The Patron Saint of Butterflies by Cecilia Galante
This book is dedicated to Ruth VanLokeren and to Fannye Jo Plummer.
In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy of silence, one word of truth sounds like a pistol shot.
—Czeslaw Milosz
1saint: \’sant, before a name (’)sānt or s?nt\
noun
1: one officially recognized especially through canonization as preeminent for holiness
2a: one of the spirits of the departed in heaven …
3a: one of God’s chosen and usually Christian people b capitalized: a member of any of various Christian bodies; specifically: LATTER-DAY SAINT
4: one eminent for piety or virtue …
Zebra Longwing:
The Zebra Longwing is one of the most beautiful butterflies in North America. Usually black in color, its long, slender wings are highlighted with vivid yellow stripes. Small white spots freckle the edges like a dusting of snow. Although these butterflies roost in colonies at night, they disperse at first light to look for food. Zebra Longwings thrive naturally in the southern part of the United States, as well as most of tropical America.
PART I
AGNES
“Please tell me what to do,” I whisper, staring at the crucifix on the wall. “Is there any other way to get out of here right now without telling a lie? Could you just give me a sign to let me know? Maybe blink your eyes or nod your head or something?” Clasping my hands under my chin, I bow my head, close my eyes, and wait. Around me, the other twenty-seven kids in the room continue chanting the afternoon prayers, their lips moving methodically over the Latin words. The air in the room is warm and stale. My knees are grinding into the thin carpet and I can detect the faint smell of sweat under my blue robe. Some days, afternoon prayers can feel like they go on forever. I count to ten and raise my head again. The Christ figure on the cross remains frozen in his agonizing position: hands and feet nailed to the wood, ribs exposed, eyes raised heavenward. My shoulders sag. No sign this time.
Well, that’s it, then. There’s simply no other way. It’s just that the thought of having to tell a lie makes me mad. Furious, even. I’ve done so well this whole week, and now I’m going to blow it because of Honey. This is her fault. If she hadn’t taken off after Emmanuel called us into the Regulation Room this morning, I wouldn’t even be in this situation. Why does she have to go and do things like that? It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything. Peter and I had been called in there with her, and then Emmanuel told the two of us to go back down to the East House. Honey had been ordered to stay behind for some reason, but I’m sure it wasn’t a big deal. At least, I don’t think it was. I just can’t get rid of the feeling that something might not be right this time. Four hours have passed and there’s been no sign of her. She’s run off before after Regulation Room visits, but never for more than an hour. Lie or no lie, I’ve got to find her.
Behind me, a throat clears. I turn my head slightly and lock eyes with Peter. He has pushed his light brown hair, which usually hangs in his eyes, off his face. He’s part of the reason we got into trouble this morning, and I know he feels guilty for Honey’s prolonged absence. “Are you going to go find her?” he whispers. His teeth, large and crooked, look too big for his small mouth. What Honey sees in him is beyond me. Peter knows as well as I do that if anyone finds Honey outside today, she’ll get in even bigger trouble than she did this morning. It is Ascension Week here at Mount Blessing, and no one is allowed outside except to walk to and from the Great House for meals.