A Recipe for Bees Read Free

Indian woman who used the baskets she wove to pick berries on Olaf’s ranch. Augusta couldn’t recall the design on that basket, but it must have been very like the feathers on this woman’s; it had been decorated in the same way, with coloured fibres woven right into it, to form patterns. A bundle of shasta daisies drooped over the side of it. The old man living by the seniors’ centre grew shasta daisies, a huge patch of white that delighted the butterflies. But the flowers could be a nuisance. They took over a garden, just like mint; there was no getting rid of them. You could dig them out, but you’d always miss a root and they’d come right back next spring. They refused to die.
    The fat woman’s name was Esther Joseph, though Augusta didn’t know that then. They didn’t introduce themselves until they were stranded in Parksville. Esther was a good three hundred pounds, and tall, a giant of a woman. She wore glasses but no jewellery, and her stumpy ankles disappeared into white runners. She wore a dress with a floral print, and its short sleeves exposed a gardener’s tan that ended at her elbows.
    “I’ll stick around,” said Rose. “Maybe you can find some time to tell me about Joe.”
    Augusta lowered her voice as Karl came back into the kitchen. “For God’s sake, Rose. Not while Karl’s here.”
    “He wouldn’t hear anyway,” said Rose. “Eh, Karl?”
    “What was that?” said Karl.
    “See?”
    “Rose!” said Augusta. “Have a cookie.” She put the cookie in Rose’s mouth.
    Rose took a bite and spoke with her mouth full. “I suppose you’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
    “Yes.”
    “Have any inkling how Gabe’s doing? I mean, any more premonitions?”
    Augusta set teacups and saucers, milk and honey on the table. Karl and Rose took their tea black, and Augusta normally didn’t put honey in her tea, but today she craved sweetness. “No, not really,” she said. “Nothing since that day I found myself on the floor.” Augusta had predicted Gabe’s illness; that is to say, she’d had a vision of it. She was fussing around in the kitchen, making supper as Gabe and Joy were about to arrive for a visit when, no matter which way she turned, she saw a patch of white appear in front of her, the edges sloping off into the kitchen scene around her, and in this white was Gabe’s face—or almost Gabe’s face, because his features retained little expression and his skin held the milky pallor of the gravely ill. His eyes were closed and there was a honeybee on his lip. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the vision was gone, and she found herself on the floor beside the kitchen table. She sat there with her stiff legs stretched out in front of her. Karl was down at the seniors’ centre playing crib. If she had thumped loud enough on the floor Rose might have heard, as her apartment was below Augusta and Karl’s. When Joy knocked on the door, Augusta had a hard time standing. She’d had to pull up her body using the edge of the table because her hip had locked on her. Then there was the rattle of keys outside the apartment, and the door opened and Joy pushed her way in, panicked, keys in hand. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine,” said Augusta.
    “You look so pale.”
    “I fell.”
    “You fell? Are you all right?”
    “Yes, yes. Fine. Nothing’s broken. I’m fine. I didn’t fall, exactly. I had trouble getting up.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Yes. Just let me sit. There. Get me a cup of tea, will you, Joy? And a biscuit from the box on the counter? I need to gather myself. Gabe, sit by me. No, here, in Karl’s chair.”
    As Joy was pouring tea, Augusta told Joy and Gabe about the vision. She said she thought it was a premonition of illness, but they both laughed it off. Rose took it seriously. She said, “We should write it down, don’t you think? So there’s proof when it happens?” She did just that. She had Augusta describe the vision again, and wrote down