The Butterfly’s Daughter (19 page)

“My name's Billy McCall,” he began by way of introduction. “I'm a biologist with the University of Kansas. This is a favorite spot for me to tag butterflies. I didn't expect to find anyone here.”

He tilted his head in a friendly manner but his eyes were shrewd as he took her measure. He was older than she, but not old. His boyish build and his white-blond hair made it hard to speculate, but she thought he was somewhere in his late thirties. Though he continued to smile, his look pinned her, asking her name and right to be at this place.

Luz pushed her hair from her face, acutely aware that it was as thick and tangled as the brush beneath the tree. She shifted her weight nervously and shushed Serena, who growled low in her throat. She hoped they weren't trespassing. “I'm Luz Avila,” she answered. “I'm just visiting folks over at the Hidden Ponds Nursery. I saw the butterflies and followed them in here. I hope that's okay.”

The corners of his mouth turned downward, indicating his uncertainty as he focused on Serena. “Sure. As long as your little dog there doesn't spook them.”

“She won't,” Luz replied. “But be careful not to spook her or she might bite
you
.”

He gave a short laugh of disbelief, then looked over his shoulder
at the setting sun. Shifting his weight, he swung his backpack to his arm. “If you don't mind,” he said, walking past her, “I've got to tag a few more before dark.”

Luz stepped out of his way, patting Serena to keep her from yapping. Billy approached the lower branches of the tree with the soft-footed stealth of a cat. He was slim but his shoulders were broad like a swimmer's.

She saw what he was after. At the base of a low-lying branch was a small cluster of butterflies. She held her breath as he stopped beneath the branch, motionless but alert. The cat was poised to pounce, she thought.

In a flash, Billy's arm shot out and the net swept over the limb. Luz squelched her yelp of surprise. Billy flipped his wrist neatly and stepped back, bringing the end of the net bag over the handle, closing off the wide mouth. Several butterflies fluttered off to a spot higher up in the leaves, but in the deep of his net, Luz could see at least five monarchs struggling to escape.

He used one hand to hold the net handle and with the other he removed a butterfly using his thumb and forefinger. She admired his speed and technique as he worked with a single-minded focus, as though she weren't even there. Luz's mouth dropped open in a silent gasp when he placed the wings between his lips, reached into his left pocket, and pulled out a glassine envelope. Then he removed the butterfly from his mouth and tucked it neatly into the envelope. He repeated this over and over until all the butterflies were neatly placed in envelopes and stored in the canvas pouch he carried at his side. When he was finished with all five, his eyes searched more of the branches.

“What are you doing with all those monarchs?” she dared to ask.

“What, this?” he asked, indicating his pouch. “I'm tagging them,” he said in a tone that implied it was obvious. He saw her face cloud with doubt, and a wry smile creased lines into the corners of his eyes. She figured he'd had lots of success with that lazy grin in his lifetime.

“I don't have time to tag them all now. That sun is fixing to set any minute. So I'll bring these guys home. Each one will get measured and weighed. I'll check out the condition of the wings, determine sex, and tag them. It'll take me an hour at least so I like to do it while watching a football game. I figure I've got over fifty in there. I've already tagged another hundred. It's been a good day.”

He looked out over the field and pursed his lips in thought. “This is a prime spot for finding butterflies. One of the few left in these parts. Time was, there were fields like this all across the Midwest—wild butterfly meadows, fields of goldenrod—rich with diverse ecosystems that supported a few dozen species of butterflies. Not to mention all the bees. And now? Like the song says, they put up a parking lot.” He paused and she sensed his sadness at the thought. “Every year, I come out to this field and hold my breath, praying it's still here.”

“Doesn't it hurt them to put them in those envelopes?”

He shook his head. “Wouldn't do it if it did,” he replied easily. “These envelopes protect them from hurting themselves fluttering their wings. I put them in my cooler and it calms them down, kind of like roosting here overnight. They lie all still in the dark, like they're asleep. In the morning I'll release them and they'll go on their merry way, hopefully all the way to Mexico.”

“I never understood why you tag them. Their wings seem so fragile to put that sticker on them. Doesn't it slow them down?”

“Nope.” He pulled out a sheet of Monarch Watch tags and
showed them to her. “See, these tags are ultralight. And the monarchs are amazing creatures. So fragile yet so strong. They don't have any problem with them. It's kind of like you wearing a shirt when you run. We tag them to get answers to a lot of questions we have about their migration patterns. How do they navigate? What markers do they use? There's a whole lot we don't know about these amazing bugs.”

The passion for butterflies she heard in his voice appealed to her; that kind of devotion was attractive.

“So each year we tag them,” Billy continued, “and if anyone finds a butterfly with a tag on it, they call in the number. So if, say, a butterfly from Nebraska or Maine made it to the sanctuary and somebody found the tag, it would help us learn more about them. And the more we learn, the more we can protect them and perpetuate the species. Hopefully we'll recover a lot of these tags this year.”

She thought of the thousands of butterflies Abuela had raised and how she would have loved to have helped the likable Billy McCall with his study. “Is it hard to learn?”

“Not at all. I teach volunteers all the time.” He tilted his head and his smile lifted one corner of his mouth, almost flirtatiously. “Want to tag one? That is, if your dog won't get in the way.”

The offer surprised her. “Me? Sure. Wait, let me put her down.” Luz settled Serena on the ground and tied the rope around a nearby shrub. To her relief, for once Serena was calm and obliging. Luz made a note to give her a treat later.

Billy walked to a low branch where a half dozen butterflies sat with their wings tightly closed, like sitting ducks. Once again he swooped and captured all six.

This time, Luz helped him bring the butterflies out from the
net with her thumb and forefinger, enjoying the familiar feel of the tender wings. Billy showed her where to place the small white dot of paper and as she did so, he recorded the number on his sheet.

They stood so close that his cotton sleeve grazed hers; she felt a crackling tension and wondered if it was one-sided. She scolded herself for being foolish and told herself to concentrate on the delicate task at hand. She completed all six with a dexterity that surprised Billy. They continued to work side by side, Billy catching and Luz tagging and releasing as the sun lowered in the western sky.

She recalled Abuela telling her that if you whispered your wish to a butterfly, then released it, the butterfly would carry your wish to the heavens. So with each butterfly release, she sent her love to her grandmother on the monarch's wings.

In the next half hour they finished tagging all the butterflies that Billy captured.

“That makes another thirty-seven tagged, for a grand total of a hundred and forty-two today.” He turned his head and looked at her quizzically. “You've done this before,” he said, calling her bluff.

“No, really I haven't.” Her lips twitched. “
But
I've handled butterflies before.”

“Thought so. Where?”

“My grandmother raised them from the eggs she found on the milkweed in her garden. She taught the children in the neighborhood how to raise them, too, and all about metamorphosis. She believed if you taught a child about nature, you hooked them for life. I was her chief cook and bottle washer, so I've been handling caterpillars and butterflies all my life.”

Billy raised his brows, impressed by this. “I don't hear that too often. Usually people are just so surprised to find out how
interesting this little bug is, they want to learn more. And I'm happy to teach them. Like your grandmother.”

He bent to gather his backpack while Luz untied Serena's rope and scooped her up in her arms so that she wouldn't have a hard time in the thick brush in the dark. As they walked, the sun lowered. Luz sensed that he was as aware of her presence as she was of his. He was a lot like Sully in his easygoing, midwestern manner, but he was completely different, too. Billy was an academic, like her grandfather, and she felt the tug and pull of a man completely secure in his career and intelligence.

“So, your grandmother raised butterflies,” he said over the loud crunching of their boots on dry ground.

“Uh-huh. For as long as I've known her.”

“It's great that your grandmother took the time to teach kids. I teach at the university, but I'm always out with kids at schools or helping them learn to tag. Kids get it. They're so eager to learn and help. They're the future.”

“I think that's why Abuela did it, too. But it's also part of her culture. She was raised in Mexico in a village near where the monarchs migrate every year. Her family reveres the monarchs and welcomes their return.”

He seemed to focus in on this. “Oh yeah? Where about?”

“It's a small town, I doubt you've heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“Angangueo.”

He turned his head, a crooked grin on his face, and studied her with a look of bemusement. “No kidding? I'm heading that way later this week.”

Luz didn't know whether this was just one of those weird coincidences you looked back on in life and knew it was meant to
be, or karma. After all, how many people could be heading toward Angangueo?

“Talk about synchronicity,” she said with a soft laugh. “So what takes you to Angangueo, of all places?”

“The monarchs, of course. Part of my job is to scout out the overwintering colonies to observe and catalog them. I love research and teaching, but I'm a field researcher at heart. Being in the mountains tracking the colonies, that's what I love to do most.”

She could imagine him in the mountain forests tracking butterflies. A roaming scientist with his backpack and net, more a Dr. Livingston than an adventurer.

“Are you flying?”

“No, I'm driving. I have a lot of equipment.”

She perked up at this, eager for a firsthand account of border crossing. “I heard it was dangerous to cross the borders now.”

“Could be. But I've been doing this every year for the past ten, so I know my route pretty well and don't veer from it.”

“Maybe I'll see you there,” she added, throwing it out there like a challenge.

He cocked his head and skewered her with his eyes. “Don't tell me.”

“Yep.”

He chuckled incredulously and tugged at his mustache. “When are you heading out?”

“I'm on my way now, which was why I was curious about crossing the borders. I don't want to run into any banditos. This is just a stopover. I dropped off a friend who needed a ride but I have to get back on the road. I need to get there by the Day of the Dead.”

“Are you traveling alone?”

“I hope not. My plan is to have my aunt go with me.”

“That's good. Never a good idea to take a trip like that alone, you being a pretty girl and all. Just make sure your paperwork is in order, get your car insured, and stick to the main roads. You'll be fine.”

Luz felt better getting encouragement from someone who'd actually driven the trip.

Billy looked off at the tree draped with monarchs. “I've been chasing butterflies for ten years and one thing I've learned is that what we call coincidence is more expected than unexpected. Many scientists and theologians believe that everything that occurs can be related to a prior cause or association. Look at all those monarchs,” he said, lifting his arm to indicate the hundreds of monarchs hanging in dense masses, showing their dull gray under-wings. “Each one sets out on this journey alone. Yet along the way it hooks up with other butterflies all heading in the same direction, to the same place, at the same time, forming a river of monarchs flowing across the sky. And at night, they cluster together in trees to form roosts like this.”

“So you're saying that we're both here because we're both chasing monarchs, and it's not so weird that we met.”

“Cause and effect. It decreases the odds.”

Luz chuckled. “But not by much.”

“No,” he agreed, laughing. “There are millions of monarchs. And only you and me. But here we are.”

You and me.
Luz thought his comment rang with a vaguely intimate note.

“Maybe you called it right the first time,” he said in conclusion. “Synchronicity. Life isn't a series of random events at all, but rather an expression of a deeper order.” He smiled. “In other words, maybe we were meant to meet.”

Her heart fluttered as she studied his face for signs of flirtatiousness. He simply smiled in that paradoxical manner of his she couldn't interpret. She doubted he meant anything by it, but she suddenly became aware that she was a young woman alone in a field out of shouting distance. And it was getting dark. She knew better than to be flirtatious under such circumstances, especially with a man she was clearly attracted to. Yet, despite the warnings her brain shot out, she didn't feel afraid of Billy McCall.

She looked down at Serena. She stared up at her, her eyes bulging from the sockets, a clear sign she was alert and ready to go.

“I guess we'll leave our meeting in Mexico to chance, then. Or coincidence.”