On Shadowed Wings (An Ash Grove Short Story)

On Shadowed Wings:

An Ash Grove Short Story

by Amanda DeWees

Copyright © 2013 Amanda DeWees

Smashwords Edition

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are products of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.

Cover art by
PhatPuppy Art

Visit the author at
amandadewees.com
or on
Facebook as
Author Amanda DeWees
.

Synopsis:
In this short story,
high-school senior Gail and college student Jim team up to
investigate a mysterious butterfly hatching at Ash Grove—and save a
little girl from danger.

Note:
This story takes place about ten
years before
The Shadow and the
Rose
.

(An Ash Grove Short Story)

“Don’t move!”

Gail Emerson froze at the command. She was
kneeling with her hands in the dirt around the roots of a butterfly
bush. It was a sunny spring day in North Carolina, and up to now
nothing more menacing than an early mosquito had put in an
appearance.

Her eyes darted around in search of her
trowel—she could use it as a weapon if he threatened her or Joy—and
then the man’s voice came again, less commanding this time.

“You have a Diana on your head,” he said. At
a lower volume, his voice was pleasantly deep and rich. “I want to
get a picture.”

“I have a
what
on my head?” But she
tried to keep still all the same.

For a second there was silence, and she could
hear the sound of the Hiwassee River rushing by just across the
road at the bottom of the hill. Then there came the synthetic click
of a digital camera shooting, and the voice said in satisfaction,
“Got it. You can move now.”

Gail stood up and turned around. The man
holding the camera was a lot younger than she’d expected from his
voice, probably around eighteen, like her. He had sandy hair in
need of cutting and wore glasses, and his smile was shy but
friendly. His t-shirt showed off strong shoulders and arms, and she
found herself wishing she was wearing something nicer than her
grubby gardening jeans and hadn’t just scraped her hair back into a
ponytail instead of doing something with it.

“I’m Jim Brody,” he said, holding out a hand
to shake. She hadn’t expected that formality, and she stripped off
her gardening glove to take his hand. Before she could introduce
herself, a child’s voice piped, “What’s a Diana?”

Joy had been sitting so quietly on the front
steps with her book that Gail wasn’t surprised when Jim started.
Joy was regarding him with the curiosity she greeted most new
experiences with. She wasn’t a timid girl, unlike most of the other
bookworms Gail knew.

“Its full name is Diana fritillary,” said
Jim. “But you probably know it by a different name.” He didn’t talk
down to her, Gail was glad to notice, but kept his voice
matter-of-fact. Joy was smart for her age and caught on a lot
faster than most adults realized. She was short and sturdy with a
button nose—not exactly pretty, but cute.

“Can I see?” she asked, descending the
steps.

“Sure.” He hunkered down to her eye level and
showed her and Gail the camera display: the top of Gail’s head, her
brown hair in its messy ponytail, and a blue-and-black butterfly
poised there.

“It’s a butterfly,” said Joy, surprised. “Why
did you call it a Diana something?”

“Because that’s its proper name,” Jim
explained. “Most animals have specific names. You know how dogs can
be poodles or dachshunds or terriers? Well, butterflies are like
that too. This one just happens to be called Diana.”

Joy said thoughtfully, “That’s almost my
mother’s name.”

“Oh?” Jim’s eyes went to Gail questioningly,
and she gave an incredulous snort.

“I’m Joy’s sitter, Gail. How old do you think
I am, anyway?”

“I’m bad with ages,” he said apologetically.
He did look a little dreamy and vague, as if he was calculating
equations in his head. “For instance,” he said, addressing himself
to Joy again, “you look like a young lady of around… twelve?”

Joy wrinkled her nose. “I’m seven.”

“See? I told you.”

Gail relaxed, thinking the dangerous subject
had been averted. But then he asked Joy, “What’s your mother’s
name?”

“Anna.” Joy’s blue eyes were very grave, but
the guy didn’t take the hint.

“Well, there is actually a butterfly named
Anna,” he told her. “It’s called Anna’s Eighty-eight, because the
markings on its wings look like the number.”

“Is that true?” Joy’s freckled face lit up,
and Gail wished she knew the guy well enough to signal to him to
talk about something else.

But he was encouraged by Joy’s enthusiasm.
“It sure is,” he said. “There aren’t any in North Carolina, though.
They live farther south, where it’s warmer.”

“I wish I could see one,” said Joy
wistfully.

“Maybe your dad can take you on a trip to
where they live,” Gail offered, trying to steer the conversation
into safer waters. “Where can you find them?”

“Mexico, sometimes Texas.” He told Joy, “I’ll
bet your mom would like to see it too. The three of you should do
that sometime—take a family trip.”

All the animation left Joy’s face. “My
mother’s dead,” she said.

He blinked as if he’d walked into a wall.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t know.” He look to Gail for
confirmation, and she gave a short nod. She’d hoped to head him off
before the conversation reached this point.

Joy was staring at the ground. “Can I go
inside?” she asked Gail.

“Of course, hon. Don’t forget your book.” As
Joy climbed the porch steps, Gail added to the visitor, “I should
go in too to keep an eye on her. Dr. Sumner ought to be home soon;
did you want to see him about something?”

He was watching Joy with a troubled face.
“Yeah, but now I feel like I shouldn’t butt in. If his wife has
just, you know—”

“Anna’s been gone for a little over a year
now.” Gail tried to keep her voice brisk. Losing Anna had been
almost like losing a big sister, not just a neighbor.

“I just thought, since you were doing his
gardening…”

“I just pitch in where I can, and gardening
is kind of my thing. Dr. Sumner still hasn’t gotten back on top of
everything. They were so in love—it just really hit him hard.”

“I’m really sorry,” said Jim again. “I wish
I’d known; I wouldn’t have been so clumsy. Do you think I upset
her?”

“She’ll be okay. Joy’s a trouper.” She was
more resilient than her father, but maybe that was being a kid. But
she had gotten quieter since her mom had died, that was for sure,
and Gail worried about that sometimes.

“Was it cancer?” Jim was asking.

“No, a car accident.” She didn’t want to talk
any more about it, so she gathered up her gardening things and
started up the steps. “Come on in and have something to drink while
you wait. Are you in school around here?”

“Young Harris.” He followed her to the
kitchen, where she started filling glasses with ice. “This is just
my first year, but I’m liking it here. It’s so different from
Atlanta.”

“That’s where you’re from?”

He nodded. “Of course, anything would be
different from what I’m used to. I’ve been homeschooled since I was
twelve. I like it out here in the country, though.”

Gail had a sudden mental image of him leaning
on a split-rail fence, hair ruffled by the breeze, chewing lazily
on a straw. He’d look good in the cowboy getup, except for his
glasses. They made him look like a fairer-haired Clark Kent.

Then she pulled herself together. She
shouldn’t be letting some strange guy dazzle her just because he
was cute and good with kids. It was disloyal.

Still, it bugged her that Darryl didn’t seem
to know how to get along with Joy. He always talked extra loud and
exaggerated everything, as if she were stupid or practically a
baby. Joy saw right through him: now whenever Darryl came around
she would bury her nose in a book to avoid talking with him.

There are more important qualities in a
boyfriend than being good with kids,
she told herself. Like,
say, a sense of purpose. And Darryl had that by the metric ton. He
was going to be an actor—no matter what it took.

But she shouldn’t zone out when Jim was
talking. He was asking her what college she’d chosen.

“I’m still trying to decide,” she admitted.
She’d been accepted to several different schools, but she hadn’t
chosen one yet. “My boyfriend wants me to go to UCLA with him. But
I can’t seem to make a decision.”

“Oh?” was all he said, but his eyes were full
of questions. She could tell he was trying not to be nosy, but
suddenly something about his calm, quiet presence made her want to
confide in him. He could give her an objective opinion, maybe a
perspective that she hadn’t thought of.

“It’s Joy,” she confessed. “Her dad’s been
keeping to himself so much since Anna died. I know he’s still
grieving, but it means he’s kind of withdrawn from her along with
everybody else. Poor kid needs somebody to look out for her. I feel
like if I go someplace far away for college she won’t have
anybody.”

He thought that over. “You don’t think her
dad will step up when you aren’t available?”

“I don’t think he’ll neglect her, exactly.
He’s just… he’s been so vague and out of it. I can’t see him
remembering to make play dates for her or take her to the park. My
parents will be happy to help out when they’re here, of course, but
they’re going to be traveling a lot once I’m settled at college.”
Abruptly she stopped, remembering this was practically a stranger
she was blabbing the Sumners’ business to. “Anyway,” she said
lamely, “I need to make up my mind soon whether UCLA is the right
choice.”

“Do you know what you want to major in? That
could be an important factor.”

“Probably math. But I can study that just
about anywhere. So what are you taking at Young Harris?”

He didn’t comment on the change of subject,
and she was grateful for that. “Biology,” he said. “You probably
figured out I’m into lepidoptery.”

“I’m guessing that means butterflies.”

“And moths, yeah. That’s why I want to talk
to Dr. Sumner.”

“That’s hardly my area of specialization,”
was Dr. Sumner’s response to this when he arrived a short time
later. He was a bearded forty-something with glasses, and as Jim
introduced himself and they shook hands Gail reflected that they
looked like members of the same club—a scholarly association, say.
She wasn’t used to being around guys her own age that even looked
like they ever cracked a book, let alone got excited about anything
scientific.

“It’s actually a local legend that led me to
you,” Jim explained. “And everyone agrees that you’re the expert on
local folklore. I’ve been trying to track down a rare species of
butterfly or moth that’s been sighted around here, and I read
somewhere about this phenomenon that’s supposed to take place every
year on the last night of April.”

“On Beltane night, then.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s one of the major holidays from the
Celtic tradition: the coming of spring and the time of fertility.”
Dr. Sumner popped the top on a soda and took a seat at the dining
room table with them. His eyes still held the strained look that
had been there ever since his wife died, but interest in the
purpose of Jim’s visit had brought some animation to his face. “In
fact, it would make sense that there would be a butterfly
connection,” he added. “Beltane is the night of fire, when people
would light ritual bonfires and walk their livestock between them
to bring fertility and good harvests in the coming year. Women who
desired children would even jump over a bonfire to bring about a
pregnancy.”

“Where do butterflies come in?” Gail asked.
She knew about Beltane, because Ash Grove High School for the
Performing Arts, where Dr. Sumner taught English, observed the
holiday every year with an arts festival and student dance. It was
a big deal for locals. Thanks to Darryl, she was even going to the
Beltane dance this year—not a chance she’d had before, since she
was a Murphy High student. But this was the first time she’d heard
wildlife brought into it.