“Nothing,” I choke out. “Unless you have a forwarding address for Madame See.”
“Well, now, I’m not sure,” he says, looking flustered for the first time ever. “We said our good-byes; I gave her the last paycheck, and bid her a long and happy life.”
“I guess I just gave her a two-thousand-dollar bonus,” I mutter bitterly. I’ve failed Grammy Claire. I should have kept the money safe. But most of all, I hate Madame Erial See with a passion. Even if she did make the best gumbo I’d eaten in the last year.
This magnificent butterfly finds a little heap of dirt and sits still on it; but man will never on his heap of mud keep still.
~JOSEPH CONRAD~
I stand at the gate and wait for a full hour, but Mamma never shows up.
I’m the last one to board, but Mamma never shows up.
I stare at the airplane door until the flight attendant shuts it. When she locks it, my stomach twists. Nobody pounds on the other side to let them in, and the captain’s voice comes over the loudspeakers.
I keep waiting to see if I will get a message from Miz Landry or Miz Mirage Allemond, but I don’t, and Mamma’s ticket goes unused.
Riley sticks her earbuds into her head, closes her eyes, and eats M&M’s one at a time, in the same order for hours. Green, red, yellow, brown, green, red, yellow, brown. I feel nau-se-ous.
Across the aisle, Butler Reginald reads newspaper after newspaper until I think I’m gonna be sick to my stomach from staring at the headlines. Finally, I watch a movie on the little screen with my own set of headphones that come in a cute plastic bag that snaps at the top.
After that, I stare at the blues and greens of the ocean zooming in all directions for thousands of miles until I fall asleep with my head against the small airplane window. When I wake up, I find that I’ve been drooling, and quickly wipe my mouth.
I am a girl that never drools!
We fly all night. The hum of the airplane rumbles underneath us. Through slitted eyes, I see the soft shadows of the flight attendants, and all I can think about is revenge against Madame See for stealing my two thousand dollars and smashing the Giant Pink.
I have to trust that Grammy Claire hid some extra cash in her house on the island, but even if she did, I still hate Madame See.
And I try not to hate Mamma. Mostly I try not to think about her locked away in the South Wing. If I do, I’ll either start screaming or crying — and I can’t do either. One thing a Southern lady with countless Paris generations in her blood does well is to hide her emotions and problems and tears.
We land in Guam in the middle of the night and transfer planes. By this time, I’m so groggy, I fall asleep in the narrow seat right away. When the sun comes over the horizon and the attendants bring us breakfast on little trays, I spot a string of islands in the distance. A bubble rises up in my stomach. I’m finally going to see Chuuk! The island of the nipwisipwis!
As soon as the breakfast trays are collected, the seat-belt sign flashes and the captain prepares us for descent. The ocean grows closer. Frothy whitecaps sparkle dizzily under the sun. I try not to think about crash-landing and swimming to the island. We pass over two small islands and head for the biggest one, but it’s a ring of white cliffs, rocky inlets and bays, capped by a jungle of green.
“Does anybody live down there?” I can’t see a single sign of habitation. What if we have to camp on the beach while crabs pinch our toes and fleas bite under our arms?
“Oh, yes,” Butler Reginald says with a laugh. “The trees are such a dense canopy you can’t actually see the village from so high, but it is there.”
“The village?” Riley says, coming back to life. “As in one village. One. Period?”
“The village is very modern. Even comes equipped with electricity and running water.” He says this with a straight face but I finally realize he’s teasing.
My face feels itchy and my eyes crusty from sleeping in an airplane all night, but I can’t stop staring. Chuuk is beautiful and lush, straight out of a movie.
There’s only one landing strip at the tiny airport. We even have to use a set of rickety metal stairs to get to the tarmac. A blast of hot, humid air slaps me in the face like a wet rag.
Butler Reginald removes his coat and mops his face. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” he says, stepping to the soft, melting asphalt. “But it always takes me by surprise.”
Riley tries to suck in air. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!”
The other passengers stare at her as she lurches down the metal stairs like she’s drunk.
I wonder if she knows how ridiculous she looks.
The steamy atmosphere seeps into my skin like a sauna, and I swear I’m walking through hot liquid air. Time for living in my swimsuit.
Inside the terminal, we drag our suitcases off the baggage carousel, and then we’re back outside, sweating on the curb.
Butler Reginald marches down the curb lined with cars and buses. “I’ll round up a taxi, girls. Stay here with the luggage.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I tell Riley.
She’s chewing on a piece of gum and popping bubbles between her teeth. “Well, hurry!” She rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you go already?”
I race back inside the airport, my sundress sticking to my skin, hair plastered to my neck, and look for a restroom sign. Another flight has landed within the last thirty minutes and now there are crowds of people collecting baggage, reuniting with family, the sounds of a language I don’t recognize surrounding me.
Spotting a restroom at last, I head for it, when a woman wearing a long, colorful dress and those old-lady black shoes with thick soles slips out the restroom door. She starts walking in my direction, then cocks her head, and spins around on her heels to head for the other end of the terminal.
It’s Madame Erial See! I’d swear on a stack of bibles it’s her. The hunched shoulders, the short dark hair, the funny clothes.
“Madame See — !” I call out, but the words die in my throat. She’s too far away to hear me, and moving fast. Catching my breath, I race toward her, but in an instant, the woman disappears into a throng of people all converging toward a set of glass doors at the far end of the terminal.
I know it’s her. The abrupt change in direction makes me think she saw me. She’s trying to hide from me. Because she’s the one who stole my money!
But why is Madame See here in Chuuk? That makes absolutely no sense! Isn’t she supposed to be going to San Francisco? Then I realize that she was most likely traveling on our very same flight! We had seats in the front of the plane and I’ll bet she had a seat in the back — hiding her face behind a newspaper.
Seeing her here on the island is very, very peculiar. She must have followed us. Deep in my gut, I know she’s here to hurt the butterflies. And I’m supposed to stop her.
Someone jerks my arm and I’m staring into Riley’s smudged eyes. “Will you come on already? We already got the stuff loaded in the taxi. You are so slow, Tara.”
“But I haven’t been to the bathroom yet!”
“What have you been doing?”
“Riley, I saw Madame See! Down there at the end, walking out to the sidewalk!”
“You mean our cook? Yeah, I saw her, too — like I just saw a flying saucer.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“Would you just go already?”
“Go where?”
“To the bathroom! If you don’t go now, you’ll be using a palm tree. Reginald Dude says it’s a two-hour car drive around the island to Grammy Claire’s house.”
Running as fast as I can, I use the facilities, wash my sticky hands, and then race to the curb where the only person smiling is the taxi driver. He introduces himself as Alvios and shakes each of our hands like we’re all new friends and going to a party. He has a head of thick black hair, a flowered shirt, sandals, and speaks broken English.
Alvios! He was on Grammy Claire’s list of susp
ects. In the number-one position, too. I stare at him from the backseat. He seems nice. Not sinister at all. But appearances can be deceiving. Take Madam See for instance!
Leaning out the car window, I gaze back at the Chuuk International Airport as Alvios starts the engine. Madame See, what are you doing here? Are you here to steal Grammy Claire’s nipwisipwis?
We drive down a main street that looks like it was last painted when Grammy Claire was born. A couple of restaurants, hotels, the Chuuk island post office, and various little boat and bait and scuba-diving shops.
Alvios points out shops and restaurants like we’re tourists and have never been here before. Well, which we haven’t. I like the musical lilt in his voice, but Butler Reginald waves his hands at the dashboard like he’s shooing at a cat. “Keep going, my man. We’re out on the west beach side, in Professor Claire’s house.”
Alvios bobs his head and repeats, “Miz Claire! Miz Claire! Yes! Yes!”
It’s strange to hear Grammy Claire called Professor Claire. Rolling down the window, I smell the salt air, letting it wash over me.
Once out of town, we wind through palm tree–lined roads, my head banging against the roof of the taxi until it aches and my eyes smart. The roads are horribly rutted, muddy, and much of the ground is covered in deep puddles. Cars slowly pass each other.
“I’ll bet we’re not going over ten miles an hour,” Riley mutters to the window.
“I plan on enjoying every single minute,” I tell her, looking up at the blue, blue sky. Even if I don’t stop sweating for the next week.
I’m pretty sure three hours have gone by when Alvios finally stops the taxi. “Here! We here, girls! Here!”
“But there’s nothing here,” Riley says, sagging against the cramped backseat. “You made a wrong turn.”
The driver laughs, his big white teeth sparkling. “I have no wrong turn! Nope!”
I feel sorry for my sister in her black shirt and big old, hot boots. Sweat trickles freely down her face, but she pretends it doesn’t bother her. “So where the heck is the house? I need a shower.”
“There!” our taxi driver tells us. “See? There!”
Rays of sunlight glint through mangrove forests, clusters of palms, and hibiscus shrubbery. A beach covered with perfect white sand lies just below the rise we’re standing on and beyond the trees. We have our very own private beach — how supremely wonderful is that? The water is so blue, so clear, it doesn’t seem real. The air smells like flowers and salt and summer and sunlight. But when I stare back into the jungle, I don’t see a house, either.
“Hey, what about that shower?” Riley says again, looking miserable. Her magenta hair is sticking straight up on half her head and plastered flat to her skull on the other half.
“Do we have running water and electricity?” I ask.
Butler Reginald laughs and gestures up ahead. “The house is right there, girls. Through the trees. Cast your eyes heavenward.”
Then I realize what I didn’t before. It’s like I’m looking at a mirage, and my heart crashes like a perfect blue wave.
Grammy Claire’s island house is actually a tree house.
The next moment, a boy comes swinging down a rope from one of the ledges of the house and races toward us. He whoops and hollers, a blur of long dark hair, tanned legs, and bare feet, kicking up sand and bark and hibiscus petals along the path.
“Who is that?” Riley drawls, rolling her eyes.
Butler Reginald says, “He’s your grandmother’s hired assistant. His name is Eloni. He’s thirteen, nearly fourteen, I believe.”
Eloni! The last name on the list! The one person Grammy Claire did not want to write down. I never expected him to be close to my age. Or so happy and friendly. Imps of jealousy surge through me. And Grammy Claire hired him to be her assistant? To do what? Why couldn’t I have lived here and been my grandmother’s personal assistant?
My chin quivers. Why didn’t she move all of us here five years ago? Or even just me if Mamma didn’t want to come?
The boy stops in front of us and gives a solemn bow. I blink at him and he grins. He’s wearing a pair of blue shorts with ragged edges and a thin T-shirt. I have a feeling he put on the shirt just for us. On the drive here, we’d seen lots of houses and huts situated under clusters of palm trees. People walking along the roads. Many of the boys and young men not wearing shirts at all. A smooth-shaped stick lies in a deep side pocket of his shorts. I can see carvings decorating it as several inches poke out, and I want to look closer.
“I’m Eloni,” he says, bowing to us. Then he shakes my hand and Riley’s hand. “Professor Claire’s personal research assistant. Very happy to meet you, misses.” I notice that his English is much better than Alvios’s. Like a hundred times better. I wonder if Grammy Claire taught him.
Riley sighs and starts dragging her baggage toward the trees. I’m dying to explore the tree house myself, and I don’t want my sister to see it first. Grammy Claire called me here. Riley is only here because she has to be.
“Don’t exaggerate, Eloni,” Butler Reginald tells him mildly.
Eloni’s eyes go wide and dark. “I do not exaggerate, Mr. Butler Reginald. I am her assistant, and she will tell you so.”
Eloni speaks formally, and yet there is an excited, eager lilt to his voice that I can’t help liking. Am I supposed to like him? Or should I ignore him? Or watch him and see if he’s the bad guy? I’m so confused! Eloni is also taller than me, but not too tall. Not many boys are taller than me, so I can’t help liking him. But not more than Jett Dupuis back home, of course!
My grandmother’s research assistant hurries to help unload the trunks and suitcases. I watch him and Alvios embrace and chatter. Then I marvel that this island is so friendly, strangers would actually hug each other.
The taxi driver slams the trunk shut and then his and Eloni’s sandals crunch on the path as they haul the luggage to the tree house staircase. When they embrace good-bye, Eloni speaks a string of words in another language, Chuukese probably. Something with long, convoluted words and run-on sentences. The taxi driver waves good-bye to us all, his smile as wide as the horizon.
Nervously, I rub the back of my right foot against my left leg. “Does everyone around here hug everybody else? Even if you don’t know each other?”
Firmly, Riley says, “I refuse to hug anybody. I don’t care who they are.”
Eloni starts to laugh, and Riley gives him one of her best glares. “The taxi driver is not a stranger. He’s my grandfather.”
“Your grandfather?” I ask faintly. “But he looks so young. Like your dad. Or an uncle.”
Eloni’s eyes flick across my face and then he shrugs. “We are lucky on the islands of Chuuk. We have so much fun, we stay young and healthy. We eat a lot of tuna, too.”
I can’t help laughing, his comment is so unexpected.
Riley makes a face. “Tuna? Does Grammy Claire have any steaks in her freezer?”
“Where is Miss Professor Claire?” Eloni asks. “Is she in town for shopping? I can do errands so you can enjoy time together.” His eyes dart beyond us, toward the taxi, which is empty but for his grandfather, who revs the engine.
I swear it’s the bright sun sparkling on the water, or maybe the coconuts high in the palm trees overhead, but my eyes start watering. I blink again, super hard, and will myself with every ounce of resolve I possess not to cry. Not until I get inside the house. Not until I find a private spot.
Butler Reginald’s voice lowers, and I glance away, unable to watch his face. “I have very sad news, Master Eloni. Professor Claire is not with us any longer. She was buried over a week ago. But these are her granddaughters, Miss Riley and Miss Tara Doucet.”
Eloni’s face clouds over as he glances between us. He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “Not possible,” he finally whispers. “No. No.”
“I’m afraid it’s true,” Butler Reginald continues, and I’m so grateful I don’t hav
e to say anything. “It has been a very sad month, and that was the reason I left the island so quickly ten days ago when I received the news. But Miss Claire planned this trip for her granddaughters a long time ago. While they enjoy the beach and a little vacation, I will be shutting down the house, tying up loose ends, and then we all return back to the States.”
“You m-mean —” he stutters. “You mean I will never see Professor Claire again?”
Butler Reginald puts one of his big hands on Eloni’s shoulder to comfort him, and my eyes just keep watering and watering, so I duck my head and sprint after Riley. After taking a couple of deep breaths, I gaze into the jungle of palm trees and mangroves, thinking about Grammy Claire living and working here. She was right here just a few weeks ago. And the house really is a tree house.
The tree house has regular walls reinforced against the huge limbs, and floors bolted into the tree trunks. Thatched roofs perch atop each room, and bamboo walkways join each room from tree to tree. It’s absolutely fantastic.
A bubble of excitement rises in my stomach. “Can we go inside?”
“Is there a hotel back in town?” Riley says.
“Running water,” Eloni tells us. “Electricity. Bathrooms. The works!” He sounds proud, even if his face looks red and splotched like he’s trying not to weep. “Nesor annim. Etiwa. Welcome to Chuuk.”
“Um, yeah, okay,” Riley says, so rudely I want to punch her. “Do we get to pick our bedrooms?”
Eloni frowns. “Not many bedrooms,” he says, but Riley immediately thumps her way up the staircase into what looks like the main part of the house, crashing her duffel and backpack into the banister.
I cringe and glance at Eloni, knowing he’s in shock over Grammy Claire’s death. “I’m sorry. She’s a big pain in the you-know-what. And thank you for the welcome,” I add, trying to be a good Southern girl. “I’m really, really glad to be here.”
“That makes me happy, Miss Tara.”
When the Butterflies Came Page 13