The Patron Saint of Butterflies(31)

Nana Pete, Agnes, and I keep watch, sitting on one of the couches just outside Emmanuel’s door, but the hours tick by and no one emerges from Emmanuel’s room. There is no way to tell what is going on in there, since the three of us have been forbidden to enter. Even when I stand up and press my ear against the door, I can detect no sound at all from inside. All around us, the rest of the Believers buzz silently, cleaning and sweeping and washing the windows, as if nothing has happened. Mr. Murphy even goes back to finishing his breakfast. When the phone rings, Mrs. Winspear picks it up and blinks, saying the same thing she always does: “Hello and God bless you! How can I help you today?” as if a little six-year-old kid is not clinging to life just fifty feet away from her. These people make me want to mess someone up.

Nana Pete does not look at anyone or say anything as the morning light fades outside the windows. She just stares into the ashy mouth of the dead fireplace across the room with a vacant expression on her face. Every once in a while, she reaches into her purse, pulls out a pink handkerchief, and pats her upper lip. Agnes, who is sitting on the other side of her, rocks back and forth in her seat, reciting Bible verses about faith and ticking off the beads on her consecration beads. I feel like I’m going to start screaming. Instead, I get up and start walking toward the bathrooms.

I almost miss Benny’s glasses, which are lying in a heap just inside the Great Door, forgotten amid all the excitement. Picking them up, I stare for a moment at a tiny drop of blood on the left frame. Fear grips me as I think of Claudia’s words: “He should get to the hospital before he loses any more blood!” How much blood has he lost? Is it too late? I wipe the glasses gently with the hem of my robe, fold the stems, and insert them back inside the robe’s wide sleeves. Then I go back and sit down on the couch next to Nana Pete and wait.

Finally, after four and a half hours, Mr. and Mrs. Little emerge from Emmanuel’s room. All the Believers in the room rush over, surrounding them like a horde of bees. Benny is in Mr. Little’s arms. His eyes are closed and his mouth is hanging open slightly. Nana Pete and Agnes and I have to struggle to get through the crowd.

“Is he dead?” Agnes cries. Mrs. Little’s face is a weird bluish color, as if all the blood has gone out of it. She reaches out and puts an arm around her daughter.

“Of course not, Agnes. He’s just sleeping.” She reaches around and lifts Benny’s bandaged hand gently. “And you should see his fingers.” Now she is addressing the crowd. “They’re as good as new. Emmanuel sewed them both back on, inch by inch. He’s going to be just fine. As good as new.”

“He sewed them back on?” Nana Pete says, but her voice is drowned out by the crowd.

“It’s a miracle!” someone says.

“He’s more than a healer,” says another, clearly awestruck. “He’s a miracle worker! We are so blessed!”

Dad nods, beaming, and then starts walking toward the exit. “Let’s get back to work!” he says over his shoulder. “The excitement is over and we still have much to do.” The crowd begins to disperse accordingly.

Nana Pete presses her fingers against her lips and rushes up alongside Mr. Little, as Agnes falls into step next to her mother. “Leonard, did he really sew them back on? How is that possible? There’s no way he could have done it correctly!” I walk behind the two of them closely.

Mr. Little looks at his mother out of the corner of his eye. “We’re going down to the Field House to put Benny to bed, Mother. He’s probably going to sleep through the night, which will be incredibly convenient, since we still have a lot of work to do for the Ascension March.”

“The march?” Nana Pete repeats. “Y’all are going ahead with the march, with all of this going on?”

Mr. Little looks genuinely perplexed. “Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we? Things are fine now. Everything’s back to normal.”

“Things aren’t back to normal, Leonard! Listen to me, please! At least just take him to the hospital to be checked out!” I follow behind Agnes and her mother, trying to keep out of Mr. Little’s line of vision. “What if he needs medicine, Leonard?” Nana Pete pleads. “Antibiotics, so he doesn’t get an infection?”

Mr. Little shakes his head, as if a fly is buzzing around it. “There is no need to take him to any hospital, Mother. When Benedict wakes up and starts to feel better, I’ll take the bandages off so you can see for yourself what kind of miracle Emmanuel performed.”

“Miracle?” Nana Pete shouts. She stops walking. “Leonard, you’ve lost your mind! You’re not thinking clearly!”

Now Mr. Little stops walking. “Enough!” His eyes are flashing. Nana Pete stares back at him, her face a pained question mark. “If you insist on continually questioning our choices as Believers, I am going to ask you to leave. Now.” And with that, he turns and continues walking down the hill. Mrs. Little hurries to catch up with him.

I watch as Agnes stares uncertainly at her parents, and then back again at Nana Pete. I take a step closer to Nana Pete, pressing myself against her side, and will her with my eyes to do the same.

“Come along, Agnes,” Mrs. Little calls suddenly, turning around. “It looks like you’re going to have to take care of Benny by yourself this afternoon.”

Agnes walks obediently behind her mother, but as they near the bottom of the hill, just past the lilac bushes, she turns her head and looks back at me. Her eyes are empty.