Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

  “That’s no tree. Haven’t you silly geese looked outside this morning?”

  Like a slow-moving herd, we wandered onto the porch, clutching at blankets and coat flaps.

  “See?” he asked.

  I peered into the yard. Morning’s light cast weak silvery beams across the covered fields. The yard sparkled, pretty until I caught sight of Ezra’s bloody footprints marring its purity.

  “I don’t see anything,” I admitted.

  “There,” he said, pointing to the porch’s overhang.

  Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Ezra was right.

  It wasn’t a branch.

  It wasn’t the wind.

  Drops of water trickled off the jagged teeth of icicles hanging from the roof. They fell to the wooden planks below with metronomic persistence.

  Hope leapt high in my throat.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “The snow is melting,” Ezra said needlessly. “It’s finally spring.”

  “Easy now,” I cautioned. I could barely make out Merry’s profile beneath the enormous brim of Papa’s hat. The veil shrouded her frame with such excess that not even the bright afternoon sunlight could penetrate its folds.

  “I don’t think I’m doing this right.” Her voice was thin and reedy; she was clearly unhappy with the situation. “Can’t we wait a few more days?”

  “It’s finally warm enough to open the boxes. We need to see if the queens made it through the winter.”

  I’d been hunting for eggs in the chicken coop that morning when a honeybee had landed on the lawn of my sleeve, preening its wings as if to say hello. It was the first bee I’d seen since snowfall, and I took it as a sign the hives were ready for inspection. After breakfast, I’d enlisted Merry, even letting her choose which duty she’d prefer—the smoker or handling the hive frames.

  “I can’t pick the frames up myself,” she’d protested.

  “Then the smoker is all yours.”

  I’d been so certain we’d be able to handle the job ourselves, but as she struggled with the metal can and bellows, I wondered if I ought to have asked Ezra or Thomas.

  Surprisingly, neither of them had shown much interest in the bees. Ezra claimed they were both terribly allergic to the stings. When I’d asked how he’d managed to grow up in a house of apiarists, he’d laughed.

  “Very carefully.”

  “Just a little more smoke along the bottom board,” I instructed now, trying to sound confident. I slowly counted to twenty—just as I remembered seeing Papa do—and lifted the inner cover.

  A mass of bees greeted us, swarming around the last of the winter sugar cakes. Only a few chunks remained, and my heart swelled. This hive had not only survived the winter but—from the initial inspection—it had thrived. Using the chisel, I freed several of the super frames, sweeping my eyes over them. Most of the combs were a pale yellow, filled with honey created by the sugar that the bees had ingested over the winter. There was a smattering of dark orange cells—combs full of pollen and bee bread. It was strange to see so few of them, but it had been a hard, long winter and the bees were only now beginning to venture into the world again. Though our fields remained barren, flowers were blooming all over the valley. They’d be able to store more pollen soon, I was sure of it.

  “Let’s check the brood box before we clean the bottom boards,” I said, removing the top layer, my arms trembling.

  Merry doused the lower region, and I checked the brood frames, cheered to see capped cells along the outer edges. This hive’s queen was alive and busy laying eggs. Several queen caps stuck out from the comb, like metastasizing toadstools, but there was no royal jelly in them or larvae—nothing to signal a problem with the current queen. The last traces of my anxiety slipped away.

  With a grunt, I hoisted the brood box free of the base board and set it to the side as gently as I could manage. The box had to weigh at least a hundred pounds.

  “Oh,” Merry said, peering across the floor of the hive. It was littered with dead bees.

  “It’s okay,” I said, reassuring her as much as myself. “Not every bee was going to survive the winter, and it was too cold for the undertakers to remove the bodies. We’ll clean out the bottom, then put everything back together.”

  Wax caps dotted the floor, and there was a blue hue in one corner. It wasn’t unusual for mold to form in the winter months, when the hive was less ventilated, trapping the excess humidity inside. It wasn’t a good sight to see, but I was grateful it was only here, where condensation must have pooled, and not within the upper frames.

  We set to work, shaking out the dead and scraping off the mold. Once the first hive was restored, we moved on to the next one, and the one after that, and the one after, until all five colonies had been inspected. The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains as I covered the final hive with a contented sigh.

  Grabbing Merry in a playful hug, I pressed a quick kiss to the top of her hat. “We did it,” I breathed with relief. “We got the bees through winter.”

  “Long day’s work, ladies?” a voice called out across the side yard.

  Merry pulled up the edge of her veil to better see the tall figure leaning against a cottonwood tree. “Whitaker!” she exclaimed, and my stomach plummeted joyfully into my boots.

  We hadn’t seen him since Christmas. Deep snows and wicked blizzard winds had kept him away. I’d agonized over our separation. What the poets wrote was true: absence did make the heart grow fonder. Fonder and fanciful and wholly prone to fits of yearning and anguish.

  But he was here now. Finally.

  “Is it safe to approach?” he asked as we gathered our tools. “I didn’t want to agitate the bees.”

  “The covers are on—you’re just fine,” I said, reaching under my veil to push away an errant lock of hair. I’d daydreamed countless variations of our reunion, but I’d never been wearing a bee hat in any of them. “You’ll be fine,” I amended, heat flooding my cheeks as I tried tempering my grin. Every fiber in me ached to throw my arms around him, but Merry’s presence held me in check.

  Just barely.

  Though Whitaker smiled, something seemed off. His eyes were cautious, considering, as if he was assessing a situation that could turn dangerous. His hesitation gave me pause, and worries rose like a flock of startled birds within me.

  “You made it through the winter,” Merry said. “How are you?”

  “Fine, just fine,” he said swaying back and forth on his heels and studiously avoiding my stare. “And how are the Downings?”

  “We’re fine,” I said, uncomfortably aware of how often we’d repeated that word. “We all made it through the winter, mostly….Bessie died. Our cow. And a few of the chickens.”

  He dragged his gaze away from Merry. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was certainly a rough winter on everyone…but you’re both looking well.”

  His lie rang hollowly in the spring air.

  We weren’t, and we knew it. Hip bones jutted uncomfortably through the gathers of our skirts, and shadows rimmed our eyes. After so many months cooped up in the farmhouse, my skin was sallow, tinged with a yellow hue that would take more than an afternoon of hive inspections to correct.

  A dark burr worried me as I took stock of my flaws. Had he truly cared so much about my outer appearance?

  “Merry!”

  We turned to see Sadie standing on the porch, peering over the fields with her hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “Are you done with the bees? I need help!”

  With the schoolhouse still closed, Merry oversaw Sadie’s classwork, often leaving her tasks quickly scrawled on bits of paper throughout the house. Though it brought neither of them delight, both Sadie’s penmanship and math skills had been improving.

  With a heavy sigh, Merry foisted the s
moker into my arms and muttered goodbye to Whitaker. The screen door slammed shut behind her with a listless thunk.

  “Here, I can take those,” Whitaker said, scooping the chisels and smoker from me.

  Hands free, I took off my hat and shook out my braid. It felt damp and heavy at the back of my neck. We stared at each other for a long moment. I opened my mouth, but words failed to form.

  “How are they?” he finally asked, gesturing to the boxes.

  I grinned around my discomfort. “Every hive made it through the winter. It was all because of your sugar….If you hadn’t—”

  “If you hadn’t,” he corrected me, and for a moment the tension—tightening between us like a thread pulled taut by a spindle—snapped.

  “It’s…it’s good to see you again,” I said, stepping into the shed. I set down my hat and gathered the netted veil into its center to keep it safe from snags.

  “Yes.” He arranged the chisels along the table, from smallest to biggest, and straightened their line with soft, short adjustments.

  “I…I missed you,” I admitted, careful to keep my voice neutral.

  His smile neither faded nor deepened. “Ellerie,” he started, and my sternum ached at his tone. His feelings had changed. Or I’d read too much into them in the first place, wistfully dreaming up things that were not mine to dream.

  I crossed toward the door, intent on fleeing my embarrassment and shame.

  “I’ve not been fair to you,” he called out, stalling me. I didn’t shift but could sense his approach. I had the distinct impression that he reached out, nearly touching the sharp curve of my shoulder blade, before having second thoughts. “I had a lot of time to think this winter, and…I won’t be in Amity Falls forever. You know that, right?”

  I nodded. “You’ve got the furs to sell…but you’ll return when they have, won’t you?” When I looked back, he seemed taller somehow, as if he’d spent the season growing fuller and wiser, while I’d shrunk smaller, tired and hollowed from the inside out. “Before fall?” I persisted. “Jean Garreau always did. He’d come back to set his traps and ready his camp and—”

  Whitaker cupped my cheek, silencing me. “I don’t know. The others…I don’t have much say in it.” He mustered a small laugh. “I’m making such a mess of this….I came here to let you know that the winter drifts have finally thawed. The pass is open again.”

  “So you’ll be leaving soon,” I murmured, feeling my heart sink.

  He nodded. “And I want you to come with me.”

  “What?”

  He took my hands in his, the press of his fingers against mine pleading and fervent. “Let’s leave this place. Leave the Falls. We could go anywhere, do anything. Sleep under the stars or stay at the finest hotels. There’s so much of the world beyond God’s Grasp. Let’s go find it. Together.”

  His words painted such an alluring daydream, I was dizzy with the possibilities. I pictured promenading down a street in a far-off city, clutching Whitaker’s arm as we marveled at the wonders in the shop windows, dressed in stylish clothes and laughing gaily. I imagined nights spent in a shared tent, falling asleep as we listened to spring peepers and each other’s heartbeats, warm and safe in the security we’d created.

  But when I glanced around the work shed, those thoughts faded away as reality came into sharper focus.

  I smiled sadly. “That sounds lovely.”

  “But?” he guessed, feeling my words to come.

  “What about Sadie? Merry? Who would look after them?”

  “Your parents will be back soon. With the pass open, they could arrive any day now.”

  “With a new brother or sister,” I said, praying that was true. “They’ll need me here, especially with Sam gone.” I took a deep swallow, wanting to cry. “I couldn’t leave them like that.”

  He sighed, his gaze falling to the tight pledge our hands formed. “No, I suppose not.”

  I leaned into him, breathing his scent. “But…you could stay here. There’s always work that needs to be done, and when Papa comes back…I know he values you. And he’d give us his blessing if…”

  I stopped before I could pour out the tangled hopes I’d wished for all winter.

  Whitaker taking my hand in his.

  A pretty dress and a pair of rings.

  A cabin of our own where we’d wake each morning, even more in love than the day before.

  His gaze weighed heavily on me, but I couldn’t bear to meet it lest he somehow read those tender, private thoughts flooding through me.

  “I wish it was that easy.”

  “Why couldn’t it be?”

  “There are things I have to do—”

  “Things?” I echoed.

  He squirmed. “Debts that must be repaid.”

  “Debts?” I persisted stubbornly. I’d thought we were past his vague answers and half-formed explanations. I’d thought he’d finally begun to open more of himself up to me. I’d thought—

  I’d thought a lot of things.

  He raked his fingers through his hair, releasing a growl of frustration. “There are some things I can’t share with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you!” The words exploded from his chest like cannon fire. “Because I find myself falling in love with you, and I can’t bear the thought that I’d say something to cause you to think less of me.”

  “You couldn’t.”

  “I could. So easily. And I don’t want to.” His eyes closed as he grabbed at the bridge of his nose, warding off a headache.

  “Why do you always do this?” I heard myself ask before I was even aware the words wanted to come out. “You can be so light and charming, but whenever something real comes up, whenever you have to admit a truth about yourself, you run away and hide behind these responses that don’t mean anything. It’s infuriating. I feel like I don’t know anything about you, Whitaker,” I said, keenly aware of the irony. “Not anything real. Not anything of substance.”

  “Come with me,” he tried again. “Bring Sadie. Bring Merry. Hell, bring the bees if you can. Just come with me. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Later. I promise. Please, Ellerie.”

  “No. No later. Tell me now. Tell me one true thing, right now.”

  His eyes darted about, as if he was fighting a rising current and searching for anything to grab on to for help.

  “I can’t,” he finally mumbled. “I can’t.”

  “Of course.” I pushed back a lock of hair, my hands trembling.

  What a waste.

  What a stupid, stupid waste.

  All of the fantasies and dreams I’d yearned for. All of the hopes I’d pinned upon him. Upon us. Upon a future together. I wanted to set fire to them all, burn out every idiotic notion that had ever dared to unfurl within me.

  Shame flushed my cheeks, staining them hot.

  Why couldn’t I have seen through his charm? How could I have overlooked such glaring faults, allowing his evasions to seem mysterious and romantic when they were nothing more than a ruse to cover up a past I would never get to know? You couldn’t get close to a person like that. You couldn’t build a life on half-truths and artifice.

  Every affectionate thought I’d ever had for him filled me with deep regret.

  I’d been such a lovesick fool.

  “When will you leave?” I asked, mustering as stoic a mask as I could. Better to end this conversation quickly, stamp out whatever was left of our friendship like a campfire left to smolder too long.

  He looked disappointed, as though I’d asked a different question than the one he’d wanted to answer. “Soon, I imagine. If…if you change your mind…” He let out a sigh. “Please change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  Stepping outside, I hoped I’d be able to breathe easily once more, but
the wide expanse of sky seemed to press in, crushing me with its insistent blue.

  Ezra strode across the yard, heading to the barn. He waved as he saw us but continued on his way. I was grateful he didn’t stop to chat.

  “Are you…Do you feel comfortable having them in the house?” Whitaker asked, watching Ezra pull open the barn doors with a wide swing.

  “Do I—what?”

  “Something has never set right with me about him.”

  “Why don’t you go on and forget all about it, then?” I snapped. I couldn’t bear to have a conversation with him now, acting as if everything was normal, acting as though he still cared.

  “Ellerie.” His tone was too warm, too familiar.

  “Don’t.”

  He sighed. “I just…What’s he doing out there?”

  “What does it matter?”

  He shrugged. “You said the cow was dead, so he’s not milking. Your garden looks planted, so he doesn’t need any tools. What’s he doing?”

  “He keeps their supplies there. What was left after their wagon was ransacked.”

  “Like what?” he persisted. “What’s out there that couldn’t stay in the house?”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re just using Uncle Ezra to get out of talking about us.”

  “Uncle Ezra,” he echoed with a strange inflection.

  I turned to face him.

  There was a moment when I thought he was going to reach out and take me in his arms. I’d almost welcome it. We’d embrace and I’d change my mind and the whole mess would be put behind us.

  But he stayed still, feet rooted to the ground beneath him, his eyes impossibly sad.

  “Goodbye, Ellerie Downing.”

  He didn’t wait for my response; he trekked toward the pines and slipped into their dark grasp without a word from me.

  I turned on shaky legs and let them carry me back to the farmhouse. I made it up the front steps before sinking into sobs.

  “We gather here today to mourn the passing of Ruth Anne Mullins and to formally commit her remains to the earth,” Parson Briard intoned, looking over the congregation with woeful, watery eyes. “Though her sudden departure saddens us, we rejoice in knowing her spirit has been freed of its terrestrial shackles and reunited with her beloved Stewart in the Kingdom of Heaven, where they shall worship before our Lord and Savior forevermore.”