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

Jake pointed to the barn. “He’s talking to his mom.”

“Ah, good boy.”

Jake looked closely at her. “How did it go? With Mr. Ransom, I mean.”

Alice let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine! Things went fine with Doug. It’s these other idiots I have to convince!”

She banged the map of the valley down on the table.

“People here think global warming is a hoax made up by Portland yuppies who want to turn the interstate into a giant bike lane and dismantle capitalism in favor of socialist communes and replant all the wheat farms with marijuana.”

Jake’s eyes widened.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the crazy one!”

But she did feel crazy, or at least a little unhinged. Quitting her job had made her feel she’d been living wrong. Her life had been compressed during these last years. It wasn’t just about Bud either, balling up behind her grief. It was sitting in endless meetings and not speaking up about bad policy. Doing Bill’s job for him because it was easier than speaking up. Not telling her father how much she wanted the orchard. Alice had spent years trying not to upset other people. The elation of walking out of Rich Carlson’s office had been replaced by an urgency. She had to make up for lost time.

“You also need to calm down, dear,” she heard her mother say in her head.

She shook herself.

“Sorry. Bad morning,” she said. “How about we tackle those splits on the other side of the yard?”

Jake nodded and smiled, always eager to work. Things had gone fine until she dropped the frame and got him stung all over.

Now Alice looked at his shaved head, lumpy from reactions to the stings, and his swollen face. She laughed.

“Jesus, kid. Look at you! The neighbors are going to call social services!”

He laughed, rubbed both hands over his scalp, and gingerly touched his puffy cheek.

“This is the only one that really itches,” he said. “The other ones—I don’t know—it feels kind of good.”

“All right, now. Don’t turn all New Agey on me and become one of those sting healers.”

He held up his hand. “Scout’s honor, Alice,” he said. “Let’s go finish up.”

When he convinced her he really was fine, they worked through the rest of the afternoon. Jake insisted on returning to the apiary without a hat or veil as usual. Harry came out of the barn and observed from afar before heading off to Ace Hardware. Alice and Jake moved six splits into new hives Harry had built. They matched Alice’s old Langstroth hives in style but had been made with great care, every corner a dovetail joint and sanded smooth.

“Harry’s a real problem solver, isn’t he? Your workbench is pretty slick too.”

Jake ran a hand over the platform. “He says he’s going to make me a better one,” he said. “It’s still a little awkward, but I can transfer frames and check them for brood and all. I still need someone else to pull the brood boxes down for me, but it’s better than nothing.”

She heard a pitch of frustration in his voice, which was unusual. He’d been quieter today, even before the stinging episode, she noticed. She imagined he was still thinking about her news from the morning and the tenuousness of his own future.

“You’ve got real talent, Jake. You should be proud of your work,” she said.

He shrugged.

“Hey, I’m serious! All that business with the sound of the queen. And you are the only beekeeper I know who has worked bareheaded from day one.”

Jake glanced at the apiary but didn’t meet her eye.

She gestured around them. “Look at what we did today. Six new hives. I couldn’t have done that alone. You’ve been a huge help.”

Jake shook his head and looked away. “A monkey could do it,” he said.

Alice snorted. “A monkey, huh? Look, kid—I know you might think I’m always showering people with compliments, but I don’t offer refuge to rebellious teenagers every day. If you weren’t pulling your weight, you’d have been gone in a minute. I might seem like some kind of Mother Teresa, but—”

Jake threw back his head and laughed. “Mother Teresa! That’s totally your new Twitter handle, Alice. MomT!”

She laughed too, and her breath caught. She turned back to her tools, her vision blurring. She didn’t want Jake to leave. She had grown to care for this funny boy and the other one too—nervous Harry. Alice Holtzman didn’t like very many people. But she realized now that she loved them—these two slightly lost boys who had come to feel like stray nephews.

She could see Jake pretend not to notice her emotion. He opened the smoker and looked at the bottom.

“I know you don’t know what will happen with work and all. But thanks for letting me stay for now. I want to help with the lawsuit. I’m committed, Alice,” he said, looking up at her.

She met his eyes and nodded. “Thanks, Jake.”

She glanced at her watch. It was nearly five. Ron had answered her text, at least. “Twin Peaks, 5:30 p.m.,” he’d written, and nothing else. Her stomach flip-flopped. But she thought of Evangelina, which strengthened her resolve. Ron was not her enemy, she told herself, though she might be his.

“I’ve got an appointment in town,” she told Jake.

“Another orchardist?”

She shook her head. “No—just some personal stuff. I’ll see you in an hour or two.”

At Twin Peaks, Alice found a table in the shade and sat with an iced tea. The 1950s-era drive-in sat across the road from the county airport. A handful of small planes were tethered to the ground like a flock of restrained birds. One had its motor idling. The hatch was open, and the pilot stood on the wing. Alice remembered a summer evening years ago when Buddy’s friend Vince flew them into Portland for dinner. Buddy was going with or without her, he said. When she balked, he asked what she was afraid of.

“Um, crashing? Dying? What do you think, you big oaf?”

He laughed