A Recipe for Bees (33 page)

“Karl?”

“Where you moving?”

“The island.”

“Victoria?”

“Joy and Gabe are there.”

“What’s she doing now?”

“Receptionist. She went to college after she left home. She does bookkeeping on the side.”

“And her husband?”

“This and that. Construction work mostly. I’ve just got him started in beekeeping.”

“She ever ask again?”

“No.”

“What’s she like?”

“Stubborn. Restrained. Religious. Good with money.”

“Just like her mother.”

“Like Karl, more like it.”

“Doesn’t sound like she inherited much from me.”

“Her eyes.”

“Nose, maybe.”

“The chin. Definitely the chin.”

The auctioneer offered the gas-powered iron the Reverend had given her a few years before the power line reached them; he sold it with a box of assorted tins, as if it meant nothing at all, as if it hadn’t saved her hours of labour because she didn’t have to keep stopping to heat the thing on the fire while she was ironing clothes. Her favourite old Tetley tea caddy went with that box too, the one with the bees and sunflowers painted on it. Why had she put that with the stuff up for sale? What had she been thinking?

“I think of you quite a bit,” said Joe. “Wondering how you’re doing. I’ve got something for you. When I saw it in the display case a few years back, I knew it had to be for you, though I had no idea when I’d see you again, or
if
I’d see you. I figured if Sally found it I could say it was for her.”

“Sally’s your wife?”

“Yes. I guess I never talked much about her.”

“No.”

“As I recall, you did most of the talking.”

Augusta laughed. “I was making up for lost time. Karl and I weren’t much for talking. Still aren’t, I guess.”

“Well, here.” Their hands met while they both watched the auctioneer. Augusta put the little box Joe gave her in her pocket.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see when you open it.” He looked around at the bits and pieces of Augusta’s life displayed on the tables. “I’d like it if you could make sure that it’s passed on to Joy when you’re gone. Not that I bought it for her, you understand. I’d just hate to think it ended up in the hands of strangers.”

“Sure. I understand.”

“Is there someplace we could go for a few minutes?”

“In the house, I suppose. But Joy’s there at the door.”

“Let’s chance it.”

“You want to meet her? We can make something up.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I have the nerve.” Then he said, in a louder voice, “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind showing me the cupboards you’ve got.”

Augusta led him through the crowd towards the house. When she reached Joy she said, “This man wants to see the buffet in the parlour.”

“I thought you weren’t going to sell that.”

“We’ll see.”

Joy got a good look at Joe when he stopped briefly in front of her, but let him pass. To Augusta’s relief neither Joy nor Karl nor Gabe followed her and Joe into the house. She led him to the back room, the dark parlour she never used for entertaining as it had no windows. There were a few photos here, family pictures scattered in frames around
the room. “This was Joy when she was eight,” she told him. “All dressed up to play an angel at a Christmas concert. And this is her when she was six weeks. This is her and Gabe on their wedding day.”

It was at that point that she looked into his face for the first time. When she’d first seen him across the crowd he hadn’t appeared much different than he had the day she’d met him at the Silver Grill to discuss Joy. But seeing him this close, she realized how terribly old he was. He must have been eighty-five, because he’d been a good twenty years older than Augusta. When she handed him Gabe and Joy’s wedding photo his hands were shaky. He whistled through his teeth to hide a wheeze. He put down the photo and cupped Augusta’s face with both hands and kissed her there, in the darkest room in a house surrounded by gossiping neighbours. It was a tender kiss, from a dear wobbly old face, that said:
We had something good going, didn’t we?
And
I’m so sorry for this growing old business. If I could stop it, I would
.

“Mom, they’re selling off the stoves now,” called Joy. “You said you wanted to see what the stove from the honey house would sell for?”

“Coming.”

Joe led the way outside and headed for the concession. Joy caught Augusta’s arm as she came out the door. “Who was that old man?”

“I’m not sure. I think he said he was from Kamloops.”

“He looks familiar. Have I met him?”

“I don’t think so.”

Joy examined her mother’s face a moment too long, then leaned back into the doorway and let her go, but she
watched Joe as he milled around the tables and machinery. Joe in his turn snuck glances at Joy and at Augusta. He left late in the afternoon—Augusta watched him get into his truck and drive off—and Joy never said another word about it.

A few weeks later, on the day they were in town closing down their power account and rerouting their mail to Victoria, Augusta bought a Kamloops paper to read at the café while Karl was picking up a few things at the hardware store. She turned the page and scanned the obituaries and suddenly all the sound in the café receded. Joe was dead. There was a picture of him and his death notice was skilfully and solemnly written, containing the date he had married, the ages of his children (a daughter nearly as old as Augusta!). There was no mention of a military career. He’d been a farmer during the war and at the time of their affair, then worked in a mill until it shut down. She’d once asked him about the army jacket he wore. “Tell me about the war. Tell me how you got those medals.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Come on, tell me.”

“I said no!”

So he hadn’t been to war at all. That was the role he’d played for himself, and for her. Soldier. She realized now, reading the obituary over and over, how little she had known him.

Augusta tore the death notice from the newspaper, there in the busy café, barely able to see what she was doing for the sting in her eyes. He’d died in the early morning, of a heart attack. Wasn’t that the way, she thought. Death came suddenly to men, in the morning. It was different for
women; it wasn’t quite the surprise. Women knew they risked death in giving life. They probed their bodies monthly, knowing cancers might consume their breasts, their life-giving places. Old women who fell and broke their hips knew they likely wouldn’t recover; with their wings clipped they waited. Death chased women slowly, a rolling comical porcupine they could watch coming, and if they chose to they could learn to laugh at it, to grow comfortable with it. Men, though, men feared death because it hunted them silently, hit swiftly, and took them by surprise.

Augusta pulled the clipping out of her purse and showed it to Rose.

“So what was in the box,” asked Rose.

“Hmm?”

“The present Joe gave you.”

“The brooch, of course. The bee caught in amber.” Augusta rummaged through her purse and held it up. The light from the kitchen window lit the amber so the bee made a striking silhouette within it. “I don’t wear it, for Karl’s sake, but I like to keep it with me.”

Rose shook her head. “And now you want to give it away?”

Augusta shrugged. “It’s not giving it away. It’s passing it on.”

The apartment door flew open, sending the cats hissing into corners, and Joy barged in with Karl trailing behind her. Augusta and Rose looked at each other. They hadn’t heard Karl leave the bedroom or the apartment. Had he heard anything of their conversation? He patted Joy on the shoulder as he passed her, and carried a large grocery bag into the bedroom. Augusta slipped the brooch back in her
purse and went to greet Joy. She was red-faced and sobbing. She leaned against the wall next to the door and slid down to the floor. “Joy?” said Augusta. “Joy, what is it? What’s happened? Is it Gabe?”

Joy rolled her head back and forth against the wall. Her legs were straight out in front of her, and her hands drooped on either side of her like those of a rag doll. “Oh, my God,” said Augusta. “It’s Gabe, isn’t it?” Joy went on rolling her head back and forth and Augusta wasn’t sure if she was saying no or not. Augusta handed Joy a tissue and she blew her nose several times.

“I hit a deer,” she said.

“What?”

“I was driving too fast, I guess. I don’t know. It was suddenly
there
. There was an awful crunch. My grille is wasted.”

“Oh, sweetie. Get up. Come on. Sit on the couch.” Joy pushed herself up using the wall, then flopped on the couch. Augusta sat beside her. “Rose, put the kettle on, will you?” Karl closed the bedroom door quietly behind him and sat in his chair opposite Joy and Augusta.

“It was lying there by the road,” said Joy, “all bloody, and its legs were jerking around.”

“That’s just the nerves,” said Karl. “It wasn’t feeling anything. That’s the nerves going after it’s dead.”

“It was just like Gabe when he had the seizure. Just like that.” She sobbed and leaned into Augusta. Augusta wrapped her arms around her and rocked her as she had so many years ago, when Joy had cried for the unhatched chicks that had died in the school fire. “I waited and waited at the hospital,” said Joy. “Finally I went home. But I
couldn’t stand it. I phoned the hospital, then I phoned again, and the operation still wasn’t over. Then I had to get out and
drive
, you know? So I left your number at the hospital and got in the car. I didn’t think I’d come all the way here. But once I got in the car I couldn’t stop driving. Then I hit the deer. Just outside of town. Oh, God!”

“So you haven’t heard anything yet?”

“No. They didn’t phone?”

“I don’t think so. Someone phoned—”

“Oh, I can’t stand this.” She grabbed the phone and dialled the hospital, then walked to the kitchen, waving a hand for them to leave the room or not listen to her. Augusta and Rose glanced at each other and went out onto the balcony. Karl went to the bedroom. “You going to tell her about hearing Gabe on the phone?” said Rose.

“I don’t know. If the operation isn’t over yet it would scare her.”

They stared down at the garden and beehive below until Joy hung up the phone and sat back on the couch. “Anything?” asked Augusta as she joined her in the living-room.

“No. He’s still in the operating room. The nurse said things are going okay.”

Augusta sat next to her and put an arm around her. “That sounds hopeful, doesn’t it?” Joy began to cry again and Augusta pulled her close and rocked her. “Shush, now,” she said. “Gabe’s going to be fine.”

“How can you say that? He may not be able to walk, or even talk. He might
die.”

“He’s okay.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know.” She tapped her temple and glanced at Rose. “I’m psychic, remember?” Joy laughed, and cried, and laughed. Augusta went on rocking her. “Did you know there’s a dance the bees do that’s named after you?”

“Yeah. You used to tell me all the time, when I was a kid.”

“It’s the joy dance. It’s called that because the bees do that dance when everything’s going really well. They do it to celebrate the birth of a new queen, or when honey flow is excellent. They jitter around giving each other little hugs. Sooner or later we’re going to get a phone call from the hospital and we’re all going to do that joy dance.” Augusta let go of Joy and motioned for Rose to hand her her purse. “I have a surprise for you, Joy,” she said. “Something I’ve been meaning to give you.”

Rose scowled at her, but handed her the purse. “I think I should be getting home,” she said. “You phone me when you hear something?”

Augusta nodded and turned to watch Rose leave, then glanced at the bedroom door to see that it was closed. She could hear Karl rummaging in the bag he’d brought. She lowered her voice. “I want you to have this,” she said, and held out the bee caught in amber.

“Oh, that’s too much; you can’t give me that.”

“I never wear it. I saw how much you liked it.”

“Are you sure?”

“There’s a story behind it.”

“I’m not sure I’m up to another bee story right now.”

“No. Sometime when things are going better, you ask me about it.”

Joy blew her nose. “I’m so sorry about sending you home like that.”

Augusta shrugged. The phone rang and Joy rushed to pick it up. Augusta walked out to the balcony, as she knew Joy would hate being listened to. Karl left the bedroom and came out onto the balcony and put his arm around Augusta. He kissed her temple. He smelled fresh, of soap and shaving cream, and the skin on his cheeks was smooth. He’d shaved just before she’d arrived. He’d shaved for her.

Joy shrieked. “He’s okay! He’s okay!” She was jumping up and down when they joined her in the living-room. “He’s already awake and talking! The nurse said he’s got full use of his hands and legs!”

“Thank God,” said Augusta.

“Yes, exactly!” said Joy. “Thank the Lord! Hallelujah! I’ve got to get down there.” She grabbed her coat and purse and then turned to Augusta. “Is it okay—do you mind if I drive down alone? If I spend tonight alone with him? You can come tomorrow.”

“No, no. Go on. Go see your husband. I understand.”

“All right. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Joy stopped again at the door and pinned the brooch to her blouse, and patted it. “Thanks for this. I’m glad I came.

It helped.”

“You mean you still need me?”

Joy came back into the room and hugged her. “Of course I need you. Where’d you get the idea I didn’t?” Augusta knew it was a lie, or nearly a lie, but she was grateful for it nevertheless.