When the Butterflies Came

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  “Hey, Butler Dude,” Riley drawls. “Got some stairs for you to clean up.”

  Butler Reginald frowns as he examines the steps and then Riley’s ankle. “A day or two off your feet and you’ll be up and around again, as long as you’re careful. Now if you’d been wearing sandals or flip-flops, you would probably have a broken leg, or worse.”

  “Just put me on the beach with my bikini and suntan lotion and I’ll be okay. I’m not gonna waste my vacation sitting in a house with no food, no television, and no computer.”

  * * *

  The next half hour is spent doctoring Riley. When Butler Reginald learns of my plans to take a drive around the island, he assures Riley that I’ll be okay. “I’ve known these boys since they were very young. Tara will be safe, you have my word. If not, they will answer to me. Besides, nobody can get off the island. At least not very far.”

  “See?” I tell her, stepping out of reach as Riley tries to smack me.

  “Just get me some junk food,” she calls from the couch.

  Butler Reginald says, “You’re sure you’ll be fine while I go into town for groceries, then, Miss Riley?”

  “Hey, I’m almost eighteen. I’ll be a good girl so I can go out tomorrow.”

  As soon as I climb into the blue taxi, Eloni says, “First, we should go to town. The bank closes at three. If we go to the butterfly coves, you might miss the bank.”

  I agree, but I can’t decide which is more urgent, seeing the nipwisipwis or unlocking Grammy Claire’s security box. I’m also hoping there might be some cash. I have nothing for food, taxis, or tours — or an escape, if I need one. Rage bubbles up every time I think about Madame See with my money.

  Eloni is a regular tour guide, pointing out where the wild birds live, which beaches are the best for shell collecting or swimming, and the locations of some of the sunken ships. “See? Tourist boat on the water there. Diving down to the ships.”

  I picture all those sunken ships lying just offshore. Lying for decades in their watery grave. Are skeletons still buried in the drifting sands?

  By the time we arrive at the Bank of the Federated States of Micronesia, my hair is wind-blown and my heart is pounding with anticipation.

  Tafko stays in the car and pulls out a well-used banjo. He plucks at the strings, pulling a melody out of it that makes me think of waves and sun and sadness. He kept giving me sideways glances as we drove into town, and I tried to ignore him. As he strums his banjo, he pulls a few brown nuts out of a plastic bag and starts chewing on them. His mouth begins to turn red from the juice of the strange nut. It looks like blood, and I turn away.

  “Those are betel nuts,” Eloni tells me, and all I can do is smile in silence.

  “Wait here,” I tell him as we enter the bank and see a row of plastic-covered chairs in the waiting room. After we sit down, I get up again to head for the bank manager offices, and then turn back, perching on the edge of my seat. “Can I ask you a question, Eloni?”

  “Yes, Miss Tara.”

  “Well, first, you can cut the Miss Tara business. I just want to be Tara, okay? Remember?”

  Eloni grins. “Okay!”

  “Um.” I bite at my lips, and then decide to just blurt it out. “How old is your grandfather? The taxi driver from yesterday? Alvios?”

  “Oh, he’s old.” Eloni ducks his head just a little.

  “Do you know his age?”

  Eloni ponders the bank’s high ceiling. “Not sure, Miss Tara. I mean, just Tara.”

  I stare him straight in the eye. “I think you know and don’t want to tell me.”

  His eyebrows fly straight up his forehead. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because” — I lower my voice — “I think it’s part of the secret. The secret of Chuuk.”

  He returns my gaze, and I can tell he’s trying not to blink.

  I lean closer, not letting him off the hook. My long hair falls over my shoulder, brushing our arms. I want to grab a chunk and start chewing bad. But I summon my best self-control and dig my fingers into the seat cushion.

  Finally, Eloni lets out a sigh. “You win. My grandfather is young. Only fifty.”

  “Liar.”

  His eyebrows jump again. “Sixty?”

  I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head.

  “Well, maybe seventy….”

  “You said he was a little boy during World War II. Which means he’s gotta be more than seventy. Yet he looks like he could be your father.”

  “Here on Chuuk, we grow old slowly.”

  Eloni says this so solemnly, I burst into laughter. “Eloni, you’re a bad liar.”

  When I glance up, the bank manager is bearing down on us. When he learns that I’m Claire Chaisson’s granddaughter, he immediately escorts me into his office. The one with gold lettering on the door spelling out his name, Mr. Masako. The bank manager is also on my grandmother’s list of suspects — and has a brother who was in jail! My palms start to sweat.

  Mr. Masako’s thick hair is pure white and his eyes are chocolate brown. He’s wearing a rumpled suit and looks like he’d rather be sitting in a hammock with a lemonade. After expressing his condolences on the news of Grammy Claire’s accident, he says, “I can see the resemblance. I would wager Professor Claire looked just like you when she was younger. Now how can I help you?”

  “I need to open her security box,” I tell him, my voice jiggling nervously. “I have the key,” I add, holding it up. Key Number Nine is not very big. Bank of FSM is stamped across the side. Words I hadn’t noticed until recently.

  After he has me fill out some forms and show my passport, Mr. Masako finally leads me into a back room where there is a private booth for patrons to open their security boxes. He brings me an oblong gray box and shuts the door — and I wish that Riley were here because I can hardly breathe.

  The box of keys has led me to this moment. Grammy Claire’s will is going to save me and Riley, our home, and Mamma. I can’t wait to read her next letter, too. It’s been days since a new letter.

  My hands are shaking when I insert Key Number Nine and the lock makes a tiny clicking sound.

  Not quite birds, as they were not quite flowers, mysterious and fascinating as are all indeterminate creatures.

  ~ELIZABETH GOUDGE~

  The metal lid squeaks, and I let out the breath I’d been holding when I see a thick manila packet tied with string. I unwind the string, open the flap, and there’s a large official-looking envelope with the name of a Chuuk Island attorney’s office. A second, smaller envelope is inside with Tara Doucet written on the front.

  I open the stamped and official envelope first.

  The Last Will and Testament of Claire Theriot Chaisson. It’s dated from last year.

  I don’t understand all the legal words, but I scan the lines and get most of it.

  Grammy Claire gives everything she has to my mamma, Riley, and me. I’m not sure what everything is exactly, but a huge wave of relief fills up my chest. I picture good doctors for Mamma. Fixing our house. Dance lessons and college — and, well, everything again. Everything the Doucet Family Trust Fund has swallowed up over the last hundred and fifty years.

  I wonder about the tree house, and I think about bringing Mamma here. Maybe she just needs to get away from our stuffy old house and lie on the beach. Get some sunshine, drink guava juice, and read a stack of books.

  I’m so excited about the next letter from Grammy Claire that I rip the envelope a little.

  My darling Tara,

  Etiwa! Welcome to the islands of Chuuk. My home away from home — in a tree house, to boot! How do you like it? And isn’t the island stunningly beautiful? A taste of heaven, for sure. Or naangenu, as the people say.

  I hope Eloni showed you the laboratory and the current metamorphosing chrysalis. Quite astonishing, isn’t it? Humbling to see God’s creatures in their dramatic finery. Almost a spiritual experience. You will notice that there are no Giant Pinks in the laboratory or in my hom
e. There is a reason for this, which will be revealed later.

  My eyes widen, thinking about the smashed Giant Pink. Was it dangerous? Poisonous? Was someone trying to save my life and Riley’s by getting rid of it?

  Why doesn’t Grammy Claire just say? My mind is constantly churning with possibilities. I’m tired and my eyes burn. I know my grandmother was afraid, and she should have been if someone killed her. Even with all the secrecy, she wasn’t careful enough. But there’s no time for a good cry. I have to figure out what she wants me to do — and how to save the nipwisipwis.

  You should still have one more key, and it unlocks the most dangerous location of all. I cannot even give you any clues because I’m afraid of who is watching you. I’m afraid of what they might already know, or that they might steal this letter from you, so I can’t take that chance. You will have to rely on your wits, your brains, your courage, and most of all, your good heart to find the final lock. You must do your best to save the nipwisipwis from those who will inflict experiments and certain death on them. My beautiful creatures are facing extinction. And if my research is stolen and there is free access to the nipwisipwis, no longer will the island’s butterflies fly free and help the native people as they have for centuries. They will be gone forever. They cannot be manufactured in laboratories and sold to the highest bidder — that will eventually kill them, too. They need the freedom of the island to truly live and grow and be what they were meant to be.

  I read the words over and over again, looking for clues, and there is nothing. Nothing! My heart thumps hard and painful. My palms are sweaty even though it’s air-conditioned in the bank.

  Don’t forget to enjoy the beauty of the island. I hope you brought lots of swimsuits and sunscreen!

  And most of all, remember, my lovely Tara, I will be with you in the darkest hour. Always. I have not left you alone. Trust Riley. Show her this letter. Trust your mamma to do the right thing. I know she loves both you girls very much.

  So … until we meet on the other side, know that you have all my love,

  Your Grammy Claire

  “Oh, Grammy Claire!” Her letters make me feel like I’m gonna break into pieces all over again. “I want you to watch me here — not there — wherever there is!”

  “Miss Tara, may I help you?” It’s Mr. Masako, the bank manager. He probably heard me crying. “Are you all right in there? Can I call someone for you?”

  I had wondered if there was a telephone at the tree house, and of course, there is. Grammy Claire and I used to call each other, but Mamma always had the number written down at home. I feel so stupid! I’m completely unprepared. Hurriedly, I fold the letter, tuck it back into its white envelope, and clutch the thick packet to my chest.

  After I draw back the curtains, I show the bank manager the Last Will and Testament and try not to let my voice waver. “Can you tell me what all of it means? What property or houses my grandmother owned? How much money is in her bank accounts? And do you think I can get some so Riley and I can get around the island for the next week?”

  I listen to my own desperate questions and cringe, knowing he won’t really give me access to Grammy Claire’s bank accounts — even if I am her heir. I’m sure there are piles of paperwork and attorney stuff to go through. And it’s all gotta be done by Mamma, not some twelve-year-old girl.

  But I hate being dependent on Butler Reginald. Besides, he’s no longer technically employed by Grammy Claire and earning paychecks. I should have asked Mamma for some cash before I left, but I was in such a rush, I didn’t even think about it, although Mamma’s own bank account is probably empty, too.

  Mr. Masako studies the will for several minutes, and then takes off his reading spectacles. “Please come with me, Miss Tara.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Is there an adult you can call? Your mother?”

  I shake my head. “My mamma is back home. Riley’s here, but she’s at Grammy Claire’s house with a sprained ankle.”

  He frowns. “I see. Please come into my office.”

  As I pass Eloni, he says, “You okay, Tara?”

  I nod, fiddling with my hair, trying not to stick a whole lump in my mouth. Trying not to straighten the crooked pictures and toppled magazines in the waiting room. “Be right back.”

  I sit down in a green chair and Mr. Masako brings me a cup of water from one of those water dispenser machines. Tension rises in my throat. Bad news is coming.

  “Miss Tara, I need to tell you that your grandmother actually drafted a new will. About a month before her trip to visit you.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know, and I must admit that I was dismayed. Claire Chaisson always arranged her banking and legal business with our lawyers. And yet this time she went to a different firm.”

  “Is that legal?”

  Mr. Masako gives me a small smile. “Of course. A person can do whatever they like with their personal affairs. We were surprised, but these things happen.”

  My ears are buzzing as I wonder if she changed banks because he truly is a suspect. “Do you know what’s in the new will?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have a clue. Or why she would want to change it, since the will you have right here is obviously the correct path — that her next of kin inherit everything.”

  A terrible pain settles in my stomach.

  “Of course, that doesn’t mean your grandmother took you and your mother and sister out of the will. It could be that she merely added a few details, or wanted to make sure that anything new that had come up over the last year was included.”

  I nod, trying to breathe. That had to explain it. Because of the nipwisipwis. There was a new will because of the secrets. The keys. My brain hurts just thinking about it.

  “So who is the lawyer with the new will?” I ask. “Where can I get a copy?”

  “It was drawn up at Kanador Attorneys-at-Law, which is only a few blocks from here. They’ll have a copy of it, but will probably request that you make an appointment. There is someone else you could ask. Which would be infinitely easier and faster.”

  I sit up in my chair. “Who?”

  “Mr. Reginald Godwin.”

  That’s when I feel very stupid. Grammy Claire had told me he was her lawyer. He probably had worked for the Kanador law firm. He’d have the latest, real will! “What about her bank accounts?” I ask. “Is there any way to get twenty bucks or something?” If something happened — like Riley falling over one of the walkways — we couldn’t even hire a taxi to get us to the hospital or the airport if we needed to escape! I make a mental note to ask Riley if she’s got cash on her.

  Mr. Masako looks down at the file of papers again. “I’m afraid that your grandmother cleaned out her accounts right before she left for the States.”

  “But why didn’t she tell me in the last letter —” I stop, horrified that I mentioned the letters to someone besides Riley. I’m also in shock. Someone is lying to me. But who — and why? “So, um, what did Grammy Claire do with all her money?”

  Mr. Masako gives me a sad smile. “I’m afraid I have no idea. Your grandmother didn’t confide in me. Our bank patrons usually don’t divulge their private business.”

  A minute later, I stalk out of the bank. “I don’t understand any of this!” I burst out.

  Reaching out a hand, Eloni stops me from running straight into the street. When he touches me, that peculiar tingle surges again in the pit of my stomach. “Professor Claire was in an unexpected car accident,” he says gently. “No time for warning you.”

  I let out a shaky breath. “She set up everything — and then it all ends up being for nothing.” I’m suddenly homesick and afraid and I want my mamma to hold me and make everything better.

  Tafko zooms up in the blue, crumpled taxi and leans over to roll the window down. He doesn’t even look at us as we climb in.

  “What’s wrong with him?” I whisper to Eloni in the backseat.

  Eloni wh
ispers back, “He doesn’t like to come to the bank.”

  “Why not?”

  “He used to work here, but Mr. Masako fired him.”

  I’m startled. “Why?”

  “He never told me. Mr. Masako is a new manager. The old one moved to Pohnpei.”

  Everyone I meet seems to have some sort of secret. Perhaps that’s why Grammy Claire told me to trust no one. I want to trust Eloni. I really do, but maybe I’m not being smart. Or I’m being taken in by his open charm and attention. And the nice feeling when he takes my hand.

  Does Tafko’s firing from the bank have anything to do with Grammy Claire’s will? And what were he and Eloni doing right before Riley fell down the stairs?

  My gut tightens as we head out of town on a completely different road. “Where are we going?”

  Tafko doesn’t answer. He’s drumming his hands on the steering wheel and listening to music, earplugs in his ears, just like Riley.

  Eloni rolls down his window as we bump along and swerve to avoid potholes. “Remember? We’re going to the nipwisipwis.”

  Yes. And I want to see them so badly. “But I thought they were near Grammy Claire’s house.”

  “This is a shortcut. We follow the beach roads.”

  I sit back and try not to worry about, well, about everything. I feel the wind on my face, but the roads are terrible, bumpy, jolting. My teeth bang together whenever we hit a hole.

  Tafko whistles to his music, but otherwise stays silent.

  Suddenly, the little car spins on the slippery sand as we leap off the road onto the beach. “Hang on!” yells Eloni.

  We bounce over flat, hard sand, tire marks zooming away behind us. Waves crash along the shore and I can taste salt on my tongue. Shades of blue and turquoise and white shimmer as far as I can see. It’s perfect.

  Behind us, the island rises up like a volcano. Mountains, mounds of jungle and dark green forests, so dense anybody could be hiding just inside and I’d never know they were there.

  The open beach becomes smaller and narrower as the shoreline dips and turns. Sunshine trips across the water, sending up bright sparkles of light, and towering palms heavy with coconuts hug the sand.