another direction would be wiser.”

Did he not understand the mechanisms for flying a kite? “We’ll avoid the edge,” Abigail promised. “What do you say, Ethan? Shall we give it a go?”

Ethan nodded eagerly. Feeling Linus’s gaze on them, she led the boy out from under the trees.

“Do you see where the shadow of the castle crosses the lawn there toward the village?” she asked.

Ethan glanced that direction. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do not cross beyond that line. That should keep you safely away from the cliffs.” She held out her hands, her arm offering only a whisper of complaint. “I’ll hold the kite. Play out the string, then run as fast as you can toward that shadow.”

He nodded again, so fast his head might have been the kite bobbing on the breeze. He twirled the ball of string to unwind a sizeable length, then turned his back on her and sprinted away. She watched the line lengthen, grow taut. She released the kite.

Up it went, into the blue. Her mother started applauding, and Ethan turned to see why.

His father pointed at the kite. “Well done!”

Ethan stared at it a moment, mouth falling open.

Abigail hurried to his side. “Well done indeed. Now, the breeze isn’t strong this morning, so you’ll have to keep an eye on the kite. See, it’s already starting to fall.”

He tensed, feet shuffling in the grass. “What do I do?”

“Tug a little on the string. That’s right. See, it’s climbing again. Don’t let it go too high, or you might catch a breeze from a different direction, and who knows what it will do.”

His gaze clamped onto the kite. “What if it crashes?”

Fear laced the tone, and she remembered what Linus had said about Ethan’s mother. She lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Kites sometimes fall, Ethan. Or crash into trees or chimney pots. They can usually be fixed. But even if they can’t, they’re only parchment, twig, and rag. No harm done. Do you understand?”

This nod was more solemn. “Yes, ma’am.”

Abigail released him. “See how long you can keep it in the air. I’ll be with my mother and your father on the blanket. Remember about that shadow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, gaze on the kite.

She moved back to the others.

“Such a clever boy,”