When the Butterflies Came

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  “But why would my grandmother leave if she knew she would miss this today?”

  Eloni raises his eyes to mine. “Professor Claire made plans to come back with you. In time for the hatching.”

  I swallow hard, pressing my lips together so I don’t cry again.

  “And see?” Eloni adds softly. “You made it right on time.”

  When he squeezes my arm, I turn my head away. Grammy Claire had everything planned — everything! “It’s not fair!” I finally burst out, pulling my arm away.

  “Miss Tara, don’t be afraid. I want to cry for Professor Claire, too.” Eloni presses a fist against his chest. “But she is right now watching. From naangenu.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Eloni grins at my attempt to pronounce the word. “It means ‘heaven.’ Where the gods live. And one day, we live there, too.”

  His words calm me as I watch the butterfly sitting on the branch. I’m afraid it will fly away and disappear, just like all the other butterflies. “What’s the butterfly going to do next?”

  “The wings are wet. Now they dry. Soon they will open and fly.”

  Palm leaves sway in the breeze outside the window. I hear birds calling in the distance, the buzz of insects close by. I stare at the butterfly until my eyes glaze over, and then suddenly the wings begin to flutter and unfold. With the movement of the wings, I hear a faint humming. Like music. Angel music.

  “Is someone playing a flute or something below the laboratory?” I whisper.

  Eloni shakes his head, not speaking as the violet butterfly spreads its wings wider and music dances along the warm, salty air. But the wings are not a violet color anymore! As they dry, the hue darkens, turning deeper purple every second. The purple is dazzling and rich, outlined in lemon yellow, just like Grammy Claire’s pound cake. It’s the very same species of butterfly that flew through the window of my room the afternoon of Grammy Claire’s funeral!

  I feel shaky as I realize something else, too. The day the first butterfly came, I’d heard music, faint and otherworldly. “Eloni! Do you hear that music?”

  He smiles a wry smile. “I do, Miss Tara. It’s beautiful, isn’t it!”

  “Is the butterfly creating that music?”

  Eloni’s smile grows wider, his teeth glinting in the shadows, but he doesn’t answer my question.

  I stride across the room toward the map on the wall. There is only one map here, unlike the numerous maps in the study back at the tree house. It’s very detailed.

  “Is this the island we’re on right now?” Eloni nods as questions and answers are firing in my brain. “What is this over here?”

  “It’s called the Beautiful Empty.”

  “Why is it empty? Nobody lives there?”

  “Very rocky, no farming, no fresh water. Lots of coves and caves.”

  “Caves?” A tingle runs down my neck.

  “Underground caves. Many sunken ships from the big war in the lagoon. When my grandfather was a little boy. They are Japanese ships when Japan invades Chuuk. The Americans came and bombed and all the ships sink.”

  “I remember Grammy Claire telling me about ships rotting underwater in the lagoon,” I say. “Have you dived down there?”

  “You can see Japanese guns and machines still on the ships. Bottles and tea sets. Cups, books, coral growing.” Eloni’s eyes dart to the purple butterfly stretching out its wings. It’s getting ready to fly.

  I grab his arm and shake it. “The Beautiful Empty is where the butterflies live! The nipwisipwis! I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Professor Claire said you would figure all things out.”

  My throat feels thick as I glance into his black eyes. “How do you say thank you?”

  “Kinissow.”

  “Kinissow,” I repeat, and Eloni nods in approval.

  I’m struck silent as the purple butterfly flaps its dazzling wings and rises into the air, floating around the room. My ears are tinkling with the sound of a heavenly harp. I’m trembling all over as I stretch out my hand and the butterfly lands on my finger.

  “This butterfly seems to know you, Miss Tara,” Eloni says quietly.

  We stand close together as the butterfly opens and closes its wings. The same species that kissed my heart the day of Grammy Claire’s funeral. The purple butterfly that seemed to know what I was thinking and feeling. Like it had a brain, and a heart and soul of its own.

  I stare into Eloni’s eyes and dare him to tell me the truth. “This island has more secrets, doesn’t it?”

  Caterpillars? Pupas? Cocoons or chrysalis?

  Only God knows the mysteries and secrets of a true nipwisipwis.

  ~PROFESSOR CLAIRE THERIOT CHAISSON~

  The sixth butterfly wakes me the next morning, touching its wings to the tip of my nose.

  I shoot up in bed and try to remember where I am, then realize that I’m lying under the cool sheets of Grammy Claire’s big bed. I’d decided to use this room because it made me feel closer to her.

  The butterfly hovering overhead is velvet black with a striking dab of bright blue paint on its wings. I’ve never seen anything like it. Why do I feel so much better whenever the butterflies are nearby?

  As the new butterfly dances around the room, I pull out the last two keys — and wonder where Grammy Claire’s next letter is hidden.

  I’m certain there are more secrets on this island. Secrets Grammy Claire has kept hidden — and Eloni refused to tell me yesterday.

  Do the nipwisipwis contain special DNA that gives them a bigger brain? Do they have intelligence, the talent to create music, or the ability to change a person’s mood? My mind is a jumble of confusion with a thousand questions.

  And I think I’m hungry.

  As I watch the ceiling fan twirl, I picture the purple butterfly breaking free of the chrysalis and then humming and whirling around my head yesterday. Like magic.

  I can’t help thinking about Eloni and his grandfather, too. There is something very peculiar about them that I can’t figure out, either.

  Grammy Claire’s tree house bedroom is similar to her room in Louisiana, but instead of a window overlooking the Bayou Teche, the view is a private beach. Instead of polished wooden floors and crown molding, the ceiling is a crisscross of bamboo. An ivory-colored gauze tent encloses the bed, making me feel safe and cozy.

  Her clothes are still hanging in the white wicker wardrobe, her shampoo toppled over in the shower, scientific magazines strewn on tables out on the balcony.

  I’m in a tower room at the top of a tree-house castle. Gnarled limbs greet me through every window and leaves flutter against the glass. Finally, I roll out from under the sheets. The rugs are soft under my toes. Below the balcony, the sea is calm, soft, slow waves rushing into shore with a mesmerizing rhythm.

  The butterfly floats about the room, dancing on each piece of furniture, fluttering into the bathroom and out again. I can’t help laughing. “What are you doing?” The butterfly is like a curious toddler, wanting to touch everything in sight.

  Bouncing along Grammy Claire’s shelf, the butterfly alights on the edge and sits there, opening and closing its wings while it waits for me to catch up.

  I’m not sure I want to look at the pictures. Photographs of my family. Mamma and Daddy on their wedding day. Riley and me as babies. Toddlers with toys and birthday cakes and school portraits with missing teeth.

  There are also photos of us with Grammy Claire on vacations, boating on the Bayou Teche and fishing. Snapshots of alligators sleeping on the banks.

  Kneeling down, I study the pictures of my grandmother over the years. Mamma always made us go to a professional studio and have a family portrait done whenever Grammy Claire visited.

  The photos are arranged in order, starting back when I was about in kindergarten and ending last summer when we took our last family portrait in Lafayette. I peer closer at the photograph and let out a gasp.

  Maybe it’s the makeup.

  Maybe it’
s the lighting.

  Maybe it’s not either of those things.

  Grabbing the last several family portraits, I study them back to back. I’m positive Grammy Claire looks a little bit younger in each photograph. There are fewer wrinkles, less folds along her neck, and not as many smile lines around her eyes and mouth.

  A peculiar prickling runs up and down my neck as I think about Eloni’s very young-looking grandfather. Grammy Claire shed five years off her age — maybe ten years — in those pictures. Maybe island paradises make everyone happier and more carefree.

  Maybe not.

  And maybe now I know why Grammy Claire taped the photo album underneath her bed with one of the letters. It wasn’t just for past memories, it was a clue, and I didn’t even know it.

  I scramble to get dressed. “I have to find the next letter!”

  After yanking on my yellow swimsuit, I throw a skirt and white blouse over it. While combing my hair, I think about how Key Number Eight fit the front door of the tree house as well as Grammy Claire’s laboratory. But neither the tree house nor the laboratory had any letters with my name on them. “How do I figure out what’s next?” The velvety butterfly cocks its head at me, as if it’s actually listening, then flutters through the window. I run across the room and crane my neck to see where it goes.

  The nipwisipwis dives down through the trees toward the laboratory. Maybe that’s where it came from. But the laboratory, even though there are a few chrysalises ready to burst open soon, is cleaned out. I’d searched it last night. The desk and drawers were empty of anything personal, the filing cabinets bare.

  Grammy Claire had taken her files and put them somewhere else. Even Eloni had seemed surprised to discover that the room was virtually empty. Why would my grandmother do that before she flew to Louisiana? She knew she was coming back, right?

  Before I head to the main house for breakfast, I hurriedly finish unpacking. The sight of Grammy Claire’s personal clothes and soap jabs me in the heart. Like she’s just gone out for the day. Or away on a holiday. Not dead.

  I grab the last two keys from the secret lining in my suitcase, stuff the box inside the luggage and the suitcase deep into the closet. I open Grammy Claire’s most recent letter from the makeup case and scan the last part — and that’s when I finally realize where I will find the lock for Key Number Nine.

  “Riley!” I call as I head out the door. Key Number Eight also locks Grammy Claire’s bedroom door. Locking it makes me feel a teensy bit better, although if someone really wanted to, they could probably break down the door.

  When I get to the main house, I stop short. There’s a strange sound of moaning, followed by a little sob. Faint and far away. The windows are wide open, letting in cool morning air. Letting the moaning sound creep inside, too.

  I run in circles through the main room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the foyer, but I’m alone. “Who is that?” I shout. “Where are you?”

  “It’s me — out here!” Riley’s voice comes from beyond the front door. Flinging it open, I see her sprawled at the bottom of the tree-house stairs, the ones we’d climbed just last night. And she’s lying in a really weird position, her legs splayed out in an unnatural position.

  The sight of her makes me cringe, and I start running down the steps toward her. “Are you okay?”

  “Stop!” Riley screams. “Don’t run! You’ll fall like I did. The stairs are slick and wet.”

  “Did it rain last night?”

  She rolls her eyes. Even when she’s hurt my sister can be sarcastic. “Look around, Tara. Do you see any wet ground? Any puddles?”

  “No, but you don’t have to be like that.”

  “Sorry, but my foot really hurts. I think I sprained my ankle.”

  I glance back at the steep flight of stairs and then at my sister lying backward on the ground at the bottom. “You’re lucky you don’t have two broken legs and a concussion.”

  Riley looks me in the eye. “I’m lucky I’m not dead.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Look at the stairs again. There’s water pooling on each step and it’s mixed with some sort of oil, making it really slick. I slipped and landed all the way down here. My back is killing me. I think it’s all scraped up, too.”

  I shiver in the warm sun. “Guess those combat boots saved your neck.”

  “These stairs were just fine last night.”

  I lower my voice as I slowly walk down, gripping the railing. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I think somebody tried to hurt me. Or you.” By now we’re whispering. It suddenly feels like the coconut trees have ears. Anybody could be hiding inside the thick mangroves, listening. “I got a phone call this morning saying there would be a car to take us into town. I came running out and — down I went, skidding over all the steps.” Riley wipes a hand across her eyes, and I’m pretty sure she was crying before I got here.

  “Who was it?”

  Riley shrugs. “Thought Butler Dude arranged for a taxi. He knew I wanted to get cell service. There’s not a blasted thing to do out here.”

  Oh, how wrong she is! Grammy Claire’s keys jangle in my pocket as I help her into a sitting position. “Grammy Claire actually wants us to go to the bank.”

  My sister grimaces as she peels her sock down. The skin is swelling fast around her ankle and turning green. “You’re dreaming, Tara.”

  “It’s in the last letter — with the two —” I stop. I almost said two thousand dollars. “I figured it out this morning after I woke up.”

  Riley’s eyes search the trees. “Something creepy is going on. Maybe we should catch the next plane home.”

  “No! We have to stay. Grammy Claire’s will … it might have enough inheritance that we can save our house. And help Mamma. Make her go to a doctor. Someone killed the Giant Pink, and I have to find out why. I have to find the killer. Grammy Claire’s killer.”

  Riley swallows hard, shaking her head as she stares at me. “You’re talkin’ crazy. This whole thing is crazy.”

  “Where’s Butler Reginald?”

  “I saw him hike down that road earlier. Said there was a local woman who sells breadfruit and mango for breakfast. And then he said he’d go back to town and buy groceries. Should have done that yesterday before we came out here. The cupboards are pretty bare.”

  The sound of an engine comes through the trees. “Come on, let’s get back into the house. We should put your foot in some ice water.”

  Before I can help Riley up, a car arrives. A small, dark blue compact with tinted windows, crumpled doors, a missing fender, and no tire rims. A faded CHUUK ISLAND TAXI sign has been screwed into the sides of the rear doors.

  My stomach tightens. I suddenly feel very small and vulnerable sitting out here. I want to lock us inside, shut the windows, and pretend nobody is home.

  Eloni jumps out of the passenger side. Then a man opens the driver door and climbs out. No, he’s not a man. Well, he is, but he’s younger. Sort of a much older teenager. He’s tall and big and there’s a solemn expression on his face like he’s not very happy. His hair is short except for the topknot braid running all the way down his back.

  “Miss Tara!” Eloni cries out, running over. “You’re awake!”

  “What do you mean, I’m awake?”

  “We came a little while ago. All doors were closed and quiet. We went down to the beach to check out the tides for fishing.”

  They had been here earlier. I don’t like what that could mean.

  Riley bursts out, “Why don’t you check out the staircase? You guys do that? Spraying water and oil on the steps?”

  “Shh!” I hiss at Riley. She is so in-your-face sometimes!

  Eloni looks shocked. “I never — why would I hurt the home of Professor Claire?”

  “I don’t know. You tell us.”

  “Riley!” I hiss again.

  She rolls her eyes in the biggest eye roll of the year. “I coulda been killed, gone over t
he edge. Landed facedown with a split skull!”

  She’s going over the edge, but she’s right. She could have been badly injured, maybe even killed. I have a very sick feeling in my stomach. And I don’t think it’s from missing breakfast.

  Eloni’s face is pale. “Let us help you into the house. Find medicine bag or first aid. Oh, and, Miss Tara, Miss Riley. Please to meet my brother, Tafko.”

  “Tafko is your brother?” Tafko is another name on the list in Grammy Claire’s letter. I start feeling dizzy and a little bit scared. Suspects are everywhere! Maybe Riley and I should hire a bodyguard!

  Eloni looks up at Tafko with a look of pride. “He begins college soon.”

  “Knock it off, Eloni,” Tafko says in a quiet voice. He’s the opposite of his younger brother. Reserved. Quiet. Or maybe he’s sullen and mean. I narrow my eyes, wondering about him. About the coincidence of their arrival, and Riley’s accident. “Don’t go bragging. I may end up fishing again for the winter.”

  Eloni’s face brightens again. “Tafko got our grandfather’s old taxi for today. We go down the road to —” He cups his hands around his mouth to whisper. “To show you the nipwisipwis.”

  “Grammy Claire’s nipwisipwis?”

  Eloni nods, obviously excited.

  Still sitting on the bottom step, Riley mutters, “I wouldn’t go anywhere with these guys, even if you paid me.”

  “You wouldn’t?” Disappointment sears me. I want to see the butterflies. I have to see the butterflies.

  “Can you take me into town to the bank, too?”

  Tafko shrugs and then nods.

  “I need to wrap my ankle and put it up so the swelling doesn’t get worse,” Riley says.

  I look from my sister to Eloni and then to Tafko and back again. I know we need to stay safe, but why would Grammy Claire hire Eloni if she didn’t trust him? Why would she live here if she didn’t trust the citizens of Chuuk? If she thought her life was in danger?

  Before anybody can say anything else, Butler Reginald drives up in a rented car, and jumps out when he sees us all gathered around Riley sitting on the ground. “Riley! Tara! What happened?”