All the Butterflies in the World

by Rodney Jones

  A few minutes later, Nicole called back. “What the hell is going on, Tess? Liz thinks you have a time machine or something. And you’re going to travel back in time to save that guy you met from being… hanged?”

  “Just great,” I said under my breath. “Where is she?”

  “Her brother’s apartment.”

  Before Nicole had a chance to say anything more, I thanked her, told her I’d call her soon and explain, then hung up and drove home. I thought about Liz and my friends, wondering for the thousandth time if I was doing the right thing. I thought about John, recalling the dance lessons he’d given me on the back deck, his going on about how good my Eggos were, and his over-the-top reactions to the special effects in the Batman movie and Sandra Bullock catching the dog. I worked my way back to that first day, him standing out there on my front lawn, gawking at me as if I were a baboon in a pink tutu.

  I wondered if everything would have gone in some other direction had the slightest little thing been different the day he showed up.

  Mom didn’t come home that night. I couldn’t decide whether to be worried that Mick had gotten fed up with her and tossed her off a bridge somewhere or relieved that I wouldn’t have to deal with her drunkenness on top of all my other crap. I wondered if she would miss me once I was gone. I was sure I’d miss her, though not so much that it would cripple me.

  I tried to imagine telling her about my plan. “Have another glass of wine, Mom. There’s a little something you should probably know.” But then, maybe a letter would be better. I couldn’t just disappear.

  The next morning, I called Liz. Again, I got her voice mail. I left another message begging her to call me. To get my mind off of her, I switched on my computer and began making a list of things I’d need for my trip.

  I figured I’d be on foot more than usual, so I’d need some good hiking boots. I wasn’t sure that women wore hiking boots back then, but I hoped so. And perhaps, once there, I’d buy a horse. Women surely owned their own horses. How else could they have gone shopping?

  I wondered how I’d go about doing that. Would I just go up to a farmer and say, “I see you have more horses than you need?” Or maybe there were places set up for that kind of thing: horse and buggy dealerships. “Best dollar on your trade-in.” What should I expect to pay for a horse? And clothes—I needed to buy things that wouldn’t set off nineteenth-century alarm bells.

  I wondered if I should take a few small electronic devices, like maybe an iPod loaded up with my favorite songs. I could get one of those little solar-powered battery chargers or take a handful of lithium batteries and just listen to the thing once or twice a year—on Christmas and my birthday, late at night, in the woodshed.

  It suddenly dawned on me that I might someday have children who could grow up not knowing what good music was. They would be great-grandparents by the time anything worthwhile came around. When I was a little girl, I’d found some old records in my grandmother’s garage: Tennessee Ernie Ford, Mitch Miller, Lawrence Welk, Eddy Arnold. She had absolutely no taste or appreciation of good music. By the time the Beatles arrived, even my grandchildren would be too old to get it.

  About an hour into my research, my phone rang. Thinking it might be Liz, I quickly snatched it and checked the caller ID. It was Kyle Ackley, the guy we went to the dance in Middlebury with. I didn’t feel like talking to him, so I didn’t answer.

  I checked into the price of silver and where I could buy it. There were lots of online options, but I was hoping I could just walk into some local shop, hand them a briefcase filled with money, and walk out with my bag of silver. With further research, I learned it might be more complicated than that. I called a bank. The clerk said I could purchase one-ounce silver coins, but they would cost seventeen fifty-seven each, and they’d be stamped by the U.S. mint, which might raise eyebrows in 1875.

  “Can’t I just buy like a bunch of melted down blobs of silver?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, but I wouldn’t advise that, miss.”

  “Well, what would you advise?”

  “A fair compromise would be what’s called a poured bar, but we don’t deal in that form.”

  After calling coin dealers in Rutland, Springfield, Brattleboro, Bennington, Manchester, and Middlebury, I finally found a shop just forty miles away, in Glens Falls, New York. I explained what I wanted.

  The guy said, “Well, I can give you ten ounces for a hundred sixty-five dollars. Or I have one-ounce ingots for sixteen seventy-five each. I offer a discount on the larger amounts.”

  “Oh? How much of a discount would you give me on five thousand ounces?”

  “Uh… really?”

  “I’d get a bigger discount?” My phone beeped with another call. I glanced at the screen—no name, only a number, a local number.

  “Well, yes, absolutely,” the man said. “Fifteen percent off the premium. I can have a hundred and four fifty-ounce bars within”—I heard a rustling of paper—“four days of receipt of payment. How does that sound?”

  I hung up and used a calculator to do the math. That came to five thousand, two hundred ounces of silver. I wrote the number down and was staring at it, feeling there was something not quite right, when my phone again rang.

  I answered, “Mom?”

  “Men are such jerks.”

  “Uh—”

  “Don’t give me a hard time, Tess. The last thing I need right now is a judgment from my daughter. I’ve just had the worst day of my life. Do you believe this crap? I probably had three glasses of wine, four at the most, and I got pulled over for I don’t even know what. I was not drunk, honey. I mean, Christ. So, anyway… so bloody embarrassing. I spent the night in a filthy jail cell with some old witch who reeked of pee. And Mick? What does he do? He calls a cab and goes home. I go to jail. He goes home. Not even man enough to stand up for me. The worst day of my life.”

  “Uh… are you… on your way home?”

  “Well, honey, I’m not going to walk. I need you to pick me up. Bring Liz with you. She can drive my car. I’ll treat you to a pizza or whatever.”

  “Drive your car?”

  “Well, I can’t. They suspended my license.”

  I groaned. “I don’t know if I can get Liz to do that, Mom. We had a bit of a falling out last night.”

  “Oh, just perfect. You two have never fought before, and now that I need her, you start fighting? Jesus, Tess, what was it about?”

  “I’m going to travel back in time to the nineteenth century and probably stay there.”

  “Well, give her a call, and tell her you’re sorry. I need a ride.”

  I hung up the phone then brought up the call I’d missed while I was talking to the coin dealer. I didn’t recognize the number, so I looked it up in a reverse directory on the internet—Richard and Mary Wise. I couldn’t imagine why Liz’s parents would be calling me.

  I was about to call them back when the doorbell rang. I hopped up from my seat, rushed down the hall and through the front room, and then, forgoing the usual peek through the peephole, pulled the door open. Liz stood there, looking as if her dog had just died. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The moment seemed too fragile for words and almost too fragile for thoughts.

  “My phone crapped out on me,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mom spent the night in jail,” I said.

  “What happened?”

  “DUI.”

  “Oh, man.”

  “Can you come with me to get her car?”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  We hopped in my car. Liz and I had had differences in the past, lots of them, but as my mom had said, we’d never really fought. Not that what happened last night was a fight. It wasn’t. It was the most difficult decision of my life being laid out before the person it would affect most—well, second most, t
o be fair to Mom. But it really wasn’t about Liz, and perhaps that was why things were so hard.

  We spoke at the same instant.

  “Tess—”

  “Liz—” Like two confused people at a four-way stop, I glanced her way, prompting her to continue. She waited for me to go. I sighed. “Mom and I have a relationship. No matter how lame it is, or how much distance is between us, we still have a relationship.”

  She nodded. “I know what you’re saying. It’s like, when it comes to blood, you’re stuck. You don’t really have a choice.”

  “I think you and I are like that, too. Only, I mean, not stuck, you know? And I suppose we do have a choice, but we’ll always be best friends, no matter how far apart we are.”

  Liz opened my glove box, grabbed a couple tissues, and blew her nose. “I read his letter last night. If any guy ever wrote me a letter like that, I’d leave you in a heartbeat.”

  I slapped her leg. “You are so shallow.”

  “But really, it’s true. I love you but not like that.”

  “You’d still want to be my friend, though, right?”

  “Forever.”

  Mom had cooled down by the time we arrived at the police station, though she really did look as though she’d had a rough night. Her clothes were wrinkled, her makeup was packed into the creases below her baggy eyes, and her hair looked lopsided, as if she’d slept on a brick. Perhaps she was too worn out to express her indignation beyond what she already had, but she did manage a few huffs and sighs.

  We rescued her car from impoundment then went to Ramunto’s for lunch. All three of us were in reflective moods, with Mom occasionally shaking her head and repeating, “Worst day of my life.”

  On our way home, Mom confessed, “I know I shouldn’t have been driving, but it really wasn’t a lot. One bottle at the most. Anyway”—she lowered her head and fidgeted with her rings—“I lost my license for thirty days. I hate this as much as you, but I’m going to need a ride to work tomorrow.”

  I tried to feel sympathetic, but I didn’t quite get there. She had brought the problem on herself. I let out a sigh that came out a bit louder than I intended.

  She huffed. “Is that too much to ask? I mean, who puts food on the table? Who pays the cable bill and the electric?”

  “You do, Mom, and I appreciate it.”

  “It’s a pain in the ass, I know. It’s only for thirty days, though, and it will never happen again.”

  I regretted that I hadn’t saved the drama-queen sigh for this moment. “I know, Mom.”

  The instant we got home, Mom headed for the shower. Liz and I went up to my room, where I gave her an update on the progress of my plan.

  She looked over my notes. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, I found this coin shop in Glens Falls that sells silver bullion. That’s how much I’m buying.”

  “Five thousand, two hundred what? Dollars?”

  I shook my head. “Ounces.”

  She stared at the number for a long moment. “What’s five thousand, two hundred divided by sixteen?”

  “I don’t know? Why?”

  “A lot of pounds.”

  I opened the calculator on the computer. “Oh, Jesus, that’s going to be—”

  “Heavy,” she said.

  I stared at the number. I had pictured myself tucking a little bag of silver in my daypack then piling the other stuff I’d be taking on top. It hadn’t occurred to me that ounces of anything could weigh so much.

  Liz whistled. “Three hundred twenty-five pounds. How are you going to do that? You’ll have to make several trips, Tess.”

  “I don’t think I can.” I pretended to look at my notes, avoiding Liz’s eyes. “I told you, right? Remember?”

  She sighed. “Whatever.”

  I let out a squeaky little moan. “I did. I told you about how John warned me that when I was there before, I tried to come back but couldn’t.”

  She frowned.

  I put a hand over hers. “I’ll try. I will, but I’m afraid this might be one-way.” I felt tears come to my eyes. “This isn’t easy for me, Liz.”

  “Bloody friggin’…”

  “That’s what I meant by a long distance.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forever?”

  “I have to do this, you know? I think I can save him. I have to try.”

  She picked up my notes page and looked it over. “No coming back.”

  “Which means that whatever I want to take, I’ll need to carry. A one-shot deal.”

  “You can’t carry three hundred and twenty-five pounds. You can barely lift twenty-five.”

  “I know. So now what?”

  “Don’t go.” Liz put down the paper. “It’s a sign, Tess.”

  “Oh, so now you believe in signs?”

  We spent the next couple of hours trying to solve the problem of getting a ton of silver, and all the other stuff, through an invisible time portal.

  I looked over my notes, thumbing through the pages. At the bottom of the stack was a copy of John’s letter. The answer was right there. “A horse!” I cried. “I’ll need one anyway, once I’m there.”

  Liz had her searching, switching-gears look in her eyes. “Can a horse carry that much weight?”

  We went to the internet for information on horses. Gathering the necessary facts took time, but once we were done, I was satisfied that a horse was indeed the answer. We went to a website that listed horses for sale in Vermont. There were hundreds to choose from.

  “My God.” My shoulders dropped. “This is gonna take a while.”

  “Check this guy out,” Liz said, pointing at the screen. “Just down the road, in Dorset.” She clicked the link for the first horse on the list.

  It was a four-year-old chestnut Haflinger with a black mane, tail, and cannons. One look and I was in love.

  “Wow. Yes.” I quickly scanned the specs on him. “He’s perfect.”

  “But he’s not a he.” Liz pointed. The horse’s name was Victoria. “Are girl horses weaker than guy horses?”

  “I don’t know.” I studied the photo. She appeared stout—a workhorse like a Morgan, only more elegant. “She doesn’t look like a weakling.”

  “Are you going to call them?”

  After a quick check on Mom—she’d gone to bed—I called. I talked to a man named Tom Spears and asked if I could have a look at his horse. He said he wouldn’t be there, but he assured me that his son, Steven, could help me.

  Twenty-five minutes later, we were driving up a tree-lined drive, a white fence running along either side of it. Several horses were in the pasture to our left, nibbling at the grass. Two young colts sprang to life and took off across the field as though racing each other. We drove up the driveway, past the house, to a long white barn.

  “There he is,” Liz said.

  A guy was bent over at the front end of a wagon, his head covered by a welder’s mask. Sparks were flying everywhere, and flashes of light threw his jittery shadow onto the sliding barn door behind him. Liz and I got out and approached the wagon.

  I cleared my throat. His head remained down, so I did it again but louder. A fountain of sparks like Fourth-of-July fireworks sprayed out around his feet.

  “Steven!” Liz yelled.

  The guy jumped and spun around, a glowing wand in his gloved hand. His face was hidden behind the featureless mask. “Hold on,” he said, his voice muffled. He stepped over to the humming machine, flipped a switch, and laid down the wand. He pivoted the mask upward. It towered above his head, hinged to a wide band, the weight of which pushed his brow down, distorting his face, giving him an ape-like appearance. He blinked and squinted.

  “Oops. Sorry to spook ya,” Liz said. “You’re Steven?”

  “Yeah. Do I know you?” His eyes darted from Liz to me
then back to Liz. He lifted the contraption from his head and set it on the wagon beside him.

  He looked different without the mask squishing his face—hot, like totally smokin’ hot. He had beautiful brown eyes, a serious Michelangelo nose, and Cupid’s bow lips. I glanced at Liz. She appeared transfixed, her lips parted like a kid in a fudge factory. I so wanted to shake her.

  “You… your dad didn’t tell you we were coming?”

  “Victoria.” He slapped his forehead. “Right. He said someone might be coming by, but I wasn’t… well…” His eyebrows rose. “This way.” He marched off toward the far end of the barn. “She’s full-blood Haflinger. Gentle as a kitten,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Is that good?” Liz asked.

  He stopped. “Is what good?”

  “Uh, kittens. Horses being as gentle as kittens. I mean, a kitten? Wouldn’t a puppy make a better analogy?”

  “I’m just saying that she’s a very gentle horse. And I didn’t get your name.”

  “I’m not the one shopping for horses.” She hitched a thumb at me. “She is.”

  “Liz,” I said. “She’s Liz Wise, and I’m Tess McKinnon.”

  He nodded and continued to the barn. The moment we entered, I was hit by the sweet, sour, earthy smell of horses. The dirt floor was sprinkled with straw and little dried-up balls of poop. An open alleyway, about ten feet wide, ran the length of the building. Along the opposite side were more than a dozen stalls, each with a five-foot tall, sliding gate.

  Steven stepped up to one of the stalls and gave a soft whistle. A pair of large, shiny black eyes rimmed by amazingly long black lashes appeared over the top of the gate. A ribbon of glossy black mane hung down her forehead.

  “Oh, my God,” I breathed. I stepped closer and rubbed her neck. “You are so beautiful.”

  Steven grabbed a bridle hanging from a nearby hook and slipped it over the horse’s head. He slid the gate to the side, led her out into the alley, then handed me the reins. “Want to take her out into the light for a better look?”

  I walked her out of the barn. “I’ve never bought a horse before. Are there certain things I should be looking for?”