The Patron Saint of Butterflies (30 page)

“I’ve just been following signs for 95 North,” I say.

Lillian shakes her head. “Amazing.”

“You hungry?” I ask.

Lillian rolls her eyes and pats her belly.

“Yeah. But I’m always hungry.
Always
. Ma used to say I had a tapeworm in my belly.” I smile when she says that. “Pull over at that Burger King,” Lillian says, pointing to a sign. “We’ll get something to eat and I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

We order the works at the Burger King drive-through: French Toast Sticks, two Croissan’wiches with eggs and ham, Cheesy Tots, hash browns, a large coffee for Lillian, and two orange juices for me. Lillian eats with one hand, steering the car with the other, and takes big bites without pausing for breath. She slurps her coffee, even though it is scalding hot, and sighs after the first sip.

“I miss Ma already,” she says in a quavering voice. I stare out the window at a green sign that says WASHINGTON, D.C. 25 MILES. In a little while, we will be back at Mount Blessing,
hopefully to get Agnes and Benny out of there for good. But going back there without Nana Pete suddenly feels ominous, like going into battle without any armor.

“I still can’t believe she’s gone,” I say.

“How was she on the trip?” Lillian asks, taking another gulp of coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“The only road trip I ever took with her was just that short drive from Raleigh down to Atlanta. You got her for two whole days on the road. What was it like? Did she drive fast? Did she stop a lot? Did she tell you stories?”

I tell Lillian everything, starting at the very beginning with Nana Pete throwing us all into the Queen Mary and tearing out of Mount Blessing as if our shoes were on fire. Then the McDonald’s and Wal-Mart stops, the motel, me driving, her exhaustion, the discussions about God, Agnes’s waist string, and the pink barrette. To my surprise, I wind up talking for over an hour. My voice is raspy when I finish, but for some reason, I feel exhilarated. It is the first time since everything began that I realize I feel different. Older, maybe. Quieter.

“She was something,” Lillian says softly. “Wasn’t she?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “She really was.”

Five hours later, Lillian pulls on to Sanctity Road. She sits forward, practically on top of the steering wheel, and drives slowly. Tiny beads of sweat have broken out on her forehead. “God,” she says, surveying the empty landscape. “This is when I wish I still smoked.”

“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.

Honey kicks the ground with the toe of her new sneaker and hops from side to side like a boxer getting ready to fight. “These new sneakers might give me some leverage against you,” she says, watching me out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe for the first time.”

I pull on the toe of my own new sneakers, which Lillian bought us a few weeks ago. They’re blue and white, with little swoops on the side. Something called Nike’s. Lillian’s got a lot of money now, since Nana Pete left her everything in her
will. I never knew Nana Pete was so wealthy, but then, I guess there were a lot of things about her I didn’t know.

The three of us live with Lillian right now, after a judge in Connecticut said that we couldn’t have any contact with Mom and Dad until the trial starts, which is sometime next year. Emmanuel and Veronica are the ones who are really on trial, but Mom and Dad are considered “accessories,” which basically means that they didn’t do enough to help us when we were being hurt all the time, and so they have to go, too.

I hate thinking about it, but of course I do. All the time. We’d all still be together if I hadn’t stood up that day and showed the policeman the pictures of Honey and then lifted my own shirt to show him the marks on my back. Once I did that, all the other kids began to come forward. Pretty soon the police had people from Children’s Services Center called in and by the end of that day, sixty-four separate charges of child abuse had been filed against Emmanuel, complete with photographs, documentation, and sworn, signed statements. After the investigation, Mount Blessing was shut down completely.

“Okay,” Honey says, placing her fingers on the edge of the grass and kicking her legs out behind her. “This is it, Agnes.”

I stare out at my little brother, who is hopping up and down in the sun, still waiting for us to come toward him. Since we moved to Lillian’s house, he sleeps next me every night. I don’t mind. If you want to know the truth, it actually makes me feel better, too. He keeps a picture of Nana Pete
under the pillow and after he falls asleep, I pull it out and tell her good night. And thank you.

Honey was a little freaked out for a while after we moved down here, with no news of Winky or where he ended up. She pestered the pee-willy out of Lillian to find out what had happened to him, and then just a few weeks ago, we found out that Winky and his older brother had reunited and bought a farm in upstate New York. Apparently there’s lots of room for a butterfly garden.

Now I bend over and raise my hips to the sky.

Waiting for the trial has been hard, but not nearly as hard as being separated from Mom and Dad. Emmanuel’s cruel ways may have been exposed, but my parents are still my parents. And no matter how many mistakes they made, that’s not going to change. No matter what. Still, I don’t know what I would say if I saw them just now. For as much as I miss them, I also feel betrayed. All those lies about Lillian and Honey and Nana Pete. It just doesn’t make any sense, especially since we were all supposed to be trying to live like saints and lying is such a terrible sin. Keeping the fact that Honey and Benny and I are all family hidden from us was just so … wrong.

And so maybe the distance between us right now is a good thing. Until I can sort things out, try to make peace with everything that has come between us. Lillian’s been trying to help me do just that by having me talk about everything to a therapist. Benny too. Her name is Dr. Tipper and I’ve
been to see her only twice so far, but I think she’s going to be okay. She’s got a huge fish tank in her office, full of blue and orange fish and she lets me feed them before we start talking. Lillian told me that the courts have also ordered Mom and Dad to see a therapist. She keeps using the word “brainwashed” when she talks about them, which sounds like someone went inside their heads and scrubbed their brains clean. But I guess that’s exactly what Emmanuel did to them, making them believe he was so powerful that they couldn’t object to anything he said—even if it was wrong. They lost the ability to think for themselves. I hope the therapist they are seeing helps them figure out how to get it back.

“On your mark!” Benny screams. I lift my face to the sun, stare down the length of track we are about to explode upon.

I’ve even put away
The Saint’s Way
for now. I haven’t looked at it once since we left. It’s not that I’ve turned my back on saints as a whole; it’s just that I personally don’t think I fit into their group. I don’t want to be Saint Agnes anymore. I just want to be Agnes. Whoever she might be.

“Get set!”

Next to me, Honey tenses. Her red braids hang in front of her shoulders like ropes. She glances quickly at me. “The barrette looks great on you.”

I grin and stare straight ahead, trying not to think about the pink flower petals clipped to the top of my ponytail. “Don’t try to distract me, goof.”

“Go!”

From here, the distance seems long. But as my arms pump up and down and my legs carry me over the soft grass, the space between us gets shorter and shorter until all at once, despite everything, I am there.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I could not have written this book without the support of many people. I am forever grateful to my agent, Jessica Regel, whose faith in me, not to mention her unbelievable persistence, has, in my eyes, set her far above the rest. Thank you to my editors, Melanie Cecka and Elizabeth Schonhorst, whose keen eye for detail and sense of humor helped me create a richer, more sensitive story, and to all the staff at Bloomsbury, whose enthusiasm for my work continues to both awe and humble me. It was my parents who gave me a love of writing, as well as supportive, enthusiastic feedback throughout all my years struggling to get it right, and for that I am forever indebted. Thank you to my dear friend Joe Biondo, who believed in me from the very beginning; Donna and Lou Rader; Judy Plummer; Gina Marsicano; Lynn Chalmers; and Don McMillan, all of whom read early drafts of my work and pushed me to continue. Thank you so much. To my brother, Dr. Samuel Plummer, who helped me with the medical terminology, and P. J. Adonizio, for his specific advice on funeral arrangements. Thank you to my children, who have made my life richer than I could have ever dreamed possible. My husband, Paul, is the one who, with his patience and love, has helped me realize one of my biggest dreams; thank you, love, from the bottom of my heart.

Copyright © 2008 by Cecilia Galante

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
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