Butterfly

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Butterfly Page 21

by Sharon Sala


  “I will bring that woman to justice. She will pay for all you’ve lost if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

  Then he closed her door and went back to his room. Sunup would come far too soon.

  ***

  The gates of Restland Cemetery were already open as Ben slowed the car down to turn in. Except for a few brief comments, he and China had not spoken to each other on the way into the city. He glanced at her now. She was pale and quiet—almost too quiet. But they’d come this far. It was too late to turn back.

  “I’m not sure if I remember the exact spot,” Ben said. “It may take me a couple of minutes to find the place.”

  “I remember where Mother is buried,” China said. “Take the second gate and turn right at the third road.”

  He did as she said, and soon memory began to return. A few minutes later he saw the new grave just up the slope and stopped.

  “This is as close as we can get with the car,” he said.

  China looked. The pile of freshly turned dirt was like a sore upon the earth. It would take time for it to settle, just as it would take time for the pain of loss to settle within her.

  Ben jumped out quickly and ran around the car to help China out. The air was cold, the sky cloudy and overcast. He pulled the hood up over her head and handed her his gloves.

  “Here, honey. Put these on. They’ll be too big, but they’ll keep your hands warm.”

  She held out her hands as if she were a child, too numb to do anything more than what she was told. The softness of the fine leather and the lingering warmth inside the gloves made it seem as if Ben were actually holding her hands. She folded her arms across her chest and then took a slow breath. Ben slipped a hand beneath her elbow to steady her.

  “Are you ready?”

  She paused, then looked up at him, her eyes full of unshed tears.

  “I have to do this alone.”

  He hesitated, uncertain. But when she started across the dry, brittle grass, he found himself standing and watching her go.

  For China, everything seemed surreal. The sound of the grass crunching beneath her shoes. The cry of a hawk somewhere high above her in the sky. That particular scent that cold air has when it’s almost too cold to breathe. The hammering of her own heartbeat, thumping in her ears. And the dark musky smell of earth that had been recently disturbed.

  She stopped at the edge of the mound and stared down at the grave. The tiny marker and the name, Baby Brown, were evidence enough of her loss. The child had not even been named. Subconsciously, her hands splayed across her stomach as they had so many times before. But this time her belly was flat and the bulge was in the earth at her feet. Her gaze shifted to the small headstone just to the right of the dirt.

  Clara Mae Shubert—A good mother—Rest in Peace.

  She shuddered. Rest in peace. And in that moment, a knowing came upon her. That was what she’d forgotten. For her baby to rest in peace, she had to let go.

  She closed her eyes then, remembering the moment of her death, and the journey they’d taken together. Her baby wasn’t here in the ground. She was already gone.

  With aching regret, she lifted her head. As she did, the sun broke from behind a cloud, and the unexpected warmth on her face was like a kiss. She looked up beyond the horizon to the bit of blue peeking through the clouds and let go of what was left of her guilt. It wasn’t her fault she’d left her daughter behind. There was a reason she’d been sent back—to help find the woman who’d killed her.

  She turned then, searching for the man who’d brought her. He was standing beside the car, and even from this distance, she could see the concern on his face. Despair shifted, just enough to let in the memory of their shared kiss.

  The promise man.

  China began to retrace her steps, and as she did, she saw him move away from the car and start toward her. Another measure of despair fell away from her heart. Whatever she had to do, Ben would be there. She wouldn’t have to do it alone.

  ***

  One day led into another, and then another. Ariel Simmons was touring the country, taking the Word to the masses and battling a growing sense of depression. She’d done everything she knew to protect herself from the fallout of Chaz Finelli’s murder, but it didn’t seem to be working. Too many people believed in the old adage of where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and she was suffering the consequences. Hate mail came on a daily basis. Obscene phone calls were a constant recurrence. Instead of leaving it behind, her shame traveled with her. She was losing weight and taking pills and praying as she’d never prayed before. But nothing seemed to work. No amount of prayer could rid Ariel of the guilt of what she’d done.

  Connie Marx had all but gone underground. She had become a recluse in her own apartment, living off her investments and biding her time as she researched everything she could about Charles Finelli, as well as the killer’s other victims. She spent her days clipping items from the newspapers regarding the ongoing case and taping every sound bite of television coverage. When the case blew open—and she knew that it would—she was going to be ready.

  Mona Wakefield was missing from the compound of Dallas society, preparing herself for a comeback. She had convinced herself that a new hairstyle and new clothes would remove the old problems in her life.

  Bobby Lee was back in D.C., circling among the movers and shakers of the nation’s government and basking in the glory of his growing popularity. In his mind, the past was past. He’d tied up all the loose ends of his problems and was concentrating on the task at hand—that of becoming the next president.

  But they weren’t the only ones who were trying to put the past behind them. From the day they’d come back from the cemetery, China had been a changed woman. Her body was healed, her heart in the process of repair. Her bouts of depression were all but gone, and she grew stronger with every passing day.

  A month passed, and then another, and while no one was watching, spring appeared.

  ***

  “I’m going to the barn,” China announced, and sailed out the back door before anyone offered to accompany her.

  Dave started to follow when Mattie caught him by the arm.

  “Let her be,” she said. “There’s no way anyone can sneak up on this house. You’ll see them coming long before they arrive. Besides, something tells me that the danger has passed. There haven’t been any killings in months. The woman is probably long gone to another state.”

  “I’ll keep my distance,” Dave said. “But I don’t know about everything being over. In my experience, a serial killer can’t stop. It’s part of the pattern that drives them to kill in the first place.”

  Mattie frowned as she watched China stride off the porch.

  “I’ve come to love that girl,” she said. “I couldn’t bear it if anything ever happened to her.”

  Dave put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug.

  “You aren’t the only one who loves China. Your son is so far gone he doesn’t even know it.”

  Mattie sighed and then looked up at Dave and patted his cheek.

  “Thank you for being here,” she said.

  He grinned. “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.”

  “Go find something to do,” Mattie said. “I’m too busy to fight with you.”

  His chuckle followed her as she left the room.

  Meanwhile, China was in a world of her own. The day was mild, although there was a fairly brisk breeze. She’d braided her hair to keep the wind from yanking it in tangles and had a pocketful of Cowboy’s favorite treats. Today she’d seen buds all over the lilac bush in Mattie’s backyard, and she stopped again, testing the fat round buds with the tip of her finger. As she did, she saw a small brown worm inching its way up a stem.

  Time stopped. In her mind, she was a little girl of six, hiding from Clyde beneath the porch and watching a brown caterpillar wend its way through the grass. Then she’d felt like that worm. Brown and ugly, of no consequence to any
thing in the world. She’d tried to make herself small, hoping to hide from Clyde. It hadn’t happened.

  She still felt small and of no consequence, a homely little thing that mattered not at all in the world, but something was changing inside her. She no longer wanted to hide. It was a day for new beginnings, and it made her heart beat fast, as if something wonderful awaited her just out of sight. She moved on, anxious for her playtime to begin.

  As she entered the barn, she blinked several times in succession, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Down the aisle and then out in the corral beyond, she could see Cowboy. She whistled and then started to run. He came to meet her at a trot.

  “Hey, baby,” she crooned, and began to climb, straddling the fence panels as she dug in her pocket for his treats. He nuzzled at her hands, and she laughed. “Give me a minute,” she said. “I’ve got them here somewhere.”

  Eagerly, he took the first one out of her hand and was begging for the second before he’d swallowed the first. She laughed as he ate, and when they were all gone, she slipped off the fence and onto his back without benefit of bridle or saddle. Then she stretched out, aligning her upper body along the length of his neck, held on with her legs and threw her arms around his neck. He stood in the sunshine, accepting her affection as easily as he’d taken the sugar.

  “You big, old, pretty baby,” China whispered.

  A horsefly buzzed around Cowboy’s head. But other than a twitch of his tail, he didn’t move.

  Ben found her there, half asleep on the back of his horse with the sun hot against her back. Breath caught in the back of his throat as he watched them. From the first, their bond had been magic. It was as if the old horse had sensed all her wounds, both physical and mental, and given her his complete devotion. China had returned it a thousandfold. Even if she was shy about returning affection to people, she gave her love without question to the old, gentle horse.

  Quietly, Ben walked up to the corral and climbed the fence. Cowboy nickered softly. Ben smiled.

  “Yeah, I see you, boy, and don’t start making excuses. She has you as buffaloed as she has me.”

  China roused at the sound of his voice and sat up sleepily, her hair loose and wild about her shoulders, her lips tilted in a half smile.

  “I almost went to sleep,” she said.

  “I saw you,” Ben said. “There wasn’t any almost to it. Now come here to me, sweetheart. I don’t know how long you’ve been out here, but you’re getting too much sun.”

  China felt the back of her neck. It was hot.

  “Oooh, you’re right,” she said, and held out her arms.

  He lifted her off the horse and held her until she was steady on the fence rail. Then she climbed down herself, brushing off the bits of horse hair and hay from the front of her shirt.

  “You’re home early.”

  Ben nodded. “Took a half day of personal leave.”

  China really looked at him then. He had already changed from the clothes he wore to work and was in an old pair of boots and jeans and a soft denim shirt.

  “Are you sick?”

  “No, just tired and missing you.”

  The words wrapped around her heart. She gave him a bashful smile.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” Ben said, and then took her in his arms. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good,” she said.

  “Not sore anymore—anywhere?”

  “No. I’m completely healed.”

  “Good,” Ben said. “Then come with me. I have a surprise.”

  “Where are we going?” China asked.

  “Not far.”

  Her eyes were dancing with excitement, and she was trying to imagine the surprise, when he came to a sudden stop no more than thirty feet from where they’d started.

  “Is this it?” she asked, looking around at all the open doors and empty bins.

  “Nope,” he said. “We’re going up,” he said, pointing to the ladder built against the wall.

  “To the loft?”

  He nodded. “You first. I’ll go behind, so I can catch you if you fall.”

  If I fall. China sighed. Safe. She always felt safe with this man.

  “What’s up there?” she asked.

  “You’ll see when you get there.”

  Stifling a nervous giggle, she began to climb.

  Sixteen

  As China reached the opening, a pigeon took flight from the rafters and disappeared out the window. She paused, peering cautiously around the vast open space to make sure there were no more surprises.

  “You okay?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, just making sure,” she said, and climbed the rest of the way through, leaving him to follow.

  It was even warmer up here than it was down on the ground. There was an old mattress leaning against the wall, with a tarp draped across it. A pile of burlap sacks lay in one corner, a pair of hay hooks hanging on the wall above them. An incubator had been pushed against the wall, a dinosaur from the days when Ben’s parents had actually hatched their own baby chicks. Other odds and ends of ranch history lay about the area. It was like walking into someone’s attic and looking at bits and pieces of their lives.

  “What’s this?” China asked, as Ben came up behind her and picked up the item she was looking at.

  “It’s a sad iron. That’s what my grandmother used to iron their clothes before electricity came to the country. She heated it on the woodstove and then ironed until it cooled and then heated it again. I think there used to be a couple of extra bottoms to the thing. You know, two could be heating while she was using one and then she would unfasten the cool one and clip another one on.”

  “Makes you think the good old days maybe weren’t so good after all,” she said, and then turned, her eyes dancing with excitement. “You said you had a surprise?”

  He smiled. “Yes, over here.” He took her by the hand and led her toward the far corner of the barn. “You have to be quiet, though. Old Katie doesn’t much like strangers.”

  China’s eyes widened apprehensively. “Old Katie?”

  “Shhh,” Ben whispered, and then pointed at a wooden crate.

  China leaned over and at first saw only a jumble of magazines and papers. Then a crumpled pile of papers suddenly moved and a cat peeked out from beneath. Ben lifted the paper off the cat and laid it aside, revealing the secret beneath.

  “Oh, Ben.”

  The reverence in her voice said it all. There in the middle of the crate lay a calico cat nursing a litter of babies. When the cat saw them, she hissed.

  “Easy, old girl,” Ben said, and then grabbed China’s hand before she could reach out and touch her. “Don’t try it, honey, not when she’s feeding the babies.”

  “Oh, right,” China said, and took a quiet step back, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the box and the four tiny squirming babies the old cat was nursing. She stood there for a while, staring intently at the scene, then announced, “We have to name them, you know.”

  Ben grinned. “Yeah, I guess we do. Why don’t you pick the names? Old Katie won’t mind.”

  China kept staring, looking for differences in their markings, but without holding them, it seemed impossible.

  “They all look like her,” she said.

  Ben laughed. “Yeah, Old Katie has a tendency to mark her babies all the same.”

  She studied them some more and then suddenly smiled. “I know. We’ll call them Eeny, Meeny, Miney and Moe.”

  Ben chuckled. “But which is which?”

  “With those names, it won’t matter.”

  Ben laughed. “Come on, honey, we’d better let Old Katie alone for now.”

  “Can I come back?” China asked.

  “Sure, but not too often, or she’ll just get nervous and move them and then you won’t know where they’re at.”

  Her eyes grew round. “Really? She would do that?”

  “Yeah, it’s part of her mothering instinct—a way she protects
her young.”

  China flinched as if she’d been struck and had to take a deep breath to continue. “I can understand that. Keeping them safe is all that matters.”

  Ben saw the look on her face and silently cursed himself for all kinds of a fool. He touched her arm, then her face, wanting to wipe away the sorrow.

  “China, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t think when I—”

  She put her fingers on his lips. “Don’t. There’s no need.”

  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. The sensation of his mouth against her palm did funny things to her heart, and an ache began to grow in the pit of her stomach that had nothing to do with grief. She tried to say his name, but all that came out was a groan.

  Ben lifted his head and then froze. He’d prayed for this day—for that look on her face—and now that it was here, he was afraid he would do something that would make it disappear.

  He laid her hand on his chest, letting her feel the rapid beat of his heart, and watched her eyes widen in disbelief. He touched her face, trailing his thumbs across her lower lip and then tunneling them through her hair.

  He pulled her close, and when she didn’t resist, he went a step further and cupped the back of her head. When she wrapped her arms around his neck, he slanted a slow, tender kiss across the middle of her mouth.

  She sighed and took another step toward him, until they were completely aligned and she could feel the imprint of his body.

  “You make me crazy,” Ben whispered. “Crazy in love.”

  She looked at him, at the hunger on his face. For her. It was for her. The knowledge was exhilarating and powerful.

  “I want to make love to you, China. I need to see joy on your face and know that I put it there.”

  He kissed her again, and China melted against him. Suddenly she was in his arms and he was carrying her across the floor toward the mattress leaning against the wall. With a kick, he sent it tumbling. It landed on the floor of the loft with a muffled thud, sending up a cloud of dust that neither one of them seemed to mind. He laid her there, then stretched out beside her.

 

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