The Sting of the Bee

by K E Lanning

  Lowry pressed her fingers on her brow.

  “Lowry, are you okay?” Ginnie asked, with a concerned look on her face.

  With a slight smile, Lowry replied, “I have a little headache coming on.”

  The mares pricked their ears up as the farm came into view.

  Lowry’s mind whirled. A three-way relationship between John, herself, and a grieving teenager could prove complex. John thought Ginnie hung the moon, and rightly so. Was there truly a place for her in their close-knit family?

  They reached the stable. Lowry dismounted and distractedly led her mare inside. They untacked, rubbed the horses down, and put them in their stalls. Ginnie tossed each of them a flake of hay. Holding Leo, Lowry waved goodbye to Ginnie as she and Henry hovered away, then they disappeared over the hill.

  Lowry knelt and scratched behind Leo’s ears. She wrapped her arm around him and heaved a sigh. “What odds do you give, boy?”

  Leo whined and licked her face.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t take that bet either.”

  CHAPTER 22

  On the morning of the trek, John and Ginnie hovered from the farm to Lowry’s place. John breathed in the clean air as they floated across fields full of wildflowers. It was a beautiful day in late summer with plentiful sunshine and a nice breeze—perfect weather to start an adventure.

  When they reached Lowry’s stable, they parked under the shed and walked inside.

  Lowry had coffee and a box of biscotti cookies waiting for them. “Grab a cup and a cookie. Before we go, I want to show off my new cow barn.”

  John sipped the warm brew as they followed Lowry to the new barn.

  “The UN had a contest for the perfect Antarctic barn and this design won. Lucky for me, the UN is furnishing the barn for free, but I have to submit reports monthly as to how it actually works.” Lowry pointed to the exterior. “Like all the Antarctic structures, it’s built of solar sheathing and roof, but this barn has double wind turbines in the ridge line.”

  John said, “I like the extended overhang on the shed areas.”

  “Yep, the cattle can hang out and not stand in the snow.”

  She opened the doors and they went inside. Lowry pointed to the watering and feed systems. “It’s completely self-sufficient. A constant stream of recycled water flows through the barn. Hay and feed come along a conveyor belt.”

  John walked over and tapped the conveyor belt. “Wow, this is amazing.”

  Lowry chuckled. “There’s an automated set of ‘poopbots’ collecting manure. They deposit it into composting containers, which, as it decomposes, heats the barn during the winter. And when the process is complete, we use it as fertilizer in the spring.”

  “Like the stablebot?” Ginnie asked.

  Lowry nodded. “Yes, but this system is more sophisticated.”

  Ginnie tapped the floor of the barn with her foot. “This is weird flooring.”

  “Yeah, it’s an absorbent floor with a slight incline, creating a runoff for the urine. Then it’s filtered and recycled into the drinking water.”

  John turned his head, gazing at the interior. “This barn is an engineering marvel. But I hope they have good repair people.”

  “Honestly, I’m terrified it will all break down in midwinter and we’re out here scooping poop!”

  John gestured to the roof. “I’m worried that all of our wind turbines will ice over in a snowstorm and stop working. Then bye-bye to our heat and power.”

  Lowry nodded. “That would be a disaster. Battery backups only last so long. We were lucky at the mining station to have geothermal energy.”

  They returned to the stable and Lowry pointed to Kisra’s stall. “Ginnie, you like Kisra, do you want to ride her?”

  “Sure.” Ginnie led Kisra out of her stall, clipped her into the cross-ties, and began grooming her.

  Lowry led Dalal out and brushed her, while John finished his coffee.

  With a glance to Ginnie, Lowry asked, “After you saddle Kisra, can you please saddle Dalal while I get your dad’s mount?”

  Ginnie nodded and Lowry disappeared out of the back doors, and returned, leading a large, spotted mule. She tied him to a post in the stable and handed John a brush. “I hope you don’t mind riding Oliver, the mule, John—he’s very sure-footed.”

  “I’ll be glad for another male on this trip.” John grinned. He petted Oliver’s neck and then brushed the dirt from his coat with firm strokes.

  Lowry brought the saddle and swung it onto Oliver’s back. The mule turned his head and glared at her. “He has a few idiosyncrasies, but he’s a good boy. Chuy brought him with the cutting horses and says he’s a great trail animal.” Oliver put his ears back when Lowry tightened the girth of the saddle.

  John chuckled. “Oliver and I will be the Curmudgeon Club trekkers.”

  In the cool morning air, they loaded the saddlebags with provisions and strapped on their bedding.

  Ginnie pulled on her gloves and helmet, then swung up on Kisra.

  John put his boot in the stirrup, and began to mount, but the saddle slipped over, and he almost fell. “Oliver,” he grumbled. Oliver flashed him a sardonic look as John pushed the saddle back into place. He tightened the girth again, and Oliver flattened his ears back. John walked the mule around and rechecked the tightness of the girth before he mounted. Oliver wouldn’t outwit him again—he hoped.

  Lowry led the colt out of the barn, keeping a tight grip on the lead rope. To distract him while she mounted Dalal, she gave him a piece of carrot. He happily chewed the carrot, but as she swung her leg over the saddle, he pulled back for an instant, jerking her backwards. Dalal stood still and Lowry got her feet in the stirrups, clucked and the mare started out. Bashira shook his head, then acquiesced, walking forward with the mare.

  Lowry glanced at John as he relaxed to the rhythm of the mule. “You’re bonding with Oliver.”

  With a grin, John winked. “I think we’re distant cousins.”

  They followed a faint trail toward the open country between the homesteads and the wilderness area. Lowry reached down and unsnapped the lead rope, letting the colt loose. “He should stay with us now and not try to return to the farm.” The colt circled around them, whinnying and picking at grass, but stayed with the group. They trotted up a long ascent to a high ridge at the border of the settlements.

  A cool breeze rippled across the crest, while the animals caught their breath.

  With a gasp, Lowry turned and pointed. “Look at the view.”

  To the east, the sparkling blue ocean stretched to the Earth’s curving horizon. Behind them lay the last vestiges of civilization: the bustling town of Amundsen and the port with tall ships docked in the bay; farther inland, the homesteads—shining like square-cut emeralds lying on the umber terrain. To the west, the mountains rose like elegant queens, with their crowns of ice and stoles of wispy clouds draped across their shoulders.

  Turning back to their journey, they gazed at the valley below, covered with tussock grass and scrubby brush—the beginning of the Concordia Wildlife Refuge. A meandering river spread out before them, flanked by a marsh on one side and a sandy shore of glacial till on the other.

  The land of humans disappeared over the horizon as they descended into the valley. Great flocks of waterfowl filled the air with wing and call. Excited at the new scents and sounds of wild life, the animals pranced along the trail. John clenched his teeth as his mule shied at a ptarmigan flying out from the tussock grass. The bird shot past Bashira, and the colt bolted down the slope, until the mares whinnied, and he returned bucking and pitching.

  They reached the slow-moving river by mid-morning and passed huge flocks of geese roosting on serene pools, while herds of caribou grazed nearby. Ginnie pointed out a bear lumbering along the brush on the far side of the river bank.

  In the warmth of the sun, they relaxed into the rhythm of the trek. As they traveled deeper into the refuge, they crossed tracks of raccoon, rabbits, and fox along the sandy riv
erbank.

  The noon hour approached and John’s stomach growled loudly. “Did you hear that bear? He must be getting close.”

  Ginnie made a face at him. “I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”

  Lowry smiled. “Okay, I get the hint.” She pointed to a grove of short trees ahead. “Let’s stop for lunch in the shade.”

  They dismounted, loosened the girths on the saddles, and hobbled the horses and the mule so they could graze. Ginnie pulled the day’s lunch out of her saddlebag and handed out sandwiches. They sat on the smooth rocks under the trees, ate and relaxed in the nothingness of being.

  Lowry gazed at the canopy of branches shading them. “It’s amazing how fast these trees have grown since I was a child. They were tiny when Uncle Nick and I came out here on a trail ride years ago.”

  Lowry pulled chocolate bars out of her saddle bag, and with a grin, handed them to John and Ginnie. “I always bring chocolate on trail rides.”

  After lunch, the breeze kicked up. The colt trotted back and forth as if impatient to get going.

  Lowry smiled at the colt and stood. “He’s got the right idea—we’d better get moving, so we can make it to my favorite camping spot before dusk.”

  John stretched his legs before he mounted, trying to ward off the saddle soreness. “I hope there’s a masseuse at this place.”

  Lowry signaled for them to pick up the pace and they cantered across the valley floor.

  John gazed around with the feeling he had been here before, so he nudged the mule faster, and caught up to Lowry. In a hushed voice, he asked her, “Is this the same place we had lunch that day before the Land Rush?”

  Lowry nodded.

  He glanced at Ginnie behind them. This could be awkward.

  They approached the narrow canyons which led to Lowry’s oasis, then slowed down and moved to single file. The canyon walls narrowed and the colt balked several times at the constricted passageway.

  The canyon walls widened and they rode into the small meadow with the pool of bubbling mineral waters. Once again, John felt the wonder of this secret place, inhaling the scent of flowers drifting on the humid air. After the dimness of the narrow passage they had left, the sun beamed into the blue green water with a benevolent welcome.

  Ginnie asked excitedly, “What is this place? It’s like something out of a fairy tale.”

  “This is my secret garden. No telling anyone, young lady.”

  “No way!”

  They untacked and hobbled the animals near the cold stream of water at the edge of the meadow.

  Lowry pointed to the spring. “Ginnie, this cold stream mixes with the hot thermal waters of the pool. Where they merge, the water is tolerable—you have to move until you find the perfect temperature.”

  Ginnie took her shoes off, put her feet in the pool, and sighed. “I love this place.” She pointed to a flowering plant hanging near the water. “Those are gorgeous flowers. Do they have a name?”

  “They are called Antarctic Bleeding Hearts, and this may be the only place they exist. This tiny pocket was kept warm by the geothermal waters, so some of the original flora of Antarctica survived.”

  John pulled a bottle of Chardonnay out of his saddle bag and put it in the cold stream to chill. “We’ll have to toast Lowry for bringing us to this enchanted place.”

  Lowry smiled, strolled to her saddlebag and grabbed a baguette of bread and a pouch. From the pouch, she lifted out a beautiful piece of salmon. “Dinner is on me tonight. John, can you get a fire started?”

  “Your word is my command.”

  Ginnie asked Lowry, “Can we please get in the water?”

  “Sure, I hope everyone brought a change of underwear?”

  “Underwear?” John asked innocently.

  “Dad, you’re just gross.”

  John started the fire, and they stripped down and slipped into the hot water. Ginnie floated around the pond, in and out of the vines that hung over the warm, fragrant water. John sighed as the warmth eased his saddle-sore body. He gazed at Lowry as she closed her eyes, leaning her head back on the moss-covered rocks.

  After they grew too hungry to stay in the water, they crawled out and patted themselves dry. Lowry cooked the salmon on the coals of the fire, and the spitting sounds of the grilling fish made John’s stomach growl. After a few minutes, Lowry took the salmon off of the grill and divided the fish into three pieces, placing them on the thin boards of wood she brought for plates.

  John pulled the bottle of wine from the spring, opened it, and poured wine in the camp cups for him and Lowry. He held up his glass of wine. “To the best, and dare I say, loveliest chef I know.”

  Ginnie giggled in the awkward silence which followed. “Dad, you’re embarrassing Lowry.”

  They devoured the salmon and the French bread, dripping with spiced olive oil.

  After dinner, Ginnie took the boards and washed them in a hot pool of water, laughing as tiny fish came to the surface, nibbling the leftover salmon floating on the water. “Minnows are eating our leftovers.” She set the boards out to dry and went to check on the animals.

  John and Lowry sat across from each other, finishing the wine as the fire burned down.

  With a sigh, he murmured, “It seems a lifetime ago since the first time—” His throat closed on his words. He coughed, staring into the embers. John took a deep breath, then gulped his wine and set the empty cup at his feet. “Grief is a funny thing; sometimes it behaves and stays in the corner where you put it . . . but sometimes it haunts you.” He gazed at her. “And though I’ll never forget, I’ve tamed the beast.” He shifted closer to Lowry. “I’m a new man since we were here last,” he whispered, caressing her arm.

  Behind him, Ginnie gasped. “You’ve been here before?” She stared at John.

  John jerked his head toward Ginnie. The fire illuminated the shocked look on her face. “Um, I, um, well,” he stammered, then he glanced at Lowry.

  Lowry grimaced. “It’s my turn to ‘check the horses,’ while you continue your eloquent explanation.” John chewed the inside of his mouth, staring at Lowry’s profile as she rose and walked to the animals.

  Ginnie sat where Lowry had been, crossing her arms as she stared at him.

  Exhaling, he looked into Ginnie’s annoyed face. “Yes, Lowry and I had a picnic here the day before the Rush.” With a shrug, he grimaced. “I loved your mother very much, and you are my precious child, and I would do anything rather than hurt you.” With a pinched face, John turned away and thrust a stick into the fire. “But, Ginnie, I’m also a man, and I need companionship.”

  She crossed her arms. “And when did you plan on telling me?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “I feel bad that I haven’t said anything to you.” He swallowed hard. “Since your mother’s death, I’ve struggled with the weight of grief, and you the same. Between heartache over your mother, and honestly, the guilt over my attraction to Lowry, it’s been very hard to broach the subject with you.” He leaned toward her, whispering, “I can’t help it—I have strong feelings for Lowry.”

  Ginnie stared into the campfire. “I knew someday you might find someone else, but I hoped it would be later.” With her lips tight, she shot a look at him. “I’m more upset that you haven’t been upfront with me.”

  He grabbed her hand, gazing into her face. “When Lowry and I picnicked here months ago, I wasn’t ready for a relationship.” With a sigh, he continued. “While you were away, I saw her on New Year’s Eve, and we reconnected.” He squeezed her hand. “Ginnie, you must understand that I love Lowry.”

  “Are you sure, Dad?” She put her hand over his. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  John raised his eyebrows. “No guarantees in life or love, I’m afraid.”

  With a frown, she whispered, “Now I know why she was talking about her mother’s death and my mom’s death.” She looked at him. “I guess she was trying to bond with me?”

  John stared at her. “Ginnie, I
asked Lowry to get to know you.”

  Ginnie twisted her mouth. “Okay.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “I’m just feeling weird—it’s going to take time for me to sort this out.” She looked at him. “I know that mom would want you to be happy, and that’s the most important thing. Lowry seems nice, but we don’t know her very well—you always tell me that.” Ginnie scooted next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, and sighed. “I suppose it could have been worse—like that awful bitch in Amundsen who was putting the move on you?”

  Laughing, John shook his head. “Don’t remind me.”

  Twilight was fading, and Lowry called out from behind them, “Is it safe to come back?”

  He waved his arm for Lowry to return.

  Lowry brought blankets, handed them around, and sat across from them. Lowry looked at their faces. “A good father-daughter talk?”

  “Handled with my usual finesse.” John hugged Ginnie.

  The howl of wolves broke into their conversation. Sucking her breath in, Ginnie looked back and forth between John and Lowry.

  Lowry’s voice was tense. “I think we’d better build up the fire before we hit the sack, and maybe we should get our pistols out, just in case.” She shot a look at John. “I never had to worry about predators, at least non-human ones, before the UN decided to populate Antarctica with a balanced ecosystem.”

  “I know; it’s a double-edged sword.” He shook his head. “It’s wonderful to create the wildlife preserves but I hope with an adequate barrier to the homesteads.”

  John turned on his flashlight and pulled dead brush across the narrow opening to the oasis. He unfurled his sleeping bag on the side of the fire closest to the entrance. “I’ll sleep here, so if there are any intruders, they’ll have to get by me first.” He got his pistol and placed it under his camp pillow. “I think both of you should sleep on the other side of the fire.”