THE BUTTERFLY LADY

The call had come out of the blue. It was a short, somewhat cryptic message. “Hi, Molly? My name is Helen Rhodes. I have an important matter to discuss with you. It’s best if we talk in person. Can you meet me at 429 Windy Trail at 3:00 today?”

Figuring she must have come across my new business card, I was happy to oblige. I was back in my hometown after many years, and so far, my reluctant return was not living up to even my most meager expectations.

Losing my job, then my home, and having to move in with my mother again was humiliating. With no prospects, I had decided to try a career change. Truth be told, my transition to real estate wasn’t going all that well. I looked forward to finally having a real client.

Lost in my thoughts, I pulled into the circular drive. Then I realized with a start where I was: the Butterfly Lady’s house.

I hadn’t thought about her in years. I looked around to be sure and saw a sign that read “Under Contract.” Confused, I parked and started toward the front door.

As I reached the porch, a woman came out. She had a strange look on her face, as if she were lost. Or maybe in shock. At her car, she glanced up, appearing to notice me for the first time. Something about it was unsettling. I felt a flutter of uneasiness in my stomach.

Well, of course I did, I told myself. After all, this was the Butterfly Lady’s house.

I turned and rang the bell and was greeted by a pleasant, blonde woman in a business suit. She waved me into the living room. “Hi, I’m Helen,” she said, smiling. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right with you.” Puzzled, I sat down. It had been 20 years since my last visit here. But I remembered it all like it was yesterday.

Her name was Mrs. Hartwell, but everyone called her the Butterfly Lady. Rumor had it that she could not only tell your future but could actually change it. For the better—if you were worthy. If not, well, they said she could make bad things happen, too.

It captured my twelve-year-old imagination. So one windy, fall afternoon, I decided to walk the two miles from school to her house. Boldly, I marched up to the front door and rang the bell.

No answer. I rang again and waited. Just when I thought the Butterfly Lady must not be home, she swung open the door and looked down at me. “Yes, can I help you”? I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t really thought this far ahead. “Um, hi, I’m Molly and I would like to talk to you about the future.” She acted as though it was not at all unusual for a young girl to appear on her doorstep with such a request. “Why, of course, Molly, I’d love that. Won’t you please come in?” My heart pounding, I followed her inside.

“Come sit down, dear. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“That sounds great,” I said brightly. I had nothing else to do except homework, and who wanted to do that?

We drank tea and ate sandwiches and talked. As she told me about her children, who had long since moved away, I studied her pale, thin face. I felt sorry for her in a way. She’s not crazy, I thought, just lonely. I mean, who has nothing else to do but throw an impromptu tea party for a nosy little girl?

At one point, I remember she asked me if I thought I would get married and have children when I grew up. I stopped to think about that. I had only barely had my first kiss, so I couldn’t really picture myself married and having kids yet.

It reminded me of the time I was in the fourth grade and Mrs. Barkley had asked our class the same question. I had hesitated then too. I told the Butterfly Lady the story. How Mrs. Barkley had asked us if we wanted to get married when we grew up, and then, just as I was about to raise my hand, I realized everyone else already had theirs up. And how before I could move, Mrs. Barkley had looked at me, cocked her head to one side and with a matter-of-fact nod announced, “There’s always one.”

“I never liked Mrs. Barkley,” I confided, as I helped myself to another sandwich. The Butterfly Lady nodded at me in agreement.

“I don’t think I like her either,” she said. I was really warming up to her now.

That’s when she said she wanted to ask me something. I quickly agreed. Maybe she would tell me my future! After all, we had both been having a good time, so I was pretty sure it was going to be a good one.

We walked across the room and sat at her big desk. It had fancy brass pulls, tons of tiny drawers and large, swirly legs. She pulled a key out of her pocket and bent over to unlock a drawer. It was stuck and as she fiddled with it, I stared at her across the desk.

How did she get the name Butterfly Lady anyway, I wondered? Was it because of the soft, crepe-like texture of the skin on her cheeks? Or maybe the faint flapping of the translucent, slightly sagging skin on her arms? Or maybe her soft, white hair had once been bright orange like a monarch butterfly. Yeah, that could definitely be it, I mused.

Or could it really be true that she transformed people’s futures like caterpillars transformed into butterflies?

The loud creak of the old drawer opening brought me back.

“Molly, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to write your name in this book. I love to look back on all my visits.”

That must be where she writes down your future, I thought. In the big curly letters of my girlish handwriting, I carefully wrote my name. Molly McMathis. She nodded in approval and tucked the book away.

I wondered with anticipation what would happen next, but to my great disappointment nothing did. The Butterfly Lady yawned, covering her mouth.

“Well, I hope you come visit me again, young lady,” she said as she got up to show me out.

I followed her to the door, but I couldn’t help myself from blurting out, “But what about my future?”

“Your future?” She laughed and then looked at me. “The future is yet to be written, Molly.”

I went home and couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did she mean, yet to be written? By her? And if was her, was she going to write me a good one?

A sound from the other room roused me from my reverie. I looked around for Helen, but she was nowhere to be seen. Was it possible I would see the Butterfly Lady again today? Waiting to find out what this business was about today was as frustrating as it had been back then.

I sank back into the memory. How I could hardly sleep waiting to see what amazing transformation the Butterfly Lady would bring me.

I waited a week, but nothing happened. A week is a long time to a 12-year-old. Two weeks is an eternity. By week three, I was in agony. And by week four, I was so mad, I decided I would never talk to her again. “Crazy old Butterfly Lady,” I told my friends. “She’s as crazy as everybody says!”

“It shouldn’t be Butterfly Lady,” I ranted on. “It should be Bat Lady—bat crazy!” We all laughed as we flapped our arms like wings and ran down the block to school.

I didn’t think about the Butterfly Lady much after that. There were parties and math tests and dance classes to occupy my mind. But then about a month later, I came home from school to find my mother waiting for me anxiously. She led me straight to the couch and asked me to sit down. She told me in a strangely calm voice that my father had died. He had drowned while boating with some friends. They pulled him out and tried to save him, but they couldn’t.

For some reason unable to grasp what she was saying, I laughed, “Are you joking?” “No, I’m not joking!” Her voice had gotten slightly high-pitched. She looked strained. I shook my head, unable to accept it. Tears streamed down my face, and when she tried to comfort me, I obstinately turned away and stared out the window.

Just then, a beautiful orange butterfly flew to the window ledge and stared back at me. Fear and anger filled me simultaneously as I cursed the Butterfly Lady. Why had she done this to me? Or even more frightening, what had I done to provoke her? Did I cause this to happen? I started to shake. My mother wrapped her arms around me, and we both cried as we rocked back and forth together.

I never did see the Butterfly Lady again, and while my father’s life had ended, mine went on. Eventually, I graduated high school, went off to college, started my marketing career and, as it turns out, got married. But my husband died just two short years later and I had no plans to do it again.

I wiped a tear from my eye as Helen returned. “Molly, I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Hartwell passed away. But she left this for you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I sputtered.

Helen sat down next to me and explained, “It seems that after she died, her family was going through her things and found a stack of little black books in her desk.”

I listened, open-mouthed, as she continued. “Each notebook was individually wrapped.”

“And this one,” she finished softly, “has your name on it.”

In a daze, I reached out and took the small, black book, instinctively running my hand across the smooth Moleskine leather. I suddenly remembered how the Butterfly Lady had done the same thing all those years ago.

I opened it.

On the first page, under where I had written my name, was a beautiful blue-and-yellow butterfly, pressed and preserved, affixed with small pins.

I turned the page. A flurry of green fluttered to the floor. Two hundred crisp $100 bills to be exact.

Shocked, I bent down to pick them up. In answer to my questioning gaze, Helen smiled at me and gave a slight shrug as if to say she didn’t understand it either.

As Helen showed me out, she suddenly remembered something. “You’re in real estate, aren’t you? I hear there’s a place about to go on the market just down the road. You might want to stop by and check it out.”

I nodded blankly, still in shock, and turned to leave. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to thank her.

I got into my car and started driving back the way I had come. At the end was a small, log cabin. I got out, looked around and tried the door. It was unlocked.

Inside it was sparsely though charmingly furnished, with an old roll-top desk, a small farmhouse table, a comfortable armchair, a big stone fireplace and a framed blue-and-yellow butterfly on the wall above it.

I literally laughed with glee. It already felt like home.

The Butterfly Lady may not have affected my future all those years ago, but somehow she was managing to transform my life just when I needed it most.

I immediately called the number the owners had left on the table. As it rang, I realized I still had no idea where I was headed, but for the first time in a long time, the future felt full of possibility.