The Patron Saint of Butterflies(77)

“You used to smoke?” I ask, glancing out the window as the Field House looms into view. There is no one in sight.

“Oh yeah,” Lillian answers. “Lots. Ma made me quit last year, after we started spending time together again.”


I press myself flat against the side window, straining to see the Milk House, which is next in line. There is no sign of anyone inside. I hold my breath as the car passes the house, waiting for the butterfly garden to appear. It’s empty. Where is everyone?

“Cops,” Lillian says as we make the turn toward the Great House. “Lots of them.”

I count five police cars—blue and white with FAIRFIELD POLICE DEPARTMENT in gold on the sides—parked in front. We are about ten yards from the Great Door when a policewoman steps out from one of the cars. She strides toward us, waving us aside. Lillian rolls down her window.

The woman peers in at both of us. A large mole sits on her cheek like a bug. “You two live here?” she asks.

“No,” Lillian answers. “We don’t.”

The policewoman frowns. “Well, you’re not allowed here, then. This is private property.”

I lean forward. “Why are the police here?”

“We’re conducting an investigation,” the woman says vaguely. “But I’m not at liberty to—”

“You are?” I yell. Getting out of the car, I slam the door and run around to where she is standing. “Did someone call you guys to come investigate what’s been going on with Emmanuel?”

The woman’s mouth contorts into a grimace. “Like I said, I’m not at liberty to discuss the details. And I’m afraid you’re going to have to … ”

Lillian gets out of the car. She is a good foot shorter than the policewoman, but she looks her straight in the eye. “We have family here, ma’am. Children. And we need to know what’s happening to them.”

Behind the policewoman, I catch a glimpse of the Great Door opening. My knees go weak when Winky emerges from behind it. He grins when he sees me and holds out his hand. I run to him, clutching his fingers ferociously and let him pull me into him. He smells like the garden. I am breathing hard, trying not to cry and laugh at the same time. “Winky,” I whisper.

He pulls a rough hand down over my braids. “They’re all in there,” he says hoarsely. “Still getting interviewed or something. Been going on for hours. They’re done with me, I think.”

“Agnes and Benny, too?” I ask.

Winky nods. “She looks different.”

I take a step backward. “Who does?”

“Agnes.”

“Different how?”

He shrugs. “Bruised a little. Not so perfect anymore.” I hug him again tightly. “Who you with?” he asks softly, nodding toward Lillian. I lead him over to the car, where Lillian is biting her nails and stepping down hard on her other shoe.

“This is Lillian Little,” I say. “My mother.”

Winky nods slowly. He sticks his hand out and shakes Lillian’s gnawed fingers.

“I remember you. Sorta.” Lillian swallows hard. Her bottom lip is quavering. “Thank you for being so good to Honey,” she finally whispers. “It means the world to me.”

Winky smiles.

“Hey, Winky,” I say. “Guess what?”

“I can’t guess,” he says. “After all them questions, my head hurts.”

I laugh. “I saw my first Zebra Longwing! Down in Savannah, where Lillian lives. It was beautiful!”

“Yeah?” Winky asks. “Male or female?”

“Female. With great big stripes up and down her wings, just like in the book.”

“I’m glad,” Winky says, pushing a piece of hair out of my face. “God, I’m glad for you, Honey.”

The Great Door groans once more.

“Agnes,” Lillian whispers. I step out from behind Winky. Benny is with Agnes, clutching her hand. They both look frightened and exhausted. I take a small step in their direction.

“Ags,” I whisper. She raises her face. Her eyes are tired, but blue and fair as a summer day.

“I told the truth,” she says. “I had to.”

I catch her just before she falls, collapsing against me like a little rag doll. “It’s what Saint Agnes would’ve done,” I whisper into her hair. “You know that?”

Her shoulders sag heavily. When she begins to sob, I can feel her ribs move up and down her sides. Benny and I close ourselves around her like a tent and hold her up off the ground.

“I love you, Agnes,” Benny says.

His voice, small and clear, rings out above us like a bell.





AGNES

Staring at Benny at the opposite end of the park, with his arms stretched out on either side and the sun glinting off his white hair, it seems impossible that only three months have gone by since we left Mount Blessing. Some nights when I lie in bed and wait for sleep, it feels like three years.

Honey looks at me and shoves her sleeves up past her elbows. “You ready?” I lift my leg, bringing my heel up against my butt. “In a minute.”


“Come on!” Benny yells, waving his hands. “My arms are starting to fall asleep!” I smile a little when he says that. It’s been a while now since he finally got the bandage around his injured hand taken off and all the stitches removed, but his hand is still stiff. But, the doctor down here in Savannah praised whoever had operated on him, saying that Benny would regain full use of his fingers in no time.