A Beekeeper for Christmas

by Kimberly Grist

  “Your brothers, their families, along with your sister, Maggie, and her husband B.J., are joining us for dinner tonight. You can sample some of my baked goods before they arrive.” His mother glanced over her shoulder. “No scowling. I promise what we have to say is painless.”

  Moses placed the supplies on the worktable and offered a quick wink to his sister-in-law, Memphis. “I see you're teaching your daughter-in-law your tricks. Ma hits us when we’re half-starved and plies us with cookies to make us more obliging.”

  His sister-in-law poured glasses of tea. “Don’t blame your mama. This meeting was my idea. I wanted to discuss something with you without an audience. Lunch is an added blessing.”

  “Have a seat. Memphis and I’ve already eaten.” His mother set a bowl of chicken soup and a ham sandwich on the table.

  Memphis placed a plate of cookies within easy reach, then took a seat across from Moses. “Your mother’s been sharing her recipe for oatmeal cookies. She said they’re your favorite.”

  “Yep, that’s why I’m worried.” Moses waved his spoon between his sister-in-law and mother. “You two are ganging up on me.”

  ”Don’t be silly. If I thought I needed help getting you to listen, I would have invited your sister, Maggie.” His mother’s green eyes crinkled with her smile.

  “Since I grew up an only child, I find the dynamics of your family fascinating. Is it because Maggie is the youngest? Is that why none of you can say no to her about anything?” Memphis took a small bite of cookie.

  Moses’s mouth lifted at the mention of his adopted sister. The moment she entered their home at the age of four, Maggie immediately wrapped them all around her finger. “Not sure why it’s so hard. But if I ever figure it out, I will not share the information with you two. I’ll never have a moment's rest if I do.”

  Memphis laughed, then reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a notepad. “I know you want to get back to work, so I’ll get straight to the point. I would like to ask you about the application you submitted to the matrimonial service, H.I.M.M, in December.”

  “I didn’t submit the application, Pa did. He sent one for Matthew and me. Told us it was our Christmas present.” Moses chuckled, then took a bite of his sandwich.

  “That’s curious.” Memphis patted her cheek with her pencil. “You filled out Mike’s application, and your Pa completed yours?”

  He shrugged. “Honestly, it was easier to fill out Mike’s than it was my own. I just wrote down what he said and tried to make it sound a bit more enticing.”

  “You certainly did. When I received Mike’s first letter, I was surprised by his choice of a favorite book. Pride and Prejudice seemed an odd choice, and so did his color preference for orange.”

  “Lesson learned. I apologize again for changing his answers. But in my defense, I just wanted to make Mike’s questionnaire sound more appealing.” Moses flushed. “Since then, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time reading books by Jane Austen and poetry by Robert Browning. I even attempted to read some of Shakespeare’s works. Hoping, I might learn more about how a woman thinks.”

  His mother clucked her tongue. “You won’t learn how a woman thinks by reading those types of books. Depending on the woman, you might learn what she enjoys. But then again, you might not.”

  Moses’s mouth twitched at the sight of his mother’s familiar pose of tapping her finger along her cheek. Tennessee Montgomery was a loving mother and a force to be reckoned with once she set her mind to something. He just wished her focus were on someone else at the moment.

  Tennessee continued. “In my experience, love is all about eyes and ears.”

  “Eyes and ears?” Moses took the last bite of his sandwich.

  “Certainly, a man is first attracted to what he sees. A woman, on the other hand, is more likely to fall in love based on what she hears. While some people may say poetry is the language of love, I say it’s about caring enough to listen to what truly matters to the individual.”

  “Wish you’d told me your thoughts before I did all that reading.” Moses scowled.

  “You wouldn’t have listened.” Tennessee elbowed Moses lightly. Her round cheeks rose with her smile.

  “That’s probably true. But one good thing came from it. I’ve learned something about myself.”

  “Oh? What is that?” Memphis pushed a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear.

  “I hate poetry, romance novels, and anything to do with fashion. There was a woman in front of me at the mercantile. She took at least five minutes deciding on what color of ribbon to purchase for her new bonnet. My head was pounding by the time she finished.” Moses placed his thumb and forefinger close together. “I was this close to giving her the money to buy both so that I could take care of business. This goes along with Ma’s point when I marry. It’s important the woman knows the value of a dollar and isn’t prone to silliness or frippery. I want to carry on a conversation with my wife about sensible topics.”

  Memphis scribbled on her notepad. “What do you consider a sensible topic?”

  Moses leaned back in his chair. “Most women can’t stand the smell of the stable. I like the idea of my wife wanting to be part of my business. Someone who enjoys joining me at work, sharing lunch on a haystack looking out onto the pasture.”

  “Your sister-in-law and her friend, Daisy, were telling me about a hardworking, sensible young woman who’s taken on some of their teaching duties since they left the children’s home.” His mother patted his arm. “Would you like to hear more about her?”

  “Sure, why not?” Moses turned his attention to his soup.

  “First of all, I have no idea what Bee’s favorite book is, or whether or not she likes poetry. I do know she loves to bake. Her oatmeal and honey cookies are wonderful.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Moses straightened. “You said her name is Bea?”

  “Her real name is Bethany. She and her grandfather are beekeepers. He gave her the nickname.” His sister-in-law’s mouth lifted. “Bees grew up on her grandparents’ farm, which was adjacent to the orphanage. She’d be familiar with farm animals, but I have no idea if she would appreciate your idea of a romantic lunch at the stable.”

  “If she grew up on a farm, she should be familiar enough with the goings-on of a stable.” He pulled on his ear. “As much as I enjoy honey, I find bees a nuisance. Their colonies can do a heap of damage. On the other hand, the destruction they do is good for our carpentry business. This year alone, Mike and I replaced two structures where bees made a home inside the walls of a house and a barn. They put up quite a fight too.” Moses rubbed his arm in memory of the multiple stings he received working on the repairs. “Do you mind if we continue this conversation at dinner? I promised Mr. Alston I’d have his wagon wheel repaired by the end of the day.”

  Memphis’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t mind delaying the conversation. But are you sure you want to discuss the situation in front of your entire family?”

  Chapter 4

  “Honeybees are the only insect that produces food consumed by humans.” – Miss Bethany Brady, Beekeeper and Substitute Teacher, Counting Stars Children’s Home.

  The evening sun neared the horizon and cast a golden beam of light through the bay windows in the Montgomery family’s large dining room. Thirteen ladder-back chairs crowded around the table, partially vacated while family members assisted with clearing the table to make room for dessert.

  Moses returned to his seat and followed his father’s gaze to those sitting around the table. His eyes darted from his sister, Maggie, and her husband, B.J., to his sister-in-law, Carol, and brother, John-Mark, who sat cradling their newborn son.

  His father’s giant hand pounded Moses’s shoulder. “You know it’s your mother’s greatest desire to add another link to this table. So, tell me, is her wish to come true, sooner as opposed to later? When will your Christmas present be delivered?”

  The gaze of his brother’s six-year-old sister-in-l
aw, Annie, wandered between her sister’s newborn, then back to him. Her blue eyes widened. “Uncle Moe, are you going to have a baby too?”

  “Don’t be silly. Uncle Moses can’t have a baby. He needs to order himself a wife first.” Annie’s nine-year-old brother, Andrew, scowled.

  Moses pulled on his collar and chuckled despite his embarrassment. Fortunately, everyone’s attention turned toward his brother-in-law, Dr. Benton, choking into his napkin.

  Annie leaped from her chair and patted his back. She inclined her head toward his sister, Maggie. “Uncle B.J., does that a lot, doesn’t he?”

  Maggie extended a glass of water to her husband, then smiled at the young girl. “You have a way of surprising him every time we get together.”

  The conversation was interrupted when his brother Mike held the swinging door open for his wife, Memphis, and his mother carrying slices of cake. His brothers, Matthew and the youngest, Malachi, followed carrying plates filled with cookies. He shook his head slightly at the sight of Malachi, already showing signs of broadening shoulders and muscles that would soon match his own. The years they all spent working alongside their father in the forge were evident, their biceps honed from years of pounding metal into shape over the anvil.

  Annie returned to her chair, motioning with her thumb toward Memphis. “Remember when I helped you fill out the form to order Uncle Mike’s wife? That turned out good, didn’t it?”

  “It sure did, Shortcake. I agree you are the perfect matchmaker. But so you understand, I didn’t order your aunt. I wrote to her, and she wrote back. Fortunately for me, she agreed to come and be my wife.” Mike pulled out a chair for his wife, then took a seat. “Aunt Memphis has a friend she thought Uncle Moe might enjoy getting to know.”

  Annie squealed. “I can’t wait.”

  Moses grinned at Annie. Her blond hair and precocious personality reminded him of Maggie when she was a child. Annie achieved equal success in wrapping him around her small fingers. He turned his attention back toward his sister-in-law. “I’m going to lean heavily on the opinion of my helper here. What else can you tell me about your friend?”

  “Like you, she enjoys music. She sings beautifully and plays the Appalachian dulcimer,” Memphis answered.

  “What’s a dulcimer?” Annie frowned.

  “It’s a three or four-stringed instrument you play on your lap.” Moses motioned with his hands.

  Memphis’s lips formed a straight line. “Bethany’s grandmother has some old-fashioned ideas about women and music. She forbids her to play in public. Even so, Mrs. Shelby, the matron of the orphanage, talked her into allowing Bees to teach the children.”

  “She sounds like an industrious young lady.” His father’s weathered face broke into a wide smile.

  “Oh, she is.” Memphis beamed. “Bethany also taught herself to play the fiddle. The last I knew she’s been able to hide the fact from her grandmother.”

  “No one here will discourage her from playing. She’d fit right in.” Tennessee clucked her tongue. “It’s strange how people take up certain notions of what’s proper for a woman. I can’t imagine discouraging anyone who has a talent for music.”

  “Do you have a picture?” Malachi’s eyebrows narrowed. “Seems to me that should be the first step. Moses will want to see her likeness.”

  “No. Moses will have to take my word for it, I suppose.” His sister-in-law’s mouth twitched. “Bethany has brown hair and blue-gray eyes. She’s also tall and quite pretty.”

  His mother scooted her chair closer to the table. “Did I ever tell you about my grandmother, Mary Margaret O’Brien? She came to live in the Tennessee mountains when she was a young girl. My father was her youngest son.”

  Moses groaned. There was nothing his mother loved more than telling a story. The problem was that once she began, her tales could go on for hours. “Ma, as much as I love hearing your stories, I want to get this letter finished so I can put it in the post tomorrow.”

  Tennessee huffed. “I’m getting to the point. Granny was a good two inches taller than my grandfather. But he always insisted they were the same height.”

  Memphis waved her hand. “There’s no danger of Bees being taller than any of the Montgomery men. My guess is she is about five or six inches taller than me. So about five-eight or so.”

  “Bea? Isn’t that short for Beatrice? I thought you said her name was Bethany?” Maggie’s freckled face puckered.

  “Her given name is Bethany. She and her grandfather are beekeepers, and he gave her the nickname. She makes all sorts of things from the honey they harvest. From the wax, she makes candles, balm, and polish.”

  “When we filled out the form for Mike, there were questions to answer, such as favorite book and color.” Maggie nodded toward Memphis’s notepad.

  “Moses and I talked about it and agreed. As a way of introduction, I’ll write to my friend and tell her about Moses. She’ll appreciate that.” Memphis tapped her cheek with her pencil. “The first topic is on favorite books, authors, or poems.”

  “The author I’ve read the most lately is Robert Browning.”

  Maggie raised one eyebrow. “Let’s not repeat the same mistakes we did with Mike’s application. I thought you hated poetry.”

  Moses nodded. “It’s true I didn’t appreciate the book of sonnets by him and his wife. But he wrote more than love poems. I found The Pied Piper of Hamelin interesting.”

  “No point in writing anything else down, Memphis. Your friend is going to think our brother is a nincompoop.” Matthew snickered. “Imagine telling some girl you like stories about a man who plays a magical flute and leads rats into the river.”

  “A magical flute?” Annie beamed. “I would like that story.”

  “Thank you, Annie.” Moses chuckled.

  John-Mark’s wife, Carol, rose from her chair and stood next to Memphis. She pointed at the notepad. “As far as hobbies go, be sure and tell your friend how many instruments Moe can play. Music is a wonderful thing to have in common.”

  “What’s your favorite color, Moe?” Carol asked.

  “I like brown.”

  “Brown?” Voices around the table rang out simultaneously.

  His father leaned back in his chair. “Tell me, son. What is so special about the color brown?”

  “What’s wrong with brown? All my work pants are that color, and it matches most anything.”

  “Don’t let them bully you, Moses. Brown is a dominant color in nature—in wood and rich soil. A beekeeper might appreciate the choice.” B.J.’s shoulders shook with laughter.

  Memphis scribbled a note on the paper, then asked. “If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

  Moses’s attention turned to his father, a godly, loving, and hardworking man of immense strength in body and heart. His mouth lifted at the sight of his mother, replenishing cookies on a tray, then to his brother’s playful grins and his sister’s upturned mouth. Conversations combined with a soft coo from an infant blended into sweet harmony. “No place I’d rather be than here in Carrie Town, Texas, surrounded by my friends and family.”

  Memphis swallowed. Her blue eyes grew misty. “Well said.”

  Annie sprang from her chair. “Can I read the next question?”

  “Of course.” Memphis extended the paper toward the child.

  Annie read slowly. “What is your biggest fear?”

  “Good question.” Moses snapped his fingers “I’ve got it. Being stung by a swarm of bees.”

  Chapter 5

  “If you have no honey in your pot, have some in your mouth.” – Benjamin Franklin, Writer, Politician, Inventor

  Bethany waved away a cobweb with her free hand and hurried down the steps to the cellar with her armload of supplies for the children’s home. “Yuck. Spider web. That’s what I get for being so tall,” she said to Magnolia, whom she was helping. A root-like scent filled the air. She blinked rapidly, waiting for her vision to adjust to the darkness. “I don’t
like dark spaces, and this dugout always seems to have more than its share of spiders.” Bethany shuddered, then pushed the door wider to let light into the room.

  Magnolia’s skirt rustled. “I come in here so often I’m used to it. There are some honey candles left from the last batch we made on the shelf. I’ll light one. That will improve the damp, earthy smell too.”

  A variety of shelves along the opposite wall contained boxes of potatoes and carrots stored in loose soil. Onions tied with rope hung next to various herbs from the ceiling. Bethany stepped into the room, then placed her basket ladled with jars of honey on the worktable with a thud. “Grandpa and I have a few colonies who came through the winter strong, so we did a bit of harvesting.”

  Her friend gathered vegetables and placed them in a basket. “How wonderful. Thank you. But you didn’t have to make a special trip. When I told your grandfather I was running low on honey, I didn’t mean to be a cause for concern.”

  Bethany placed jars of honey on the shelves. “It was no problem. Besides, it gave me an excuse to come and visit. I wanted to share the contents of my letter.”

  Magnolia beamed. “I can’t wait to hear what our mail-order bride friend has to say.”

  “Don’t let Mrs. Shelby hear you call Memphis Rose such a thing. She’ll scold you for sure and say she’s the first of many successful matches made by the agency.”

  “And I will tell her, as I’ve done many times, that it’s a lot easier to say mail-order.” Magnolia laughed. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What does she say about your new beau?”

  “He’s not my beau.” Bethany felt her cheeks flame. “The letter is mostly written by Memphis, but he did add a few lines.”

  “Go on then.” Magnolia perched at the end of the worktable.

  Bethany moved closer to the doorway, making use of the afternoon sun, and read.

  Dear Bees,

  I enjoy living in Carrie Town. Although I miss you and all my friends at the children’s home, Mike’s family is large, loving, and lively. His brother, Moses, is someone I believe you would enjoy getting to know.