The Cries of the Butterfly - A LOVE STORY (3 page)

Knott wished he could’ve been a gardener instead of a driver. He could work amongst the flora for limitless hours and not be bored or fatigued. If it hadn’t been for his daughters, he could even work for free. Such a wonderful garden had to have a gardener, nay a legion of them, to nurture it, Knott thought. But he couldn’t see any of them right now. Oh, how he would love to meet one, just to talk to the lucky bloke, to sit under a palm and discuss the roses, and suddenly he was jealous.

He was snapped out of his fond longings by a movement at the porch and he stiffened to full attention, then raced back to his position by the car. But it was only the house servant, with luggage in both hands. Knott quickly walked to the Mercury’s rear and opened the boot lid. Another male servant followed and they quickly arranged the baggage in the massive trunk. That done, Knott went back and stood rigidly by the front passenger-side door. The Butchers would be emerging now and Knott stopped breathing.
Easy now, fellow!

The first to emerge was a little girl in a light blue, flower-patterned frock. She would be Philippa and she would be five years old, Knott told himself. (He had been to Joseph Scoff’s pad earlier this morning and had been briefed in depth by the veteran chauffeur.) Then he watched her freeze when she saw him. Her sky-blue eyes narrowed and a blend of suspicion and hostility crept into them.

“Who’re you?” she shot from over the porch steps.

Knott smiled and took a step forward. “I’m Stanley Knott, young Miss, and I’m your driver,” he said, almost fulsomely.

“Uh?” The little girl’s face twisted in confusion. “No, you’re not! My driver is Uncle Joey. You’re not Uncle Joey!” The hostility widened.

And then two elegantly dressed women, one young, one middle-aged, appeared and Knott was back to attention. He stepped hurriedly back and tentatively opened the rear door of the Mercury. He guessed the younger woman would be Frennie Butcher, Philippa’s mother, and the older would be Frennie’s ma-in-law, Paula. From what he’d been told, the younger woman was in her early thirties and the older in her mid-fifties, but they looked so much younger than their stated ages.
The blithering advantages of being insanely rich,
Knott thought dryly. They could have anything in the world—the best of foods, prime comforts, all the attention and pampering, and no worries whatsoever. While the men invented schemes to get richer, and richer still, all that the women had to do was luxuriate in their good fortune. Knott felt a sudden surge of resentment as he watched the women slide into the vehicle.

He thought back on his own family. Three daughters and a fourth child on the way. All living in a twelve feet by twelve hovel in the only low income housing area of the city-state. He had been out of work for eight months and it was only a desperate plea for succor that had landed him this job. And Stanley Knott felt ashamed—if it hadn’t been for the Butchers, he and his family would be struggling on food stamps today. To feel any bitterness toward them was most ungrateful—nay, it was pure blasphemy.

“Come on, Philippa, get in!” the younger woman shouted as her daughter refused to follow them, but instead kept hovering around the porch steps.

“Where’s Uncle Joey, no?” Philippa demanded of her mother.

“He took ill,” the mother answered brusquely.

“Then I’m not coming. I want only Uncle Joey.”

“Now, you…don’t you be that way!” thundered her mother.

“Don’t you want to meet your Wolfy-Dad?” the older woman cut in.

Those words were magic. The little girl quickly leapt down the steps and bounded over to the Mercury.

“Good girl, now step in so driver-uncle can shut the door,” Paula Butcher beckoned.

“No, I’m sitting in the front with Daddy,” Philippa said stubbornly.

“Have your way!” Frennie snapped.

Knott now gently shut the door. He waited for the men to emerge. There would be two of them, he’d been told. The older one would be Eric Butcher, the patriarch of the family, the Supreme Boss, a man in his early sixties. The younger one would be Sage Butcher, in his mid-thirties, Eric and Paula’s eldest son, Frennie’s husband and Philippa’s father. Stan Knott smiled to himself—this man he knew all too well.

This would be one half of the family. The other half was already in San Francisco, and to distract his mind from the rising-again tempest within him, Knott did a mental check. There was Eric Butcher’s younger brother, Grant, fifty-nine,
and who doesn’t know him!
He was the much loved and respected Head-of-State of the island nation. President Butcher’s wife, Estelle, was the same age as him. They had two children, the oldest, a son, Art, in his early thirties. Art’s wife would be...and here Knott racked his brain for a second before he got the name.
Yeah, Rochelle! Ha!
And after seven years of marriage, the couple had no children, and there was endless hushed chitchat in town.
It’s the woman!
the word had circulated.
She’s the infertile one! Poor Art Butcher.
President Grant’s younger progeny, a daughter, and her name Knott remembered quickly.
Olivia.
She had studied medicine, married a surgeon from San Francisco, and it was to her house the entire Butcher clan was headed. Joseph Scoff had said it was to do with some house-warming. Olivia being the only female progeny of the Butcher brothers was much loved.

But not the most loved. That tag was easily saved for the family’s most famous member, Wolf Butcher. Eric and Paula’s youngest, the twenty-eight year old was Hollywood’s hottest moviestar, and it had made him New Halcyon’s favorite son.

Wow, what a blithering family!
Knott thought.
The President of the nation—the most important and powerful man in the country; Hollywood’s biggest superstar—one of the most powerful man in showbiz; and the world’s top Capitalist—the most potent and influential moneybag anywhere. All three in one family! Which other family in the whole wide world is more powerful, more privileged, more fortunate?
He couldn’t think of any.
Not even close! They are so blithering blessed, it is obscene!

A sudden movement at the porch snapped him out of his reflections. It was Eric Butcher. He was a big strapping man, around six feet four (that made him an inch taller than his famous son, Knott thought) and two-hundred-fifty at least (
that makes him at least seventy pounds heavier).
He headed Butcher Organization, the largest business house in the world. Knott felt himself shrink at the sight of Eric Butcher. The patriarch had a face of granite and eyes that could kill with a glance. Knott gulped rapidly as the big man descended the porch steps and he fervently prayed Eric Butcher wouldn’t sit in the front beside him. That would be just too much.

Almost shaking, Knott bowed awkwardly. He tried to wish the big businessman, but found his tongue jammed against his palate. Eric Butcher indicated the back seat and Knott hastily opened the door, feeling great relief sweep through him. He began to respire again.

And then followed Sage Butcher, and Stan Knott’s heart gladdened. Here was his Angel—the man Knott had gone to on hands and knees petitioning for work. The man who had given him, a complete stranger and a complete nonentity, a new lease on life.

Sage Butcher was an inch or so over six feet and lean at around one-hundred-seventy, but his most attractive feature was his face. Yes, very good-looking (it ran in the family), but there was a quality to it that elevated it to something much more.
Here is the face of a saint.
He, Stanley Knott, would be indebted to him as long as he lived.

Knott’s bow was much more pronounced this time and wholly authentic. “Good morning, sir,” he gushed as Sage Butcher approached the front passenger seat.

“Hello, Stan, how are you doing this morning?” Sage Butcher smiled.

“Very good, sir, thank you so much,” he replied, almost shyly, but thrilled that the great man had recognized him and remembered his name.

.

S
age Butcher had barely settled in the front seat, his arms wound lightly around his daughter sitting on his lap, when Philippa suddenly leapt up and stood on Sage’s thighs. She spun around and faced those in the back seat.

“Why couldn’t Wolfy-Dad come with us, no?” she groaned.

“How many times do I have to tell you Wolf is working in Los Angeles?” Frennie scolded.

“But he could work later, no!”

“Well, he couldn’t!” Frennie snapped.

“When will I see Wolfy-Dad now?”

“In a few hours.”

“But how many hours, no?”

“Not too many, okay?” Eric Butcher broke in gently.

“But how many, no?!”

“Oh, come on now, Philippa!” Frennie barked. “Keep quiet, will you!”

As Philippa began to sulk, grandma quickly cut in. “In about three hours, alright?”

“But why so many, no?!” The little girl’s voice had turned distinctly moanful.

“Philippa!” Frennie shouted.

Philippa pouted. “I want to be with Wolfy-Dad. Now!”

“That’s not possible!” Frennie hissed, leaning threateningly toward her.

That made it even worse and Philippa began to cry.

Gracious Lord!
Sage thought. What was with his wife this morning? He opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. No point adding to the cacophony.

“Let me handle this, Frennie,” Eric said in an undertone. And Sage could imagine his sweet wife shaking her head in a mix of exasperation and frustration.

“It won’t at all be long before you meet your Wolfy-Dad,” Eric was saying consolingly.

But the wail continued. “But why couldn’t he come with us, no…?!”

“You ask him when you meet him, alright?” Grandma said.

“I know you people don’t really like Wolfy-Dad, so you don’t allow him to come with us. You are all so jealous of him.”

That truly shocked Sage, as he knew it had shocked everyone in the back seat. His head snapped up and he glared at his daughter. Where had this suddenly come from? Then he saw the triumphant little smirk on her face (which she was desperately trying to conceal) and he understood. Manipulation!
Gracious Lord, at this age!
What was the world coming to—children barely out of their cradles were losing their innocence. His daughter’s face told she knew she had scored. Sage didn’t dare glance at his wife.

His father was the first to break the silence that had followed.

“You know that’s not true, Philippa,” Eric said, his voice sober. “We love your Wolfy-Dad, all of us, and we love him a great deal, more than you can imagine. So what you said is grossly unfair and you should never think along those lines again.”

“You apologize immediately, Philippa! This very instant!” Frennie bellowed. The menace in her voice made Sage spin his head around and stare at his wife. But his wife glared right back at him. And then Sage heard a low whimper.

“Sooorrryyy..!” It was Philippa.

The matter resolved, the sudden tenseness that had gripped the Mercury’s air dissipated.

For a while, there was quiet.

My father is right,
Sage thought.
Indeed, if we Butchers have a favorite it is Wolf.
Not only was he the youngest (aside of Philippa), he had made the family proud by going on to become Hollywood’s most loved actor. By itself that wasn’t anything much, for the Butcher family was tremendously successful in itself. What the Butchers valued most was the way Wolf had kept his priorities firmly in focus.
For my brother, his family has always come first, in every way.
There wasn’t a family occasion he had ever missed, however trivial, however busy he may have otherwise been. Wherever he may be on the planet, there wasn’t a day he wouldn’t call home and inquire after everyone.

And yet, while Wolf genuinely cared for every member of the family,
there is one person who has always been extra-special to him.
That person was Philippa. Wolf loved and adored the little girl so much it was frightening. A small break from work and he would rush over to New Halcyon to be with her. If he couldn’t come, it was the phone. Ten calls in a day was normal business.

And in turn, Philippa needed
Wolfy-Dad
like she needed her breath. When Wolf was home, he was her inseparable companion. Sage and Frennie had often observed their daughter when on occasion she slept in Wolf’s room. The stillness on her face was something to see. While in her own room, or when she slept with her parents now and then, there wasn’t a night when Philippa wouldn’t get up mumbling in her sleep, perhaps troubled by some dream. But with Wolf, she always slept like a baby—literally so—a dreamless slumber.
It is as if she feels completely safe and protected with him, like she never feels with anyone else, not even us.
Sage sighed.
It is scary to think what would happen to her,
and conversely to Wolf,
if God forbid something were to happen to the other.

And it was this profound bond that the two so naturally had (
The first ever father-daughter match made in Heaven
, Sage told himself) that had finally convinced him and Frennie, especially Frennie, to give Philippa legally away to Wolf—as soon as they had their second child. All in the Butcher family knew about this decision, sans Philippa. They had deliberately kept it from her, for fear that once she knew she wouldn’t want to wait a second and would vehemently demand she be made ‘Wolfy-Dad’s’ legal daughter right away, and would not let the family have a moment’s peace until that happened.