The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 by Susan Wiggs Page B
Authors: Susan Wiggs
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and sapphire dragonflies. The sun-warmed sweet haze of the blossoms filled the air.
“When I was a kid,” said Isabel, “I used to capture butterflies, but I was afraid of the bees. I’m getting over that, though.” The bees softly rose and hovered over the flowers, their steady hum oddly soothing. The quiet buzzing was the soundtrack of her girlhood summers. Even now, she could close her eyes and remember her walks with Bubbie, and how they would net a monarch or swallowtail butterfly, studying the creature in a big clear jar before setting it free again. They always set them free.
As she watched the activity in the hedge, a memory floated up from the past—Bubbie, gently explaining to Isabel why they needed to open the jar. “No creature should ever be trapped against its will,” she used to say. “It will ruin itself, just trying to escape.” As a survivor of a concentration camp, Bubbie only ever spoke of the experience in the most oblique of terms.
A dragonfly hovered in front of Jamie. She put out a hand and it alighted, gently fanning its wings.
“My grandmother used to warn me that a dragonfly would sew up your lips if you said a swear word,” Isabel remarked.
Jamie offered a fleeting smile. “Did it stop you from swearing?”
“Gosh, yes, are you kidding? I still watch my mouth.”
“I don’t. I probably should.” The dragonfly on the back of her hand darted off. “Is there water nearby?”
“Angel Creek. It flows across our property and the neighbor’s—Dominic Rossi. He’s going to become my brother-in-law this summer. He’s great—a grower and winemaker.”
The girl squinted at Isabel. “You married?”
“No. Happily single.” Her standard answer. “You?”
“Oh, hell, no.” She smoothed a hand down over her belly. “It’s just the two of us.”
The girl hardly looked old enough to be having a baby. “That’s exciting. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Needless to say, this wasn’t planned. I’m still trying to get used to the idea.” She watched a bee struggling in the blossoms, buzzing furiously as it tried to extricate itself. “I used to try to free them,” she said, watching the weathered bee’s tattered wings. “But they always dive right back into the stickiness and get stuck again. They can’t resist.”
The girl moved from hive to hive, lifting the occasional lid, seemingly lost in thought. “Judging by that swarm you described, you have some overpopulated hives. I can split them for you.”
“I would love that. I’ve been reading up on how to do it. The process seems complicated.”
“It’s not, but you need to know what to look for. You have to pick the right frames to move to the new hive, and you have to find the queen to move with them. And then you can’t put a new queen in too soon. I like to wait three days. Sooner than that, and the other bees might kill her.”
“Yikes, really?”
“It happens. But after a few days of being queenless, they’ll accept a new one. It’s all about the timing.”
“Great. I’d love to get your help with this. What’s your schedule like? Do you have time to work here?”
“I have tons of time,” Jamie said. “I haven’t gotten many calls for my services and I’ve been thinking I might have to move on.” She watched a small cluster of bees as if mesmerized. “I’d love to help you.”
“Do you think I should move that row of hives closer?” Isabel gestured at the row of pastel-painted hives in the distance.
Jamie lifted her chin, her nostrils flaring slightly as she seemed to sniff the air. Isabel noticed a slight shadow on the underside of her jaw. A smudge of dirt? A bruise? Maybe just a shadow. “You’re good right here,” Jamie said. “I like where the hives are.” She tipped back her head and took a long drink of her lemonade. Isabel studied the spot on her jaw again, but this time, Jamie caught her. “Something wrong?” she asked, wiping her wrist across her mouth.
She
“When I was a kid,” said Isabel, “I used to capture butterflies, but I was afraid of the bees. I’m getting over that, though.” The bees softly rose and hovered over the flowers, their steady hum oddly soothing. The quiet buzzing was the soundtrack of her girlhood summers. Even now, she could close her eyes and remember her walks with Bubbie, and how they would net a monarch or swallowtail butterfly, studying the creature in a big clear jar before setting it free again. They always set them free.
As she watched the activity in the hedge, a memory floated up from the past—Bubbie, gently explaining to Isabel why they needed to open the jar. “No creature should ever be trapped against its will,” she used to say. “It will ruin itself, just trying to escape.” As a survivor of a concentration camp, Bubbie only ever spoke of the experience in the most oblique of terms.
A dragonfly hovered in front of Jamie. She put out a hand and it alighted, gently fanning its wings.
“My grandmother used to warn me that a dragonfly would sew up your lips if you said a swear word,” Isabel remarked.
Jamie offered a fleeting smile. “Did it stop you from swearing?”
“Gosh, yes, are you kidding? I still watch my mouth.”
“I don’t. I probably should.” The dragonfly on the back of her hand darted off. “Is there water nearby?”
“Angel Creek. It flows across our property and the neighbor’s—Dominic Rossi. He’s going to become my brother-in-law this summer. He’s great—a grower and winemaker.”
The girl squinted at Isabel. “You married?”
“No. Happily single.” Her standard answer. “You?”
“Oh, hell, no.” She smoothed a hand down over her belly. “It’s just the two of us.”
The girl hardly looked old enough to be having a baby. “That’s exciting. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Needless to say, this wasn’t planned. I’m still trying to get used to the idea.” She watched a bee struggling in the blossoms, buzzing furiously as it tried to extricate itself. “I used to try to free them,” she said, watching the weathered bee’s tattered wings. “But they always dive right back into the stickiness and get stuck again. They can’t resist.”
The girl moved from hive to hive, lifting the occasional lid, seemingly lost in thought. “Judging by that swarm you described, you have some overpopulated hives. I can split them for you.”
“I would love that. I’ve been reading up on how to do it. The process seems complicated.”
“It’s not, but you need to know what to look for. You have to pick the right frames to move to the new hive, and you have to find the queen to move with them. And then you can’t put a new queen in too soon. I like to wait three days. Sooner than that, and the other bees might kill her.”
“Yikes, really?”
“It happens. But after a few days of being queenless, they’ll accept a new one. It’s all about the timing.”
“Great. I’d love to get your help with this. What’s your schedule like? Do you have time to work here?”
“I have tons of time,” Jamie said. “I haven’t gotten many calls for my services and I’ve been thinking I might have to move on.” She watched a small cluster of bees as if mesmerized. “I’d love to help you.”
“Do you think I should move that row of hives closer?” Isabel gestured at the row of pastel-painted hives in the distance.
Jamie lifted her chin, her nostrils flaring slightly as she seemed to sniff the air. Isabel noticed a slight shadow on the underside of her jaw. A smudge of dirt? A bruise? Maybe just a shadow. “You’re good right here,” Jamie said. “I like where the hives are.” She tipped back her head and took a long drink of her lemonade. Isabel studied the spot on her jaw again, but this time, Jamie caught her. “Something wrong?” she asked, wiping her wrist across her mouth.
She
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