Worms to Butterflies "Father?"

"Puny!"

"Th' most awful thing has happened, I don't know how to tell you. . . ."

He sank into the office chair. "Just tell me," he said, feeling suddenly weary.

"Your angel . . ." Weeping, nose blowing.

"My angel?"

"Th' one on th' mantel! I was runnin' th' dust rag downstairs, you know I run th' dust rag every time I come because of th' work goin' on in th' street, you knew they was relayin' pipes, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't know."

"Well, I was runnin' th' dust rag an' . . ." More nose blowing.

"It's all right. Whatever you're going to tell me is all right." She was dusting and the angel toppled off the mantel and fell to the floor and a wing broke off, or an arm. How bad could it be?

"Well, th' angel . . . it's not there anymore, it's gone!"

"Gone?"

"Today I was dustin' downstairs because I dusted upstairs last week, and when I come to th' mantel, I couldn't believe my eyes. It was jis' this empty place where it used to set!"

"Well, now . . ."

"I mean, th' other day when I called you about th' door bein' unlocked, I looked all around an' didn't see nothin' missin', I mean, I thought somethin' seemed different about your study, but I couldn't figure out what it was, I didn't notice anything bein' gone, so what I'm sayin' is, maybe it was gone last week, I don't know!"

"Have you talked with Harley? And Puny, stop crying, it's all right. Just sit down, take a deep breath, and tell me everything."

"I talked to Harley, he said he hadn't seen nothin' goin' on at your house, 'cept me goin' in an' out."

"Was anything else missing, anything moved around?"

"No, sir, an' I promise you I really looked, I've went over th' whole house with a fine-tooth comb, even th' closets, an' checked th' windows an' basement door, they're locked tight as a drum. I feel terrible about this, Father, I'll pay for th' angel, whatever it cost, me an' Joe will pay ever' cent."

"This is a mystery. I remember having a fifty-dollar bill and a credit card in my desk drawer. I wonder-"

"I'll go look!" she said.

Very odd, he mused.

"Your money and credit card's in th' drawer on th' left-hand side."

Odder than odd. "I wonder if Dooley would know anything."

"I don't think Dooley was in th' house a single time."

"I'll call him at school and ask. I don't know, Puny, I'm as baffled by this as you are."

"I'm real sorry."

"It's OK, I promise. We'll figure it out, don't worry. Just . . . lock up good when you leave."

He sat at his desk for some time, occasionally nodding his head, speaking half sentences aloud and, in general, feeling befuddled.

Harley Welch sounded down and out.

"M'bunk mate's gone, and Lace has went off to school." He sighed deeply. "Hit's a graveyard around here."

"I believe it."

"Seem like I wadn't hardly ready f'r 'em to go off."

"We never are."

"You know, some of th' stuff Lace taught me, it's stickin'! I set here last night and wrote five pages of things that was goin' around in m' noggin."

"Great! Terrific! I'm proud of you!"

"I got to thinkin' about them great falls of th' Missouri, five of 'em, and how ol' Lewis an' Clark must've felt when they seen such a sight as that."

"Lace is a grand teacher. You're a genuine help and consolation to each other."

But Harley didn't sound consoled. "Both of 'em gone, an' not a soul t' set down an' eat a bite with, hit's jis' mope aroun' an' listen t' y'r head roar. . . ."

"Anytime you feel lonesome, walk up to the Grill, order the special, talk to people. It'll do you good." Heaven knows, that had saved his own sanity a time or two.

"I'm tearin' th' engine out of th' mayor's RV in th' mornin', I ain't got time t' lollygag."

"Puny says you haven't seen anybody around the house, nothing suspicious. . . ."

"Nossir. Course that door bein' unlocked an' all, an' that gang workin' on th' street . . ."

"Seems like they'd have taken something else, though. Well, listen, Harley, you hang in there. We'll be home in October. I'm going to hold you to that pan of brownies."

Harley cackled, sounding like himself again. "I practice on them brownies once ever' week, I'm about t' git it right."

They sat on the porch in the gathering twilight, and watched Jonathan play with a sand bucket and shovel in their end-of-summer garden. The Louis L'Amour paperback lay on the table beside him; Barnabas sprawled at their feet.

His wife knew absolutely nothing about the angel and was as dumbfounded as he. It was bizarre, it was unreal, it was- "I'll get it," Cynthia said, when the phone rang.

She dashed inside and came back with the cordless.

"Those eggs you gave us last week are wonderful, the yolks are a lovely shade of yellow!"

Covering the mouthpiece, she whispered, "Penny Duncan."

"Oh, really?" She listened intently. "That's wonderful! How good of you, Penny, how thoughtful."

She gazed into the yard at Jonathan. "Oh, he's a handful, all right, but no, thank you so much, we love having him, we're all quite happy together. Yes, I'm sure, but thank you again, you're very dear, Penny. Really? I'd love it if you'd help at the tea. Could you possibly make an ice mold? What a good idea, yes, fresh peppermint would be perfect. Well, then-love to Marshall. See you in church!"

She laid the phone on the arm of the rocker and smiled at him.

"You had an offer for help with Jonathan and turned it down?"

"She has ten days of vacation and offered to keep him, but . . ." She shrugged.

"But what?"

"But I declined."

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged again. "Because."

"You won't believe this," said Dooley, calling from the hall phone in his dorm.

"Try me."

"Guess what girl's school our first dance is with."

"Mrs. Hemingway's." Who else?

"Can you believe it?"

He thought he discerned a kind of . . . what? Expectation, perhaps, under Dooley's evident disgust.

"I hope you'll ask Lace to dance."

"Not if she's wearing those weird shoes an' all."

"Come on, what do shoes have to do with anything?"

"Plenty," said Dooley, with feeling.

He had pulled whatever strings a clergyman can call to hand, and the court date would fall the day after Buck's and Pauline's wedding, after which Harley would drive Dooley back to school. He gave Dooley the scoop.

"Great! Cool." The boy sounded relieved.

No, Dooley hadn't been in the yellow house, he didn't know anything about the angel, and had never once seen anybody go in or out except Puny.

"Give me a report on the dance," he said.

"May I read you something?"

"I like it when you read," Janette whispered. She sat with him in the cramped space of her semiprivate room, looking toward the wall.

"I asked the Lord

for a bunch of fresh flowers

but instead he gave me an ugly cactus

with many thorns.

I asked the Lord

for some beautiful butterflies

but instead he gave me

many ugly and dreadful worms.

I was threatened.