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

frames, same inner cover and telescoping top. It was just long instead of tall. Some people might call it a leaf hive. This one was a Stokes hive, he would tell the kids, with a wry grin. Jake was now tending three of them himself, and they were thriving alongside the traditional Langstroth hives, just like Harry had predicted.

Harry said the idea for the horizontal hive came to him after his first kite lesson with Yogi—an invention born of looking at the physics of a problem from various angles. If it were completely horizontal, Jake could add brood frames and supers to the ends. The bees would just build out instead of up.

“They nested for thousands of years in logs and random holes before we made hives, so why not?” he’d said when Jake looked skeptical.

It was an unexpected gift. Harry had given him the hive the morning of the march last May. The day Fred Paris’s goons had attacked them. What a fiasco. Stokes. Goofy bastard. Jake missed him.

Jake shivered in the April chill and shifted his chair so the sun fell on his face. He put a hand on one nuc box and then the other. He closed his eyes and listened. There it was—that clear, ringing G-sharp.

The bell rang. The door banged open, and the air erupted with the bright voices of twenty-two third graders, filing out of the building behind their teacher. They waved, smiled, and yelled Jake’s name.

On his first day in their class in January, when he rolled into their room, they stared at his shiny bald head and the chair. Ms. Unalitin introduced him and told the kids he was going to tell them all about honeybees. One little girl put her head down and started to cry quietly. The teacher looked embarrassed.

“Now, Ruby,” she said. “Remember what we talked about?”

But Jake waved a hand.

“It’s okay, Ms. U. Can I call you Ms. U? Most kids haven’t seen a wheelchair as fly as mine. They aren’t sure what to think.”

He turned back to the class.

“Okay, how many of you can ride a bike?”

Several of the kids tentatively raised their hands.

He cocked his head. “Really? Only the six of you? Nobody else in here can ride a bike?”

More hands went up.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “And how many of you bikers can pop a wheelie?”

Hands shot up again, and kids leaned forward on their desks.

“Awesome!” said Jake. “And how many of you wheelie-poppers can do a manual?”

The kids lowered their hands and looked uncertain.

“A manual,” Jake said, “is a wheelie plus a 360.”

“Oh!” a plump boy yelled, kneeling on his chair and waving his hand. “My big brother can do that! He goes up and then around!”

The boy leapt out of his chair and whirled himself in a circle. The other kids laughed.

“Sit down, Joshua!” Ms. Unalitin called, but she was smiling.

The kids looked back at Jake.

“Well,” he said, “my chair can do even better than that. Watch this.”

He popped a wheelie, did a 360 in one direction then back the other direction.

“That’s a 720, kiddos! Wheelie with a double manual. Check me out!”

They clapped and cheered and yelled, “Do it again! Again!”

Now they streamed toward him, their small faces so familiar to him. Ruby, the one who had cried, sidled up close and leaned on the arm of his chair. Her breath smelled like graham crackers. The children encircled him and unzipped their jackets in the warming air.

“Hey, chitlins!”

“Hi, Jake!” they yelled.

“It’s great to see you today. It’s a really special day. Anybody remember why?”

Little hands shot up, and Jake pointed at Barbara, a gap-toothed beauty with long black braids who was a cousin of Celia’s. She grew shy when he called on her.

“It’s Bee Day,” she whispered. “Día de las abejas.”

“That’s right!” Jake crowed. “It’s Bee Day at May Street! I’ve got a queen for you to meet and her hardworking daughters and a few lazy drones. Let’s get started.”

•   •   •

Alice Holtzman had been in a good mood all morning even before she confirmed that her favorite blue dress fit again. She pulled it over her head and smoothed the fabric down around her hips. She tied the belt at the waist and looked at herself in the mirror, pulled her shoulders back, and pushed her hair behind her ears. It was a nice dress and an old standby for special occasions. When was the last time she wore it? One of the Ryan family birthdays? She loved this slate blue, which flattered her pale skin. But she took it off, deciding it was far too fancy. Slacks and a nice shirt would have to do for her visit to the Hood River County Courthouse today.

Alice hadn’t expected the lawsuit that had blown up at the Hood River County Planning Department. Increased scrutiny following the SupraGro conflict revealed major problems within the county budget, and it came to light that Bill Chenowith had embezzled more than a million dollars. Today Judge Weisfield would read out the formal sentencing, which had already been reported in the paper. Bill would be spending the next twenty to forty years in the Oregon State Penitentiary.

Debi Jeffreys had been the one who noticed. Debi the disgruntled office manager. Debi meticulously combed through the county financials and put it together that Bill had been skimming for years. Debi hadn’t had a raise in a while either, and she had three little kids to support.

It’s always the quiet ones you need to watch, Alice thought to herself.

She put on a pair of shoes—navy with a low heel. They felt tight, so she changed her socks.

She thought of Bill and scoffed. The revelation cleared up a lot of questions, like why the budget was always so tight and how Bill paid for his nice boat that was moored at the Hood River Marina. Nancy was immediately demoted to her old position, and the county was still looking for Bill’s replacement. Rich Carlson had emailed her to ask if she