The Patron Saint of Butterflies(24)

Nana Pete frowns as the woman moves on, filling Benny’s bowl next to me. “Not eating, Mouse?”

I shake my head. “I’ve decided to fast for a while,” I answer quietly. “For the … sins I’ve committed today.”

Dad nods his head slowly and smiles. I wonder if that means I am back on his good side.

Suddenly there is a commotion on the other side of the room.

“I told you, I don’t want it!” Iris Murphy yells. “I feel sick! If you make me eat it, I’m going to throw up!”

I roll my eyes. Just last week, Iris threw herself on the floor at dinner and screamed about having a headache. Emmanuel hadn’t been eating with us, but it had still ended badly, with Emmanuel taking her into the Regulation Room. Why doesn’t she learn? All heads turn in her direction.

Mr. Murphy yanks his wild-eyed daughter to her feet. “Shut your mouth!” He is shaking with rage.

Iris tilts her head back and wails. “But you’re not listening to me! I just—”

Emmanuel cuts Iris off before she can finish her protest. “Bring her here, Samuel!”

The room is deathly quiet as Mr. Murphy drags the crying girl over to Emmanuel’s table. Next to me, Benny’s legs stop moving. Iris, who is in his age group, is one of his best friends. As she struggles and twists against her father’s grip, his lower lip begins to tremble. I lean over and take his little hand in mine. He knows as well as I do that Emmanuel has no qualms about disciplining someone in public—he says a lesson for one is a lesson for all. Now, as Mr. Murphy and Iris stand quivering, Emmanuel wipes his mouth, pushes back his chair, and stands up.

But as he does, Nana Pete stands up, too. Her movement is so quick and so sudden that she knocks over her bowl of soup. It crashes to the floor with an angry sound, splattering corn and potatoes everywhere. Emmanuel looks over, startled, but Nana Pete meets his gaze over the ocean of heads and doesn’t flinch. Her fists are clenched so tightly that I can see the knuckles straining under her skin.

“Why, Petunia,” Emmanuel calls out. “No one told me you were here.” His eyes flick over toward Dad, who bows his head.

“Yes,” Nana Pete answers. Her voice is steady and strong. “I’m here.”

For what seems like forever, the two of them stare at each other. My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, but neither of them blink. What is going on? My stomach churns with dread. Finally Emmanuel turns back around to regard Iris, who is still standing in front of him. Her face is white, and she shrinks under his glowering eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing my whole body for the imminent sound of her face being slapped. Next to me, Benny puts his fingers in his ears and starts to rock back and forth in his seat.

But there is no slap, no sound of a body collapsing to the floor, or even a cry. Instead, as I open my eyes slowly, I see Emmanuel putting his hands on Iris’s head. He closes his eyes and begins speaking in Latin: “Gratia vobis et pax a Deo Patre nostro et Dominio Jesu Christo … “ It is a prayer said at Sunday sacrament: “The grace and peace of God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you.”

Iris begins to cry quietly as Emmanuel’s hands move down from the top of her head to just under her chin.

“Go finish your meal,” he says firmly, “and act like the child of God you are.”

Iris nods, wide-eyed, and backs away, new tears streaking down her pink face.

Mr. Murphy bows low in front of Emmanuel and then turns, following Iris back to their table.

Emmanuel turns around, too, flicking his eyes briefly in Nana Pete’s direction. She is still standing, rigid as a soldier. He smiles thinly at her and then sits back down at his table.

Benny is leaning forward with a strange look on his face. Suddenly all the bread and soup he has just eaten comes pouring out of his mouth. He gags, choking, and then throws up some more. The Believers around us jump to their feet and rush to clean up the mess. Mom gathers Benny in her arms. He is sobbing quietly now, his small body shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s all right,” Mom hushes. “Shh … ” She takes Benny’s soiled robe off him and hands it to me.

“Let me take him back to the house,” Nana Pete says, putting her napkin on the table. “He needs to rest.”

“We have evening prayers in a few minutes,” Dad says. “He can go afterward.”

Nana Pete stands up and gives him a look of disgust. “This child has just vomited all over himself.” Her voice is way over the Great House decibel range. “I am taking him to bed.”

“Is there something else on your mind, Petunia?” Emmanuel’s voice comes drifting over to our table. Dad stiffens.

“Not at all.” Nana Pete’s voice is like ice. “I’m just taking a sick child to bed, where he belongs.” She glares at Dad, scoops Benny up in her arms, and strides out of the room.

“Go with her,” Mom whispers, putting her arm around my shoulder. “I don’t think she knows where any of Benny’s nightclothes are. And take Benny’s robe with you. I’ll wash it out tonight.”

Giving Dad a tentative look, I dart from my place at the table, and rush to catch up with Nana Pete.





HONEY

I have every intention of getting cleaned up and going up to the Great House for dinner after Agnes’s father finds us all down at the frog pond, but then I run into Winky, who is just finishing up in the garden.