The Patron Saint of Butterflies(33)

“This isn’t about anything except Benny, Agnes,” I say, taking her hand. “Claudia’s a doctor, for God’s sake! She knows what she’s talking about.”

But Agnes pulls away from me and goes over to the bed to sit next to Benny. We watch her in silence as she takes his good hand in her own. “We’ll just be gone for an hour?” she asks. Nana Pete and I exchange glances.

“Definitely,” I answer. “Just a little while, Ags. Just so he can get checked out.”

Agnes runs her fingers over the top of Benny’s hand. “And I can stay with him the whole time?”

“Of course,” Nana Pete says.

Claudia steps forward. “You’d better get going, Petunia. I really don’t think you have much time to waste.”

Nana Pete looks at Claudia beseechingly. “Please don’t let on that you know we’re leaving.”

Claudia squeezes Nana Pete’s hands. “I just came back here to get a change of clothes for Andrew.” She looks Nana Pete directly in the eye. “I didn’t see a thing.”





PART II





AGNES

I stare at the space of windshield between Nana Pete and Honey from the backseat of the Queen Mary, where I am sitting with Benny’s head on my lap. The sky is a pale, underwater blue. In the rearview mirror, I can see the ball of sun turning golden and then orange. The clock on Nana Pete’s dashboard is broken, but I know it must be close to six. We have been driving for over an hour and Nana Pete is showing no signs of slowing down anytime soon. Twenty minutes ago, when we passed the sign for the Fairfield hospital, I asked her why she wasn’t stopping.

She tightened her hands on the wheel and stepped down harder on the gas pedal. “We’re going to a different hospital,” she said. “Claudia told me about one a little ways from here that has surgeons who specialize in amputations.”

I shift carefully in my seat, so as not to disturb Benny, who is still out cold. “Where is the other hospital?”

Nana Pete glances into her side mirror and swerves, passing a car on her left. “We’re almost there. Try to relax, Mouse.”


But I can’t relax. Every nerve ending in my body is standing on end, like split wires. I am so nauseous from fear that every time Nana Pete changes lanes, I have to choke back the bile rising in my throat. All I can think about is the amount of trouble we are going to get into when we get back. It is nearly unfathomable. Forget leaving Mount Blessing without permission, which, aside from defectors, no Believer has ever done. The real crime is our obvious lack of faith in Emmanuel. Taking Benny to a hospital to be checked out by “real” doctors after Emmanuel spent four and a half hours performing a miracle on him is like spitting in his face. No one believed Saint Bernadette either, I think to myself, when the Blessed Virgin appeared to her. People even laughed when she told them of the miraculous spring of water the Virgin told her to dig out from the ground. But it turned out to be true. Later, these same disbelievers had brought their sickest relatives to the spring to be healed. And the miracles—countless numbers of them—had begun.

“Please, Nana Pete, let’s just turn around, okay?” I ask for maybe the hundredth time. “Please? We’ll get back before Mom and Dad’s meeting ends, and I bet we can even convince them to take Benny to the hospital in the morning.”

But Nana Pete shakes her head. “No can do, Mouse. You heard what Claudia said about the ether and Benny not being able to use his hand again. We’ve got to get him checked out. Right now.”

I look down at Benny. His face is very, very white, like snow in winter. The edges of his lips are tinged blue and under his eyelids I can see his eyeballs moving back and forth, as if he is having a bad dream. I try to not to think about the last thing I said to him before he got hurt, but it echoes in the back of my head: Fine, be a pain. But when you get called into the Regulation Room, don’t expect me to go in there with you. My eyes fill with tears. How could I have said such a thing? I don’t even know where to begin to atone for this sin, it’s so big.

Honey, who has been unusually quiet until now, turns around. She looks down at my little brother with a serious expression. “I have his glasses,” she says. “Just so you know.”

Her statement startles me. How could I have forgotten about Benny’s glasses?

“Where were they?”

“Right inside the Great Door. On the floor. I guess they fell off when … when everything happened.” She reaches over the back of the seat and brushes her fingertips gently over the front of Benny’s shirt. “He looks okay,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

As if on cue, Benny’s lashes flutter and his lids slide open heavily.

“Hey,” I whisper, leaning over him. “Hey, Benny. It’s me.” Benny blinks several times without seeing anything, and then, disoriented and frightened, starts to scream. He thrashes violently until he slides off my lap onto the floor of the car.

“Benny!” I screech.

“Oh my God.” Nana Pete nearly swerves off the road. “Get in the back, Honey! Help Mouse get him off the floor before he hurts his hand even more!”

Honey is over the seat in a flash and in ten seconds my brother is stretched out tightly between us. I have both of his arms pinned carefully to his sides, and Honey is hanging on to his legs, which are still flailing.