The Note in the Kite’s Tail

Rory’s note was so small that the breeze almost read it before Della could.

He had written it on a square of cream-colored paper, using the tiniest letters his hand could manage.

“Dear Della,” it said, “I found a round blue stone beside the creek. It looks just like the one you gave me. Come see it when you can! —Rory”

Rory lived in a little house at the west edge of the wide meadow. His cousin Della lived in a little house at the east edge. Between them stretched tall grass, buttercups, and a path that curved around a muddy patch.

Rory stood by his gate, holding the note in one hand and a red kite in the other.

“Across you go,” he told the note. “Straight to Della.”

The first try was a paper airplane. Rory folded the note into wings and tossed it high.

“Message coming!” he called.

The breeze caught the airplane and whisked it over the grass. Then the airplane swooped down and landed in a buttercup.

Rory ran to fetch it. “That was a very short trip.”

He opened the paper and smoothed it on his knee. The words were still there, though a yellow pollen smudge had settled beside “Dear Della.”

“Maybe a kite can carry you farther,” Rory said.

He tied the note to the kite’s tail with a thin piece of grass. Then he tugged the kite string and ran across his yard.

Up went the red kite, climbing above the meadow. Its tail streamed behind it, and the note fluttered like a little flag.

Rory waved both arms. “Della! Look up!”

Across the meadow, Della stepped out of her round-doored house. She shaded her eyes and called, “I see your kite!”

Rory grinned. But just as the kite sailed over the first row of daisies, the grass tie slipped loose.

The note spun once, twice, and floated down into the meadow.

“Wait!” Rory called.

He hurried after it, while Della watched from her side of the grass. The kite dipped, and the note landed face down among the flowers.

Rory picked it up carefully. “I’ll find a way,” he called across the wide meadow.

Della called back, “I’ll be watching!”

Rory brought the note home and set it beside his kite. He tried tying it with a thicker strip of grass.

“This one won’t slip,” he said.

He ran again. The kite climbed, but the note hung beneath its tail, bobbing like a tiny sack. The thicker tie held tight. The kite did not.

It dipped toward the meadow, its red wings sagging. Rory tugged the string, but the kite sank lower and brushed the tops of the daisies.

“Oh, no!” called Della. “Your kite is coming down!”

Rory raced along his yard, guiding the kite away from the muddy patch. It settled in the grass with a soft plop. The note stayed tied on, but the kite’s nose pointed toward the ground.

Rory knelt beside it. “The tie is too heavy,” he said. “But the note can’t just fly loose.”

He looked at the tail. It was made of folded strips of red and yellow paper, each one tucked neatly around the next. Rory held the note beside the tail. He turned it over, then folded one corner in.

“What if the note became part of the tail?” he wondered.

He unfolded the tail’s last paper strip and carefully folded the note into it. The message disappeared inside the bright paper, snug as a letter in a pocket. There was no dangling tie, no extra weight beneath the kite.

Rory checked that the note could not slip out. Then he lifted the kite.

“Ready, Della?” he called.

“I’m ready!” she called back.

Rory ran. The kite shivered, caught the breeze, and rose. Its tail streamed behind it, red and yellow with one small cream-colored fold tucked among the colors.

Higher it sailed, over the daisies and the curving path. Rory let out more string. The kite sailed across the middle of the meadow, steady as a little boat on a wide green sea.

Della stood with her hands ready. “Here it comes!”

The breeze turned the kite toward her yard. Della reached up and caught the tail as it brushed past.

“Got it!” she called.

She unfolded the paper strip and found Rory’s note inside. Reading it, she laughed and called, “I’ll come see the blue stone tomorrow!”

Della held the kite above her head while she read the note once more. Then she carried it to her porch and found a small sheet of paper.

“Dear Rory,” she wrote, “I’m glad you found a twin to my blue stone. I’ll bring mine tomorrow, and we can set them side by side. Your kite is a fine mail carrier! —Della”

She folded her reply into a strip of paper, tucked it into the kite’s tail, and walked to the meadow’s edge.

“Rory!” she called. “I have an answer!”

Rory had been waiting with his string wound neatly around his hand. “Send it along!” he called.

Della ran a few steps and let go. Her green kite lifted above her house, its long tail dancing behind it. The kite sailed out over the meadow, carrying Della’s reply tucked into one of its paper folds.

Rory guided his red kite up to meet it. The two kites crossed paths over the daisies, one red and yellow, the other green and blue. For a moment, their tails brushed together like two friends waving hello.

Then Della’s kite floated down near Rory’s gate. He caught it by the string and carefully opened the tail. Her note was dry and neat inside.

“I’ll save the blue stone for you,” Rory called.

“And I’ll bring mine!” Della called back.

They each carried their kites to their own door. Rory placed the blue stone on his windowsill, where he could see its round shape in the last daylight. Della set her kite beside her boots and folded her reply away in a little wooden box.

Across the wide meadow, the evening breeze moved through the grass with a hush like pages turning. Rory stepped onto his porch with his kite. Della came to hers with hers.

They raised their kites and waved them to each other across the meadow.

“Good night, Rory!” Della called.

“Good night, Della!” he called back.

Their kites dipped once, then rested beside the doors, while the two cousins went inside and let the quiet evening settle around their homes.