The Beekeeper's Ball: Bella Vista Chronicles Book 2 (12 page)

“Settle down, you,” said a voice that was rough with fury. It was the street sweeper’s voice. “Don’t you make a sound, or I’ll slit your throat, don’t think I won’t. Understand?”

Magnus nodded his head vigorously. He couldn’t make a sound anyway; he was too scared.

“I saw what you did,” the guy said.

“I...I didn’t do anything,” Magnus protested, his voice quivering. He wasn’t going to cry. He’d cried enough tears for his family. Some smelly old street sweeper wasn’t going to make him cry.

“That’s a lie,” the man said. “I watched you, and then I watched what happened after. Saw it all through the window.” He turned Magnus around, digging a thumb into his upper arm. “There was a
beehive
in that parcel you delivered.”

Despite his fear, Magnus felt a stab of pride. It had been his mother’s best hive, housed in a woven straw skep with an opening at the bottom. Under dark of night, he had sneaked back to the Johansen family home, and had taken it away.

“Do you
know
what happened when the hive was brought into the office?”

Magnus hung his head. “No.”

“Would you like me to tell you?”

Magnus said nothing, knowing the man was going to tell him, anyway. He wondered what the punishment was for getting caught at such a prank. When it came to the Nazis, you never knew. He’d heard a rumor that in Germany, they shot people just for going to temple.

“I’ll tell you what happened, you foolish little scamp. The bees poured out of the hive in a huge swarm.”

“Sir, that is because the warm air brought the bees out, and they sensed the hive was under attack.”

“People got stung. There was a mad rush for the door. It was insanity for a while.”

Magnus kept his head down, this time to hide a smile of triumph.

But the street sweeper saw. “You think this is
funny?
”

Magnus snapped his head up and glared at the man. “I think they deserve worse than being stung by bees. I’m just getting started.”

The man gasped, and Magnus realized he’d said too much. But his fear had turned to defiant anger.

“Then you’d better listen to me, and listen closely,” said the street sweeper, grabbing the front of Magnus’s shirt.

He tried to wrench away, but the man held fast. “Why should I listen to you?” Magnus demanded.

“Because I know what I’m doing. If you intend to perform acts of mischief against the Nazis, at least do something that counts.” He pushed Magnus away with a contemptuous shove.

Magnus gaped at him, digesting this advice. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. You think you’re the only one who doesn’t like living under German rule? You’re not alone in wanting to disrupt the Nazi war effort—by any means necessary.”

“You mean...you’re against the Germans, too?” Magnus asked, amazed and relieved.

“Any self-respecting Dane is,” said the man. “But don’t waste your time and effort with child’s play. A
beehive.
What if you’d been caught today? You’d have been locked up forever, and for what? So a few stupid Gestapo officials could get stung by bees?”

“It’s...like I said. I’m just getting started.”

“Then it’s time you learned how to do some real damage.”

Chapter Eleven

“And that,” Magnus said to Mac and Isabel, “is how I met the Teacher.”

Mac was blown away by the story. He scribbled several questions on the list he was keeping, because he knew there would be many. His literary agent had promised the scope of this project would reach beyond an old man’s memoir. He couldn’t wait to hear more.

“The street sweeper was a teacher?” asked Isabel.

“No, that was his code name. I never knew him by anything else. For security, no one used their actual name. So this man was the one who brought me into the resistance. And although he wasn’t a teacher, I learned much from him. He showed me how to hide in plain sight, how to use hot weapons and cold weapons, how to handle dynamite and set homemade bombs.”

“Hot and cold weapons?” asked Isabel.

“A hot weapon is one that fires or ignites—a gun or incendiary. Cold weapons are made of metal or wire. Not the sort of thing a schoolboy learned in class, but I probably owe that man my life. He taught me to fight back, and he taught me survival tactics.” Magnus took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Later that year, the Nazis gunned him down. I witnessed the incident and barely escaped with my life.”

“You saw a man being murdered?” Isabel whispered the question.

He nodded. “I wish I could tell you it was the only time. Before his death, he gave me shelter and did his best to locate my family. But I never saw my parents again, though I refused to stop looking high and low. My grandfather—my beloved Farfar—was gone, too, and to this day, I’ve never known his fate. Kiki’s family said I could live with them, but I didn’t want to put them in danger, and I knew I would, because I was committed to the resistance effort. I lost my childhood that year. I never felt like a boy again.”

“I’m sorry, Grandfather,” Isabel said. “I wish I could take the terrible memories away from you.”

He patted her hand in a way that made Mac’s heart lurch. “You do, my darling. Every day.”

Mac could tell Magnus was exhausted. The old man’s shoulders slumped a little, and the lively light in his eyes had dimmed. “Tell you what,” Mac said. “How about we take a break here?”

“Yes,” said Magnus. “I’d like that. I think I shall listen to some music.”

Isabel handed him an iPad and set of headphones. He opened the music program and tapped an icon, looking up with a slight smile. “Whoever thought it could be so easy to hear a Carl Nielsen symphony?”

“Is he a favorite of yours?”

“Indeed, a native born Dane. When I hear the music, I can picture the old country with perfect clarity—the islands and the meadows, the light and the chill air of the forests and farms. There is nothing quite like the bracing scent of the sea on a cold, clear morning.”

“Did you ever go back for a visit?”

“No. When I left, I knew it would be forever. There is nothing back there for me, nothing but memories, and they stay with me wherever I go.”

“I’ll have someone bring you a mug of tea,” said Isabel.
“Alt vil være okay,”
she told her grandfather, garnering a look of surprise from Mac.

“Ja, jeg ved.”
Magnus nodded and gave her hand a pat, then put on the headphones and closed his eyes. Mac walked outside with her.

“You could tell he was tired, couldn’t you?” she said.

“Sure. Sometimes just sitting still can be exhausting, when you’re reliving times like that.”

“Yes, emotionally exhausting. It’s too easy to forget he was just a young teen when his family disappeared and he joined the underground. Dredging up all this trauma can’t be good for him. It’s exactly what I was worried about when you came here for this project.” She lifted her chin, sent him a challenging glare.

She had no idea how sexy she was when she looked at him like that.

“Listen, the last thing I want to do is upset the guy. If it’s having a negative impact on his health, I’m out of here.”

“Really?”

“Hell, yeah, really. I don’t make a practice of tormenting my subjects.”

“So...if you thought it was bad for Grandfather, you’d abandon the project. There would be no book.”

“Correct.” He watched her digest this information. It was kind of heartbreaking, seeing how torn she was. He had a crazy urge to touch her, pat her hand or her shoulder or...something.

“But he wants this. He wants a record of his life.”

“I can make you this promise. I’ll write it well. I’ll write the truth and I’ll be respectful about it. He’s been living with his memories whether or not he’s spoken of them out loud. You heard what he said—they’re always with him.”

“Do you think it’s
good
for him to talk about it?”

“Does he seem like he’s going to drop dead when he talks to me? No. He’s a sturdy old guy, Isabel. Tess told me he survived a head trauma last year, so I don’t think a trip down memory lane is going to do him in. He’s a grown man. If he changes his mind about doing this, he’ll tell me.”

She nodded, appearing to concede his point. “But the more he tells us, the more confused I get.”

“Sounds as if you’re the one who’s bothered by all this digging into the past, not your grandfather.”

Her gaze skated away. “I’m not bothered. Just...confused. He loved Eva, but then there’s the whole question of Erik’s mother.”

“Annelise Winther,” Mac said. “The birth mother. I’d like to meet her.”

She glanced up at him. “I imagine you will. She comes to visit sometimes. She and Magnus reconnected after his accident last year. She’ll be here for Tess’s bachelorette weekend.”

“Seriously?”

“She’s the world’s oldest living bachelorette.”

“So what’s a bachelorette party like? I’ve never been to one.”

“Because it’s girls only. Food and presents—the sillier and the prettier, the better. I love giving parties.” She offered a shy smile.

Again, he had the urge to touch her. She was just...delicious to him. He couldn’t understand it. He’d never felt so drawn to a woman—her scent, her soft curves, the curls of hair framing her face, the fullness of her lips. It was something more than attraction. She moved him—the way she cared so much about her grandfather and Bella Vista, her earnest dedication to her family and friends. Her unbelievable cooking. The tiny pulse beneath the delicate skin of her throat. She bothered the hell out of him, too, because his attraction to her wasn’t something he could rationalize or control. He loved talking to her, even when she was griping at him. He liked the softness that came over her face when she was in the garden or with her grandfather. He just
wanted
her.

This development was totally unexpected, not to mention inconvenient as hell. He had come here on a job, and once that was done, he’d be leaving. Getting into some kind of emotional entanglement was the last thing he needed. He wasn’t good at relationships. He’d proven that again and again.

This could be different,
he caught himself thinking. And then Mac came to a startling realization—the thing that was so wrong about the whole situation was that it felt so right.

“...impossible to imagine how hard it must be for a woman to make that choice,” Isabel was saying.

“Sorry, what?” Mac gave himself a mental shake.
Focus.

“I was talking about Annelise Winther,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated. She quickened her pace toward the tool shed. “I’ve been trying to imagine what it’s like to make that choice.”

“To give a baby up for adoption?” He reined in his thoughts and picked up on the conversation again.

“Yes. Because it’s—” She came around the corner, and there was Jamie, carrying a box of beekeeping gear. “Oh, hey, Jamie.” Isabel looked flustered, and Mac couldn’t understand why.

But when Jamie set down the box, he did. The girl smoothed her hand over her belly in that universal way women seemed to have when they were pregnant. When she looked up at Isabel, her eyes were haunted. “I’ve been imagining exactly that a lot lately,” she said.

She was an odd little character, intense, with a distrustful flicker in her eyes when she looked at him. Isabel had taken her in with open arms. Yet another thing to like about Isabel, not that he was looking for things to like about her.

“Oh, gosh, I was talking about something that happened in my family a long time ago,” Isabel said. “Not—”

“It’s okay, really.”

“If there’s something I can do to help, you’ll tell me, right?”

Jamie stared at the ground. Mac sensed the girl had plenty to say. But not in front of him, that was clear.

“I need to get to work,” he said, stepping away from them. “See you around.”

* * *

Isabel watched Mac go, his lanky form moving with an easy grace, though he still favored the injured knee. She still wasn’t convinced that he should stay and pursue his project, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to go. And as he’d said, it wasn’t her decision to make.

Jamie let out a gust of air as if she’d been holding her breath.

“Are you all right?” asked Isabel. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She raked a hand through her spiky hair. “Feels as though an alien has taken over my body. Not that I know what that feels like, but it’s what I’m imagining.”

“How can I help?” asked Isabel.

She indicated the box of new racks she’d ordered for the hives. “I need to check the supers and make sure we got rid of the mites we found last month. I was going to treat for mites one more time, just in case.”

“Well, of course I’d love to help with that,” Isabel said, “but I was talking about you. What can I do to help you?”

Isabel carried the gear as they walked together up the path toward the apiary. In the bright, hot sunshine, the hives were boiling with activity. Bees hovered in the milkweed and lavender, in the yarrow and thyme. The low, humming sound they made still felt unsettling to Isabel, but it seemed to have a calming effect on Jamie.

When Jamie was around the hives, she was deeply in her element, confident and graceful in her every move. She used only natural ingredients to control pests—thyme oil and powdered sugar. She had an uncanny sense about when and how to replace queens, and the new hives she’d installed already seemed to be thriving.

“Here’s the thing,” Jamie said as they moved among the hives, checking bottom racks and supers. “I know I need to get real with myself, and the reality is, I can’t raise a baby. I can’t. I don’t have anything to offer it. If you hadn’t let me stay here, I wouldn’t have a place to live. I have just enough money to get by, and I...it’s simply not in me to bring a baby into the mess I’ve made of my life.”

Isabel winced, hearing the ache of regret in the girl’s voice. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re strong and healthy, and you have all the love in the world to give.”

“That’s nice of you to say. But I can’t let myself be stupid about this, or make a stupid decision. God knows, I’ve done plenty of that already.”

“Question—and feel free to tell me to butt out if it’s too personal. What about the baby’s father? I mean, you said you weren’t together, but maybe he’ll step up and support you.”

Jamie shot Isabel a dark look. “He was the worst, you know?”

Isabel thought of the bruise she’d seen on Jamie’s jaw. “He’s not in the picture, then.”

“Nope.”

“And...sorry about the third degree. Are you safe?”

She nodded. “I am now.”

“Was it some guy in Napa?”

Jamie ducked her head, but not before Isabel saw something—a flash of insight she didn’t understand—in the girl’s eyes. “Yeah,” Jamie said. “In Napa.”

“So you were living there? Working there?”

Again that flash. “I had a gig singing in a small restaurant. And I was supplying organic honey for the culinary school, and for some restaurants. The cooking school there is a big deal, you know?”

“I do know.” Isabel hesitated, then admitted, “I was a student there when I was about your age.”

“And?”

“And it didn’t work out for me there, either. Wasn’t really the right thing.” Isabel had gone to culinary school with such hopes. How quickly that had all turned upside down.

“Yeah? What was wrong with it?”

Isabel sighed. “Long story. And you’re trying to change the subject.”

“Look, he’s not going to come looking for me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jamie said firmly.

“I’m worried about
you.
”

“There’s no need. My...the guy...he was nice at first, but he turned mean. Like, really mean.”

Isabel felt a leaden sensation in her gut, remembering all too well how it felt to realize someone you trusted, maybe even loved, had turned on you. “So you left him,” she said. “Good for you.”

Jamie nodded, then tossed back her head, almost defiantly. Her eyes were hot with self-loathing. “You don’t get it, Isabel. I didn’t leave. It wasn’t good for me and I knew it but I still didn’t leave. The only thing that got me out of my predicament is that he threw me out. I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. You’re...”
Like me,
thought Isabel. Sometimes a perfectly rational, intelligent person made stupid decisions. “Please don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said.

“Forgiving myself doesn’t change my situation. I just can’t figure out how in the world I’m going to raise a kid.”

“It’s the biggest commitment you’ll ever make, and it’s great that you’re taking it so seriously.”

She nodded, using a hive tool to pry apart the stacked supers of a hive. “I never thought I’d be in this position, you know? But now that I am, I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do.”

“You have time to think this over and weigh all the options,” said Isabel.

Jamie nodded. “I’m glad there’s time. But there’s definitely a deadline, and I’m not ready to be a mom. I might never be ready. I knew right away that ending the pregnancy wouldn’t be the right option for me, so now I really only have two choices—to keep the baby, or to give it up for adoption.”

“I’ve never liked that phrase—‘giving up’ a baby. It doesn’t really describe the situation.” Isabel paused, thinking about her grandparents. Annelise Winther’s actions had changed her grandmother’s life forever. She hadn’t given up a baby. She’d given Magnus and Eva a priceless gift.