The Music of Bees Eileen Garvin (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

Harry nodded, looking around, and his eyes fell on the snapshot of her and Buddy.

“Oh!” he said. “So this is your son’s shop?”

The seconds ticked by as Alice stared at the photo. She was afraid to open her mouth and then decided she could trust herself to speak, if just. She shifted her gaze back to Harry.

“No, that’s not my son,” she said slowly. “That is my late husband.”

Harry’s face turned from white to pink and back to white. She looked at Jake, and he held her gaze. It was, after all, true. Bud Ryan was her late husband.

“I’ll come check on you in a bit,” Alice said.

She left the two young men in the barn and took a long walk along the fence line. She could feel the knot in her chest tighten, and she willed herself to inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. She looked out at Doug Ransom’s orchard, where the trees tossed their frothy branches. The pain eased a notch, and she could breathe again. She let herself think of the photo of Buddy and the little boys. Such wonderful days past. She thought of her conversation with her nephew. Sweet Ronnie, it was clear, didn’t know what his father thought of Alice.

The day Bud died last spring, Alice had watched Ron’s Jeep speed down the driveway toward her house. She wanted to go see his parents but hadn’t been able to move from the kitchen floor, where she collapsed after the two state troopers left.

They told her the accident had taken place near Boardman. A car traveling east crossed the center lane and nearly collided with Bud, who was heading west toward home in his truck. Buddy swerved to avoid the car, smashed through the guardrail, and rolled into the slough. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The other driver was drunk, had previous DUIs, and would be prosecuted, the officers said. Their words sounded far away. Could they call anyone for her? She shook her head.

She pulled herself off the floor when she heard the sound of Ron’s Jeep. He was coming to take her to the family, she thought. She walked out to meet him, her legs rubbery, the sunshine strangely cold on her scalp. Ron leapt out of the car and rushed at her.

“It’s your fault!” he yelled, pointing at her, his hands shaking. “You told him to take that job. He would be alive if it wasn’t for you!”

Alice heard his words like she was underwater and couldn’t speak. Buddy had been as excited as a little boy about the job with the big truck. The decision had been all his.

Ron grabbed her by the shoulders like he wanted to hurt her and said terrible things. Go ahead, she thought, looking up at his contorted face. The worst has already happened. Ron pushed her away and doubled over. Alice reached out to comfort him, and he stumbled to the Jeep and roared off.

Those memories rushed back, and Alice was afraid she would be overwhelmed, but she felt the limits of her sorrow then. She let herself relive the pain of that day, which included Ron. It was another loss both separate and part of losing Buddy. She felt that grief moving around inside her, and she knew her body could contain it. She was okay. It was going to be okay. Her sadness worked itself back down inside her into the safe place it needed to live when she was around people.

Alice sat down on the windbreak and looked over the apiary and her remaining hives. This was her home, her place. A fierceness rose in her then, and she felt the urgency of protecting her honeybees. She pulled out the hive diary and jotted down some notes for the beekeepers meeting.

By the time Alice returned to the barn, Jake had helped Harry clean out all the dead hives. She nodded at the material they had collected and examined the frames.

“Nice work,” she said. She snapped the lids closed on the bins.

“I need to bring these to the beekeepers meeting,” she said. “Harry, will you grab that one?”

“Sure, Mrs.—er, Alice,” he said. “Let me carry that. It’s heavy, and you shouldn’t—”

Wordlessly, she hefted the bin in her arms and strode to the truck. Harry trailed behind her with the other, and Jake followed, snickering.

Now, in front of the library, Alice was surprised and grateful she could laugh about it. She glanced at Jake and noticed he was scanning the sidewalk nervously. She looked at the placard he had hung on the mirror, thinking it might have cost him something to pull it out. She was grateful he’d agreed to come, this surprising new ally. She jumped out of the truck and grabbed his chair from the back, set it next to the door, and waited while he maneuvered his way carefully down and settled himself in. She followed as Jake wheeled up the ramp in front of her and slapped the mechanical door control.

Bee club members, mostly men, clustered along the hallway in twos and threes. Some of them knew Alice, and smiled and nodded. They looked at Jake with curiosity. She didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Many were farmers and orchardists, and some were hobbyists like her. There were a couple of large-scale beekeepers like Chuck Sauer, who was currently president of the bee association and also eternally crabby. He volunteered, not out of altruism but in an effort to keep the “idiot weekend farmers,” as he called them, from screwing up his commercial hives by spreading mites.

Alice strode to the front of the room, where Chuck stood holding a clipboard and wearing a scowl.

“Hello, Chuck,” she said.

Chuck grunted.

“I have an item for new business,” she said.

Chuck peered down at her, stone-faced, and said the agenda had already been printed. She should have emailed him a week ago like the rules said.

“I’m sure the members will want