Free On Shadowed Wings (An Ash Grove Short Story) by Amanda DeWees Page B

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grieving, but it means he’s kind of withdrawn from her along with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.
    “In old Gaelic, the same
word— tiene-dhe— is believed to have been used both for the
butterfly and for the fire of the gods,” Dr. Sumner explained. “The
ritual fires of Beltane have a sacred quality shared by the
butterfly, which is sometimes held to be the soul of someone who
has