Broken Butterfly

  What others are saying about Broken Butterfly

  Broken Butterfly is a bitter-sweet romance that kept me wondering how Mallory would manage to overcome her broken past to start a new life in Paradise. I didn’t stop until I had read to the end of this engaging story.

  Rachel, UK

  Cindy Patterson’s debut novel, Broken Butterfly, is a wonderful, heartwarming story with a secret cleverly cocooned inside.

  CliffordRush, Author, No Mind Has Conceived

  A tender and touching story about love and one young woman’s struggle to trust her heart and instincts while overcoming her fears.

  Susan Stuckey, Author, Tales of Aldura

  This book is a testament to great storytelling and writing. It pulled me in at the beginning and didn’t let me go until the last page.

  Katelin Maloney, Domestic Violence Advocate

  Broken Butterfly

  CINDY PATTERSON

  © 2014 Cindy Patterson. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-4627-5573-8 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4627-5574-5 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4627-5572-1 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014919024

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  In Memory of

  Angie Morris Webb

  (1968-2008)

  One

  Charlotte, North Carolina

  Pounding echoed through the women’s shelter.

  Mallory Scott froze, one hand submerged in soapy, dish water. She glanced, unable to stop herself. The door was locked, bolted shut.

  Jake couldn’t know she was here.

  Unwilling to take the risk, she hurried down the back hallway and into the bathroom. She fumbled with the lock and closed her eyes when the latch snapped. Panic crushed her torso, making it impossible to take a full breath.

  The banging stopped. Her legs gave out and she slid to the floor as the sound of an unfamiliar male voice resounded through the wall separating the bathroom and den. Pine cleaner and moldy grime saturated her lungs. Part sob, part cough escaped her throat.

  The voices in the next room grew louder. “It was Mr. Thomas across the street complaining about the trash container not being moved back. Whose week is it?”

  Mallory pulled herself up onto shaky knees and flushed the empty toilet. The tense atmosphere of the two story house never changed.

  The tightness in her stomach eased. It hadn’t been Jake. The terror had passed, for now, but would it ever be over? How could she expect anything different? She couldn’t. Not when she was doing the only thing she could. Run.

  “You can finish the breakfast dishes now, Mallory.” The house mother’s frustrated voice echoed through the dark, paneled walls.

  Mallory left the safety of the bathroom and moved toward the front door. “It’s my week.” It didn’t matter that it wasn’t, that it was actually Bonnie’s turn. She’d take the blame before someone else was forced to.

  She moved outside to the warmth of the morning sun. Fighting the urge to run and cover her face, she walked with steady movements. Each step was calm, composed and contradicting the fierce battle raging in her chest that didn’t ease until she found her place at the kitchen sink.

  Stephanie, her housemate, wiped the table. “Hey, don’t let Bonnie get to you. She’s been grouchy all day.”

  “It’s okay.” Mallory finished scrubbing caked-on grease from the frying pan. “I just freaked.”

  Bonnie couldn’t help her short fuse. Watching her child suffer to the point of death at the hands of a man she chose to stay with had to haunt her every minute, her every second. How could Mallory feel anything but sympathy for the woman?

  Stephanie placed a thin, cool hand on her shoulder. “You’re only twenty-two. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. It won’t be long and you’ll be out of here.”

  After securing the last few bread crumbs scattered across the counter with the ragged dish rag, she rinsed the cloth and set it out to dry. At least I’m safe.

  Living in the women’s shelter weighed on every ounce of sanity Mallory had left.

  There had to be an escape. She had to believe that.

  Paradise, Pennsylvania

  Eric Matthews stepped into the kitchen and inhaled the spices of simmering sausage. He grabbed a cup of coffee from the counter. “Are you expecting guests this morning, Mother?”

  She lifted a casserole from the oven and faced him, her hazel eyes deep in thought. Her dark, gray streaked curls lay perfectly across her head. “No, but that’s exactly what I should do. Mr. Chamberlain’s sister has moved into the mansion. I should plan a brunch.” Her smile widened. “Her daughter, Victoria, moved in as well. You have to introduce yourself. A handsome young man like you would be quite the catch.” She set the glass dish on the table and straightened his collar. “You should be settling down. Of course, Victoria’s unmarried if she’s still staying with her mother.”

  The grim twist of his mouth went unnoticed. Being the niece of the most prominent man in Lancaster County didn’t matter to him. To his mother, status was the most important thing. His stomach churned as he thought of the man—of the meeting that could change everything.

  “I’m sure I’ll run into her sooner or later,” he told her, though he didn’t plan to play his mother’s match-making games. He finished his last bite and hid a smile. If he let his lips relax the slightest bit, he’d blurt his true feelings. Standing to leave, he kept his gaze averted, avoiding the delighted stare she’d give him if she found out he was heading to the Chamberlain mansion.

  Eric grabbed his briefcase, climbed into his Silverado, and adjusted the air control. He drove through the long, winding roads of Paradise, Pennsylvania. Two Amish children, standing by a barn, waved as he passed. Deep in thought, he almost missed their bright smiles.

  He’d already met with Mr. Chamberlain twice, but today would
determine whether he’d be awarded the children’s home project. After slowing for a horse and buggy, he turned onto Stragsburg Road.

  He arrived at the mansion and tucked the drawings under his arm. Climbing the steps leading to the front, he rang the bell and turned toward the driveway. Spring flowers sprinkled with early-morning dew surrounded the concrete fountain. A butterfly wove in and around the colorful rows of plants, her blue wings gleaming against the sunlight.

  Sebastian opened the door. “Mr. Matthews, Mr. Chamberlain is expecting you. You’re a few minutes early. Can I offer you some refreshment while you wait?”

  “No, thank you.” Eric rubbed a hand across his belly, the starched shirt stiff beneath his fingers. “I had a large breakfast.”

  “I’ll let Mr. Chamberlain know you’ve arrived.”

  “Thank you.” Eric took a seat on the foyer bench. He studied the stair rail cascading down from the balcony. Dark, high heeled shoes sparkled from the top of the stairway. His eyes followed the slim, curvy figure moving with slow, assured steps. Dark blue jeans separated the slender waist line and tight pink turtleneck. Long, wavy hair tumbled down both shoulders.

  He stood. Was that Victoria?

  Allowing a few strands of hair to drift through her fingers, she locked her gaze with his. Against her deep tan, her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires. “Hi, I’m Victoria.”

  The scent of coconut and flowers filled the space between them. “Nice to meet you.” He took her hand, the pink, manicured nails glimmering under the sky light. “Eric Matthews.”

  “Well, Eric Matthews, you’ll have to show me around. It’s easy to get lost on these back roads.” She twisted the diamond pendant hanging below her neck line. “Though thanks to you, Lancaster County suddenly looks more interesting.” Victoria turned and flipped her hair over one slender shoulder as she disappeared around the corner.

  His mind whirled as Mr. Chamberlain walked from his office and cleared his throat. “Mr. Matthews?”

  Eric took his offered hand. “Mr. Chamberlain.”

  He grabbed his briefcase and followed the older gentleman into his office. With the image of Victoria smoldering in his mind, Eric removed his financial projections from the folder and set them on the table. Mr. Chamberlain unrolled the prints and examined the drawings.

  Grasping the desk’s edge with both hands, the man leaned forward. “This is interesting. I like your concept.”

  “I added two rooms with the extra square footage.” Pointing at the corner section of the sketch, Eric’s chest swelled with thoughts of the orphans. “I designed a teenager’s retreat with an outside door that leads to a gazebo.” His breathing quickened. He had to make this work. Not only for him, but for them. “And here a similar place for the preteens.”

  “What a splendid idea! The effort you’ve put into these drawings is obvious, and the heart you have for the children is evident in your work.” Mr. Chamberlain turned and shook his hand. “I would be delighted to partner with you on this journey.”

  Eric shook the man’s hand with his firmest grip. “Thank you, sir.”

  As they left the office, he ran his hand through his hair. What if he couldn’t pull this off?

  Victoria approached from the hallway corridor.

  “Oh good, you’re still here.” Mr. Chamberlain wrapped an arm around the young woman. “Eric, I’d like to introduce you to my niece, Victoria.”

  She leaned into her uncle, her expression somber, childlike. “We’ve already met.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Victoria’s gaze burned through him. “I was hoping Mr. Matthews would show me around.”

  “That’s a splendid idea.”

  Victoria slipped a piece of paper into Eric’s palm. “Call me.” She sauntered away, her thin frame swinging with each step.

  His cheeks flamed as he turned to face Mr. Chamberlain. He couldn’t possibly entertain the idea of calling her. Not now when so much rode on this project.

  “You couldn’t describe my niece as shy, now could you?” He slapped Eric on the back.

  Eric gave a polite laugh. “Thank you, sir, for taking the time to meet with me. I look forward to doing business with you.”

  “Yes, me too, son. I see us working well together.”

  Mr. Chamberlain’s steady and sure answer hung in the space surrounding him as Eric walked to his truck, his mind racing.

  I did it.

  He’d been trying to land the account for months. The four million dollar job could be the beginning to his financial security, but more than that, it was something he’d dreamed of his whole life—doing something, anything to help the orphans. And if he knew anything, it was this—Mr. Chamberlain would make sure the young people were given a future filled with love.

  Turning the key in the ignition, one more thing occupied his mind as he continued onto the main road—the smell of coconut and flowers.

  Mallory tightened her pony tail, careful not to touch the tender scar on her scalp. She collapsed into the sunken mattress and hoped the dreams that haunted her nights wouldn’t find their way to her consciousness. Sleep knew no pity.

  A rough, deep voice, one she’d never forget, growled in sharp tones a floor below. She opened her eyes, terrified she’d see his face. Her lips quivered, but she didn’t cry out. Wrapping the blanket in a death grip around her fingers, she yanked it to her chest.

  Stephanie burst through the bedroom door and locked it behind her. “Mallory, you have to get out of here.”

  Blood rushed to her head. “What do I do?” The whispered question sounded absurd. She’d practiced this scene a hundred times, but the words fell from her lips in a desperate attempt to remain calm.

  “Grab what you can. We don’t have much time. Jake’s outside on the porch.”

  Mallory stood too quickly and dizziness gripped her. She blinked and focused on the clock. Two fifty am. Every muscle of her body fought against her resolve to move forward.

  “Bonnie won’t be able to hold him downstairs long, but we can’t wait for the cops.” Stephanie’s voice was edged with warning.

  This would be her only chance to escape. Her pulse pounded, vibrating through her head. “Where will I go? It’s the middle of the night.”

  “We’ll figure that out when I get you out of here.”

  Mallory grabbed her worn, black duffle bag from under the bed. She crammed it with her few items of clothing and the shoe box holding her most precious possessions. Jake’s harsh tone and Bonnie’s high pitched voice reverberated through the walls. Stephanie was right. She had to go now.

  Mallory treaded softly across the dark room, her heart thudding with the sound of each squeak of the floorboard. She waited as Stephanie pried open the window then followed her down the fire escape into the back yard. The cool breeze jolted her senses. Tall pines lined the shelter’s acre of land, enclosing it from everything but the street. The exterior light illuminated several meters and she wanted to be free from the glow threatening to expose her. Her breath came in short spurts as her bare feet met the cold, wet grass, her shoes stuffed in the bag.

  The shock of Jake finding her mingled with disbelief. She swallowed the tremors climbing up her throat as she followed Stephanie toward a leafy canopy blocking the starlight.

  A frightened gasp slipped from her mouth as they stepped past the first row of trees. “Wait, shouldn’t we go to the street?”

  Stephanie shook her head. “It’s too bright. This is a shortcut. Try to stay on the trail.”

  Mallory could see no trail. She could see nothing. The thin nightgown clung to her clammy skin. She scrambled through the pine brush, ignoring the gelatin feel of her legs. The sensation of being trapped in a nightmare filled each step. Where were they going? She clamped her mouth shut, her unanswered question stifled.

  I’ll never be free.

  M
allory pushed past an undersized pine tree. A branch swung back and caught her lip. The rusty taste of blood dripped on her tongue.

  Finally, street lights filtered through in random streaks, brightening the casing of leaves hovering above them. Briars scraped her bare feet as she maneuvered through the last stretch of trees.

  “What now?” Mallory’s voice trembled.

  “I know someone who can help. A lady I met at church.”

  A silent alarm pulsated through her. “You want to go there now?”

  “She lives there.” Stephanie pointed in the direction of the neighborhood.

  “It’s three in the morning. We can’t knock on her door at this hour.”

  Stephanie sprinted onto the street. “She won’t mind. Come on.”

  Mallory weighed the distance and moved forward, keeping pace with the thrashing of her pulse. She didn’t expect this woman to welcome them in the middle of the night, even a church-going woman.

  They ran along the grass behind a row of Leyland Cyprus separating the property.

  Stephanie stopped. “There it is. Wait here.” After one more glance over her shoulder, Stephanie faced her fully. “Don’t worry. The police have Jake in custody by now.”

  Mallory looked toward the dark mass of trees. Stephanie was right. If Jake had followed, he would have caught them by now. She twisted the handle of her bag to immobilize her shaking hands. Stephanie drew closer to the house, farther from her. The crunch of dead leaves beneath Mallory’s feet intensified with each step inching her forward.Sudden movement in the brush echoed through the eerie silence and a hollow feeling filled her head.

  Two

  After a long day of ordering materials for tomorrow’s breaking ground at the children’s home site, Eric sat straight up, his sleep-filled eyes searching the clock. Three a.m. He fluffed his pillow and laid back, his arms stretched out behind his head. He returned home last night only to hear more banter about Mr. Chamberlain’s sister and niece’s arrival. He’d been careful not to mention that he’d met the young woman.