by Emma Davies
He swallowed, knowing that Maria would jump on his next words with excitement and he would have to explain himself. ‘That thing you said would happen to me one day which would change my life forever. I think it might have happened.’
‘Oh…’ There was a soft sigh. ‘Well in that case it won’t be good to see you at all. Don’t you dare come home.’ He could almost hear her thinking and then: ‘Oh no, no, no you don’t, Amos, don’t you dare run. Amos, this is a good thing. People have got to find out one day. And you know I’m only saying this because… well, probably because I’m the only one who can, but you’ve kept this inside for long enough. It’s time for you to realise that you’re the only one who thinks the way you do. It’s time to give someone else a chance to understand, someone that isn’t me. And I know you’re terrified there won’t be anyone else, but do yourself a favour and find out.’ Her voice rose as she spoke. ‘Amos?’ she prompted into the silence that followed.
Now it was his turn to sigh. ‘You’re not supposed to say things like that. You’re supposed to say, “Yes of course, I understand, come home as soon as you can.”’
‘No, I’m not. I’m your friend and what kind of a friend would I be if I told you to ignore the one thing that could bring you happiness?’
‘So, anyway,’ said Amos lightly, and slightly louder. ‘I was just ringing to let you know where I am and that if you need me for anything, to ring the farm.’
There was an exasperated laugh from the other end. ‘No you didn’t. You rang because you want me to invent some plausible excuse for why you need to leave, I know you too well. So, save your breath, Amos, because I’m not going to, not this time. But what I will be doing is rooting for you, because I believe in you and I want to see you truly happy.’
Amos smiled. ‘Well, that told me then.’
‘Yes, it did,’ replied Maria. ‘Come home, but only when you’ve done what you need to do… Oh, and bring her with you. I’d like to meet the woman who’s finally mending your heart. Does she have a name?’
‘She does…’ He paused, wondering whether to share this information. ‘It’s Grace…’
Her name felt soft upon his lips and he smiled as he hung up. He could go for months without speaking to Maria, but it was always the same when he did; she had him sussed in seconds.
He moved away from the phone, heading back towards the kitchen to claim his drink. But he had only taken a couple of steps when he realised that the door to the dining room was partially open. On his way to make his phone call he hadn’t been able to see into the room because of the direction the door opened, but now, walking back on himself, he was able to look directly in to where Fraser was sitting at the table, poring over some paperwork. For a moment he thought he might have got away without being noticed, but then Fraser raised a hand in greeting as he passed.
Amos could have kicked himself, but it never occurred to him that anyone else might have been in earshot. He tried to recall his conversation with Maria, focusing on the things he had said rather than her words, which Fraser would never have been able to hear. He’d said Grace’s name, that was all. He had probably got away with it.
16
Grace hadn’t been able to shake the feeling all morning and now, as she waited for Amos to arrive, if anything it was becoming stronger. With all the plans that had been made and all the work that had been done it should have felt like a beginning, but it didn’t, it felt more like the end of something, and Grace couldn’t understand why. Perhaps it was just the inexorable passing of the weeks; the summer had swelled to its height and was now beginning its descent through August and, following that, the slide into cooler days. Autumn was a season that Grace loved, but she always felt a certain sadness at seeing the end of the summer coming closer. But that was weeks away yet and still the feeling persisted.
They had all been madly busy over the last few weeks, and none more so than Amos as he tried to fit in work on her house as well as on the farm. It wasn’t really surprising therefore that today was the first day that he was actually going to get a look at the hives. There simply hadn’t been time for any more visits, not together anyway, and Amos knew no more about beekeeping now than he did when he had first suggested the idea. Still, it was better late than never, and Grace knew that he was very excited to be finally meeting her bees.
She checked the kitchen clock again just as Amos appeared in the patio doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand. He grinned when he saw her and placed a finger across his lips.
‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell anyone but I might have… erm, appropriated these on my way up.’ He handed her the bouquet.
Grace laughed. ‘You pinched them, you mean.’
Amos pretended to be hurt. ‘I was merely tidying up. They’re the stragglers from the ends of the rows, I’m afraid.’ His expression softened as he looked at her. ‘Still beautiful though.’
She blushed slightly and turned away on the pretext of finding a vase. There was no mistaking what Amos had actually meant, he wasn’t referring to the flowers at all, and it was just the sort of lovely thing he would say. But he didn’t mean anything by it, how could he, when he would be leaving in a matter of weeks? Unbidden, her hand went to her cheek as her nose began to smart and she took a deep breath to try and quell the rise of her emotion. Because that’s what the problem was of course; Grace had got very used to having Amos standing in her kitchen, or sharing a meal with her, their laughter ringing around the room. She had got used to standing at her bedroom window for a moment before she went to bed, saying a silent goodnight to the man she knew would be sleeping somewhere in her garden. But, more than anything, Grace had got used to how Amos made her feel and she couldn’t bear the thought of him going away.
She tried to gather herself. If she wasn’t careful she would ruin the day by being maudlin and Amos was here with her now and that was all that mattered. She blinked rapidly and brightened the expression on her face before turning back around.
‘Aren’t they just. And they’re not stragglers any more either, that role has fallen to the next in line. Now these are in pride of place, from zero to hero, just like that. I don’t know how you do it, Amos, but you even make the flowers feel better.’
Now it was Amos’s turn to blush. He looked away, embarrassed, no, not embarrassed… something else that Grace couldn’t quite determine. She groaned inwardly. Oh, for goodness’ sake, they had better get on or the day was going to go from bad to worse.
‘Well then, are you ready for this?’ she asked, deliberately grinning. ‘I have told the bees to expect a visitor this afternoon and warned them to be on their best behaviour.’
Amos looked up and she was relieved to see he was smiling.
‘And what did the bees say?’ he asked.
‘About time too,’ she replied. ‘So I guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting, should we?’
‘I’m ready if you are. Just as long as you promise that there will be no photographic evidence of me in a beekeeper’s suit.’
Grace pulled a face. ‘Spoilsport.’
Amos was more nervous than he cared to admit. And not just about the bees. It wasn’t that he was nervous of getting stung per se, it was more that he worried that by doing something foolish he might cause a bee to sting him, thereby sentencing it to death. It was a thought he was finding increasingly difficult to keep from his mind. Coupled with the slight change in Grace’s mood that he had noticed over recent days, he was beginning to find his thoughts freewheeling, and it wasn’t a feeling that Amos enjoyed.
He was well aware that to others his life might have appeared chaotic, but he preferred the sense of optimism and possibility this gave him rather than the complacent or static existence that most people seemed to favour. By contrast, however, on the inside, Amos rarely felt chaotic. It had taken a long time to achieve this equilibrium which, over the last few weeks, had been sorely tested, and today he was finding it increasingly difficult to contain his thoughts. But, for Gr
ace’s sake, he must, and he drew in another deep breath.
It was understandable that Grace’s anxiety was building. In just over a week her house would be full of guests for the weekend and, assuming everything went well, she would know that her future in the house was secure. It was her reward of course, but he wondered if she could see, as he could, that the penalty was in the loss of Grace herself. Whereas a few weeks ago she had begun to open up to ideas, to bloom under the energy created by possibility, now she was beginning to constrict again, her field of vision narrowing more and more with each passing day as all her thoughts became centred on her house and this one point in time. It was how she would be left when the weekend was over that worried Amos. But how on earth could he even begin to explain that Grace’s absolute conviction that keeping the house would solve all her problems wasn’t necessarily a good thing, not when everything they had done over the last few weeks would culminate with her attaining her dream?
He looked up and smiled. ‘Come on then, let’s go and say hello to the bees.’ He pushed his shoulders downward, willing them to relax, and tried to clear his mind from rushing thoughts.
A few minutes later, once they were suited up, strangely Amos did begin to feel calmer. Perhaps it was the beekeeper’s hat which helped. It made him feel a little like an astronaut, a stranger in a strange land, and he instantly became very aware of how he was moving and even breathing. Grace walked on ahead of him, but she paused once they neared the hives.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Humble,’ replied Amos, a little surprised by his choice of word. He had said the first thing that came into his mind, but now that he thought about his response he realised how perfect it was.
‘Then we’re good to go,’ said Grace, smiling. ‘And don’t forget, if you need to back away at any time, just do so. The hive is very full and the sheer number of bees can be overwhelming. It’s not a sign of weakness if you panic.’
Amos nodded, swallowing. ‘So just how many bees would that be exactly?’
Even through the net of her hat, Amos could see Grace’s eyes twinkling. ‘Well, you know I’ve never counted them… exactly… but roughly? Getting on for close to a hundred thousand.’
Amos could feel his eyes widening.
‘But don’t worry, they won’t all be at home,’ Grace added. ‘Now, once I lift the lid you can expect to have a few bees pinging at you. They’re guard bees just doing their job, but ignore them and just stand still, okay?’
He nodded again, his mouth suddenly dry as he stood beside her.
‘So this is what’s called a top bar hive,’ continued Grace, removing the lid. ‘And inside are rows of slats, or the bars as they’re called, and it’s from these that the bees begin to build their comb – straight down, with any luck. So what we end up with are rows and rows of comb with a space between them just big enough for a bee to crawl. And, at this time of year, with a new brood raised and the numbers in the hive increased, the production of honey is being stepped up and up; it’s what the colony will need to live off during the winter.’
He watched while Grace worked a metal tool under the edge of both sides of one of the bars to loosen it from where it was stuck to the hive. She waggled it experimentally to check if it was free.
‘Are you ready for this?’ She grinned and, as he nodded, lifted the bar straight up into the air.
The buzzing changed gear, becoming louder as a mass of bees was lifted clear of the hive, all clinging to the sheet of honeycomb they had made. For a second he felt a moment of panic, assailed by their sheer number, the power that emanated from within this giant machine, but then, as quickly as it came, the feeling disappeared and his discomfort turned to absolute awe. Amos was witness to a spectacle that few had seen and he did indeed feel humbled to be in the presence of such amazing creatures. His eyes feasted on their furry bodies, blurred in the movement of their dance, until it was hard to make out top from bottom, and he watched them for a moment, entranced by their industry in motion.
Grace turned the bar until it was facing her and she held it up so that Amos could see it.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
Amos’s eyes were still fixed on the comb. ‘I think it’s…’ he began, trailing off, his head suddenly filling with adjectives, none of which seemed to accurately describe how he was feeling. ‘Profound…’ he said eventually, even then the word sticking in his throat.
Grace smiled. ‘It gets you like that, doesn’t it? And do you feel incredibly small, and utterly insignificant?’
Amos’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh yes,’ he sighed. ‘That’s exactly it…’
‘And what if I were to tell you that each honey bee, in the whole of her lifetime, only makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey… and yet they continue to do so, knowing that however little it is, their cumulative work is what counts. Every bee is a teeny tiny cog in a very big wheel, but they are a part of something far, far greater than they could ever be individually.’
Amos stared at her. ‘If that were us, we’d give up,’ he answered. ‘No question about it.’ His eyes were still searching the comb in front of him. ‘I think that’s the most inspiring thing I’ve ever seen.’
‘Which is why, whenever I get to the bottom of a jar of honey, I make sure I use every last drop.’ She shifted her grip slightly, pulling a face. ‘It’s getting heavy,’ she added. ‘And you can see where the honey is… all those cells which are capped with paler-looking wax, they’re full and have been sealed by the bees.’
Amos peered closer, nodding. ‘So, this is going to sound like a stupid question, but I’m going to ask it anyway… How do you get the honey out?’
Grace rested the bar on the top of the hive for a moment. ‘I’ll give you a clue…’ She grinned. ‘It’s very sticky!’ She picked up the metal hive tool and pressed one corner of the blade into one of the wax-covered cells. Immediately honey began to ooze from it. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Stick your finger in it…’
He pulled off a glove and did so, finding he wasn’t concerned about the bees at all, and brought his finger to his lips. He nodded at Grace. ‘God, that’s good.’
‘The harvest is different every year,’ explained Grace. ‘And depends on the condition of the hive. The bees need the honey to survive the winter and so I only take the excess, judging what that is, hive by hive, and year by year.’ She smiled. ‘I think this year’s going to be a good one, but the honey won’t be ready for another month or so yet.’
Amos looked up, the unspoken sentence framed in the air between them. He would be gone by then.
Grace began to slide the bar back into the hive. ‘The hardest part is getting the bees to relinquish their honey, as you can imagine. The comb is literally cut from the bar and put in a bucket before it’s taken, mashed up, and sieved to strain off the wax, leaving clear honey. Although the bucket has a one-way valve on it so that the bees can crawl out but can’t get back in again, it doesn’t always work; I always end up with a few passengers.’
She frowned. ‘I love my bees, but they can break your heart. Harvest time is wonderful, but it’s tinged with sadness too, well, for me anyway.’ She sighed. ‘It reminds me how opportunist the human race can be. Always looking to see how we can profit from a situation. I might lack the mercenary streak that some beekeepers have, but essentially I’m no different. I still sell honey.’
Her face was partially hidden by the folds of her veil, and Amos couldn’t quite see her expression, but he could tell how she was feeling.
‘Grace, the fact that you even think that way is testament to your true character. Your bees are lucky to have you.’
She smiled then. ‘We’re lucky to have each other,’ she said. ‘And I always feel inordinately proud and honoured that they choose to stay with me. Because, make no mistake, they do choose. I have three full hives but even if you provide the ideal conditions, there’s no guarantee that the bees will accept them.’
She tilted her head to one side, looking across to Amos. ‘Perhaps that’s why I like them so much. When other things in your life seem so transient, or uncaring, at least I have the bees’ validation.’
Amos badly wanted to hug her. To reassure her that everything would be okay but, apart from the fact that their beekeeping suits would make it next to impossible, he wasn’t sure he could even provide that reassurance. It wasn’t his to give.
‘Well, I’m sure I’ve heard you say on more than one occasion that your bees know everything, and they are obviously an exceedingly good judge of character.’ He touched a hand to her sleeve where a solitary bee was still crawling, hoping that it would climb on board his finger so that he could relocate it back to the hive.
‘Come on, little one,’ he said. ‘Back you go.’ To his amazement the bee complied, causing Grace to laugh.
‘Well, would you look at that. I think you can now add Bee Whisperer to your list of many talents.’
Amos waited until the bee had crawled from his finger. ‘Thank you for showing me your bees, Grace,’ he said. ‘I’m honoured to have met them. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll be in a position to offer a home to some bees myself.’
Grace’s face lit up. ‘Do you really think you would?’
‘Well, I’d like to; so really I’m already halfway there.’ He was fudging the issue slightly. They both knew that for Amos to keep bees he would need to stop travelling…
Conscious that he wanted the mood to remain light, Amos looked back at the hive. ‘So do we need to look at anything else?’
Grace began to prise loose another bar. ‘I usually check a few combs at this time of year to see how the honey production is going and the overall condition of the hive. If everything looks okay, I’ll leave them for a few weeks to get on with things. The brood bees have mostly hatched now and, although this hive is full, the risk of a swarm is probably passed.’
