The Patron Saint of Butterflies

And then, all at once, I know what to do.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out my butterfly notebook, sit down on the edge of my bed, and start to write.

When I’m finished, I tiptoe back downstairs, creep over to Winky’s bed, and stick the note underneath his TV. My eyes sweep the inside of the house slowly, taking in every last detail. I know this will probably be the last time I am ever inside it.

“I love you, Winky,” I whisper.

Then I turn and run.

“We can’t just leave,” I hear Agnes saying as I creep back inside the Field House. Her voice is trembling. “Believers aren’t allowed to leave the grounds unless they work in town. And Benny’s sleeping. Mom and Dad said that I was in charge of him for the rest of the night. I have to—” She stops as I push my way into the room and then looks at me, annoyed. “What, you know about this?” I nod.

“We’ll be back in a few hours, Agnes,” Nana Pete says, pulling a cardigan sweater off the back of a chair. “No one will even notice that we’re gone. But I’m taking your brother to a real hospital to be looked at by a real doctor. God only knows what kind of damage Emmanuel did to his poor fingers.”

“But Dad said he healed him,” Agnes protests. “He said it was a miracle.”

“Agnes.” I take a step toward her, trying to keep my voice calm. “Listen to yourself. This is the real world we’re talking about, not some martyr story out of your saint book. Your brother could really be in trouble.” She cuts her eyes at me.

“Actually, darlin’,” Nana Pete says, moving around the room now with startling speed, “the only miracle here is going to be if your brother survives through the night without losing his hand altogether.”

“It’s true,” a voice behind us says. Claudia is standing in the doorway, her dark hair framing lips white and thin as paper. “And when you get him to the hospital, make sure to let the doctors know that Emmanuel used ether to knock Benny out. They’ll need to check his blood count.”

Nana Pete claps her hand over her mouth. “Ether! Where in God’s name did he get his hands on a bottle of ether?”

Claudia shakes her head. “I don’t know where he got it. Ether hasn’t been commercially available for years. But what really worries me is how much he may have used. I don’t know too much about the effects of it on children, but it’s not something I would fool around with.” Claudia looks at Agnes steadily for a moment. “Your brother might never be able to use his hand again, Agnes, if he doesn’t get real medical attention. Listen to your grandmother. She knows what she’s doing.” Agnes has a skeptical look on her face.

“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?”

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