The Memory of Butterflies: A Novel

by Grace Greene

  As the curtains had flamed in the windows and fire bloomed up from the roof, men did arrive. They brought a tanker truck, but it was far too late for the house. They prevented the fire from spreading into the forest and gave us a ride into town where a local pastor and his wife took us in for a few nights. Ellen and I didn’t sleep that first night. We bathed to rid ourselves of dirt and ash, but the smell of smoke was stuck in our noses, and the night-terror images were too stark in our brains. Our daily lives and our possessions had been so freshly in our hands. I found myself repeatedly staring at my palms as if the lost items might suddenly be there, perhaps a favorite book or Gran’s doilies. Even her pearls, safely stored away for many years, and one of the few nice pieces of jewelry she’d had, were gone. I’d let them burn. Not by choice but by action, along with my drawings, our keepsakes, and everything in the house not on our backs. More than once, I’d relived the memory and wondered if I should have left Ellen outside and dashed back in to grab things, anything, that meant something to us. These many years later, as I stood here in the driveway, and though our losses had been sad, I was also grateful.

  At the time of the fire, as young as I was, it had felt too late for me but not for Ellen. She was reaching school age. Would I have left our secluded Hollow on my own? Would I have recognized her need to be among other children and attend school and allowed it to conquer my fears? I liked to think I would’ve put her first, but honestly, I wasn’t sure I would’ve had the courage to risk it.

  The fire had been tragic. It had also been liberating in a way I couldn’t have foreseen at the time.

  This morning, I took my work bucket from the trunk where I kept my tools for cleaning the cemetery. I slipped on my rubber garden clogs and gathered my gloves, my spade, and the rest of my gear. It wouldn’t do for the cemetery to look shabby. The workmen would be coming in a few days. I wanted them to understand that precious people, gone from this earth but not from my life, had lived in Cooper’s Hollow, and their remains and their memorials dwelt within those stone walls.

  The workmen, and anyone else who came here, should tread carefully and respectfully among my memories and my past.

  And not judge me.

  CHAPTER TWO

  We’d planned for me to go to college, but I couldn’t leave home right after high school. My grandparents had raised me, and when Grand died during my senior year, my grandmother needed me. I loved her and didn’t want to lose her, but the honest truth was, I didn’t think she’d last as long as she did. Grand’s death had been hard on her, and I’d already grieved for her, too, almost in tandem with the loss of my grandfather. She’d either get better or she wouldn’t, and, at this point, I wasn’t seeing a recovery on the horizon. One year, I thought.

  Gran herself didn’t think she had more than a few months left in her. She made me promise that when she passed, I’d go on to college. The high school guidance counselor warned me I was making a mistake. She said the grants and scholarships wouldn’t wait forever. But a person has to do what they can live with. Meanwhile, Mildred Harkin, Gran’s longtime friend and nurse, had dropped by, as usual, to check on Gran and deliver her medications, and she’d realized my dilemma.

  I sat on the sofa while Mildred checked Gran’s heart rate and blood pressure. Gran’s bed was in the living room. We’d moved it there after Grand died. The tiny bedroom in the back of the house had been mine for most of my life, but without Grand, my grandmother said she’d rather have my small bed moved into the living room. She’d be near the direct warmth of the woodstove and handier to the kitchen. She insisted I take the larger front bedroom with the big bed. Gran tended to be cold, and now a widow, she preferred to trade privacy for more warmth than a couple of quilts could provide.

  Mildred arranged the blanket across Gran’s legs and gathered her doctor’s bag and sweater. She came over to the sofa.

  “Can I speak with you, Hannah?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I stood out of courtesy.

  She touched my arm, signaling me to follow her. As we went out the front door, she called back into the house, “Clara, I’ll drop the ointment by tomorrow. Be sure to use it. It will help with the soreness in your shoulder and knees. And make sure you take your water pills like you’re supposed to.”

  Mildred had gray eyes and gray hair. She didn’t wear nurse’s garb, though. She dressed like a neighbor come to call, except for the old-style doctor bag she carried. The casual clothing and their longtime acquaintance were probably why Gran tolerated the intrusion of personal questions, stethoscopes, thermometers, and such.

  I walked with Mildred from the porch and into the yard, suddenly anxious. No matter how set you thought you were about losing a loved one, you were never really ready.

  “How’s Gran?”

  “About the same, dear, but I want to talk about you, if you don’t mind.” She nodded toward the driveway where she was parked, and I followed her. When we were well away from the house, she stopped again.

  “So you’re staying home? Not going off to college after all?”

  “Yes.”

  Mildred sighed. “You have a right to your own life. You should consider what’s best for your future.”

  I tilted my head. I could hear her words, but I didn’t get where she was going with this. “Sure, but what would happen to Gran? She can’t manage on her own. She took Grand’s death hard.”

  Mildred put her bag on the front seat of her car, gave me a long look, then patted my shoulder. “I understand. She may recover somewhat. She may not. Time will tell. The fact is her heart isn’t getting better, and the edema will continue. If we could convince her to go to the doctor, the hospital, and get treatment that could make a difference.”

  I shook my head, knowing Gran would never go, but asked anyway, “Would that cure her?”

  “No, honey, it wouldn’t. It might improve her situation, though. It’s worth a try.”

  I looked back toward the house. “She’d never go. You know she hasn’t left the Hollow in many years.”

  “Please encourage her to consider it.” She touched my forearm and held my gaze. “In the meantime, you need to move on with your own plans. College. We could find someone to stop in and help her on a regular basis, or maybe it’s time for her to go live elsewhere.”

  Elsewhere? Put Gran in a nursing home? I was shocked.

  “You shouldn’t have to bear this alone. You’re so young.”

  “We do fine.” I stood taller. “We have everything we need here. What we don’t have is brought in. Grand arranged the deliveries long before he died. Plus, I have his car and can get about as I need.”

  “Unfortunately, Hannah, you have to face reality. Your grandmother is going to need more care than you can give her no matter how willing you are or how much you want to help her.”

  I tried to find the right words. I knew the truth of what she was saying, but I also knew the truth of what could be, and what couldn’t ever be, not in a million years.

  Mildred patted my arm again. “Close your mouth, dear. No need to look horrified. Think about what I’ve said. Accepting and dealing with reality can be hard, but moving a person to where they’ll get the care they need can be a good thing. Sometimes it’s the only choice we have. You need to figure out how long you can live this way and how much you’re capable of handling.” She shook her head. “I’ll leave it for now. If you get in too deep here, you let me know. I’ll help you figure something out.”

  She gave me a quick hug. “I admire your love and loyalty. I see it often when loved ones are sick or dying. But people take on too much and don’t understand they can’t fix everything for a loved one, that sometimes their paths must part.”

  She waved her hands. “We’ll talk about it again. Meanwhile, I’d like you to get out. You need a break from time to time, and it won’t hurt Clara to be on her own for part of the day. You don’t need to hover.”

  “I’ve been thinking about finding a part-time job, maybe earn some
money because I’m definitely going to college next year. By then, Gran will be better or . . . not, but I have to give her this year. She gave the last eighteen to me.”

  Mildred shook her head. “Hannah, you are one of the most reasonable, practical people I know, but you’re very young. I worry you won’t recognize when things get beyond your ability to manage or mend.”

  She opened the driver’s side door. “It’s good to have plans and goals. I have a friend who cleans houses—mostly light housework—and from time to time she needs help. Would you be interested? It would get you out a bit and give you a little money to set aside for school, yet still give you time to be here and do the things you enjoy, like your gardening and pottery.”

  I had to admit the idea of leaving the Hollow on occasion appealed to me, and cleaning houses would be easy work.

  “I’d be willing to talk to your friend. See what we can work out.”

  Still looking worried but somewhat reassured, Mildred left.

  Gran expressed misgivings when I explained the house-cleaning plan.

  “If the money’s tight, Hannah, we’ll talk to the man in town.”

  The Man in Town. My grandparents had mentioned him over the years. My grandfather had been careful about money and distrustful of society. I’d overheard them talk about an annuity, and I knew cash came from somewhere, presumably from that mysterious man, on a regular basis. Certainly I never went without. When I needed clothing or anything else, Grand had driven me to the store to get it, whether the store was in Charlottesville or Richmond, and, of course, there was always mail order. For food, we gardened and hunted, and we bought the rest at the grocery store in Mineral. The only thing we lacked was online shopping, but we had no computer and no connectivity for Internet or cell phone.

  Honestly, the lacks didn’t bother me. I’d rather be at my potter’s wheel or walking through the woods if spare time offered itself.

  Bottom line: Grand gave careful consideration before every expense. He said we had to keep our money safely in the bank in case of hard times. We lived lean here in Cooper’s Hollow, and aside from the losses money couldn’t solve, like Grand’s death, I couldn’t recall any problem hard enough to disregard his admonition about saving.

  I told Gran, “Mildred thought it might be good for me to get out and about some. Plus, I can put the money aside for college.”

  Gran nodded as if in conversation with herself, but all she said was, “If that’s what you want to do.”

  Mildred’s friend, a scrawny woman named Babs, had a regular route of houses she cleaned. Many big houses dotted the county both from folks who’d lived here a long time, plus the newcomers. I let Babs know I wouldn’t take customers from too far away because it wouldn’t be worth it if the gas and travel time outweighed the pay.

  The people in the big, fancy houses lived very differently from us. I enjoyed seeing how they lived, but I wasn’t envious. Curious, yes. Babs gave me a turquoise T-shirt with her company name printed on it, but otherwise I wore jeans and sandals. I cleaned several houses a week. It wasn’t hard work, and my personal savings, tucked in a small box in a corner of my dresser drawer, benefited. In the evenings, over supper, I’d tell Gran about the houses and the people who couldn’t or wouldn’t clean their homes themselves, who had to hire others for such basic stuff like dusting and sweeping, and we’d have a good laugh.

  Late one afternoon, I returned from my cleaning job. My brain was busy, but I didn’t feel talkative. Gran was seated by the woodstove, reading. I went about tidying up and remaking her bed until she rapped her cane against the floor. I looked up.

  “Hannah, honey, you’ve been in another world since you walked in the door. What’s got you so preoccupied? Are you regretting the job? Because if you are, that’s fine by me. Like I said, we can work out the money issue ourselves.”

  I looked at her and saw her lower legs and ankles were seriously swollen. Her slippers couldn’t fit on her feet properly. I moved the footstool closer to the chair.

  “You need to keep these up when you’re sitting.” I lifted her legs one by one and gently placed them on the footstool. “Now keep them there.”

  “How was the job today?”

  “It was fine. Nothing special. You stay put, and I’ll get supper going.”

  The cleaning job that day had been a little different. Maybe special, too, despite what I’d told Gran. As nice as some of those houses were, they didn’t feel harmonious inside. The air felt wrong—not congenial—as if the folks living there were often at odds.

  That was the case with the house off Cove Road farther along Elk Creek. By all appearances, it was a beauty, and it was a pleasure to mop and dust while I considered what I might like in my own home one day, a long way down the road of time. The beauty of it was almost enough to disguise the disquiet. I saw the framed photos on the wall and recognized a boy I knew from high school. Spencer Bell. We hadn’t traveled in the same circles, but he was a looker and one of those kids with good teeth who smiled all the time. He had plenty to smile about. We weren’t friends, but he wasn’t a jerk, either, and I had nothing against him. He surprised me while I was working in the kitchen. Gave me a double look.

  “That you, Hannah?” He looked around. “Mom said the cleaning lady was here.”

  I laughed a little to dispel the oddness of it. “That’s me.” I waved the dust cloth. “I’m earning extra for college.”

  He pulled a stool up to the kitchen island and drank from the milk carton. I gave him a glass, and this time, he laughed. His dark hair fell in locks across his brow. He had a good haircut, the kind that fell carelessly and still looked right. He was wearing shorts and a knit shirt. Nice stuff. Probably cost more than what I’d earn for a week’s work. Maybe more.

  He asked, “Where are you going?”

  “Me?” I fidgeted with the dust cloth. “To college? I was planning to go to Tech, but I have to wait a year. My grandfather died, and I can’t leave my grandmother yet. She needs a little time to get back on her feet, so to speak.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. They raised you, right? You lived with them?”

  I nodded. “Yes, my parents died when I was a baby.”

  “Yeah? I think I heard that somewhere along the way. Sorry.” He fixed his eyes on my face. “I never thought much about it. You never talked about being an orphan or acted like it.”

  “An orphan?” I almost laughed. How did orphans act? “Honestly, I never felt like an orphan. Things happen. Everybody has troubles of some kind or another. I was lucky to have my grandparents.” I didn’t add, though I could’ve, that family business is private business, not to be discussed with the outside.

  “I like that,” he said. “You don’t go around feeling sorry for yourself. You know what you want. My dad says that’s being self-directed. A self-starter.”

  “That’s how he raised you? That’s good.”

  “Well, he tried. Not sure it really took.” He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave.

  Holding up the cloth again, I said, “I’d better get back to work.”

  “Sure, I have to be somewhere, too.” He left the stool but paused on his way out of the kitchen. “You interested in hanging out . . . I mean, going out sometime?”

  I think I blushed. I tried not to show his invitation meant anything, even if my face did turn a little pink.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

  My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t answer.

  He continued. “Melissa and I have been together forever. But here’s the thing—we split up. She’s going to one side of the country for college, and I’m going the other way. We agreed it’s time to see other people, so if you’re interested in having some fun . . .”

  “Sure.” I tried to sound cool. “Call me sometime.”

  He grabbed a marker from beside the kitchen phone. “What’s your number?”

  I told him and watched, amazed, as he wrote the di
gits on his forearm, like a tattoo. Like something important he wasn’t willing to risk losing.

  He tossed the marker back onto the counter, grinned as he said “Bye,” and took off.

  I put the milk carton back in the fridge and rinsed his glass and set it in the sink. I’d wash it up later with the rest of the dishes. But the whole time, I was seeing his grin and the scrawled numbers on his arm, and I knew he’d call.

  A few days later, the phone rang. I’d just come into the house from working my pottery wheel. I didn’t have running water out there in the old cabin where my wheel and working area were, so I paused to wash my hands at the kitchen sink, and Gran answered the phone. She pressed it to her bosom and called to me softly. The house was small, and I had young ears, so it didn’t take much volume. Despite Gran’s ears being older, the principle of proximity still applied, and it wasn’t possible for me to have a truly private telephone conversation in this house.

  “Hi. Sure, I can talk.”

  “Great. A group of us are having a cookout down by the river. Stan, Bruce, and some others. Gina and Angie. It’ll be fun. I thought you might like to go.”

  These were his friends, not mine. On the other hand, I didn’t have anything against them.

  “I’d love to. Thanks.”

  After we hung up, I turned to find Gran staring at me.

  I shook my head and shrugged all at once. “I’m going out Friday evening. A cookout. A group of friends.”

  “Friends? That sounded like a young man on the phone.”

  “He’s a friend from school.”

  Gran turned and muttered for a while. She was talking to Grand. I came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. She sighed, then said, “I wish your grandfather were here.”

  “Me too. All the time. But why do you wish it this time in particular?”

  “Because when a boy shows up to take a gal on a date, he ought to see a male family member. It doesn’t hurt to see a man on the porch, maybe with a gun or at least a big stick, lest the boy forget any good sense he might own.”