The Sting of the Bee

by K E Lanning

  Lowry leapt into the stable, deafened by the rain pounding on the metal roof. She grabbed tack and ran to the stall of one the new cutting horses.

  She opened the stall, and murmured, “You’re okay, girl,” to the trembling mare. She stroked the mare with one hand as she threw the pad and saddle over her back. She eased the bridle over her head and led her out of the stall.

  Chuy ran down the steps from his room in the stable loft. He let the herd dogs out of their kennel and began to saddle the other mare.

  Over the clamor of the storm, Lowry shouted to Chuy, “Follow me as fast as you can!”

  Lowry swung in the saddle and kicked the mare into the driving storm. The mare hooves sloshed through the mud as they followed the wide track left by the hundred stampeding animals.

  The tracks headed toward the hills, and she hoped the cattle would slow when they approached them. With the next lightning strike, Lowry’s heart sunk; the cattle tracks had turned, heading toward the narrow valley that led to John’s land.

  “Damn!” Luck was not with her tonight.

  The rain pelted into her face as she turned to follow the herd through the valley. The usually narrow stream bed was filled with rushing water and the mare slipped in the deep mud, struggling to stay on the shifting bank. The cattle had slowed through the rising water as the stream became a surging river. She clenched her teeth. It might soon be a death trap.

  The cows broke away from the stream as the sides of the pass widened. Spurred by fresh bolts of lightning, the herd surged faster across the open fields on John’s property. Through a surreal strobe of lightning strikes, she watched the fruit trees John had planted get knocked over by the onslaught of insane beasts.

  Thundering past his house, the herd raced onto open land and she bent over the mare’s neck, kicking her hard to overtake the stampede. With her ears pinned flat back, the mare stretched out, her hooves flying over the wet ground. In a fading flash of lightning, Lowry saw the lead cow, galloping at the front of the herd. Lowry slapped the reins on the mare’s rear and steered her toward the cow, yelling, “Yah!” in an effort to get her to cut in front of the leader.

  The lead cow raced across the flats, her long hair matted across her face, her horns wet and glistening. Lowry gave the mare her head and she leapt to the front of the herd and cut off the leader, forcing her to the right. The lead cow broke into a trot, and the rest of the herd slowed.

  Chuy galloped up behind her. The herd dogs turned the exhausted cattle into a circle.

  “The storm’s moving off. We should be able to head them back home,” Chuy yelled.

  The cattle slowed to a walk, and they turned them back toward the farm.

  They walked past John’s house, and her heart dropped at the sight of him at the door. She nudged the mare toward him and stopped.

  She gestured with her arm. “The cattle stampeded from the storm—I am so sorry! I’ll come by in the morning to look at the damage. I know they took out some of your fruit trees—”

  John gripped his robe around him, his hair disheveled by the wind. “We’ll see tomorrow what your crazed cattle did. I’m going back to bed.” He started to turn away, then called after her, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  ***

  Early the next morning, Lowry walked by the repaired enclosure. Most of the cattle were lying down, calmly chewing their cuds. Relieved, she walked to the stable, saddled up Athira and headed over to John’s place. In the clear sunlight, the extent of the churned earth was shocking. She steered the horse to the edge of the muddy mess, onto solid ground.

  After the storm of last night, the air had cleared and sunlight sparkled on the scattered puddles of rainwater. The soil had absorbed the beneficial rain and the organic smell of earth drifted on the breeze. Hardy grasses carpeted the fields—grasses she had planted.

  Birds flitted through the air, butterflies gathered on the muddy ground, and wildflowers bloomed. There was a fierceness of life in the short, but intense growing season on the continent of Antarctica.

  Rocking to the mare’s leisurely gait, the lack of sleep of last night hit her, and she yawned in the warm sunshine. She approached the stream. The night before it had been a raging torrent, but now it flowed within its banks. Lowry nudged the mare forward into the river and let her drink from the cool water.

  Lowry glanced down river and froze at the sight of a cow, lying motionless half-submerged in the water. Shit. She urged the mare forward, the horse’s hooves made sucking sounds as they sank into the muddy, churned up bank.

  When they reached the battered body of the cow, Lowry shook her head. It was one of the young heifers. The once-beautiful red coat of the cow was now matted and dull. Buzzing flies crawled in and out of her lifeless nostrils. Lowry exhaled. Nothing to do but bury the poor beast.

  The mare nibbled on the leaves of a nearby bush, tugging the limbs toward her. Lowry picked up the slack in the reins and clucked to the mare. As the mare’s head lifted, a black crow burst through the tangle of branches, flashing upwards out of the shadows. Terrified, the mare leapt to the side, jerking Lowry into the bird’s line of flight. The crow’s cold beady eyes stared into Lowry’s and the waft from the glossy black wings stroked Lowry’s face. Their beat matched the thud of her heart.

  The bird flew across the stream and into the trees beyond, cawing, and Lowry shuddered at its mocking tone. She re-gripped the reins, got her feet back into the stirrups, and then stared at her trembling fingers. She scratched the mare’s neck, whispering, “It’s okay, girl,” not sure if she was talking to the horse or herself.

  Lowry tucked her hair back under her helmet and turned back toward John’s farm. The cow’s death and mocking crow shadowed their steps. Unease crawled up her back, like an insect between her shoulder blades. She shook her head to clear it, and when they reached solid ground along the river, she nudged the mare into a slow canter. The river flowed gently, meandering around boulders and snarled mats of brush left over from the flood. The murmur of flowing water calmed her mind, and she relaxed with the mare’s smooth canter.

  Lowry slowed the mare to a walk as she crossed into John’s land, dreading to see the consequences of last night’s stampede. Deep gouges, drying in the mud, marked the trail of destruction cutting through his land and into his orchard. John was already busy, setting the trees back up and stomping the soil into place.

  Stopping near him, she dismounted and hobbled her horse. She cleared her throat and smiled, and John nodded to her, but kept working. As she walked closer to him, she assessed the damage. Maybe a third of his orchard had been bowled over.

  Lowry chewed her lip and held the sapling upright while he re-staked the tree. “I’ll have Chuy come over with a tractor and smooth out the ruts. And unfortunately, pick up a dead cow, trampled during the stampede near the river.”

  With a last blow of the hammer, he shook the tree to make sure it was stable, then looked at her. “Sorry to hear about the cow, but I’d appreciate Chuy’s help.” He pointed toward a field to the left, tinted green with new growth. “At least they didn’t trample my baby wheat.”

  With a slight smile, he shrugged. “Don’t worry. Besides the tracks, they knocked down some fruit trees, but I just have to straighten and stake them until they re-root.” He moved to the last tree, beat the last of the stakes into the ground, and stood. “Want to come see my wheat?”

  They walked over to the field and he knelt, caressing the tiny plants, grinning like a proud father as the wind rippled the young shoots. The breeze ruffled John’s hair, and she glanced at his tanned face. He had become a different person since the Land Rush. His body honed to the life of farming, the stress of his former so-called easy living had fallen away like excess weight.

  Lowry grinned. “Farm life suits you.”

  John inhaled, gazing across the fields of wheat. “Yes, I love every minute of it. I have time to think while I work in the fields.” With a crooked smile, he tilted his head toward the hou
se. “Come have coffee with me.”

  As they strolled to the house, John pointed out the new buildings and gardens.

  “You’ve done a lot of work to the place!”

  “Thanks, Lowry. Ginnie helps a lot when she’s not in school.” John opened the door and pointed her toward the kitchen.

  He pulled a chair out for her at the kitchen table and called softly to the coffee maker, “Start coffee.” He stepped to the counter, grabbed a couple of cups, and set them on the table. He scraped the chair on the floor as he sat across from her.

  He cleared his throat. “Tell me how you’ve been, Lowry.”

  She lowered her eyes, staring at the table. The attack from the intruders had been weeks ago, but there were still nights she awoke, clutching her covers, terrified that someone was breaking in. But it was just the wind or the scratching of the dog.

  He moved the sugar closer to her. “Are you sleeping okay?” he asked softly.

  She breathed in the aroma of coffee and then met his gaze. “The nightmares are fading,” then she touched her cheek. “And my face is healed.” With a shrug, she smiled. “I’m better. Thanks for asking.”

  “Good.” He stood, grabbed the carafe of fresh coffee, and brought it to the table, filling the cups. Their hands touched as he gave her the cup and a jolt traveled up her arm. She turned away, unconsciously caressing the lip of the cup. It had been a long time since she’d been alone with John.

  John coughed, tapping his fingers on the table. Lowry glanced up at him. His face taut, he stared distractedly at his coffee cup. He gulped the hot brew and made a face. “Mmm, that’s some hot coffee,” he muttered, without looking at her.

  She bit the inside of her lip. He had felt the tremor as well.

  Fumbling with the spoon, she spilled sugar on the table, and then asked, “Do you have cream?”

  He turned abruptly. “Sure.”

  Their hands touched again as he handed her the cream. Her fingers trembled as she grasped the cool bottle, pouring the fresh cream into her cup. Languidly stirring the cream into the coffee, she looked into John’s face . . . and piercing gaze.

  CHAPTER 18

  John shielded his eyes from the bright light as he stepped onto the patio from the kitchen. He shook his head. Tonight was New Year’s Eve, but somehow it didn’t feel right with it being warm. At the bottom of the world, it was summer.

  John walked to the garden and dully slid on his gloves. He shuffled between the rows, distractedly pulling weeds from around the vegetables. If he couldn’t rid his mind of weeds, maybe he could at least do something about the ones in the garden.

  The drama of the Land Rush was over. Ginnie was gone; she’d taken her finals early and had left for the holidays to be with her grandparents in the States. Within a few days after her departure, he had awoken with a touch of depression. And like a tough piece of meat, it had to be slowly, yet thoroughly, chewed.

  John worked through lunch and stopped late in the afternoon. He fixed a glass of lemonade and sat on the porch, while the warm breeze dried the sweat on his body. The farm was in great shape—all he had done was work and sleep since Ginnie had left.

  His mind drifted toward thoughts of Lowry. The last time they’d been alone was after the stampede, and he hadn’t seen her since. With the daily survival of building a farm out of the hinterlands, the chance to mend their relationship seemed to slip away. Perhaps he was afraid to.

  The creak of the rocking chair calmed his mind with its cadence. Over the months, he’d realized he no longer felt guilty about his feelings for Lowry. Helen was gone and he was sure she would have wanted him to process his grief and move on with his life. She might approve of Lowry, even though the two women were such opposites.

  John stopped rocking suddenly, spilling his lemonade. Vacantly staring, he gripped the arm of the chair—he wanted to hold Lowry, to love her. Why am I sitting on this porch, pining over Lowry, instead of trying to win her? He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, the two of them working together for their future.

  He drank the rest of the lemonade and set the glass down. But did Lowry feel the same? When they were near each, their eyes locked for a second before they turned away. Or was he just imagining it?

  Henry wandered over and placed his head on John’s shoe. He bent down and stroked his head. “Are you missing your Ginnie?” he said softly.

  John exhaled. Even if Lowry loved him, would she marry him? He let the idea simmer, mulling over the practical consequences of marriage with her. Perhaps they could combine their land? Regardless, it would be a huge change for him, for Lowry, and for Ginnie. His brow furrowed, staring out at the horizon. Ginnie. He had to discuss all this with her.

  The evening cooled as the sun sank lower in the sky. John glanced at his watch, surprised at how long he’d been sitting on the porch. He jumped up and headed into the house. He’d been playing hermit too long. Tonight he was going to the New Year’s Eve bash.

  After a bath and shave, he dressed in the formal attire of Antarctica—jeans and a white cotton shirt. He brushed his hair in the mirror, then found himself trying to hide the strands of gray. With a sigh, he grimaced at the face in the mirror. You’re pathetic.

  John walked to the hover, glancing up at the birds dipping and darting in the sky overhead. “Wish me luck.”

  He cruised to the festivities, passing cultivated fields of tall wheat and barley, rippling in the wind. Over a hill, and the sparkling lights and crowds of people surrounding the new pavilion came into view. The pavilion had been designed and built by neighbors from this sector as a meeting place for families and friends, crafted out of native stone and built to last a century.

  Smiling, he imagined future weddings and anniversaries. Then his smile faded on the thought of the memorials which would also be held there. Everyone who had worked on it was being honored at the dedication tonight.

  A breeze picked up as John parked the hover, and he pulled on his jacket. He wandered through the crowd and steadied himself at the sight of Lowry, standing with a group of homesteaders. He walked toward her, catching tidbits of a heated political discussion.

  Bill, the Australian farmer adjacent to John’s land, ranted about the near-riot that had occurred at Nick’s last political fundraiser. “It was a setup, I tell you, a setup!”

  One of the others turned to Lowry. “I thought Durant had been run out of Antarctica. What do you think, Lowry?”

  Lowry shrugged. “I heard that he beat the charges—somehow. A terrifying prospect, but rumor has it that Durant will be running against Nick for president.”

  Bill pounded his fist into his other hand and yelled, “If that scoundrel is running, then I’m sure it was some of Durant’s men who started the ruckus.”

  Another farmer stepped in front of him. “How do you know it was Durant? Besides, he has the business know-how and connections to set up Antarctica. What does Nick have? He’s a backwoods miner with no experience running a country—especially a new one.”

  He shoved the Durant supporter. He staggered backwards, then leapt forward and punched Bill in the face, knocking him to his knees. With a growl, Bill charged into his opponent. The ring of farmers closed around the circling fighters, cheering like it was a boxing match.

  John jumped between them and pushed the men apart. “Settle this at the ballot box, not in the dirt,” he said sharply. “It’s New Year’s Eve, for god’s sake.”

  Lowry stepped into the circle, and said softly, “I know my Uncle Nick and I know Durant—we must support good over evil, my friends.” She gazed at each one in turn.

  Durant’s supporter spat onto the ground and turned away in a huff. The rest of the farmers walked toward the drink table, slapping Bill on the back.

  John turned and stepped toward Lowry. “Hi.”

  She shook her head with a grin. “Hi, yourself. Just had to get into the fray?”

  “What’s a New Year’s Eve party without a fight?”

  L
owry looked him up and down and straightened his jacket. “You’re looking mighty sharp tonight.”

  He found himself getting lost in her eyes and fumbled for something to say. “How about this weather? Little dry isn’t it?”

  Laughing, she slipped her arm in his, leading him toward the pavilion. “What a true farmer you’ve become! Unfortunately, I’m already feeding hay. I hope I have enough to last through the winter.”

  He was out of practice for repartee and smiled.

  “Where’s Ginnie tonight?” Lowry asked, looking behind him. “I have steaks and a box of veggies from the garden I wanted to give you two.”

  He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Miss Ginnie is away at Helen’s parents’ house for the holidays, so it’s just me, myself, and I.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt her studying his face. How well can she read me?

  “I’m sure Ginnie is having fun,” she said, touching his arm, “but I know the holidays are tough when you’re alone.”

  With a grin, she dragged him toward the bar. “So, let’s celebrate New Year’s Eve together.”

  They grabbed two glasses of champagne and retreated to the edge of the crowd.

  John raised his glass. “A toast to Cowgirl Lowry!”

  Lowry nodded. “And one to Farmer John.” Clinking his glass, she said, “Our first New Year in the New World.”

  “Happy New Year’s Eve, Lowry.” John murmured, meeting her eyes over the glass of bubbly.

  At the edge of the pavilion, the mayor of Amundsen raised his arms. “Friends and neighbors, welcome.”

  Lowry turned to listen, smiling at the jovial crowd. John stood one step behind Lowry, swallowing hard, as a strand of hair caressed her face in the light breeze.

  The mayor waved his hand toward the new building. “We have gathered here for the dedication of this stunning pavilion, and what better time to do this than on our first New Year’s Eve on Antarctica!”