The Patron Saint of Butterflies(29)

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.