Queen Bee (Lowcountry Tales #12)(3)

A metal screen door slammed with a clang and inside of a minute, Archie’s two little boys, whom I adored, were hanging over my apiary fence. Our house was across the street from theirs on a dead-end road where we had very little traffic. My house backed up to the marsh, which made for spectacular sunrises.

“Here come both sides of my heart!” I whispered to my honey bees.

“Hey! Mith Holly!”

“Hey yourself, Mr. Tyler!”

Archie and Carin MacLean had bought their house and moved in right after they were married. Two years later, Tyler came along. Tyler was now seven, soon to be eight; Hunter, his younger brother, was five. Carin, their mother, had died not long ago in a tragic automobile accident, leaving them in Archie’s flustered care, in my care on occasion, and sometimes in extended day care at the island school. Archie kept saying he was going to hire someone to help him full-time with the house and the boys, but that kind of help was so difficult to find and then of course, to trust. For my part? I loved those little fellas like they were my own, and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t hire me. But he didn’t have to, because I sort of did the job for free.

Tyler had curly hair the color of a newly minted penny, and matching freckles of all sizes danced all across his nose and cheeks. He was just adorable and curious about everything. He was also missing four teeth, making him even more precious as he struggled to speak clearly.

“Hey, Miss Holly! Can we see the bees?”

And that was from Hunter, born with an inner daredevil and who was more curious and reckless than his older brother. Hunter’s thick, coarse black hair could not be tamed and his blue eyes were a window. From the day he was born, we always said he’d be president of something big or lead a life of crime. He always had at least one Band-Aid on him somewhere. A badge of courage.

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “What are y’all doing home today?”

“Parent tea-ther meetings,” Tyler said.

“Ah! I wondered why your daddy’s car was in the driveway. Okay, you both stand right there and I’ll show you what’s going on.”

I drew an imaginary line across the grass. They saluted me and my heart clenched. Tyler and Hunter were just too cute.

I stepped to the edge of the apiary, lifted my veil, and closed the gate. I took my water glass and turned it upside down, capturing a honey bee that was sitting on the roof. Then I slid her into the palm of my hand. My gloves were made of heavy suede and I knew there wasn’t a bee among them whose stinger could penetrate the tough cowhide.

“Do either one of you have a magnifying glass?” I asked.

“I do!” Tyler said. “Should I go get it?”

“Yep!” I said. “Quickly!”

Tyler disappeared inside the house and Hunter stared at me like I had just dropped down from the moon.

“Why are you wearing that funny outfit?” he said.

“You know why, young man. So that I don’t get stung.”

“Momma always said you shouldn’t play with bees. If you’re ’lergic you could get Anna flappic shock and die!”

“She was right, sweetheart. Anaphylactic. And yes, you could. But honey bees are pretty tame and they only sting when they feel threatened.”

“What about bumblebees?”

“The same. They are both pollinators, and all they want is nectar and pollen. But don’t get in their way! Then we’d have a problem.”

“What about wasps and yellowjackets?”

“Ah! They’re bugs of another color! Mean as the dickens! They can be very aggressive. Never, ever, ever touch their nests. But honey bees? Do you know they’re the only bugs who make food for humans?”

“They are? What about crickets? Daddy told me people eat crickets because they’re good for you.”

“Really? My goodness! I’d have to be awfully hungry to eat a cricket,” I said and wondered if they sat around all night watching National Geographic specials on television. “Well, if your daddy said it then I’m sure it’s true.” His daddy Archie was so good looking he made me stutter and blush. He was also a Harvard Ph.D. Not exactly a dummy. “But we don’t eat honey bees. They make food for us. Do you see the difference?”

“Uh-huh.” Hunter smiled at me and my heart melted. “If you ate a bee you might get stung in the tongue!”

“There’s no might about it!” I said and smiled at him. “Or in your tummy!”

Slam!

Tyler was headed back our way. I took the magnifying glass from him.

“Tyler? Hold my glass in place so this little bee doesn’t fly away. Okay, gentlemen, see there? Look at that! Honey bees are very hairy around the perimeter of their eyeballs. And their eyes have over five thousand prisms! Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah! Wow!” they both said together.

“Here’s a hairy eyeball,” Hunter said. He stepped back into a warriorlike stance, set his jaw firmly, and frowned at me, staring without blinking.

“That’s also known as stink-eye,” I said with a giggle.

Tyler said, “How come they have hairy eyeballs?”

“Because they just do. No one seems to have discovered a good reason yet. It could be to discourage dust and other kinds of debris from settling on them.”