by Vivi Holt
Cindy laid her red acrylic fingernails on Isabella’s forearm. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. “Now tell me, Issie – how are you holding up?”
Isabella smiled wryly as her own eyes flooded. “Not so great. How about you?”
“Meh.” Cindy wiped away a streak of moisture that had trickled down her cheek. “I miss her so much, you know? Your mother was my sister and my best friend. I just can’t believe they’re gone. The three of us were supposed to have dinner together tonight over at Serendipity …” Her words were lost in a sob.
Isabella patted her shoulder lovingly. “I know. The house is so quiet …”
Her aunt’s eyes widened. “What about the bees – have you checked on them yet?”
“Uh, no. I thought I’d do that this afternoon.”
“Good. I know Keith wouldn’t want them to suffer, just because he’s … gone. Those little creatures meant so much to him.”
Isabella nodded. Truthfully, she hadn’t thought about the hives yet – there were so many other things on her mind. But Cindy was right. She’d take a look at them later and make sure they had everything they needed. Likely she’d want to sell them to another breeder, so she’d have to make sure they were in good shape. But with everything else she had to organize and plan, the thought of one more thing to do made her cringe. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”
“It’ll do you good to jump right back into beekeeping. If you’re going to keep the business running, you’ll need all the help you can get. You just let me know what I can do. I don’t know much about bees myself, but I understand you’re quite the expert after you helped your dad through high school. I can look at the books for you though, if you like. I’m pretty good at that.”
Isabella frowned and chewed her bottom lip. “Um … well, I don’t plan on taking over the business. I haven’t really had time to think about it, but I’ll probably just sell everything and head back to the city.”
“What?” Cindy’s brows drew low over darkened eyes. “Sell everything your parents worked so hard to build?”
“Well … this isn’t home for me anymore. My home’s in Sydney.”
Her aunt’s eyes flashed. “Is your job that important to you?”
“Actually, I quit my job, so I’ll have to look for another one when I get back.”
Cindy strode around the other side of the counter, pulled out a cloth and began polishing the already spotless glass surface. “Seems to me if you don’t have a job, there’s no reason to go back there.” She dropped the cloth and leaned forward. “I’m just asking you to think about it. It’s up to you, of course, but you’re good at beekeeping. Your father always hoped you’d come home and take over before he retired. And now you’ve got a house, a dog and a business here in Heartstone. Don’t throw it all away without thinking it through first.”
Isabella took a slow breath and pressed her lips together tightly. Stay in Heartstone – could she do that? She hadn’t lived here in a decade, not since she left to go to university, and never imagined she’d move back. The idea of it made her squirm.
3
Hector bounded over to the car and licked Isabella’s ankle as she climbed out. She patted his head, and his dark eyes glowed with adoration. No matter how bad she was feeling, she couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. She’d picked up some groceries while she was in town, and with a groan she loaded up with plastic bags to carry into the house.
By the time she reached the kitchen table she was grimacing. She dropped the bags on the table with a cry and rubbed her hands. She should have taken two trips – now she had welts across her palms to thank for it.
The light on her parents’ answering machine was flashing, so she pressed play on the ancient machine they’d insisted on keeping. Dad always said there was no need to replace something unless it was broken beyond repair, and their answering machine seemed determined to never be obsolete. She listened while she put the groceries away.
The first ten messages were from friends and neighbours who’d heard about the accident and were calling with condolences or to ask about the funeral. Helen had left a message too, and Isabella made a mental note to call her roommate back.
Then Simon’s voice rattled through the tinny speaker. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Proctor – this is Isabella’s boss Simon Bardon. I’m calling to ask if you’ve heard from her. She hasn’t been to the office in a few days and I’m getting worried. If you could just give me a call to let me know she’s okay, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”
She set a bag of potatoes on the table and stared at the machine. How had he gotten their number? She certainly didn’t remember giving it to him. And why was he so desperate to talk to her? Well, no matter – she didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. Not yet, anyway. She’d no doubt have to face him sometime, but she wasn’t ready yet, not with everything else that was going on. She hit the delete button and went to the next call.
Once both the groceries and messages were cleared away, she sank into a kitchen chair and leaned her chin on her fist. Simon didn’t give up easily. Perhaps she should just call him back … no. If she did, she’d never be free of him. He knew just what to say to get into her head, and before she knew it she’d be back in his life, and working at Smithson again. She’d always wanted to go public with their relationship, but he’d asked her to wait until the timing was right. She’d waited two years.
She stood and rubbed her eyes. She knew she should eat something, but hearing Simon’s voice had killed her appetite. She found a glass, filled it with water from the tap, chugged it and decided to take a look around the farm. “Come on, Hector.” The dog wagged his tail, his black ears laid back against his head, and fell into step behind her.
Outside, she headed toward the stables. Her parents had always kept a couple of horses, though they rarely rode – Dad always preferred to take the four-wheeler out to check the hives. She hadn’t been able to locate the keys for that or the utility vehicle, so for now she’d have to travel the old-fashioned way.
Beavis, a large, solid bay gelding, grazed in the yard beside the stables. She’d named him when she was a teenager after Dad brought him home from an auction to replace old Bessy, who’d drowned in the creek trying to reach some juicy grass. He raised his head and blinked at her while he chewed, then settled back to grazing.
Isabella found a bridle hanging on the stable wall and went through the gate to prepare him. He didn’t object, and before long he was saddled and ready to go. She patted his neck and eased herself up into the saddle. Eighteen hands of horse lifted her a long way from the ground, and she closed her eyes for a moment – it had been ages since she’d ridden. A wave of anxiety roiled her gut, but it passed. She clicked her tongue and Beavis set off down the paddock.
The hives were hidden by a hill in the distance, but she knew where they’d been the last time she’d visited and it wasn’t likely Dad had moved them in that time without mentioning it to her. When she reached them, she dismounted, tied Beavis to a nearby fence post in the shade and foraged around in the small garden shed her father had erected nearby. A bee suit hung on an inside wall, beside the smoker and other tools. Bits and pieces of empty hives, extra suits, brushes, fuel for the smoker and various other things were stacked neatly on either side of the shed, with a shallow aisle down the centre.
She ducked inside for the suit, smoker and fuel. The first thing to do was to light the smoker. She squinted out over the rise and watched the insects buzzing around the hives. She wouldn’t approach them until she had it lit and her suit on, since she hadn’t visited the hives in a while. She knelt beside the shed and found her father’s lighter, just inside the door where he’d always left it.
She crumpled a piece of newspaper between her fingers and lit it. A bright orange flame leaped immediately from the paper, and she dropped it into the bottom of the smoker, followed by handfuls of fuel – mostly wood shavings from her father’s toolshed. She pumped the bellows and watch
ed the flames climb higher, licking the top of the smoker. She filled the rest of the smoker with wood shavings, pumping as she went, then closed the lid and snapped it shut. A few more pumps filled the air with a pacifying gray cloud of sweet-smelling wood smoke.
Isabella stood and pulled the spacious bee suit on over her clothes, put the helmet on and peered through the mesh visor. The suit always made her feel a little claustrophobic at first, but after a while she didn’t even notice she was wearing it. The bees helped her forget. They’d always intrigued her – Dad said she was a natural-born beekeeper. She loved to watch them gather pollen and fill up the hives with it, and she pulled out and harvested frames full of golden honey with a sense of deep satisfaction. It had a way of making her feel restored.
She headed to where the hives were set in a cluster along a small rise, surrounded by green pastures, shade trees and wildflowers. A herd of brown and white cattle grazed nearby, and one raised its head to watch her approach, pulling the smoker behind her. Soon the entire herd observed her movements, heads held high, bodies taut.
She lifted the smoker and started working the bellows. Before long, the hives floated in a haze of smoke and the bees lazily buzzed homeward or squatted on the weathered wood boards, too dazed to move. She frowned – there didn’t appear to be as many bees around as usual. The air should have been full of their hum, the hives covered in a black veil of them. Instead, there were a few hundred at most, and they seemed more disoriented than they should, even with the smoke.
She opened a hive and pulled out a single frame. It was half-empty, and the honey it contained was too dark and thick. She shook her head, her eyes narrowed. What was going on? Dad hadn’t said anything about the bees having problems … had he? A few weeks back, he’d mentioned he’d had a hard day and that there was something going on with the hives. But he hadn’t elaborated.
Besides, she’d been too preoccupied with the drama in her own life to pursue it. All she’d done, if she remembered rightly, was prattle on about Simon – how hard he was being on her at work, how he’d lambasted her over any and everything in front of her colleagues. She’d never told her parents they were dating, so she couldn’t say anything about how he’d often cancel on her at the last moment – let alone that he was still married and doing nothing to fix that. They’d have been so disappointed in her …
Her head hung low and tears filled her tired eyes. She took a deep breath and marched back to the shed. She had to get back to the house and return all those calls from her parents’ friends, neighbours and business contacts. Perhaps she could do a few a day, that way she’d get through them all by the weekend.
By the time she put away the suit and equipment, unsaddled and groomed Beavis and got back to the house, she was famished. She washed her hands, pulled an apple from the refrigerator, refilled her water glass and slumped at the kitchen table. As she sank her teeth into the crisp apple, she listened to the phone messages again, taking notes in her scratchy script on the back of a discarded white envelope her mother kept in a stack by the telephone.
A voice she recognized caught her ear – her childhood friend Kimberley Black. “Hi, Issie, it’s Kim Black here. I just heard about your parents and I’m so sorry for your loss. Give me a call as soon as you can. We have some things we need to talk about regarding your parents’ estate. Thanks. Talk soon.”
Isabella sat up straight and swallowed the last bite of her apple. She remembered Mum saying something about getting Kim to do their will a year or so earlier, after she’d returned from London. She supposed Kim just wanted to run through the will with her.
She felt bone tired, from the crown of her head down to her feet. She’d finally cried herself to sleep about four that morning and her head ached, her eyes were red and her nose was chafed from all the wiping she’d done. She stood with a groan and returned to the refrigerator. She’d barely eaten since the phone call about her parents, and hadn’t wanted to. But that apple had returned her appetite with a vengeance.
She pulled a fresh loaf of bakery bread from the fridge along with the tub of butter and some strawberry jam that looked homemade. Mum always turned some of the prolific supply of strawberries from their garden into jam in Autumn, and it lasted them the rest of the year. She made the best strawberry jam in Heartstone, a fact well known throughout the community – she always won first prize in the jamming and canning category at the Heartstone Show.
Isabella’s eyes smarted, and she sniffled as she spread the jam over two thick pieces of bread. Leaning against the counter, she sunk her teeth into the snack, eyes closed. Mmmm … nothing quite as delicious as freshly baked bread with homemade jam.
Tires crunched on the drive outside and her eyes flew wide. Who could that be? She hurried to chew and swallow, quickly wiping her mouth with a napkin before running outside.
Baker Pritchard slammed shut the door of his dual-cab pickup. “Hey there.”
She waved, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun.
He opened the back door of the truck and two small girls slid out, landing with grunts on the dusty driveway. They clung to his legs as he strode over. “Hi, Issie. I just thought I’d drop in and see how you’re doing.” His voice was like butter.
She felt the lump that had been lodged in her throat all day swell again. “Baker, this is unexpected. How kind of you.” Inwardly she groaned. She was hardly in a state to receive company – her hair was plastered against her head with sweat from the bee suit, she smelled of horse and her jeans were covered in dirt and manure from falling in the stables when she’d tripped over a stool while carrying Beavis’ saddle. He looked relaxed and freshly showered, dressed in casual shorts and a blue button-down shirt. His tanned skin almost glowed.
She swept a hand over her dishevelled hair and forced a weak smile. “And who is this?” She squatted to look the girls in the eye, her smile growing warmer at the looks on their freckled faces.
“These are my girls, Abigail and Rose.”
Abigail stared at her silently, but Rose’s eyes gleamed. Her little voice burst with confidence. “I’m five!”
“Well, five is certainly a big number. You must be going to school then, are you?”
She nodded furiously. “Mrs. Ham is my teacher. She says I’m to sit still, but it’s hard.”
Isabella laughed. “It sure is. I find it hard to sit still at work, so I can only imagine it must be that much more difficult in kindergarten.” She stood, and as her eyes met Baker’s her cheeks flushed.
“So how are you?” he asked, his hands finding their way to rest on each girl’s shoulders.
She shrugged. “Oh, you know …”
He smiled. “Yeah. Well, as your neighbour I felt it was my duty to bring you a meal. Isn’t that what neighbours do?” He walked back to the truck, opened the passenger door and brought forth a large Tupperware container wrapped in a dish towel.
Her eyebrows arched and she crossed her arms. “Neighbour?”
He handed her the container, forcing her to unlock her arms quickly and wrap them around its warmth. “Yeah, I bought the land on the southeast side of your parents’ property.”
“You mean Wongabel Farm?” She tipped her head to one side, the aroma of warm food making her salivate.
“That’s the one. Anyway, I don’t want to impose, but enjoy the chicken noodle soup. It’s the girls’ favourite and they insisted I make it for you. Oh wait – I’ve also got some freshly baked bread in the truck. Hold on …” He dashed to the vehicle again, returning with a warm loaf wrapped in foil.
She shifted the soup to one hand and took the bread as well, cradling it to her body. “Wow, thank you. You baked bread? That’s … I don’t know what to say.”
His cheeks reddened and he laid a hand gently on Abigail’s head. “It’s nothing. I was making it for us anyway, so I just mixed a double batch.”
“Thanks again.” His eyes were still fixed on hers and she couldn’t look away. There was som
ething about their depths that drew her in, something she’d never noticed before.
“No worries. Well, let me know if you need anything. I’m just over the hill and happy to help.”
She nodded her thanks, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.
Baker turned to leave while the girls waved goodbye, and she lifted a few fingers from the bread to return their wave. The truck backed around, lifting a cloud of dust that floated southward on the breeze down the winding drive to the main road.
Isabella sighed and turned to head back inside. A bowl of homemade soup with fresh baked bread sounded perfect, and her stomach growled in anticipation.
4
8 November
Cindy Heitzmann’s black hat bobbed as she stepped from the car, the bedraggled black feather that crowned it dragging across the vehicle’s upholstered ceiling, then springing free to stand on end and sway in the morning breeze. Isabella Proctor followed, sliding across the back seat before emerging into the sunlight.
Baker cleared his throat and clutched the Bible between his hands tighter. Ever since Issie came back to town, he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. The grief written clearly across her face when she walked into his office had torn at his heart, and her soulful eyes crossed his mind every time he had a moment alone with his thoughts.
Funerals were always hard. But they took on a new level of difficulty in a small town like Heartstone, where everyone knew everyone. Since he’d grown up here, there wasn’t a person in town he hadn’t crossed paths with, shared a meal with, or gotten to know over the years. Even though he’d spent a good portion of his adult life with his wife and children in Brisbane, he’d still considered Heartstone to be his home. It was always an unspoken plan to move back there someday. He’d just assumed it would be with Joy by his side.
But cancer didn’t pause to take heed of his plans. It plundered their home, leaving a broken and motherless family as its devastating legacy.
