The Butterfly’s Daughter (7 page)

She heard the tapping noise again. Lifting her head, she followed the sound to the windows that opened up to the back porch—Abuela's workroom. She felt a chill travel down her spine when she spied the unmistakable shadow of tiny wings frantically beating against the glass.

A butterfly!

Abuela had told her many times that a monarch butterfly was the soul of the recently departed. She felt her heart quicken—this couldn't be a coincidence. She threw back the blanket to run to her grandmother's closet. Opening it, she was assailed again by her grandmother's scent, more powerful here than on the sheets. She slipped on Abuela's ruby flannel robe and, tying it around herself, felt wrapped in her grandmother's arms. Then she hurried down the hall, through the kitchen to the back porch.

The early morning light played tricks with the lush green plant leaves, dappling the floor with shadows. Her first smile in over a week played on her lips as she spied a magnificent monarch butterfly perched on the windowsill. Coming closer, she stretched on tiptoe to study the gorgeous burnt orange wings separated by thick, black veins in a pattern Abuela had always compared to stained glass. It was a female.

“Hello, beautiful,” she whispered.

Luz leaned against the wood worktable and patiently waited, watching, while the monarch's wings hardened in the morning light. Eventually the butterfly became more sure-footed and climbed steadily to the top of the window frame. There, like a triumphant mountain climber, she flapped her wings exuberantly. Luz climbed atop a bench to slowly put out her hand toward the butterfly. The young, untested butterfly delicately stepped onto her finger. Luz felt the tickle of minuscule feet on her skin.

“Come meet the world,” she said as she carried the butterfly into the garden.

The long rain had finally ended and the morning sun seemed to say,
Enough of lying in bed feeling sorry for yourself. The rain is over! No more tears!

Luz breathed in the newness of the air and lifted her face to the sun's warmth. Maybe it was because there'd been so many days of rain, or because this one butterfly lifted her spirits as nothing else had since her grandmother's death, but Luz felt almost giddy as she watched the delicate creature perched on her finger flutter her wings like a coquette would her lashes.

For the next hour Luz played with the monarch in her grandmother's garden. She'd never in her life held such an endearing butterfly. This monarch didn't immediately fly away, as they were wont to do. This one lingered to walk up her arm, flutter to her shoulder, her head, tickling her as she landed on her nose. It seemed reluctant to leave, even when Luz gently nudged the butterfly to her fingertip. The monarch remained and let the morning sun shimmer on her wings.

“Don't worry,” Luz whispered to her. She lifted her hand over her head toward the sun. The monarch fluttered her wings. “It's time. Jump!”

On a whisper of breeze, the butterfly flew off.

Luz watched the butterfly glide around the garden and return to circle her once, then again, before flying higher over the fence. Luz watched until she could no longer see the graceful flicker of orange against the brilliant blue sky. From a place deep in her heart Luz heard her grandmother's voice.
I want to go home. To the mountains of Mexico.

Luz went still. She'd prayed for a sign and her prayer was answered. Her grandmother told her that sometimes she had to listen with her heart rather than her mind. She listened now and in that miraculous instant, Luz knew what she had to do. For once she would silence her doubt and ignore her shivers of fear.

For once, she would be brave and say
yes
!

In all the world, no butterflies migrate like the monarchs of North America. Their migration is more the type we expect from birds or whales. However, unlike birds and whales that make the round-trip, it is the monarch's great-great-grandchildren that return south the following fall.

L
uz took a final look around the quiet house. She'd given a key to Sully, who promised to water the plants. Mrs. Rodriguez would keep an eye on the house. She fingered the soft, worn leather of her grandmother's wallet. Luz had nearly a thousand dollars from her savings account, plus another four hundred and change from Abuela. It had to be enough.

Turning, she faced the deep rose sky of a dawning sun. Leaves scattered in a sudden gust of cool wind and an empty Coke can rolled noisily down the street. She loved this time of year with the changing colors and the scent of ripeness in the air. In Wisconsin, winters were too harsh and summers too hot. It was fall that stoked nostalgia and prompted reflection. She sighed with the heaviness of all the changes she'd suffered in the past week. She wondered whether, from this year on, she'd come to cherish this season as the one that had changed her life, or hate this season and always associate it with death.

Luz tucked the plain cardboard box that held her grand-mother's ashes securely under her arm. It was still hard for her to believe that all the bones, flesh, contours, colors—everything that she recognized as her grandmother—was in a box this small. Part of her felt that nothing meaningful of her grandmother was here. Her soul was gone.

And yet . . . Luz moved one hand to stroke the top once, twice. In a strange, indefinable way, she sensed Abuela's spirit still lingered here, with her ashes.

The Volkswagen was parked in its usual spot at the curb. Thankfully, the enormous red sedan that had wedged her in like a sardine had left, so there was plenty of room for her to load the trunk. She nestled the box securely in the backseat with her pillow.

She brought only one suitcase, filled with a few pairs of jeans, some sweaters, heavy socks for hiking the mountain, a few sundresses, and her rain slicker. She was wearing her brown corduroy jacket. At the last minute she'd tossed in the despised black dress and shoes that she'd bought for Abuela's funeral, just in case. In the front seat she laid out in arm's reach her grandmother's maps of Mexico and the United States with the route highlighted in yellow, Abuela's address book, bottles of water, a bag of mixed nuts, and her cell phone. Finally, she dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out Abuela's rosary beads. She kissed the crucifix, then hung the beads on the rearview mirror.

All was ready. She took a deep breath, feeling excitement bubbling in her veins. She looked down the street, tapping her foot. Where was Sully?

A few minutes later she saw the familiar silver pickup truck round the corner and roar up her quiet, dimly lit street. The
tires skidded to a halt as Sully maneuvered it into the only open spot, conveniently in front of her. The bed of the truck was sticking conspicuously into the street as he leaped out. When she'd told him two days earlier of her plan to drive to Texas he'd been shocked first, angry second, and finally, when he listened and understood her reasons, supportive. His tousled hair, stubbled cheek, and sleep-rimmed eyes spoke of the night they'd had. They'd spent most of the night talking, making love, then talking some more. She breathed deep, remembering the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice husky with sleep against her ear.

“Luz, think again. Just wait till I can go with you,” he had told her. “Maybe next month. Two at the latest.”

Luz had known in that moment how her grandmother must have felt when Luz had suggested they wait till spring. There wasn't any concrete reason she could offer Sully why next month was too late.

“I have to leave
now,
Sully. I know it sounds crazy, but it makes sense to me.” She took a deep breath, looking directly into his eyes. “In Mexico on the Day of the Dead the families gather to greet the monarchs when they return to our village. You see, we believe that the monarchs are the spirits of our recently departed.”

Sully's expression shifted to reflect his appreciation of her use of the word
we
.

“Do you remember what I told you about the butterfly that emerged after Abuela died?” Luz asked him. “The night before I prayed to Abuela to give me a sign of what I should do. I believe—I
know
—that butterfly was my sign. The Day of the Dead is November first. I have to be in my grandmother's village by that date.” She paused, gauging his response. “I have to be there
because I want to greet my grandmother when she returns to her village.”

He scrubbed his face with his palms, as though he were waking up from some bad dream. When he dropped his hands, she saw the resignation on his face. “Just remember you're putting everything we have at risk. Not just your life, but mine, too.”

They'd awakened early and to his credit, he'd not voiced another word of worry, though she knew he had many. Now she watched him walk briskly to meet her at the car, carrying takeout coffee and a bag of donuts.

“I went as fast as I could, but there was a line,” he said, handing her a Styrofoam cup.

She peeled off the top, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. “Mmm, tastes so good. I needed this. You're an angel of mercy for getting it.”

“I don't want you falling asleep at the wheel.”

“No chance of that. I feel wired up. Besides, El Toro will take good care of me.”

“El Toro?”

“I named the car El Toro. It means ‘The Bull.'” She chortled. “I thought the little car needed all the encouragement it could get.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sully said with a laugh, then reached out to pat the hood of the car. “You take care of my girl, hear? And you,” he said, pointing his finger at Luz, “don't take any chances. Just follow the map and call me if you run into trouble.”

Luz wondered why men liked to sound so macho and firm at such tender moments, like a gorilla beating his chest. She smiled, thinking how sweet it really was. “I will. I promise.”

He handed the donuts to her. “For ballast.”

“No, you keep them. I'm too excited to eat.”

“Take it,” he said firmly. “You'll get hungry on the road.”

She took the bag, knowing it would make him feel better. “Well, I better go before rush hour hits.”

He walked her to the car and waited till she loaded her coffee, donuts, and purse. When she came up again he wrapped his long arms around her. He cupped her head in his big hand and rested his cheek against the top of her head.

“Call me if you run into any trouble,” he said in a thick voice. He lifted his head and his eyes pulsed with meaning. “No place would be too far.”

“I will.”

“I'll be right here, waiting for you to return.”

He kissed her with a fierce possessiveness that spoke to her of all his pent-up worry. She kissed him back, matching his intensity, absorbing his strength. She climbed in and he closed the door after her, pushing down the lock in a last gesture to make certain she was safe. Luz felt as though all the millions of butterflies that were flying on this same journey south were fluttering in her stomach.

Luz started the engine, patting the dashboard when it roared to life. She shifted into gear, then took a last glance at the brown bungalow with its bright blue door and trim before pulling away from the curb. Sully walked to stand in the road, his arm lifted in a silent wave. She tapped the horn. It sounded a funny, nasal beep that made the neighbor's cat leap from the porch and Sully shake his head with a wry grin.

Luz shifted her glance from the rearview to see the road ahead. “Okay, Abuela,” she said. “I'm doing what you asked. It's you and me now.” She took a deep breath and hit the gas. “Let's jump.”

When Luz was a child she grew sad each autumn when the monarchs began leaving the garden to fly south. Abuela would wrap her arms around her and explain how it was the nature of the monarch to abandon its home when the milkweed grew scarce and the daylight dimmed, to journey to a faraway place it had never been before.

Such courage, eh? This is what makes the monarch special among all butterflies. They have such character. Such determination. People wonder, how do they know where to go? It is a mystery! But
querida,
do you know what I think? I think the monarchs listen to the call of the goddess. Xochiquetzal calls out to each butterfly to follow the light.

Luz remembered these words as she began her journey from a simple, working-class neighborhood in the northern United States to strange forests in the mountains of Mexico. She told herself that she was following the light.

As she drove through Milwaukee, she breathed in the heady scents of different sections of the European-like city—bread from the Italian bakery, cocoa from the chocolate factory, and the pungent smell of hops from the brewery. She'd always loved the city on the lake that she'd grown up in. But she'd never done anything adventurous in her life. She thought again of her mother, who had taken off on a whim with her German lover. My God, it had to have been scandalous, she thought. That one decision had changed the course of Mariposa's life, and Abuela's as well. How many other lives had been changed? Maria's? Manolo's? She thought of Abuela's warning against impulsiveness. Luz didn't think what she was doing today was impulsive, no matter what Sully might say. To her mind, she was fulfilling a promise.