The Memory of Butterflies: A Novel

by Grace Greene

  Table of Contents

  PRAISE FOR GRACE GREENE Beach Rental DOUBLE WINNER IN THE 2012 GDRWA BOOKSELLERS BEST AWARD FINALIST IN THE 2012 GAYLE WILSON AWARD OF EXCELLENCE FINALIST IN THE 2012 PUBLISHED MAGGIE AWARD FOR EXCELLENCE “No author can come close to capturing the awe-inspiring essence of the North Carolina coast like Greene. Her debut novel seamlessly combines hope, love and faith, like the female equivalent of Nicholas Sparks. Her writing is meticulous and so finely detailed you’ll hear the gulls overhead and the waves crashing onto shore. Grab a hanky, bury your toes in the sand and get ready to be swept away with this unforgettable beach read.” —RT Book Reviews 4.5 stars TOP PICK Beach Winds FINALIST IN THE 2014 OKRWA INTERNATIONAL DIGITAL AWARDS FINALIST IN THE 2014 WISRA WRITE TOUCH READERS’ AWARD “Greene’s follow up to Beach Rental is exquisitely written with lots of emotion and tugging on the heartstrings. Returning to Emerald Isle is like a warm reunion with an old friend and readers will be i

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  FICTION BY GRACE GREENE Emerald Isle, North Carolina Novels Beach Rental Beach Winds “Beach Towel” (A Short Story) Beach Christmas (Christmas Novella) Beach Walk (Christmas Novella) Virginia Country Roads Novels Kincaid’s Hope A Stranger in Wynnedower Cub Creek Leaving Cub Creek Stand-Alone Novels The Happiness In Between The Memory of Butterflies

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Text copyright © 2017 by Grace Greene All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781542045674 ISBN-10: 1542045673 Cover design by Laura Klynstra

  The Memory of Butterflies is dedicated to parents and children, and to love—selfless love that promotes the best in us, and, without ego, sacrifices itself for the betterment of others. May that love, freely given without expectation, succeed and be passed on to each generation, and may it be returned, stronger and more glorious in form, back to the ones who gave it.

  CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN ACKNOWLEDGMENTS QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE My daughter, Ellen, will graduate from high school this year. The closer we get to graduation, the harder the past is coming at me, kicking like a living creature and forcing its way back into my life. With it, it brings happy memories but also those that were gladly forgotten—including the memory of how I lost my Ellen seventeen years ago, then found her again. I grew up in Virginia, in the woods of Cooper’s Hollow amid the leafy green shadows of Elk Ridge. The rough banks of Cub Creek cut through our land from north to south such that one was never far from the music of its dark water. Our small house had sheltered many generations of Coopers, including those resting in the family cemetery on the hill opposite the house. I never wanted to be anywhere else except for a brief time, eighteen years ago, when I, myself, was about to graduate from high school. Six years after that, our home in Cooper’s Hollow burned down, and we were forced to move into town—we being Ellen and me.

  CHAPTER ONE I always knew Ellen and I would be separated one day. Not forever, of course, but time moves on, and children grow up. We’d visited her first-pick colleges early in her junior year, and once she made her choice, there was no changing her mind. The University of Virginia was closer, but Ellen wanted to attend Virginia Tech along with most of her friends. Those college visits had happened last year when her graduation had seemed distant. Now the reality of it was smack in my face. I’d been fighting a growing melancholy over the last few months, and one morning I woke up and knew it was time for me to move forward, too, as my Ellen was doing. The plans I’d been making since leaving Cooper’s Hollow, plans I’d put off for the benefit of my daughter, would now come to life. My dreams were now in the sure hands of Roger Westray. With his expertise and his unfailing friendship, I never doubted he’d get this done for me. Roger, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, was waiting for me at Dell’

  CHAPTER TWO We’d planned for me to go to college, but I couldn’t leave home right after high school. My grandparents had raised me, and when Grand died during my senior year, my grandmother needed me. I loved her and didn’t want to lose her, but the honest truth was, I didn’t think she’d last as long as she did. Grand’s death had been hard on her, and I’d already grieved for her, too, almost in tandem with the loss of my grandfather. She’d either get better or she wouldn’t, and, at this point, I wasn’t seeing a recovery on the horizon. One year, I thought. Gran herself didn’t think she had more than a few months left in her. She made me promise that when she passed, I’d go on to college. The high school guidance counselor warned me I was making a mistake. She said the grants and scholarships wouldn’t wait forever. But a person has to do what they can live with. Meanwhile, Mildred Harkin, Gran’s longtime friend and nurse, had dropped by, as usual, to check on Gran and deliver her medica

  CHAPTER THREE Ellen was in my bedroom in a small wooden fold-up crib. My grandparents had used it for me when I was little bitty, and for my mother when she was a newborn. It was a simple bed with a two-inch mattress and wooden slats to let the air through. I kept fresh linens on it all the time. I’d fed my sweet baby Ellen, and she was dozy. The heat and humidity made her extra drowsy on top of her meal. A summer storm was trying to roll in. It had bunched the bad air up ahead of it, and we all felt the heaviness. I put Ellen into her small crib for her nap that day instead of with Gran, because Gran was hurting especially hard. Storm fronts always tortured her joints and bones. I’d given Gran some herbal tea to help. She was finally dozing. Ellen was quiet in her crib, her eyes still peeking, but with the half-conscious, unfocused look they’d get before she slipped off into sleep. I was eighteen and bone-tired myself. A five-month-old daughter, an eighty-year-old grandmother—they dep

  CHAPTER FOUR Without the old man sitting on the porch or working about the yard, the place seemed more desolate than ever. Or maybe it was more than that—a feeling that embodied emptiness. The Bridger house had never been as fancy as the big brick mansion house at Cuckoo and of less historical significance, but it was memorable. Approaching it from my side, the Cooper side, and coming up Elk Ridge, was like coming through a wilderness where you might run into anything—coyotes, maybe even a bear, though rarely. The main approach to the Bridger place was from the other side, and it was a reasonable, if unpaved, road. His road didn’t dip and curve like ours. His house had a nice porch, and I’d heard about the pretty parlor and lovely wood paneling in most of the downstairs rooms. It had a true upstairs where the bedrooms were. It was vastly different from the small house where Gran and I lived. I peeked around back before trying the doors. No cars. No sign of anyone. The outside had grown

  CHAPTER FIVE On a sunny day during the summer that Ellen was three, she cut her knee on a sharp rock. It was more of a scrape really, but she screamed so loudly that Gran and I nearly had heart failure as we searched her for bites or wounds, perhaps hidden under her clothing and probably scaring her more, before we figured out it was nothing and could be easily fixed with a little soap, ointment, a bandage, and a kiss “to make it all well.” Gran insisted I scour the yard for obvious things like nails or broken glass that could pose a risk to little feet and hands and knees. Ellen, already recovered,
was out and helping. Her help consisted of walking around with a stick, stumbling over roots, and generally being a busy little three-year-old girl. As I searched the hillside near the cemetery, I heard a stone dislodge and tumble down. I turned and ran immediately to the cemetery wall. I grabbed Ellen as another loose stone slipped from under her foot. I caught her under her arms, let her

  CHAPTER SIX It was late August, and I’d just gotten lunch on the table. Gran had taken her seat, with a little help from me. Ellen, as always, sat next to her. The sandwich today was peanut butter and jelly because our sweet Ellen had decided on the menu, and Gran was delighted with her choice. As soon as I sat down, Gran said, “I need you to go to town, Hannah.” “Sure.” I’d been working up the nerve to tell her I was going to have a frank conversation with Duncan Browne. There were things I needed to know. This might be an opportunity. “In fact,” I said, “I need to pick up some clothing for Ellen. She’s growing like a weed.” I reached across and tickled her as I said, “Like a weed, but one with the prettiest, sweetest flowers.” She giggled. “We need some clothing and other things, too.” “That’s fine. But for this trip, don’t take Ellen. I need you to go alone. I need for you to go see the man in town. I have a letter for him. It’s under my pillow on the bed.” “Is something wrong?” “No

  CHAPTER SEVEN Present Day Roger told me they would widen the dirt drive and improve the grading in order to bring in heavy equipment. It would take a day or two to make the road adequate for their needs, and they were starting that work this morning. I didn’t have to be there for the roadwork, but when the big yellow front-end loader rolled on-site to begin breaking up and hauling away the old house debris, I wanted to be there for that, no question. “Should I come with you, Mom?” Ellen paused in the kitchen doorway where I was cleaning up the breakfast dishes. “And ruin your perfect attendance?” She shrugged and grinned. “After all these years, maybe I’ve earned a day off.” Ellen wouldn’t want to mess up her record, though, so she must be worrying over me. I sought to reassure her. “I’m meeting Roger out there. They’re working on the driveway and a parking area today. That said, if you’d like to see the old place one last time before they clear away the remains of the house, I can tak

  CHAPTER EIGHT Eva had brought the pink book tucked in the side of the grocery box. I remembered that day clearly. She’d also brought the local newspaper listing Ellen’s birth, which had prompted me to want to do better for my daughter than that bare announcement. I’d written my own version and drawn the pictures and had put those in the baby book. After Ellen’s death, I hadn’t thought about the book. When I did, I couldn’t find it. I was OK with not finding it. Now I knew what had become of the baby book. Gran had hidden it here during our grief. What exactly had I written in it? Anything that might cause a problem? Ellen reached for the book. I grabbed her hands. “Wait. It’s probably fragile.” I added, “You know, the fact is, I’m embarrassed. I didn’t keep up the book. I didn’t record first steps. No first teeth.” I fumbled about in my brain looking for other excuses. “I had my hands full with Gran, you know.” “Mom, I understand.” Ellen couldn’t quite hide her disappointment, and I co

  CHAPTER NINE It was as if the clearing away of the fire debris was a signal for time to fast forward. In April I watched the foundation being dug, the concrete footing poured, the bricks rise, and the fresh gravel being dumped into what would become the crawl space. The floor joists were installed and plywood sheets were laid for the subfloor. The framing had begun. We were suddenly in May, and Ellen’s graduation was less than a month away. I went out to the jobsite most days, but only for a short stay. I tried to refocus on my pottery and the shop, and I also began planning for the move. The lights were out in the front room of Cub Creek Pottery, and the door sign was turned to CLOSED. There was little traffic anyway. I supplied pottery to gift shops in the regional area and to a few locations outside of Virginia, but for the most part, my clients were few and honestly, my pottery work was uninspired. When I saw the clay work being produced by others, especially online or in glossy ma

  CHAPTER TEN The house on Rose Lane had never been our true home. It was a nice enough brick ranch—an older house that needed fixing up when Mr. Browne found it for us. We were grateful to the pastor and his wife for taking care of us, but Ellen and I needed our own place again. We were accustomed to our privacy and not used to being surrounded by the energy, the noise, the needs of others. In that respect, it was probably a good learning experience for both Ellen and me—but we’d watched our home burn only days earlier, so lessons weren’t sinking in for either of us. Mr. Browne tracked us down the morning after the fire. He helped us get back on our feet. He found us the house on Rose Lane, worked out the rental details and then the sale, and introduced us to Roger, billing him as a guy who could fix anything. Roger then helped me make the house ours, and it had turned into a lovely home. We were comfortable there, and we had each other, but it was like a long-term settling in—not inten

  CHAPTER ELEVEN Roger dropped by the house on Rose Lane. I’d been clearing out the closets and making big progress. One pile was for donations. The other was bound for the dump. I opened the door. “Don’t mind the mess, please. I’m moving soon, you know,” I joked. He held a folder of papers and wore an expression I couldn’t read. His eyes skipped right over the boxes and general disarray, and I knew his mind was on something other than our project. “What’s wrong?” “Here’s the paperwork for the fixtures. Please take a look at it. It’s past time to get this all ordered.” “Roger?” He shook his head. I pushed him toward the living room. “Please sit down. Can I get you something to drink? Maybe tea?” We made it into the living room, but he refused to sit. Instead, he moved his hands as if trying to find the right words, words that were eluding him. “Just say it, please, Roger. Whatever the problem is, tell me.” “Liam.” “Liam?” Instantly, I thought of my secret. I thought of Ellen. “What about

  CHAPTER TWELVE Emotionally and physically devastated, I tried to explain, but each word I spoke was strained and stretched as if pulled from the lips of the condemned. “You were left on our porch with a note,” I started. Then the words came out in a rush, tumbling one after the next . . . That I hadn’t wanted to do the wrong thing . . . That I was simply trying to protect her . . . But there was no way to explain it that didn’t sound self-serving. “You’re not my mother?” I stared at her and patted my heart but couldn’t speak. “Mr. Bridger left me at your house? I was staying at his house—the one beyond Elk Ridge? My parents left me there?” I nodded. “I tried to find Mr. Bridger, but he was already deceased by the time I located the hospital. I didn’t know where to find your other blood relatives . . . or your father or mother. I was afraid if I went to the authorities, they’d take you away and put you in foster care or . . . Meanwhile, Gran . . . and I . . . we had such emptiness in ou

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN Liam grabbed my arm. “Don’t run away,” he said. I met his eyes. “I’ve never been one to run, and I’m done hiding from the truth, too.” Ellen had gone over the wall, as if to join the deputy and Roger, but she stopped a few yards from them. She was watching them and waiting. For something. Liam dropped his voice, speaking softly. “Ellen came to confront you, to have it out with you. I explained how her life might’ve gone if it had all happened differently, but she said, ‘What might have happened doesn’t justify what was done.’” He looked down at his boots before he returned his gaze to me. “When she saw you here at the grave, I think she understood something she hadn’t before.” “What’s that?” “Something I tried to tell her. That sometimes there are no rules for life.” “There are rules. Laws.” “Laws are things politicians write down to make you do what they want you to do. I’m talking about rules. Moral rules but also common-sense rules. Most laws don’t have much common

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Many thanks to Kelli Martin, my editor at Lake Union, for her support and encouragement, and to Lindsay Guzzardo, my developmental editor, who worked with me to m
ake this the best book possible. This story involved challenging, often difficult, life events and choices, but telling Hannah’s, Ellen’s, and Gran’s story meant a great deal to me, and Lindsay’s help was amazing in bringing it together. Lake Union provided an amazing team to help me with The Happiness In Between and The Memory of Butterflies and I’m very grateful. In addition to Kelli and Lindsay, I’d like to thank Stacy Abrams for keeping my stories free from timeline or grammatical embarrassment, Toisan Craigg for her excellent and patient proofreading, Laura Klynstra for the outstandingly gorgeous covers, and others whose names I don’t know but whose contributions to the team make it all work. Thanks to my husband, who is my rock and support through the long hours of writing and the emotional toil of creati

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION How might things have been different if Hannah had gone to college after graduation, as intended? How might this have affected George Bridger’s decision and his granddaughter’s life? What did you think when Hannah made the decision to keep the child? Did she make a rational choice? Was it the right choice? Later, she says she would’ve come forward if the child’s father had returned earlier. Do you think she would have? Secrets were kept from Hannah by her grandparents, and Hannah, in turn, keeps secrets from her daughter. Ultimately, Hannah confesses the truth to Ellen yet, at the end of the story, she tells one more lie, deliberately and with forethought, to protect her. Would you have done the same? Themes of love, truth, loss, and acceptance recur throughout this story, but the predominant theme is that of birth and rebirth, both literally and figuratively, in the references to metamorphosis, the Cooper cemetery, and Hannah’s clay figurines. Which recurring

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR Grace Greene is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of women’s fiction and contemporary romance set in the bucolic reaches of her native Virginia (Kincaid’s Hope, Cub Creek, The Happiness In Between, The Memory of Butterflies) and the breezy beaches of Emerald Isle, North Carolina (Beach Rental, Beach Winds). Her debut novel, Beach Rental, and the sequel, Beach Winds, were both Top Picks by RT Book Reviews magazine. For more about the author and her books, visit www.gracegreene.com or connect with her on Twitter @Grace_Greene and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/GraceGreeneBooks.