by Beth Wiseman
Charlotte didn’t think he looked very overweight, a bit chunky, but not really all that heavy. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she just smiled and asked, “Do you want me to hand you your bag?”
“Certainly. Yes, oh yes. Could you please? I’d hate to further harm you with my elbow.”
“No problem.” Charlotte maneuvered her arm in front of his knees and was able to latch on to a black plastic shopping bag. “Here you go.”
“Wonderful good.” He reached into the bag and pulled out a hardback book, and Charlotte leaned her head against the back of the seat again, closing her eyes. Not a minute later, Nicholas’s elbow found its way into her arm again, and she jumped. “Oops,” he said, cringing. “Oopsie doopsie.”
Charlotte bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, then said, “It’s okay.” She glanced at the book he was reading. My Life as a Butterfly. She was glad she told Hannah about the butterflies in the clouds, and she hoped it would give her some peace eventually.
“I am an avid reader. I read five books per week. Never four, never six. Always five.” He winked at Charlotte. “I’ve read this one three times, though. It’s a favorite. Horace Potts is a favorite author of mine. Have you read any of his books?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, I haven’t.” She decided this wouldn’t be a sleeping flight.
“He’s a wonderful author. He has the capacity to take you inside the presumed mind of some of God’s most interesting creatures. He’s written My Life as a Lizard, My Life as a Toad, My Life as a White Shark, and lots more.” Nicholas frowned. “And then, out of the blue, he wrote My Life as an Underwear Model, and he lost me on that one.”
Charlotte laughed out loud, which felt good. “That’s quite a shift.”
Nicholas raised his shoulders as he shook his head, chuckling. “I know!” He settled back against the seat, still laughing. “Bizarre, I tell you. My Life as a Butterfly remains my favorite. Did you know that most butterflies only live for one week? The exception being the monarch, of course. The monarch can live up to six months.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Charlotte paused, thinking of Ethan. “My brother used to always have butterflies around him. Even when we were kids, they would land on him all the time.”
“Our lives mirror the butterfly, a creature of true transformation, emerging from caterpillar to cocoon, and then finally to the beautiful winged beauties that bless our surroundings. Some even say that the butterfly may be an angel or a messenger from a deceased loved one.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.” And two months ago, Charlotte wouldn’t have given much thought about angels, God, or an afterlife. Even if what the man said was just folklore, it was a beautiful idea. Hannah had said that Ethan told her that Hannah and her family had saved him. She hoped that when Ethan took his last breath, he realized that Jesus is the only person who can save us.
“Does your brother still have this wonderful connection with the butterflies?”
Charlotte shook her head. “He . . . he died about a year ago.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. How did he die?”
Charlotte wasn’t comfortable with the direction of this conversation, but she answered—truthfully—which felt good. “He took his own life.”
“Oh my. Oh dear.” Nicholas shook his head, tossing the hairpiece around. “I’m assuming he was a young man?”
“Yes. He would be thirty now.”
“Do you mind me asking, why do you think he ended his time here on earth?”
Charlotte shrugged, searching for a way to change the subject. “I don’t know.”
“I can see this is uncomfortable for you, so let me ask . . . what are you reading?” Nicholas pointed to the small book in Charlotte’s lap.
“Oh, this isn’t a novel or anything. It’s actually . . . my brother’s book, maybe a journal of sorts. I’m hoping that it will shed some light on why he killed himself. I’m returning to Texas after a long visit in Amish Country. My brother had moved there and had plans to marry an Amish woman.”
“Interesting folks, the Amish.”
“Do you live in Pennsylvania, or maybe Texas?”
He smiled broadly. “I live where the wind takes me. I float on the whimsical clouds of life, dance with the crickets on a starlit night, and sing in the shower when I see fit to take one.”
Charlotte didn’t think she could wipe the smile off of her face if she tried. Who is this guy? “It sounds like you enjoy life.”
“Life is a gift; how we choose to live it is a choice.”
Charlotte looked down at the small book. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know what was going on in my brother’s head. But as sure as I’m sitting here, I know I’ll read it.” She surprised herself by voicing her thoughts to this stranger.
“But you will rise at some point to go to the bathroom. At least you will if you’re like me. Then, you won’t be sitting there, so does that make you sure of anything at all?”
Charlotte smiled again. “You are an interesting person, Nicholas.”
“I know.” He giggled. “I really am. So, I will give you my two cents’ worth of sidewalk psychiatry. Will reading your brother’s notebook bring you peace or cause you further upset?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question repeatedly. That’s why I’ve just stared at the book and not read it. But it is too tempting, to have it in my possession and not read it . . . eventually.”
“Ah, temptation, our prelude to sin. Are you familiar with the Lord’s Prayer?”
It was the only prayer she knew by heart. “Yes.”
“Well, allow me to share the fact that the King James Version of the Bible uses the word temptation in translation for the Greek word peirasmos, and this Greek word has nothing to do with temptation the way we know it, but instead it simply means ‘being put to the test.’ So, by what means will you be tested? Will the journey be worth the destination?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at this unusual man, and his piercing blue eyes challenged her to look deep within herself. “But I don’t think I can have a book of my brother’s private thoughts, and not read it, in light of . . . you know.” She shrugged. “I need to know. And I think he meant for me to have it.”
“My bladder says it’s time to take a walk to the back of this air bus.” He smiled, then groaned as he lifted himself out of the chair. He put the book in his seat, and eased into the aisle. Charlotte noticed he had a slight limp as he moved slowly to the back of the plane. He’d given her plenty to think about, but she was emotionally exhausted. If she was going to have any chance of sleep, she needed to close her eyes now, while Nicholas was away. She did so and didn’t wake up until her ears started to pop, so she knew they were descending. Nicholas’s book was still in the seat next to her, but she didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe I was snoring. There were lots of empty seats on the plane.
“Ma’am.” Charlotte reached across Nicholas’s seat and tapped the arm of the flight attendant who was standing nearby in the aisle. “Do you know where the man who was sitting here went? He left his book in this chair.”
“He asked to be moved up front to one of the exit seats with more leg room. I can take him the book.” The woman reached for the book.
“No, no. I enjoyed talking to him, and I’d like to thumb through the book, then return it myself when the plane lands. Can you just tell him that?”
“Sure.”
Charlotte picked up the book, opened it where the bookmark was, and read:
My beauty as a butterfly is evident by my bright colors, but what most people don’t know is that those same bright colors fend off predators like birds, snakes, lizards, rats, wasps, and ants. Simply because I don’t taste good. I tell you this to use as a comparison within your own species analysis. Are you as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside, and does it draw goodness or repel it?
Hannah’s name flew into the forefront of Charlotte’s thoughts. But despite her go
odness, Hannah hadn’t been able to forgive Charlotte, nor had the rest of her family. She recalled what Lena had told her. You are a defender of goodness. A protector, compassionate, and someone people tend to trust right away. Charlotte felt sure that Lena and the entire family were ruing the day they’d ever trusted Charlotte.
She continued reading.
We often hear that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but in my case, it is my beauty that keeps me from being lunch. Ugly butterflies are gobbled up by the aforementioned predators. In that regard, I’m thankful I’m pretty. I repel my enemies.
Charlotte stopped reading, forcing a yawn so her ears would pop again, thinking what an odd book this was. But Horace Potts must be a popular author to have an entire series dedicated to his life as animals and insects.
So, I ask, do you see butterflies? Do they land on you? Go back and reread this page—the part about drawing goodness or repelling it.
Charlotte turned the page.
If I show up with a lot of my friends, we are working very hard to get you to take a good look at what’s going on in your life. Is a transformation underway? Do you need to make changes? And you just thought I was around to look pretty.
Charlotte smiled, closed the book, and brought her seat to an upright position when she heard the flight attendant instructing people to do so.
Once the plane was on the ground, she turned her phone on. No voice mails or texts. It took another twenty minutes before she was able to work her way into the aisle and toward the exit. On the way, she looked for Nicholas to see if he was waiting in one of the seats. When she stepped off the plane and onto the tarmac, she waited, but she never saw him. She looked down at the book, waited a while longer, then finally eased the book into her carry-on bag and headed toward baggage claim.
There was lots of luggage, and she was keeping her eyes peeled for her two black suitcases that were empty and her red suitcase, when she felt breath on her neck and jumped. “Hello, stranger.”
“Ryan! Oh, wow. I can’t believe you’re here.” She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. He smelled freshly showered, with a hint of spicy cologne. When he cupped the back of her head and pulled her closer, she felt like she could stay in his arms forever. He seemed to be absorbing all the hurt in one simple hug, and Charlotte started to relax for the first time in a while. “Thank you,” she whispered as she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.
He brushed away a strand of hair that was across her face. “Good to see you smiling.” Then he shook his head. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.”
Charlotte could feel herself blushing. “I don’t even have any makeup on, so I’m doubting that comment.”
“I told you over dinner the other night, you don’t need any.” He eased away. “Let’s get your stuff and get you home.”
“I’m ready.”
Charlotte grabbed her chest, and for a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe. She ripped into her carry-on bag, then dumped her purse right there on the floor. “No, no, no!”
Ryan squatted down beside her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I must have left Ethan’s book, his journal, on the plane.”
Eighteen
Hannah knocked on Edna’s door, the picture in the pocket of her apron.
“Wie bischt, Hannah? What a nice surprise.” Edna pushed the screen door open and stepped aside. “I just finished making a batch of yummasetti.”
Hannah regretted that she hadn’t made yummasetti for Mary, or Charlotte, since it was a traditional Pennsylvania Deitsch casserole. She doubted that they had that in Texas. Hannah wondered if she would ever stop thinking about the cousin she’d thought she had, and whom she’d grown to love like a sister.
But right now, she had other business to take care of. Edna lived in a small house on the back of her parents’ property. Most likely, it would become the daadi haus someday, where her parents would live when she and John got married. Assuming they still got married after Hannah showed her the picture. Would Edna feel like she had to confess to her fiancé?
“I need an explanation for this,” Hannah said tearfully as she handed Edna the photo.
Edna stared at the picture for a while before she looked back at Hannah. “Where did you get this?”
Hannah was barely over the threshold, but when Edna moved to the couch and sat down, Hannah took a few steps into the living room, but stayed standing. “Were you and Ethan . . .” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “Were you and Ethan . . . involved?”
Edna jumped off the couch, her eyes round, mouth open. “Hannah! Of course not. Is that what you think?”
Hannah felt relief wash over her, but she still needed an explanation. “But the note on the back . . .”
Edna turned the photo over, then smiled. “Ach, I can see why you might have thought that, but dear Hannah . . .” Edna stood up and walked to her. “Do you really think I would do that?”
Hannah raised her shoulders, then dropped them slowly.
“I wondered what happened to this photo after Ethan died. If I tell you something, please don’t tell anyone.”
Hannah wasn’t sure she could promise that, so she didn’t say anything.
“I know pictures are forbidden, but do you remember when John was leaving for Ohio? He was gone almost two months to help his cousins rebuild their house after a fire.”
Hannah nodded.
“I wanted him to have a picture of me to take with him. Do you remember the day at worship service when Ethan said he used to be very gut on a computer?”
“Nee, not really.”
“You were standing there when we talked about it. Later, I went to his house and asked if he would take a picture of me. I had planned to just put it in a small frame to give to John. But Ethan said he could crop the photo to just my face since my hand was in the air. He asked if I wanted him to print a saying across the front, and I said yes. I wrote that on the back of the photo. But Ethan died before he was able to do it, and I never knew where the picture was. Where did you find it?”
Hannah sighed. “It was in his house.” She hoped she wasn’t telling a lie since she could only presume that’s where Charlotte had found the photo. Hannah didn’t feel like going into a long explanation about Charlotte. The community would find out eventually, but not today.
Edna smiled. “I asked him not to tell anyone.” She looked back at Hannah as her smile faded. “I am so sorry for what you must have thought.”
Hannah sat down on the couch and rubbed her forehead, then she tearfully looked at Edna. “Someone told me that they saw you and Ethan holding hands. Is that true?”
“Ach, Hannah. If someone saw Ethan and me being affectionate, it was just a genuine thank-you for his help, nothing more.”
“I thought maybe there had been a romance between the two of you, that maybe Ethan felt guilty and that’s why he killed himself.” She felt relieved, but still left wondering why an affair with Edna would lead Ethan to take his life.
Edna sat down beside her. “Nee, Hannah. I would never have done that. Never.”
“I’m sorry for thinking that.”
Edna shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I would have thought the same thing. But you do believe me, ya?”
Hannah’s stomach was still tied in knots, but she wanted to believe Edna, so she nodded. Edna got them each a cup of coffee and a slice of pecan pie, and they chatted about things that had nothing to do with the photo or Ethan. Mostly, Edna talked about her wedding in November. But Hannah’s mind kept drifting and her stomach churning. Something wasn’t right, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. After a while, she told Edna that she needed to go. She was walking down the porch steps toward her buggy when Edna called out, then hurried to catch up with her.
“Ya?” Hannah turned to face her.
“Um . . . can I please have the picture?” She held out her hand, smiling. “You know, for John and all. Maybe I can get someone
else to crop it for the frame.”
Hannah reached into her pocket as her stomach began to act up again. She handed the photo to Edna, then turned and left without saying anything else.
When she got home, Jacob was in the rocking chair on the porch. She tethered her horse and crossed the yard. “Can you maybe get the horse and buggy put up for me? I’ll do one of your chores. I’m just so tired.” She walked toward the front door, turning around when he didn’t answer. “Please.”
Jacob took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and nodded. “Ya, I’ll take care of it.”
Hannah started walking again, but slowed her step and turned around. “Are you okay?”
Jacob didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “I guess.”
Hannah went back and sat in the other rocking chair. She should have thought about how much Charlotte’s betrayal would have affected Jacob too. They’d seemed to get along well. “What’s wrong, Jacob?”
Since Jacob had hit his teenage years, he and Hannah had drifted apart a little. She knew it was his time to experience the Englisch world, and that he was growing and maturing, but she could still tell when something was bothering him.
Her brother shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . I thought I overheard Mary talking on the phone and saying something about lies and maybe not being Amish. But I wasn’t sure, and I guess I should have said something.”
“When?”
“Not that long ago. I just didn’t want to believe that she might be lying to us, so I didn’t really try to find out anything. But I could tell that she thought I overheard something. Now I know I should have spoken up.” He sighed before he went on. “It’s just, you seemed to get along so gut with her. And for the first time in a long time, you looked happy.”
“The outcome would have been the same, Jacob. And she probably would have lied to you anyway and said you misunderstood what you’d heard. She obviously had no plans to tell us who she really was, and I can’t help but wonder how long she would have kept going with the lie.”
“Must run in the family.”
