BUTTERFLY, BUTTERFLY

BUTTERFLY, BUTTERFLY

“Butterfly, butterfly, buttercup …. butternut!”

“Oh, Mr. Bert, you’re crazy.”

“Butterfly, butterfly, buttercup,….. butternut!”

Charlene Jensen’s two children, Matt and Leah, giggled with delight as they passed by Mr. Bert’s house on their daily walk.  Every day, Mr. Bert would be working out in his front yard, and every day, he would have a new nickname ready to greet them.

After they passed Mr. Bert’s house, Leah asked her mother, “Mommy, why is Mr. Bert crazy?”

“I don’t know Leah.  We’re all a little crazy in different ways.  He’s a nice gentleman and I hope you and Matt are always nice to him.”

“Oh, we are, mommy,” Matt said.  “Other kids laugh at him but we like him.”

They soon passed by Miss Betty Barwick’s house.  A long-time widow, she reverted to “Miss” status many years ago.  Although she was a bit of a gossip, she was never a malicious gossip.  She was the delight of the neighborhood and was forever baking treats for everyone.

“And how are you today, Miss Betty?  Children, say hi to Miss Betty.”

“Hi, Miss Betty,” the two children said in an exact unison.

“I’m just as fine as fine can be.  I hope you all are.  And how’s our friend Mr. Bert doing today.”

“Today, he’s a butternut and mommy is a buttercup and we are butterflies,” Leah proudly announced.

“That sounds just about right.  And speaking of cookies, we were speaking of cookies weren’t we?  I’ve got some fresh-baked ones in the kitchen.  It’ll just take a sec to get some.”

“Oh, Miss Betty, that’s awful nice of you, but we’ve got to hurry back.  Tom’s coming in from his trip and I’ve got to finish dinner.”

“Would it be okay if I brought some over after a while?”

“Yes!” the children responded, again in unison.

Just about every day went the same way.  Charlene Jensen and her children would take their walk and be greeted in some whimsical way by Mr. Bert and then spend a little time with Miss Betty.  One day, however, Tom Jensen, the children’s father decided to take them on their walk instead of their mother.

When they came up to Mr. Bert’s house, he was busy raking.  But the children wanted to see him, so they cried out, “Mr.Bert!  Mr. Bert!”

Mr. Bert looked up from his work.  He smiled when he saw the children but then his expression changed when he saw Tom.  “Baked Hibiscus!  Baked Hibiscus!”  After yelling out to them, he ran into his house and slammed the door.  For the first time, the children were frightened and Leah started to cry.  They both grabbed at their dad’s pants legs.

“I’m sure everything’s going to be okay, kids.  Just calm down.”  He patted the children’s hands and scooped them up into his arms.

“Daddy,” Leah said, “Mr. Bert’s never acted like that.  He’s always been so nice.  He scares me now.”

“I’m sure he’s very nice.  Everyone gets upset every once in a while.  Of course, I never get upset, do I? Especially at you two.” He then poked them in the stomachs and they began giggling again.

They continued their walk and once again met Miss Betty. 

“Tom, it’s so good to see you.  How’s Charlene?”

“Oh, she’s fine.  She’s over at her mom’s helping out with some things.”

“And how is our friend, Mr. Bert”

“Well, Miss Betty, we were just by there and he seemed quite upset about something.  He cried out something like “Baked hibiscus” and then ran into his house.  The children got quite upset.  Evidently, he’s not normally like that.   The kids love to see him.”

“Oh dear,” Miss Bert  sighed.  “I’m so sorry the children had to witness that.  Mr. Bert is really one of the nicest, gentlest people you’d ever hope to know.  Every once in a while he gets upset about something.

“I wonder what sets him off?” Tom Jensen asked.

“I’ve got a theory, but don’t want to hold you up.  But I bet you wouldn’t mind waiting a bit for a cake, would you?”

“That’s awfully nice of you, Miss Bert, but you don’t really need to.”

“It’s always my pleasure.  Why don’t we all head back to the back.  The children can play while we talk and while I’m getting the cake ready.  Sound like a plan?”

“Yes!” again, the children yelled out in unison.

With the children playing in the back, Tom and Miss Betty went into her kitchen.

“Have a seat, Tom.  Like some coffee?”

“No thanks.”

“Here’s my theory about Bert Edwards. Bert and I have lived in this neighborhood for a long time.  We’ve seen lots of folks come and go.  About twenty years ago, Bert and his family –he had a wife and three children—they lived in a house right where yours is.  Bert was a little odd, even then.  He was always tinkering with things and had his head in the clouds. 

Anyway, one night, there was a horrible fire at the Edwards’ house.  Bert had gone to some meeting and when he got home, the house was in flames and the fire truck and ambulance were there.  This was way before cellphones, you know.  Bert’s wife and three children were all killed in the fire.  They determined that the fire was caused by a faulty electric connection of some sort.  I don’t know much about those things so that’s all I can say.

Well, of course, Bert felt responsible.  He was always proud of how well he was able to take care of his house.  He never had to call in a plumber or electrician or anything.  He could do it himself. 

The deaths of his wife and children sent him over the edge.  I heard on good authority that Bert was in no way responsible, but he still blamed himself.  He was in a mental institution for, I guess, three years. He tried to live with his brother and his family but that didn’t work out.  Then, out of the blue, about six years ago, he moves back here.  Of course, his old house was gone and a new one – the one you and your family live in -- was built in its place.  He bought that small cottage where he lives and has been there ever since. 

Of course, he knew me and was glad to see me.  But all he would do would be to mumble things.  It’s like he’d lost the ability to speak.  It’s so tragic.”

“That’s just awful.  Miss Betty, why do you think he yelled out the words “Baked Hibiscus” when he saw us and then ran into the house?”

“This is where my theory comes in.  Oh, doesn’t the cake look just grand!.  I know you’ll all enjoy it.”

“It does look wonderful.  And your theory?”

“Yes, my theory.  Bert’s wife loved flowers and plants, and he was always planting them around the yard.  My theory is that he had some hibiscus plants he was getting ready to set out and they got burned up in the fire.  The fire actually happened about this time of year.  This is when many people set out their hibiscus plants, but most people in this area don’t grow them.  I think Bert did because his wife loved them so much.”

“But why would seeing us trigger his memory of the hibiscus and the fire?”

“I have no idea. No, wait a minute.  Think back, when did Mr. Bert begin yelling?  Did he see you all at once?”

“No, he was raking and his back was to us.  I remember that the children called out his name and he turned around, smiling as he looked at them.  Then, he looked up at me, and that is when he began yelling.  I was the trigger!”

“Let’s see.  You are how old, Tom?”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“His oldest son was a teenager at the time of the fire.  He would be your age had he lived.  Oh my gosh! Now I know!”

“What is it, Miss Betty?”

“Just like Bert, the oldest son -- Thomas was his name -- was a tinkerer.  He was always fooling around with things.  I remember going over one time, just before the fire, and seeing young Thomas doing some welding or soldering or something like that.  His father told him to be very careful.  But he was a teenager, and kind of absent minded like his father to boot.  Bert was always checking behind him to make sure he cut things off and put things away.  Oh my gosh! That night, Bert was at a meeting.  I bet young Thomas was fooling around in the garage, or maybe even in his room.  Of course, he might not have been.  Bert might have just thought that he was. When Bert got home and saw the house in total flames, he probably thought  his son had accidentally left something on and that he, Bert, was not around to check on things.”

“But I thought you said that the cause of the fire was a faulty electrical connection.”

“That’s what I remember them saying.  Thomas probably had nothing to do with the fire. But Bert came to this conclusion before the fire marshal had issued his report.  By the time of the report, Bert had gone over the edge.  He went over the edge thinking that his son, his wonderful but absent-minded son, had caused the fire that ended his family’s lives.  That was what was in his mind at the very point he lost it.”

“Miss Betty, I’ve got to run a quick errand.  Do you think you can watch the children for a few minutes?”

“Why sure.  Where are you going?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Tom Jensen walked back to Bert Edward’s house and knocked on the front door.  There was no response.  He listened and could hear sobbing and muttering, “Baked Hibiscus!  Baked Hibiscus!”

Tom knocked once again and then tried the door.  Finding it unlocked, he went into the house.  There he found Bert Edwards sitting on a couch in the dark. 

“Mr. Edwards?  I’m Tom Jensen, one of your neighbors.  I’m so sorry I upset you.  Please forgive me.”

“Thomas?”

“No, Mr. Bert, Tom Jensen.  I know about your son Thomas and about your family.  I’m so sorry.  What you have been through is perfectly awful.  I just wanted you to know that your family loved you very much and that we all in this neighborhood love you very much.  You mean a great deal to everyone here.  I know my children love seeing you when they walk by.”

“Thomas?”

“I’m going to leave now, Mr. Edwards.”

“Call me Bert.”

“Bert.  My name is Tom.  We would love for you to come over sometime for a meal.  Would you like that?”

“Where?”

“Just down the street.  Or we can bring a meal over.”   Tom Jensen was so impressed at how the house looked.  It was so neat and well maintained, at least what he could see of it.

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

“Bert, I’ve just got one more thing to say, and I hope this doesn’t upset you.  Your son, Thomas, didn’t cause the fire at your house.  It was not his fault and it was not your fault.  It was a tragic accident.”

“Not his fault?”

“No sir.  There was a problem with the electric wiring.”

“Then it was my fault.”

“No, not at all. You did nothing wrong.”

“Can my family ever forgive me?” 

“There was nothing to forgive. They adored you as much as you adored them.” 

Bert Edwards then got up from the sofa and looked out the window.

“Tom, can I see my two little butterflies?”

“I think they’d love it, sir.”