I’m breathless with the beauty.
Tafko slows as he maneuvers the car around a final curve. I feel a tug in my throat. We’re inside our very own little lagoon. It’s small and private and there’s not a soul in sight.
My stomach jumps with nerves as I glance at Tafko. Not a soul in sight means that if I were to disappear Riley would never know where to find me. Tafko is just quiet, I tell myself. He’s reserved, not Grammy Claire’s murderer. Madame See stole my money and is lurking somewhere on this island right now. I need to find out which hotel she’s staying at. She’s the only real clue I have. Somebody else could have sneaked into our house and killed the Giant Pink.
Which could mean Tafko. But he was here on the island.
My thoughts are making me crazy!
“We get out here,” Eloni says, reaching over to press the button on my seatbelt. “Too difficult to drive now.”
The sand sinks under my sandals. A boat is bobbing out on the whitecaps. Maybe I’m not so alone, even though this beach feels completely isolated. “Who’s out there?”
Eloni shades his eyes. “Another tour boat.”
I suppose I could create an SOS if I needed to. If I had matches. My white top might work if I ripped it into pieces. Hmm. White blouse against white sand. Maybe not.
Tafko stays with the car, strumming on his banjo as he sits on the sand. He gets up to grab a pad of paper from a backpack in the trunk and starts scribbling.
“He writes music, too,” Eloni says proudly. “For his girlfriend.”
“He’s romantic?” Maybe a guy with a girlfriend isn’t so bad. Tafko talks so little, I wonder what they ever discuss.
“Hey, Tafko,” Eloni calls. “We’ll walk back to Professor Claire’s house. Not that far from here.”
Tafko lifts a hand in salute, then scoops up his banjo and paper and jumps back into the taxi. The sound of the engine fades quickly across the sand and within moments all I can hear is the soft, rippling waves whispering as they break the shoreline.
I follow Eloni over a patch of black lava rock, stepping in and out of shallow tide pools, and then up over more rocks. The giant palms and mangroves bend over us like giants.
As we walk, Eloni says, “Tafko reminded me to tell you about our party for you.”
“A party for me?” I’m surprised and don’t know what to say. I didn’t think Tafko liked me. He seemed to be in a bad mood and would rather be somewhere else.
“We are having a feast for you and your sister. And Mr. Godwin. Tafko and my cousins are hunting tomorrow. They will catch a wild pig. My mother and aunts are going to cook much food.”
I bite my lips, thinking about Grammy Claire living here, being here on this very beach, talking Chuukese with Eloni’s grandfather. Teaching Eloni English. Working together. Eating dinner with them.
“Will you come?” Eloni asks. “Professor Claire was a part of my family. I was only eight when she came to live here.”
I realize that I never responded. I can’t help smiling at him. “Yes, I’ll come. Never ate wild pig before.”
“It’s the best meat on the island. Well, sea turtle is my favorite.”
I let out a laugh as we climb above the boulders and reach another flat, open space. The sand is still warm from the sun as I kneel and look down over the beach. The sounds of the waves seem as if the ocean is murmuring a secret.
Late afternoon comes on, and the sun begins to sink just a little.
“When the sun is at the horizon they will come.”
Terror grips me. “Who comes!?”
Eloni laughs and bumps his shoulder into mine. “The nipwisipwis.”
“Oh. You mean right here?”
He nods and gestures at the dark forest behind us. “They live in trees. And in the caves.”
“What caves?”
“The caves underneath us.”
I stare at him, surprised. “There are caves underneath us? Will the sand fall in?”
“Made of lava rock. Thousands of years old.” Eloni gives a laugh. “We have caves and sand and palm trees and boats. It’s an island. Like all the islands out there in the lagoon.”
A lone seagull circles overhead in the blue silence. “I think you’re teasing me.”
Eloni wiggles his eyebrows and just smiles.
I finally let out my breath and some of the tension inside eases. “I’m hot,” I admit. “Can we go swimming?”
Eloni nods as he squints at the sun. “We have an hour until we see the show.”
“What do you mean by a show?”
“Soon you will see,” he says mysteriously. In an instant, he’s scrambling back over the rocks, jumping through the tide pools, and running straight for the beach. I watch him pull off his shorts and T-shirt and throw them to the sand.
Copying him, I throw my skirt and blouse to the sand, too. It’s strange not to have blankets and water bottles and a picnic basket and books for a beach excursion. Strange not to see another single soul anywhere. Very strange to run into the blue, sparkling surf next to a boy I met only yesterday.
We splash each other and head farther into the sea until we’re up to our waists and the waves are coming faster. As we jump the waves, we start talking about our families and school and movies. The sand is pebbly and rough under my feet, but the water is deliciously warm, like a bath.
“Just need a bottle of bubbles,” I say, turning around to float on my back and stare at the clouds. I scoop at the water, trying to stay on top. Eloni swims effortlessly.
“You’re a good swimmer,” I tell him.
“The village elders throw babies in when they’re born. We learn to swim right away.”
“Are you serious? What keeps a baby from drowning?”
He grins at me, his dark eyes shining, and I know I’ve been had. “You are easy to fool, Miss Tara Doucet.”
My cheeks burn and I splash water at him. Eloni ducks under and comes back up again, shaking his head and flinging water like a dog.
I’m not usually the one teased. I’m the one everybody looks to for answers. I’m the one who tells everyone else how to do things and when to do them. I’m the Doucet Princess. But out here, I’m not anybody. I’m a stranger, just some no-name tourist. But really, deep in my heart, I just want to be Tara. I want people to like me. I want Eloni for my friend. I want my sister to like me. And my mamma to love me.
Tears fill my eyes and I pretend it’s the salt water. Or the sun.
“Hey,” Eloni says. “Let’s go dry off. They’re coming.”
He creates a final humongous splash, hitting the edge of his hand against the surface of the water, which sends a plume of spray into the air.
They’re coming. The words fill me with an intense thrill.
I run out of the sea, water dripping, clumps of sand crawling down my wet legs. We flop straight down on the hot sand to dry off, and I’m not even shy about Eloni seeing me in my swimsuit, all covered in a layer of sand.
“You will be an island girl,” he tells me. “The sand makes you sparkle.”
I try not to turn red as he keeps looking at me. “Maybe Grammy Claire gave me the tree house in her new will and I can come here whenever I want to.”
“You must be independently wealthy.”
I shake my head, a jolt of reality stabbing my chest. “Nope. Not anymore. My great-great-great-grandmothers were, but not me. Although I — I —” I stumble and stutter, and I’m a girl who never stutters. “I always pretended I was, back in Bayou Bridge.” I take a gulp. I’ve never admitted that to anybody before, not even my best friend, Alyson.
“Here it’s no matter,” Eloni says, digging his toes into the sand. “We all live the same. Fishing, boating, singing, dancing — and waiting for tourists. Here on Chuuk you can be one of us.”
Emotion tugs at me and I’m not sure what to say. “Thank you,” I finally whisper. “I mean, kinissow.”
Eloni claps his hands and I can tell he’s happy I remembered how to sa
y that in Chuukese.
The sun feels good on my face and I comb my fingers through my hair as it dries. I notice that Eloni still has that same stick in his shorts pocket when we arrived our first day. He carries it with him constantly, in fact. At times, I see him whittling on it with a small knife.
I get up my nerve to ask. “What is that stick you have? Did you make it?”
He pulls it out of his pocket, holding it flat across his palms. It’s about six to eight inches long. A slender, dagger-shaped piece with carvings on each side. Eloni digs out a pocket knife and shows me how he carves the soft wood. “We carve our favorite things into it.” He points out the details of a fish with beautiful fins arched over a wave. Along the other side is an array of stars and constellations and a sliver of moon that is stunning.
“Do all Chuuk boys make these?”
“Yes. Every boy carves his stick different. We know which stick belongs to which boy. This is my first one to make so it’s smaller than the older boys like my brother, Tafko.”
“Do the sticks have a certain name?”
Eloni’s face turns a little red, and he keeps his eyes on his hands. “It’s called a love stick.”
A love stick. It sounds romantic.
“It’s a tradition.”
“Yours is beautiful,” I tell him, and I mean it. The craftsmanship is gorgeous. “What do you do with it after you’ve finished carving?”
Eloni brushes his finger across a new notch in the fin of his flying fish. “When a boy in the village wants a girl to know that he likes her or wants to court her, he pushes the stick into the bamboo wall of the girl’s hut at night when everyone is asleep.”
“Does the girl recognize whose stick it is when she sees it?”
“If she’s been watching. She feels the stick’s design and if she does not like the boy, she pushes the stick back out of the wall. But if she wants the boy, she pulls it through the wall toward her and keeps it.”
“That seems easy. Better than a phone call.”
Eloni grins at me. “Our carved sticks are our cell phones.”
I laugh and our eyes meet for a split second, then I look away, studying the waves, tasting salt on my lips, thinking of Grammy Claire right here on this very beach.
Not two seconds later, Eloni leaps up. “Miss Tara! They’re here, they’re here! The nipwisipwis!”
I jump to my feet and brush the sand off the back of my legs.
“There!” Eloni says as he points to the ledges of rock where the caves are hidden.
Seconds later, butterflies emerge from the tops of the trees. Hundreds of them, flapping crazily in the slanting sun. So many colors, so many wings! Lemon-yellow butterflies as bright as daisies! Soft, dusky orange ones. Pale blues; deep, dazzling purple; velvety black; chocolate brown.
I stand still as swarms of nipwisipwis fly straight toward us. I can’t move. I can hardly breathe. Within moments, thousands of them are over our heads, floating, shimmering, flitting, flapping, darting, skimming, dancing. They’re lighter than air, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen in my whole life.
“Look,” I say, tugging Eloni’s arm. “There are green butterflies!”
I can tell he’s pleased that I’m so excited. “The green ones can hide in the forest,” he tells me. “No one knows they’re there!”
“These are the butterflies Grammy Claire has been studying all these years,” I say softly, stunned at the secrets she’s been keeping the last five years.
Eloni’s face is skyward as I sneak a peek at him. He stands as still as I do, as though seeing them for the first time, too. And yet, I know he’s been here dozens of times. Watching him, I can feel that he loves the butterflies as much as my Grammy Claire did.
Something tightens in my throat and I point, shaking. “Over there! Look — they’re coming up from under the ground!”
Giant Pink nipwisipwis are swarming up from the underground caves, spilling into the sunlight, streaming toward the sky.
“Run!” Eloni shouts, and I race after him over the sand, bounding up the rocks until I can see into the shadowy overhang that hides the grottos and caves.
Standing there on the ledge as the Giant Pinks fly up from their hidden, underground world, tears begin running down my face. A peculiar joy throbs inside my heart.
“There are no words to describe this,” I whisper, my eyes watering.
Eloni comes closer. “That’s the home of the Giant Pinks. Hundreds of them.”
“They’re gorgeous, Eloni. I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
He nods, watching me. “Everyone who sees them the first time weeps with the beauty.”
Then Eloni holds out his hand to me and I stare at it, excited and afraid all at the same time. Finally, I clasp my palm to his, and he grips my fingers tight as we run back toward the ocean, leaping over the rocks and hitting the sand with our bare feet at the same time.
We run like maniacs. Back and forth across the beach. Splashing our toes in the warm, foamy surf as the Giant Pink nipwisipwis join the rest of the butterflies in a flickering swarm above our heads.
A tornado of colors and butterfly wings spins wildly around us. When I close my eyes, I feel the brush of their velvet softness, the vibration of magic as they circle and enfold me in their world.
And I hear music, too. Beautiful angel music filling my ears and mind and heart.
The underground nipwisipwis grotto is the first of Grammy Claire’s secret mysteries on the island of Chuuk. I know there’s more to come, and I’m both thrilled and terrified.
In nature, a repulsive caterpillar turns into a lovely butterfly.
But with humans it is the other way around:
a lovely butterfly turns into a repulsive caterpillar.
~ANTON CHEKHOV~
Two mornings later when I cross the bridge to the main house, Riley is sitting on a chair, her foot wrapped and resting across a second chair. “How’s your ankle?” I ask, pouring juice.
Riley yawns. “I think I just twisted it real bad. The swelling is down and I can walk on it, if I’m careful.”
As I sip my juice, I feel restless and worried. Key Number Ten is like a weight in my pocket. I carry it with me everywhere because I know it’s the most important key of all. I sleep with it under my pillow, too, but I’m no closer to figuring out what it unlocks. What if I never do? What if I totally fail to save the butterflies? My gut hurts just thinking about it.
Butler Reginald brings me a bowl of delicious baked breadfruit. He’s also sliced up a fruit salad of kiwis, papaya, strawberries, and mango, which drips on my plate.
I lean over, examining the scratches on my sister’s face. There are a couple of dark purple bruises on her arms, too. “Does it hurt?”
“Butler Dude washed me in antiseptic and told me not to pick at the scabs.”
Butler Reginald lays down napkins and forks. “Picking at the scratches will leave scars. Something a young lady does not relish on her face. At least in England they don’t.”
Riley rolls her eyes at him. No one is spared the eye roll, not even Butler Reginald. “I haven’t done that since I was six years old. Give me some credit.” She eyes our butler as he flicks the switch for the overhead fan. “You know, Butler Dude, you’re more like a nanny than a butler. A big ole softie.”
He gives a mocking bow, teasing her back. “I’m glad to know where my talents lie, Miss Riley, but this morning I will be in full attorney mode. We will do the reading of your grandmother’s will. No reason to put it off, and I’m sure you girls are anxious.”
My stomach jumps. I knew this was coming, and I tried not to think about it when I went to bed the previous night. Instead, I just wanted to relive that unexplainable feeling as I stood on the beach with thousands of butterflies swarming, ready to carry me off to a magical land. The whole world had felt like it was expanding and exploding, and my soul was huge and bursting and full of love.
I don’t tell Butler Reginald or Ril
ey about the key to the security box at the bank — and that I’ve already been there. That there was only an outdated will. And an empty bank account.
I bite into a strawberry, thinking. Grammy Claire’s last letter hadn’t given me any clue for Key Number Ten. I’m completely in the dark.
As Butler Reginald runs soapy water in the sink, I think about the butterflies retreating back to the mangroves and underground cave as the sun set. The world had been stained a fiery orange and red. Streaks of clouds drifting across the sky.
Afterward, Eloni and I walked back to the tree house. It was about three miles straight through the trees and across some sand dunes. The unpaved roads were rough and winding. Walking had been faster than driving. I wonder if I could find that beach on my own.
After dinner, Riley and I had sat on the balcony under the soft lantern glow and listened to the whispering of the sea. For once, my sister didn’t spend the evening with heavy metal plugged into her head.
“Tomorrow I am going to the beach,” she’d said. “I can’t go back home with white legs.”
“You mean you’re actually going to take off those horrid boots?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, little sister.”
“Yeah. You own the patent on sarcasm.”
“Very funny. Those boots saved me a trip to the hospital. Surgery. A cast for six months.”
I’d been grateful that the accident hadn’t been worse, too. But what kind of threat were Riley and me? Who would want us dead? We didn’t know anything. Except I did have Key Number Ten. The most precious one of all. It wasn’t doing me a bit of good, though.
I push my breakfast bowl away, thinking about the new will, sick to my stomach.
Butler Reginald dries his hands on a towel. “Ready, girls?”
He’s wearing his official black suit and white shirt, looking sharp and pressed. “Why don’t we convene in the living room in five minutes?”
My heart is thudding by the time Riley plops herself onto one of the couches.
When the Butterflies Came Page 17