Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(10)

Archie’s car was gone, which meant he had taken the boys to school and then probably gone downtown to the college. I thought about him, wondering what it must have been like to study religion at a place like Harvard, and then to spend your life considering the objects and rituals and beliefs that people held sacred. I had loved our discussion about cargo cults.

Even though I had lived my whole life on this island, I knew there was life beyond the Vatican. I’d read a little about Tibetan Buddhism and what it meant to be Hindu. And I knew quite a bit about Judaism because Charleston had one of the oldest Reformed temples in the country. Needless to say, because the Holy City’s founding fathers’ principles were grounded in the belief that all people should worship in whatever manner they pleased, we had an unusually wide variety of places to praise the Almighty. I wondered about how Archie prayed. To be honest, that was between him and his Maker. None of my beeswax, so to speak. On a very odd note, I’d never seen him take the boys to church on Sunday. Maybe at some point I’d gently suggest that the boys were welcome to come with me. That would require a high level of diplomacy, because people got all weird when it came to talking about religion in general, even people with Ph.D.s from Harvard Divinity School. I just really thought children needed to believe in something greater than themselves. Everyone did. If they could manage it, that is.

I took a leisurely stroll through my garden, making a mental list of chores to be done, and, of course, I talked to my bees. They were better company than most humans I knew.

“Good morning, ladies! Guess what I did last night? I made dinner for our neighbors and they loved it! What do you think about that? I made chicken and mashed potatoes and . . .” I went on describing the meal to them and the conversation with my sister. “And she says Charlie wants to take her to Atlantic City. Wouldn’t it be fun to play slot machines and see some celebrities and entertainers? Anyway, she thinks Archie is way out of my league. Do you think she’s right? I think she’s an a-hole. She and Momma are two rotten peas in a rotten pod.”

The girls were buzzing all around in the flowers collecting pollen and nectar and I was gently moving among them, pulling some of the weeds that would strangle my flowers if I ignored them. Somewhere over the course of the winter I had decided to get more serious about keeping my garden in flowers all year. If it had color? It counted, especially if it was purple. Honey bees loved purple flowers. I’d plant some things like ornamental grasses that had pink plumes or variegated leaves that changed color with the seasons. And I’d beef up the herb garden because honey bees loved basil, lavender, cilantro, rosemary, and thyme.

“So, yeah, I’m going over to the hospital in a little bit. See how Momma is doing. I’m sure she’s okay, but she’s no rocking babe anymore and that’s when bad stuff starts to happen. She’s just in her sixties, but she’s old for her age. Personally? I think she’s just mad because she’s fat. Fat’s bad. It leads to all kinds of diseases. Maybe I’ll take the nurses a few jars of honey. And by the way, I’m getting a job.”

I looked up to see Andy our UPS deliveryman’s truck pull over to the curb.

“Morning, Miss Holly! Got a couple of things for you today.”

“Well, thanks, Andy. Just toss them on the porch. I’ll see about them in a few minutes.”

“That’s fine,” he said and took the boxes up the steps to the front porch. “By the way, you were right about my tire. But it didn’t go bad until I ran over a piece of sheet metal on I-526.”

“Well, then I’m extra glad to see you in one piece.”

His face got all kind of funny looking. “How’d you know that was gonna happen?”

“Andy, it’s the most peculiar thing. I looked at your truck and it just popped into my head. Andy’s gonna get a flat in that back tire. Just like someone was whispering to me.”

“That’s kind of peculiar,” he said and looked at me so strangely.

“Come on, Andy. You’ve been knowing me for a dozen years. And this is the Lowcountry.”

“Yeah, I always forget that. You know my people come from Spartanburg.”

“Different world up there,” I said.

“I reckon so,” he said and just stood there.

“Would you like a jar of honey?” I said, thinking it might put him more at ease. “I was just going to get a few from the shed for the nurses at the hospital. I took Momma over there yesterday, and you know . . .”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Is she all right?”

“Andy, the queen is always all right. You wait here, and I’ll be right back.”

I hurried to the gardening shed where I kept the jars of honey lined up on shelves. It was also where I kept the equipment that I used to spin the honey from the combs and jar it, too. It could be a very messy and sticky situation if I tried to do it in the house, so a few years ago I just took our old potting shed, painted it in pastels to match the hives, and sort of converted it to suit my needs. It wasn’t like anyone else would set foot in there anyway. I grabbed a few, dropped them in a canvas tote bag, and returned to Andy, who stood waiting patiently on the concrete walkway to our front steps. I thought, Someday I might dig out all that awful cracked cement and put in a pretty path of bricks in a herringbone pattern. I’d seen that done in Southern Living magazine and just loved it. Maybe Andy would like to help? That made me giggle to myself.