The Beekeeper's Ball

by Susan Wiggs

  ½ oz. Calvados

  ½ oz. honey syrup*

  A dash of bitters

  1 wide slice of orange peel

  *To make honey syrup, boil ½ cup of water together with a cup of honey until the honey dissolves. Store in a sealed jar.

  Measure everything into a cocktail shaker and add a good handful of ice. Shake vigorously and then strain the drink into a clear lowball glass with one large piece of ice. Rub the orange peel around the rim of the glass.

  Garnish with an apple slice.

  [Source: Original]

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ramon Maldonado was having a good day. His wife, Juanita, had called Magnus in the morning to invite him over, knowing the window of opportunity was narrow. When Ramon was lucid, his memories were as sharp and clear as the slides he showed on his old Kodak carousel.

  In the elderly Ramon, Mac could see only subtle glimmers of the dark, strapping young man who had fled the wiles of Evelyn Skeedy by becoming a Red Cross volunteer—a brightness in his eyes, an impish upturn of his lips. Now Ramon was diminished, tiny and shrunken, confined to a wheelchair. The scar from a German’s bayonet still scored his neck.

  Four of them—Ramon, Magnus, Annelise and Mac—sat in a distinctly masculine den at the Maldonado estate. It smelled of old leather and cigar smoke, and there was a big carved desk and a Chesterfield sofa set in front of an old-fashioned screen. The shutters were closed against the daylight, and the fan of the projector blew gently into the room. Juanita operated the old carousel from her chair in the back of the room.

  “There is a special bond that forms between men who shared what we have shared,” Ramon said, pausing at an image of two young men standing together in front of a wharf. Magnus, tall and fair-haired, and Ramon, built like a fireplug—squat and strong, struck a pose in front of a ship’s hull. “Despite the prohibition against forming close friendships within the resistance, we became more than comrades-in-arms. It is impossible to share what we shared without creating a tight bond.”

  Mac glanced away from the projection screen, forming a mental picture of young Magnus, stabbing a soldier in the neck in order to save the life of his friend. Some bonds were forged in darkness.

  “God only knows what would have become of me if I’d stayed in Denmark,” said Magnus. “It was a ruin of a place. I didn’t even have my school certificate, just my wits and mechanical and masonry skills, and a few prized possessions.”

  “It wasn’t until much later that we learned how difficult it was to get transport to America, and then to get permission to immigrate,” said Annelise. “Ramon pulled strings, and I suspect his father greased some palms.”

  “It was not so hard,” he said. “I took advantage of my position in the Red Cross and I’m not sorry.”

  “We are all grateful that you did what you did.”

  “And what is it that he did?”

  “He managed to get berths for the four of us aboard the SS Stavangerfjord at a time when even the VIPs were clamoring for space. We made landfall in New York, and then traveled by train clear across the country,” Annelise said.

  “I cannot begin to describe to you how vast everything looked to us. Vast and empty and new,” Magnus said. “It was exactly what we needed. To make a fresh start in our new home.”

  “A tabula rasa,” Annelise added.

  “The generosity of the Maldonado family cannot be underestimated,” Magnus said. “They gave us the orchard and the house. It was more than I ever dreamed of.”

  “That was only the beginning,” Ramon said. “The rest was up to you, and you created a wonderful life.” He showed a succession of slides of the orchard and house, of Magnus and Eva in the sunshine they craved so much. Then there was a shot of Annelise in a cap and gown.

  “Ah,” she said. “Graduation day.”

  “You went to Cal,” said Mac. “Not too shabby for a girl who didn’t finish secondary school.”

  “I was very ambitious, and hungry to learn,” Annelise said. “I took such a liking to Berkeley that I never wanted to leave...until I found San Francisco. That is where I found my heart’s home, with my teaching job and dancing students and my cats.”

  She was stunningly beautiful, Mac couldn’t help but notice. It was no surprise, given the way her granddaughters looked.

  “You shouldn’t get involved in this, Erik,” said Ramon, suddenly glaring at Magnus. “It’s an ugly business. Carlos has made a terrible mistake, but there’s no reason for you to suffer for it.”

  Magnus frowned. “Ramon? It’s me, Magnus.”

  “Yes, I know, but the boy made his own trouble. I’ve told him I’m through settling his gambling debts for him. El está en su propia empresa.”

  Mac had enough Spanish to understand. He is on his own now.

  “Ramon is tired,” said Juanita, getting up quickly and opening the shutters to let in the light. She gently touched his shoulder. “You’ve had a lot of excitement with your guests today. This is a good time to take a rest.”

  “Who’s Carlos?” Mac asked Magnus after Juanita wheeled her husband out of the room.

  “Their eldest son. Carlos and Erik were best friends, like Ramon and me. But unlike us, the young men had a falling-out. Shortly after Erik’s accident, Carlos was found drowned in an irrigation pond.” As he spoke, Magnus reached for Annelise’s hand. “A terrible tragedy for both families.”

  “Were the tragedies related?” Mac asked.

  “No,” Magnus quickly declared. “We’ve imposed on the Maldonados long enough today,” he added. “We should be going.”

  * * *

  Isabel was putting lunch together in the kitchen when her grandfather returned from his visit with Ramon Maldonado. “It was good to see my old friend for a bit,” Grandfather said, stealing one of her homemade tortillas from the hot plate.

  “You’ll have to tell me all about it,” said Isabel. “We can—”

  She stopped, hearing the spit of gravel on the driveway outside. Looking out the window, she saw a little red sports car grind to a stop. “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath.

  A young woman exited the car, slamming the door with an angry thud. “I’ll go,” Isabel said, hanging up her apron. She went out the back door and came face-to-face with Lourdes Maldonado. She was the granddaughter of Ramon, and Isabel knew very well she had a bone to pick with the Johansens.

  “Hello, Lourdes,” she said pleasantly enough.

  Lourdes didn’t seem to be in any mood for pleasantries. “Listen, I don’t want you coming around and asking my grandfather questions.”

  “For starters, I wasn’t there this morning. But I’m sure Ramon didn’t mind visiting with his best friend.”

  “Well, I mind. You’ve already cheated my family out of a fortune, and I won’t have you taking advantage of a sick old man.” Lourdes, of course, was referring the treasure Tess had found, which had belonged to Magnus. A canny lawyer, she had laid claim to it and had initiated a suit to share in the fortune. It was an annoyance suit, but it was very real, and had been dragging on for months.

  “No one’s taking advantage of your grandfather,” Isabel assured her. “As I’m sure Juanita explained, we were reminiscing. Would you like to stay for lunch?”

  Lourdes made an unpleasant face. “I think not. Just stay away from him.”

  Isabel glared at her. “Have a nice day, Lourdes.”

  She left in a huff, punching the accelerator to stir up more gravel. Isabel sighed and went back into the kitchen.

  “She seemed pissed,” Mac said, folding a tortilla around a wedge of cheese. “What’s up with that?”

  “We used to be friends,” Isabel said. “It’s complicated.”

  “Women’s friendships are often more complicated than romance,” Annelis
e said. Isabel instantly thought of Annelise and Eva, the birth mother and the adoptive mother.

  “If I thought it would settle things, I would offer Lourdes a portion of Bella Vista,” said Magnus.

  “She’d never accept that,” Isabel said. “It’s not the land she wants.”

  Her grandfather nodded in agreement. “I always felt this place was too big. When we first settled here, the land, the house, everything seemed so vast, particularly in contrast to things in Denmark. Eva and I had dreams of a large family. We both wanted many children. It was, I suppose, a reaction to what we had seen in the war, all the death and deprivation. Babies are like the springtime, a renewal. An affirmation of life.”

  Isabel’s heart ached for him, a man who had lost his family in the war, then his son and his wife. “I feel bad that you didn’t get to have a bigger family.”

  He shook his head. “You mustn’t feel bad. I know that in spite of my trials, I’ve been blessed in ways I cannot begin to count. I discovered that life does not always give us what we think we want. Life tends to give us what we need.” He sipped from his glass of lemonade. “Erik came late into our lives long after we had given up the dream of having children of our own.”

  Isabel caught Mac’s eye. Before he had shown up, she never would have waded into the morass of old secrets. He’d shown her, though, that secrets could lose their power once they were exposed. “How did you manage?” she asked both Grandfather and Annelise. “I want to understand.”

  Magnus looked at Annelise. “Your grandmother Eva wanted a child so much,” he said. “We were on a list to adopt a baby, but we kept failing to qualify due to Eva’s health.”

  “So that’s why you...the two of you...”

  Annelise turned to face Isabel. “Your grandmother was my dearest friend. From the time we were girls, we always said we’d do anything for each other. She pined for a child—you never saw such yearning. And so we...Eva and I...we talked about it a lot. Finally, it was determined that I would have the baby. It was an unorthodox decision, and perhaps it was reckless, but we did what we did, and I have no regrets.”

  Isabel stifled a gasp. It had been Eva’s idea, then. She tried to imagine what that had been like for them, to make such a radical choice.

  “And did you get a vote?” she asked her grandfather.

  “I felt the same way Eva did. I wanted a family.”

  “After I...” Annelise cleared her throat. “When I was several months’ pregnant, Eva came to stay with me in the city. She returned to Bella Vista with your father.”

  Isabel’s heart went out to her. What had that been like, to give birth a second time, to hand the child over and to be left empty and alone?

  “Eva and Magnus were my most beloved and trusted friends,” Annelise said as if she’d read Isabel’s mind. “I knew the child would have a wonderful life with them.”

  “Erik never knew,” her grandfather said. “We raised him with all the love and support we could give. He was a beautiful boy, full of laughter. But he had a reckless, impulsive streak.” He set down his glass. “When we heard about the accident, we were in shock for hours. Days. There is a fundamental injustice in losing one’s child. Any parent will attest to that. Eva and I raged. We cursed everything—God, the fates, each other.”

  He paused, took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She cursed herself, believing it a punishment for taking another woman’s child. I told her it was insanity to think that way, but there was a moment when she believed we’d tempted fate by never telling Erik the truth.”

  He polished his glasses and put them back on, and looked directly at Isabel. “It was you who saved us. You came along in the middle of the worst of life’s turmoil and there you were, helpless and utterly dependent on us for your every need. You were the sweetest baby imaginable. I remember you used to get the hiccups, and I would pat you on the back until they went away. And you loved it when your Bubbie sang you a song. Our love for you drove out the grief. I know that sounds far too simple, but it is exactly what happened. We took you home and you changed our lives forever.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I need to show you something,” Mac said, his shadow filling the doorway to her study.

  “I’m trying something new right now,” she said, staying focused on the computer screen. The landscape designer had sent her some digital renderings for the swimming pool.

  “How about trying something old?”

  She could tell he wasn’t going to go away. “What’s that?”

  “Come on. I’ll show you. Way more fun than staring at a computer.”

  A chance. That’s what he said he wanted. Isabel was starting to want that, too. She walked with him down to the machine shop. There, he opened the tall double doors, letting the sunlight flood into the old stone barn. “It’s ready.”

  “Oh, my gosh. You fixed up the Vespa.”

  “We did. Your grandfather really got into the project with me. He’s a damned good mechanic.”

  “Farmers have to be,” she said. “I’ve always admired Grandfather’s mechanical talent.”

  “We had to replace about ninety percent of her, but the job’s done.”

  The smooth, curved lines of the metal body gleamed with a fresh coat of seafoam-green paint. The chrome sparkled in the sunlight, and a pair of brand-new helmets rested on the rear rack behind the reupholstered saddles. New mirrors, new handlebar grips, fresh hubs in the tires. She took a slow walk around the scooter, admiring it from every angle and trying to picture her mother as a young woman, riding it around the coast roads and hill towns of southern Italy.

  She loved the pride and anticipation in Mac’s expression. When was the last time a man had done something just to please her? “It’s beautiful, Mac.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  “It looks very continental,” she said. “Just like the one in Roman Holiday.”

  “Never saw that movie.”

  “It’s about an overly sheltered princess who runs away from her duties with a brash American reporter.”

  “A brash, awesome American reporter.”

  “True, Gregory Peck is awesome.”

  “And I take it they ride a Vespa.”

  “All over Rome—the Spanish Steps, the Mouth of Truth, the Coliseum....” She sighed. “We should watch it.”

  “We should ride a scooter around Rome.”

  “Let’s ride the scooter right now,” she said.

  * * *

  The helmets fit perfectly. The fresh leather upholstery felt luxurious as she mounted behind him. “It’s got that new scooter smell,” she said.

  “Grab on, and let’s go show your granddad.” The upgraded motor sounded and felt a lot stronger as the scooter leaped forward. He drove up past the main house to the shady yard where Magnus and Annelise were sitting together with their notebooks and pens, laboring over their wedding speeches.

  Mac beeped the horn and they waved as they went past, heading down the main road to town. The sunshine and wind-cooled air gave her a giddy rush of pleasure. She leaned her head back and looked up at the sky, brilliant blue and cloudless, typical of a Sonoma summer. The ride was so smooth that she dared to stretch her arms out wide and let the wind stream through her fingers. Their shadow, racing along the roadway, resembled a strange bird.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I’m taking you shopping.”

  “Oh, please. For what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She savored a sense of anticipation on the short ride into town. Even the sight of Calvin Sharpe’s restaurant sign—CalSharpe’s, Coming Soon!—couldn’t dampen her spirits. She refused to let it.

  Mac pulled up and parked in front of the White Rabbit Bookshop. It had always been one of h
er favorite places in town, an eclectic, friendly store with a beautifully curated selection of books. The slogan over the door read Feed Your Head.

  “When I was a kid, I didn’t get the reference,” she said, indicating the sign. “Actually, it was Homer Kelly who turned me on to the song.”

  “Ah, Homer Kelly the drummer.” He held the door for her. “‘White Rabbit’ by Jefferson Airplane.”

  “He did have good taste in music.”

  “Just not in girlfriends.”

  “Ha. Where were you when I was in ninth grade?”

  “Probably living at some diplomatic outpost in a country no one’s ever heard of, fighting with my brothers over who gets the top bunk,” he said.

  Victoria, the bookseller, greeted them with a smile. “Hey, Isabel,” she said. “Are you looking for anything special?” Then Victoria blinked and turned to Mac. “Sorry, I don’t mean to stare. Aren’t you...”

  He approached the counter and shook hands with her. “Cormac O’Neill. Nice to meet you.”

  She flushed and introduced herself. “Welcome to the White Rabbit. We don’t get many authors in our little place.”

  “Well, that’s impressive,” Isabel said. “She recognized you by sight. You’re more famous than you let on.”

  “Right,” he said with a laugh. “Not even close. It just means Victoria’s good at what she does.”

  “He’s famous,” Victoria assured her. “Don’t let him fool you. Mr. O’Neill—”

  “Mac.”

  “Mac, what brings you to Archangel?”

  “A book project,” he said. “I’m not working on it at the moment. Today, I’m a customer.”

  “That’s great. But...I wonder, could you sign a few books for us? We always keep your titles in stock. They’re really popular with customers.”

  “Sure thing,” he said. “I’d be honored.”

  “I’ll go get the books.” Flush with pleasure, she bustled over to the nonfiction section.

  Isabel smacked his arm. “You’re totally famous, and you never even told me.”