“Come on, Honey,” Winky says. “Let’s go.”
I follow him somberly down the hill, past the lilac bushes and along the length of Sanctity Road until we get to the Milk House. A little farther down, through the pine trees, I can make out the edge of the Field House, where Agnes is.
“I’m going down there,” I say, striding past Winky toward the Field House. “He’s not my father. He can’t tell me what to do.”
But Winky grabs my arm. “Don’t.” His eye is twitching terribly. “He’ll ask her t’night if you came, and you know she won’t lie. And then she’ll have t’pay for it.”
I stop and then whirl around, furious. “God, Winky, do you have to have all the answers tonight?”
His eye slows down a little as he lowers his voice. “C’mon. It’s already ten. The game’s prob’ly half over by now.”
“Who’re they playing tonight?” I ask grudgingly.
“Cleveland. And they’re good this year.”
I arrange myself at the foot of his bed as Winky pulls out the TV and adjusts the wire antenna on top. In thirty seconds, there is a fuzzy picture of the Cleveland pitcher throwing a ball to the catcher. A Yankee strides up to the plate. Winky pulls nervously on his bottom lip. “C’mon, buddy,” he mutters. “Let’s get a move on.”
I pull out my butterfly journal from Winky’s bookshelf and page slowly through the sketches and information I’ve collected over the years. So far I’ve recorded seeing one hundred and forty Spangled Fritillaries (the most common butterfly in these parts), sixty-four Clouded Sulphurs, ninety-two Northern Cloudywings, sixteen whirlabouts (they prefer ocean air, which we’re not close to), twenty-nine Spicebush Swallowtails, two hundred ten American Coppers, nineteen Spring Azures, and twenty-seven Silvery Blues. I’ve got a rough sketch of each species, including the caterpillar stages. Tonight I mark down the Yellow Fritillary I saw in the field today with Agnes and then the two White Admirals Winky pointed out to me on the way back from the farm.
Next I pull out The Encyclopedia of Butterflies. I always open it to the same page and stare at the same butterfly, which Winky pointed out to me a few years ago. It’s called a Zebra Longwing and it is so beautiful, with its white-and-black-striped wings and long, teardrop shape. Winky says he’s seen only one in all the years he’s had his garden, and that when he did, it was one of the best days of his life.
I’d like to have one of those days.
My eyes feel heavy as I close the book and look up at the TV screen. Cleveland is up by two. “I’m going to bed,” I say. “I’m tired.”
“Okay,” Winky says. “Night.”
I climb the steps to my loft, pull the heavy drape across the front, and put on my pajamas. With George in one hand, I crawl into bed and count to ten, but it doesn’t do any good. My little heart night-light burned out years ago and I haven’t wanted to ask Christine for a new bulb. She doesn’t need to know that I’m still afraid of the dark.
“Wink?” I call out after a few minutes.
“Yup,” he says, getting up and clicking on the tiny lamp atop his dresser. The light makes a soft halo on the ceiling. “Sorry. I forgot.”
AGNES
It’s almost ten thirty by the time Mom and Dad get back from the Great House. Benny has been asleep for hours, but I am still awake, trying to find a bearable position atop the layer of rocks under my sheet. Lying on my back again is impossible, but I discover that if I lay perfectly still on my belly, it is not quite so bad. I prick my ears as Dad and Nana Pete start arguing in the next room.
“But you said I could see them until I leave again,” Nana Pete says. “You said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“And when I explained the sacredness of this week to you, you said you would take them down to the house and do something quiet,” Dad retorts. “Half an hour later, I find you stuck in the mud with a frog in your hand.”
Nana Pete clears her throat. “Well, we certainly won’t do that again. I promise.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, but the children need to be in their groups tomorrow,” Dad insists. “They are making all the banners for the march, as well as new robes this year. There is a lot of work still to be done and it’s not fair that they get to be excused.”
“Leonard—”
“Isaac,” Dad interrupts. “It’s Isaac, Mother, okay?”
Nana Pete takes a deep breath. “Isaac. Please. I’m only staying a few days. Please just let me take them for the day tomorrow. I won’t ask for any more time after that. Please.”
I can hear Dad hesitate. I squeeze my eyes shut and hold my breath, praying silently to Saint Jude, who is the patron saint of lost causes.
“The afternoon only,” Dad says finally. “They must attend all prayer services and work on their banners and robes in the morning. After lunch you can take them.” He pauses. “Back here, to the house. Only the house, Mother. Nowhere else.”
“Okay.” Nana Pete sounds disappointed, but I smile in the dark.
“Oh,” I hear Dad say. “Veronica approached me after prayers this evening. She said that Emmanuel would like you to join them for breakfast tomorrow, after morning prayers. Ruth and I have been invited, too.”
“Why?” Nana Pete sounds perplexed.
“What do you mean, why? Because he knows you just drove nine hundred miles and he wants to share a meal with you. He’s a gentleman.” Nana Pete coughs lightly. No one says anything for a moment. “All right?” I hear Dad say finally. “Mother?”
“Okay,” Nana Pete says. But her voice sounds faint. “All right, then. Fine. I’ll be ready.”
The next morning, Nana Pete is in the kitchen, dressed in a clean pink shirt and freshly ironed blue pants. Her hair has been brushed, braided, and pinned back up around her head, and she has put on a coat of pink lipstick.
“What are you doing up?” Benny asks sleepily.
Nana Pete grabs him and plants a kiss on his cheek. “Good morning to you, too, darlin’.” She looks over at me. “I’m going up to morning prayers with y’all and then on to breakfast with Emmanuel.” I glance over at Dad, barely able to contain my happiness. He nods and grimaces.
During morning prayers, Honey nudges me and then nods her head in Benny’s direction. I watch as he puts his hand under his robe and pushes something down in his pants pocket. There is a muffled croak as he jams his hand down again, harder this time. Honey giggles. “The frog,” she mouths. “From yesterday. He still has it.”
I can feel the blood run out of my face. Pressing my lips together, I sneak a look behind me, wondering if any of the Believers kneeling on all sides of us have noticed Benny’s squirming. Claudia is a little ways off to the right, but she and all the other adults have their eyes shut tightly, lost in prayer. I transfer my gaze again to the cross on the wall and try to do the same.
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra … “
“I get y’all after lunch,” Nana Pete says, putting her arms around the three of us after prayers have ended. “And I have some really fun stuff planned for us to do.” Dad gives her a sidelong glance. “At the house, of course.” She kisses us each on the forehead. “I’ll see you after lunch.”
“Come on, Mother.” Dad looks jittery and pale as Mom takes his hand. “We don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“Where’re they going?” Honey asks as we watch them walk away.
“Emmanuel invited Nana Pete into his room for breakfast. Mom and Dad got to go, too.”
Honey’s face pales a little. “He did? And she’s going?”
I glance at her sharply. “Yes, she’s going. Why wouldn’t she? Emmanuel’s just trying to be nice after her long trip. He’s a gentleman.”
At the other end of the room, Christine is herding all the kids around the first table, where we will eat breakfast. I pull on Honey’s arm, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Nana Pete, who has just disappeared around the corner. “Co
me on, Honey. It’s time to eat.”
Breakfast, like every other meal this week, is lean. Still, the slice of toast set before me and the tiny glass of apple juice look as good as any five-course meal. I am so hungry I feel like I could eat my arm. The yellow scent of butter wafts inside my nostrils, making my head spin. Honey, who always eats as if she is starving, inhales her toast and then looks over at me. “You gonna eat that?”
I shake my head miserably and slide it over in her direction.
“Man,” she says, snatching it before I can blink, “I wonder what they’re talking about in there.”
“Who?”
“Nana Pete and Emmanuel.” A vein at the corner of her eye pulses as she talks. “God,” she says. “I can’t stand it.”
I glance at Amanda, who is sitting across from us, but she is talking to her little sister, oblivious to our conversation. Christine is still busy at the other end of the table, pouring juice into more cups. Honey crams the rest of the toast into her mouth and looks around the table wildly, as if another piece might magically appear. “They could be talking about anything, you know?”
“What are you so nervous about?” I ask.
Honey looks at me and then drops her eyes. “Me? Nothing. I’m not nervous. I was just wondering, is all.”
“She was arguing about it with my dad last night,” I say, against my better judgment. Honey loves to hear stories about Nana Pete getting into it with my dad, especially when Emmanuel is concerned. I hate that. I always feel like I have to take sides and no matter whose I pick, I always lose.
“About going to breakfast?”
“Yeah. She didn’t want to go for some reason.”
Honey grins at me. “That’s ’cause she wants to keep her food down.”
Christine raps the end of the table with her knuckles. “Time to go down to the East House,” she says quietly. “Everyone please get in single file behind the Great Door.”
I grab Benny’s hand and lead him over to the line. His pocket is still wiggling.
“Get in the back of the line with me,” I whisper. “And as soon as we get out of the Great House, you are letting that frog go.”
“No!” Benny protests. “It’s for Andrew! He told me to bring it up this morning, but I haven’t seen him yet. He’s gonna give me fifty cents. I’m splitting it with Honey.”
“You’re letting it go, Benny,” I say, looking straight ahead. “Don’t argue with me.”
Benny’s shoulders slump as the line begins to move. I pull him along as everyone heads out the door, but he hangs back, dragging his feet, and after a minute I let go.
“Fine, be a pain,” I hiss into his ear. “But when you get called into the Regulation Room, don’t expect me to go in there with you.”
At the mention of the Regulation Room, my little brother’s face pales. He whimpers and runs to catch up with me, but I am already out the door.
“Agnes!” he pleads. I turn slightly when I hear him shout, just in time to see the frog, in one last effort at freedom, leap from his pocket back inside the Great House. Halfway between the closing door, Benny turns and as he does, the door slams shut. There is a split-second pause before a noise unlike anything I have ever heard before comes from the other side. It is a wild, animalistic sound, a howling so pure in its pain that it makes the inside of my mouth turn cold. I stand rooted to the spot, but Honey turns and throws herself against the door. It creaks open again slowly.
“Oh my God,” she wails. Just under her slumped form, I can see the outline of Benny lying on the floor. There is a blur of movement as Christine pushes past me. She sinks to her knees next to Honey and then picks up my little brother in her arms.
“Someone help!” she screams, running into the foyer of the Great House. “Help us, please!” My legs begin to move with a mind of their own, and I follow, struggling to keep Benny in sight.
Claudia meets us halfway inside the foyer, her blue robe flapping behind her like a pair of enormous wings. “What is it? What happened?”
“His hand!” Christine yells. “It got caught in the door!”
I avert my gaze from the top of Benny’s head down to his hand, which is dangling like a gutted fish over Christine’s arms.
“Oh, Jesus,” Claudia says, bending over Benny, who has begun to moan desperately. “The fingers are almost completely severed. We’re going to have to call an ambulance.”
Honey has backed off to the side, but I squirm and claw my way between Claudia and Christine. “Benny! Are you all right? Let me see! Let me see!” There is a bright flash of blood as Christine transfers Benny into Claudia’s arms, but they are both moving so fast I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Is he hurt somewhere else? “Benny!” I scream.
Claudia is moving toward the middle of the room, yelling at Mr. Murphy, who is still eating breakfast, to clear off a table. By now Benny has begun to scream. Claudia lays him down and then starts barking orders.
“I need to make a tourniquet, Samuel. Go to the kitchen and get me a rag or dish towel, anything! Just so I can stop the blood from flowing!” Mr. Murphy turns and runs.
Claudia looks over at Mrs. Winspear, who is in charge of answering the communal phone. “Martha! Call 911! Tell them we need an ambulance right away!”
Mrs. Winspear’s small eyes open wide inside her doughy face and her two chins tremble. She starts dialing the phone. Mr. Murphy reappears, holding a fistful of rubber bands, wet washcloths, and a beat-up-looking roll of gauze. I grab on to the back of Claudia’s shirt as she snatches a rag. She doesn’t seem to notice. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Honey running down the length of the Great House, toward Emmanuel’s room. In the background, Mrs. Winspear is yelling into the telephone.
“Yes, that’s right, Mount Blessing! Right off of Sanctity Road. Yes, yes, the commune! There’s been a terrible accident! Please hurry!” Her voice, shrill as glass, cuts through me. Benny shrieks and kicks on the table, flailing his arms and legs wildly.
“Hold him down!” Claudia yells.
Christine and Mr. Murphy each take hold of Benny as Claudia begins tearing the washcloth into strips. Christine is crying—great, gulping sounds, like a child who has had a bad dream. Benny’s eyes are rolling around in their sockets and strange, grunting sounds are coming out of his mouth. I squeeze in next to Claudia and move in close to his face. Beads of sweat glisten above his pale eyebrows.
“Benny,” I whisper. “Benny, it’s Ags. I’m here, Benny. It’s gonna be okay. They called the ambulance, sweetie, and you’re gonna be all right. Don’t worry, Benny. I’m here.” He lurches, screaming again, as Claudia does something to his injured hand.
“It’s all right, Benny,” Claudia says firmly, her eyes wide with concentration. “I need you to be brave. Two of your fingers are hurt really bad and I need to wrap them up so that you don’t keep losing blood.” She gives Mr. Murphy a curt nod. “Hold him down, Samuel. He’s not going to like this.”
I sob along with Benny as he wails and arches his back under Claudia’s tight, rapid movements. Christine’s cries get louder. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Mom, Dad, and Nana Pete rush forward, trying to get through the throngs of other Believers who have gathered around the table.
“Isaac!” Christine takes a step back, nearly knocking me over. “Oh, Isaac, I’m sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t even see him go back in!” Dad looks confused for a moment as he stares down at Benny.
“It’s his hand?” Nana Pete shouts, trying to squeeze past Mr. Murphy. “Is that where he’s hurt?”
Suddenly the crowd begins to shift and separate. People move back and then fall silent as Emmanuel and Veronica walk through their midst. Claudia, who is still working like crazy, doesn’t notice as Emmanuel stands a few inches from my little brother, surveying the damage, but Dad looks up instantly. His face pales.
“Stop what you are doing,” Emmanuel says. He is eerily calm.
Claudia looks up. “Emmanuel.” She sounds stunned.
/> Emmanuel nods in Mrs. Winspear’s direction. “Call the ambulance back, Martha, and tell them it was a false alarm.”
Now it’s Mrs. Winspear’s turn to look confused. She brings her fat hands up to the sides of her face and presses them against her cheeks, looking first at Claudia and then back at Emmanuel.
Veronica takes a step forward and purses her lips. “Now, Martha.” Mrs. Winspear turns and starts to redial the phone.
Claudia stands up. “What are you—”
“Bring him into my room,” Emmanuel says. His voice is grave, mysterious.
“Oh no,” Claudia says, shaking her head. “With all due respect, this child doesn’t have time right now for a prayer service. He should get to the hospital immediately before he loses any more blood.”
“There’s not going to be a prayer service,” Emmanuel says. He leans over, lifting Benny from the table. “I am going to heal him.”
The crowd gasps.
Claudia’s face turns pale. “Heal him? How?”
Emmanuel’s voice booms over the upturned sea of Believer faces. “‘For truly I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, “Move from here to there,” and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.’”
Claudia is aghast. “This child needs a surgeon! Faith can come later! There are bones in these fingers that are probably broken, tendons and nerves that must be reattached! There is nothing you can do here, Emmanuel! You have no medical training!”
But Emmanuel turns his back on Claudia’s pleas, still holding Benny, who is whimpering like a little puppy. His voice reverberates through the Great House as he walks through the stunned crowd. “And so I say to you, ‘Whoever does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him.’”
“Please, let the hospital—,” Claudia begins.
But Veronica cuts her off with flashing eyes. “Hold your tongue! Do you realize who you are talking to?” Claudia steps back and presses her hand tightly against her lips. Nana Pete grabs Dad’s arm.
The Patron Saint of Butterflies Page 9