Like a Bee to Honey

by Jennifer Beckstrand

  It felt as if someone with big hands had shoved Rose against a wall. “The hospital?”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “He told us it was just a cold, but he kept coughing and coughing and started sweating, and then he turned pale as a ghost.”

  “Luke,” Dan said, looking at Rose out of the corner of his eye, “we don’t need all the upsetting details.”

  Luke grunted. “Matthew didn’t want to let us in his house for fear Josiah would give his family some dread disease.”

  Rose scooted to the edge of her chair as if to catch the information faster. “Is . . . is he okay?”

  “He’s got walking pneumonia. The doctor told him to stay in bed, so of course the minute we dropped him off at home, he went to milk the cow.”

  “Walking pneumonia? Is it serious?”

  “He’s wonderful sick,” Dan said. “But he’ll be okay if he doesn’t try to work himself to death.”

  Both Luke and Dan studied her face as if they could find answers there. Lily and Poppy concentrated faithfully on their dinner.

  “He just . . . he’s very unhappy,” Dan said, as if he really didn’t want to say anything but felt like he should.

  Rose could think of absolutely nothing to say, and she wouldn’t have been able to speak past the lump in her throat anyway. Josiah was sick—wonderful sick—Dan had said. She ached just thinking of Josiah all alone and ailing in the house where his fater had died.

  Was it her fault he was sick?

  She was fully aware that she had hurt Josiah very badly. In time, he would come to understand it had been for his own good. Maybe he already did. She had been a complete disappointment, and he was probably glad he’d gotten rid of her. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said, mostly because she didn’t know what else to say.

  “I’m sure Suvie’s taking gute care of him,” Lily said.

  Luke breathed out a long and plaintive sigh. “If Suvie gets sick, the kinner get sick. For sure and certain, she’s keeping her distance.”

  Rose frowned. “It wonders me if the doctor gave him any medicine.”

  Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  If she wanted to get any information, Luke was not the person to ask. He was more aggravating than a raccoon in the chimney. “Dan,” she said. “Did Josiah take any cough medicine or something for his fever?”

  “I don’t know,” Dan said. “We dropped him off, and he said he was going to milk the cow.”

  “You didn’t tell him he should rest?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t feel right about bossing him around.”

  Rose’s agitation grew at the indifference of Josiah’s two best friends. “Does he have any essential oils? What about menthol? Did you check to see if he had dry mustard on hand?”

  Luke took a bite of pizza. How could he eat at a time like this? “Josiah is twenty-three years old. He can take care of himself.”

  If Rose had been Poppy, she would have had the courage to scold Luke for being such a dunderhead. What boy could be trusted to take care of himself when he was sick? They had no sense at all about such things.

  “Besides,” Luke said. “I have no patience for sick people.”

  Rose felt compelled to take him to task. “Your dat had cancer for two years.”

  “I suppose I used up all my sympathy on him.”

  Rose pressed her lips together and stopped asking questions. She wasn’t going to get any satisfactory answers from her sisters’ aggravating fiancés. She’d have to take matters into her own hands. She couldn’t turn a blind eye to Josiah’s suffering. She wouldn’t have to stay long or feel obligated to explain herself.

  Josiah needed help, and she would go. No matter how uncomfortable or frightening. No matter how she dreaded seeing his disdain or feeling his rejection.

  No matter how much it hurt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Josiah stood up straight as another fit of coughing overtook him. It felt as if a thousand shards of glass were ripping at his throat, leaving him raw and breathless. It couldn’t hurt any worse if he hacked up an entire lung.

  Ach, vell. It couldn’t hurt any worse if he broke every bone in his body. The coughing and the fever and the headache were nothing compared to the ache in his heart that brought him to his knees even without walking pneumonia. He almost welcomed the physical pain. It helped dull what would never go away.

  The hacking and the fretting had kept him up all night last night, so before the sun had come up, he’d mucked out the barn and milked the cow. Milking did not go well with a cough. He often sang to the cow to calm her down, and Flossy did not take kindly to his barking cough. She’d been so nervous, she had nearly knocked the pail over twice, and she had swished her manure-caked tail and hit Josiah in the face.

  When there had been light enough to see by, he’d staggered to the pumpkin patch to do some weeding. He’d scared all the birds and the bees away, and aside from his coughing, the day seemed oddly quiet, bleak, and unfriendly. Honey sat on her haunches in the dirt, keeping watch over him as if she feared he was going to keel over and die any minute. Maybe he would.

  Sweat trickled down his back, but he felt deathly cold, as if he were freezing from the inside out.

  A honeybee, unconcerned by the coughing, landed on the bindweed Josiah was just about to yank out of the ground. He paused and watched as the bee stuck out its tongue and collected nectar from the small flower. Rose could have spent hours in his pumpkin patch, watching the bees play among the blossoms, delighting in the little yellow balls of pollen attached to their legs, listening to the pleasant hum of their vibrating wings.

  The pain of the memory was so sudden and sharp, he doubled over. He clamped his eyes shut but still saw Rose everywhere. He saw her tenderly tugging a blossom close to her nose so she could take in its aroma. He imagined her eyes lighting up at the sight of Suvie’s butterfly garden and saw her marvel at the beauty of the roses. Her smile was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and her voice made his heart break just thinking about the sound of it.

  He would never be able to subdue the memory of Rose, so vulnerable yet so determined, seeking the comfort of his arms in the shadow of the red barn. It was the only place he had ever wanted her, tucked safely in his embrace and close to his heart.

  But it hadn’t been his choice. Rose didn’t want him. One word from her, and he had walked away. Turning his back on Rose was like cutting off his own hand, but it didn’t matter. He would have done anything for her.

  He gave her his heart and let her break it.

  Josiah wrapped his arms around Honey’s neck. How pathetic he was! He’d fallen hard and fast for Rose. He’d named his dog for her. He’d spent every hour of every day thinking about her. He hadn’t been careful enough or patient enough. Rose’s rejection had been his own fault, and that realization tortured him more than anything else.

  The coughing spasms took over once more, and he pressed his fingers to the bottom of his rib cage in an attempt to contain the pain. He didn’t wonder but that he would tear every muscle loose in his gut.

  “Would you go lie down if I weeded your pumpkins for you?”

  At the sound of her voice, his pulse became a raging river. He turned to see Rose standing at the edge of his pumpkin patch, her eyes full of anxiety, her arms curled around the handle of a large basket. She wore her rose-petal-pink dress, and she stood with her back to the morning sun. The light shining behind her made her look as if she were from another world, like an angel from the heavenly clouds come to deliver a message.

  He leaped to his feet and went to her, reaching out and taking the basket from her arms. It was heavy. “Weeding is hard work,” he said. “I would never want you to have to do it.”

  “Never is a long time,” she said, her voice gravelly and low, as if she were doing her best to maintain some semblance of composure.

  She didn’t want to be here. That much was painfully clear. B
ut he loved Rose well enough to know that she would go anywhere if she thought someone needed her, even someone as unworthy as Josiah Yoder. He didn’t allow himself to look into her eyes. It would hurt too much, and the pain was already overflowing.

  Without her basket for protection, she clasped her hands together in front of her. “I brought some chicken soup.”

  He glanced at her basket. “Ach. Jah. That is very nice.” He broke into a fit of coughing.

  She took a step toward him. “Cum. Let’s get you into the house.”

  He hated that she felt obligated to help him when it was clear she wanted to be anywhere but here. “Rose, you are so kind, but there is no need. The doctor gave me some antibiotics, and I cough whether I’m up or down. I might as well get some work done.” He lifted the basket slightly. “Denki for dropping this by.”

  Pain flashed across her face before the worry returned. She reached out and took his hand, sending a ribbon of warmth snaking all the way up his arm. “Please will you come?”

  She tugged Josiah toward the house, and both he and Honey followed without a word—not that Honey had ever said anything before, but she was as silent and solemn as if Rose had asked her to keep watch.

  The back door led right into the kitchen. Josiah grimaced. He’d been sick for three days. The kitchen looked as if Aaron and Alvin had been let loose to cook supper. Rose stopped just inside the door, reached up, and removed Josiah’s hat. That simple action felt too intimate, as if Rose belonged in his kitchen. As if she fit in the natural flow of his life. He ached with the wish that it were so.

  “Are you cold?” she said. “You’re shivering.”

  “I . . . I don’t know.”

  She balanced on her tiptoes and laid her hand across his forehead. While she was close, he breathed her in, savoring the scent of lavender that she always carried with her. “You’re burning up.” She sent him to the moon when she took his hand and pulled him to the sofa. “Lie down and take off your boots.”

  He didn’t have the strength or the will to argue. Rose’s presence made him feel as if he were on a dizzying roller coaster. There was nothing he could do but hold on tight to what was left of his shattered heart.

  She took the basket from him, and he sat and removed his boots. Then he stood up with his boots in his hand.

  “I’ll put them away,” she said.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “I do.” While he laid down and tried to get comfortable—a task made impossible by the fact that Rose was in his house—Rose put her basket on the kitchen counter and set his boots on the mat next to the front door. She hesitated, turned, and gazed at him as if she were memorizing his face. Her eyes were full of fear and worry and pain and sorrow, and his heart broke all over again. He could make it all better if only she would let him.

  Ach. Of course he couldn’t make it all better. He was the one responsible for it all.

  She marched down the hall, came back with the navy-blue blanket from his bed, and laid it over him. “Here,” she said, taking a small brown wafer from her pocket. “This is a honey lozenge. It will soothe your throat.”

  “Did you make it?”

  “Jah. Honey cures just about everything.”

  He bolted upright when he started coughing again. It was too hard to catch his breath lying down.

  “Here.” She went back down the hall and came back with his pillow. He leaned forward, and she propped the pillow behind his head so he could rest in an upright position. “That will help with the coughing,” she said.

  But it wouldn’t help with the pain. Every time she came close, his fingers ached to lay a caress on her cheek or play with a strand of hair from under her kapp. He was going to drive himself crazy. How foolish he had been to think his despair couldn’t get any worse.

  She put her hand on his forehead again. He clenched his teeth. Despair and torture.

  “You’re very hot.” She went to the kitchen, and he could hear her filling a glass with water. She brought the glass and two pills. “Motrin,” she said. “And drink plenty of water.”

  He swallowed the pills and the entire glass of water just in case it would make her happy. “I didn’t think I had any Motrin in the house.”

  She gave him a half smile. “I wasn’t counting on you having anything in your cupboards. I brought it with me.” She took the glass from him. “Try to sleep if you can. I will redd up.”

  Try to sleep? Rose was here. Sleep would be impossible.

  Honey sat next to the sofa, as if keeping vigil over a dying man’s bedside. Rose cupped her hand under Honey’s nose and puckered her lips. “Take care of him, Honey,” she said. “Come and get me if he needs anything.” Honey wagged her tail. Rose cooed and scratched Honey’s head before standing up and going back into the kitchen.

  The back of the sofa faced the kitchen, so Josiah couldn’t see her, but he could hear her, and that was misery enough. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain of losing her.

  It was no use. His senses were saturated with the sound of Rose moving about his house, her feet swishing against the floor, her gentle hands folding towels, washing dishes. He held his breath with his ears attuned to her every movement. This was his fondest desire, to have Rose a part of his home, a part of his life. A part of him—the biggest part of himself, and the only part that truly mattered.

  He felt her soft touch on his shoulder and opened his eyes. “Can I warm you some chicken noodle soup?” she said. “I made it this morning.”

  The lump in his throat was too big to speak. He merely nodded.

  She smiled and nodded back.

  In desperation, he grabbed her hand before she could slip away again. “Please, Rose,” he said, the words coming from deep within his throat.

  She hesitated and looked down at her hand in his as if she had no idea how it had gotten there. He felt her tremble under his touch.

  “Rose.” He squeezed tighter. “Please don’t make me stay away.”

  It got so still, he could feel her pulse against his fingers. “Josiah,” she whispered, keeping her eyes glued to their hands. “It’s for your own good.”

  “Like I thought hiding the truth about the barn was for your own good?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not the same.”

  With his heart banging against his chest, he rose to his feet and wrapped his hands around her arms. “Rose, do you like me? Because if you don’t like me, I’ll not say another word. I’ll not come around ever again.” He had to force the bitter words out of his mouth. The thought of never speaking to Rose again made him weak.

  She wouldn’t look at him. “You shouldn’t be on your feet.”

  He nudged her chin up with his finger until she met his eye. “Rose, do you like me?”

  “I do,” she said, with a catch in her breath.

  He thought his heart might sprout wings and fly. “Then why did you send me away?”

  “I already told you. I won’t let you put yourself in danger for me. I would never forgive myself if you got hurt.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the one to decide? Like you with the barn?”

  She furrowed her brow and considered his question. “You need to sit.” To his absolute delight, she took both his hands and pulled him down to the sofa as she knelt on the floor at his feet.

  He tried to pull her up. “Sit by me,” he said.

  “Nae. I want you to look me in the eye. I need to tell you something.”

  He wouldn’t argue with her, though he wasn’t comfortable with the thought of her kneeling at his feet. But he liked not needing an excuse to gaze at her.

  A fit of coughing overtook him, and he coughed until he thought he might burst a blood vessel. He feared Rose would decide she didn’t want to get his germs and run from the house before she said another word. She did stand up, but instead of bolting for the door, she filled another glass with water and brought it to him before returning to her place on the floor. The coughing finally subsided.
r />   She clasped her hands in her lap. “You should be resting.”

  “I can’t rest as long as you look so troubled.”

  The tiny creases around her eyes deepened. “I know.” She settled deeper into the rag rug on Josiah’s floor. “I want to tell you something I’ve never told anyone, not even my sisters or Aunt Bitsy.”

  She paused, and Josiah held his breath for fear of doing something, anything, that would make her change her mind.

  “I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to be sad anymore. I can’t bear the thought that something I did made you unhappy. I know you want to come to my house and keep watch on my porch and be my friend, but I can’t allow that. I won’t let you come back, but I can at least help you understand why I said the things I said. After you hear what I have to say, you’ll thank me for asking you to go.”

  His gut clenched. Never, Rose. I’ll never let go.

  She took a deep breath. “If you’re sick of my crying, you should stop me right now, because I have never been able to think of this without tears.”

  Ach, du lieva. He ached to reach out and pull her into his arms. Clenching his fists, he became as immovable as a stone. “I’m sad when you cry because it means you’re unhappy or frightened, and I hate to ever see you upset. But I would never tell you not to cry. You feel things down into your soul. I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

  Another deep breath, as if she were stalling for a little bit of extra time. She blinked back several tears and met his eye. “I’m the reason my parents are dead.”

  Because he didn’t want to scare her away, Josiah remained perfectly still, even though her words sent him reeling. Rose’s parents had died in a car accident, but in some way Josiah couldn’t comprehend, she blamed herself.

  “Rose, you were five years old.”

  She nodded, as if being five made her even guiltier. “I was a spoiled child. My parents and my sisters coddled me, and I thought I deserved anything I wanted. No one but my parents loved me, and I’m sure even they didn’t most of the time. I wanted a Tickle Me Elmo doll for Christmas.”