The Enlightenment of Bees

by Rachel Linden

  The band strikes up Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and we all stand.

  “Here she is,” my mother murmurs, dabbing her eyes. Nana Alice is radiant in a sheath dress of ivory lace with a corsage of blush roses pinned at her breast. She wears a jaunty little ivory pillbox hat festooned with a tiny veil decorated with pearls. My father walks by her side, in case she needs a hand, but she does not. She walks slowly down the aisle between the chairs, leaning heavily on Greased Lightning. She doesn’t look to the left or the right. She only has eyes for Albert.

  The ceremony is short and sweet. Nana Alice perches on a little stool, and Albert stands tall by her side. They exchange vows and rings, promising to be true to each other. Albert’s voice is stalwart as he promises “in sickness and in health, till death do us part.”

  I blink back tears. We all know the sickness part of the vow is already a reality. There will be no health. And death will come soon, how soon no one knows. But despite the somber future, there is still a feeling of joy, of celebration. They have found one another before it is too late. They are celebrating their love, and we are celebrating with them, today and every day they have together, for however long that may be.

  As they exchange a surprisingly passionate first kiss as Mr. and Mrs. Prentice, Kai hands me a crumpled but clean handkerchief from his pocket. “I came prepared,” he whispers, and I dab my welling eyes.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whisper to him. “Life is better when you’re around.”

  He nods, and tucks my hand under his arm. “Funny, I feel the same way. Maybe we should do something about that.”

  My heart thrills at his words. He looks down at me and gives me a wink, then rests his cheek on the crown of my head. The band strikes up a rendition of “A Kiss to Build a Dream On” as Albert and Nana Alice walk back down the aisle, now husband and wife. There’s not a dry eye in the garden.

  Chapter 53

  “Here, cake for table two.” I hand Kai glass plates with slices of wedding cake, and he ferries them to the waiting guests. An hour after the ceremony, the reception is in full swing. After a meal of cold Alaskan salmon with fresh asparagus, rosemary sea salt bread from the Butter Emporium, and champagne, Nana Alice and Albert cut the cake and then hit the small square dance floor for a very slow, very sweet first dance to “When I Fall in Love.” Nana Alice leaves her walker at the side of the dance floor and clings to Albert. Together they sway as the band plays. I watch them as I cut the cake and plate it for guests.

  “Two tables down, four to go,” Kai reports, as he returns for more cake. I just gaze at him for a moment. Hope and anticipation make a soft, warm spot in the center of my chest, sweet as a sunrise breaking over the horizon of my heart. I think I’m in love. I grin, delighted and amazed. No, scratch that. I’m most definitely in love.

  “Mia, this cake is perfect.” My mother taps me on the shoulder, gesturing to her slice of half-eaten cake. She looks wonderful, tanned and invigorated. Moldova seems to be agreeing with her. She comes and stands beside me. “What a beautiful celebration.”

  We both watch Nana Alice and Albert for a moment as they rest from the dancing. Nana Alice is out of breath but laughing, and Albert hovers at her side, equal parts solicitous and proud.

  “Look at how he adores her,” my mother observes. “I’m so glad they found each other.”

  Kai returns, and I hand him four more plates, our fingers grazing in the transfer. He meets my eyes, his dark gaze warm. When he turns away, I clear my throat. “How’s Moldova? When are you coming home?”

  “Well, we want to talk to you about that,” my mother says, tapping her fork against her lips. Something in her tone makes me glance up. “We’re not coming back.”

  “What?” My hands still over the cake. “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been asked to head up a new lavender growing program in India, specifically to help widows with children start small lavender farms. And we’ve said yes!” My mother’s face breaks into a delighted grin. “Can you believe it?” she asks, sounding amazed and almost giddy.

  I am stunned. My parents are leaving Sequim and moving to India? This is far more unexpected than their up and leaving for Moldova for a few weeks. The implications are more serious too.

  “But what about the farm?” I protest, head spinning with the sudden changes around me.

  “Well, happily enough, Henry and Christine have agreed to take over the farm.” My mother takes a bite of cake, shooing a honeybee off a frosting flower, and motions toward Henry, who is wrestling with Oliver over by the punch bowl. “Your brother is showing a surprising aptitude for lavender farming. I guess all those hours your father forced him to work on the farm actually did some good after all. And Christine wants to expand the business side of things. It’s really ideal for them. They’ve decided they want a slower pace of life for Maddie and the twins. Sequim will be perfect.”

  I cut another slice of cake and slide it onto a plate, performing the functions automatically while my mind whirs through this new information. Henry and Christine are leaving Chicago to run West Wind? That piece of news brings relief. The farm will stay in the family. Henry had hinted that they were unhappy in Chicago and seeking a change; Sequim can certainly provide that. But my parents. My parents aren’t coming home? My parents are moving to India? I feel a sudden dart of panic. They’ve always been there on the farm, stable, steady, predictable. I’ve always known I could go home and things would be chugging along as they have since I can remember. All that is about to change.

  “When are you leaving?” I ask.

  “It’s a two-year commitment initially.” My mother takes another bite of cake and savors it for a moment. “This is delicious,” she says approvingly. “It tastes just like Alice used to make it. Even better actually, but don’t tell her I said that. We’re not sure quite yet when we’ll leave.” She nods to Nana Alice. “It all depends on how things go here.”

  She doesn’t elaborate. The doctors have told us that there is no way of knowing how much time Nana Alice has left. We know it isn’t much.

  Everything is changing so fast, and yet it feels right, too, as though things are falling into their proper places. Everyone knows their place, it seems, but me. How ironic that my parents, inspired by my actions, have done what I have as yet failed to do. They are using their talents to change the world for good. Someday, maybe, I will be able to do the same.

  “I really like Kai,” my mother says, watching him deliver a piece of cake to my dad, laughing at some undoubtedly dry joke my father is making. “Your father likes him too.”

  “Well, that makes three of us,” I agree. “I like him a lot, Mom.” More than a lot, if I’m honest.

  “I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.” My mother gives me a firm hug and a kiss on the cheek, then wanders off to talk with her cousin from Bend. I linger at the table, trying to wrap my head around all the ways in which my family is changing. What is it Nana Alice used to say? There’s nothing constant in life except change. How true.

  I cut two pieces of cake and look around, hoping to locate both Kai and a quiet alcove where we can sit for a few minutes. I don’t see him anywhere, but I do notice that Nana Alice and Albert are resting from dancing at an empty table and somehow have not been served cake. Cutting two more generous-sized slices, I take plates over to them.

  Nana Alice takes a tiny nibble and savors it. “Oh, that’s perfect,” she says, closing her eyes. “Moist, tart, exactly right. You make it better than I ever did, Mia.” Albert is polishing his off in a few swift bites.

  “Thank you,” I say, meeting her eyes, suddenly choked up with emotion. “And thank you for believing in me. And for inviting Kai.”

  Nana Alice’s face lights up, and she looks around until she spots him just coming around the side of the house. “Oh Mia, I think he’s a keeper. Just like this one.” She pats Albert’s arm, and I have to look down at the ground, blinking away a prickle of tears. No crying on this happy day.<
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  “I want to meet this man who’s stolen your heart,” Albert declares. “I believe Alice is a little sweet on him too.”

  “I do like a man in a good navy suit.” Nana Alice nods approvingly. “Now go get your fella so we can say hello.”

  Chapter 54

  Enjoying our cake, Kai and I sit and chat with Nana Alice and Albert, the conversation flowing easily around the table. Kai fits in so well, like he’s been here forever. Nana Alice gasps as he tells her about us being chased by the shark.

  Albert gives me a wink and a thumbs-up. I sigh happily. Kai and I hold hands under the table, and my toe taps to the beat of the music. A few honeybees buzz around my slice of cake, trying to light on my dress, on the fork, on the cake itself. I shoo them off gently, and they take flight for a moment but return, alighting on the edible pearl center of the frosting flower. I decide to let them be. I have a feeling they are here for a reason.

  Keeping one ear tuned to the conversation as Albert quizzes Kai about his portable greenhouse, I watch a few couples whirl around the dance floor, humming along to the music. “I’ve Got the World on a String.” The lyrics are ironic considering how much of my life and family situation seems to be in limbo or changing right now. I don’t have the world on a string, but I do have Kai—beautiful, kind, affable Kai. And I feel happy right now, despite the changes and uncertainties. I have a lot to be grateful for.

  One of the servers from the catering company stops at the cake table and glances around as though looking for whoever is supposed to be manning the table. I untangle my fingers from Kai’s. “Be right back.”

  I approach her. “Can I help you?”

  “It’s beautiful,” the server says, eyeing what is left of the cake. Her hands are full of dessert plates rimmed with the remnants of icing and crumbs. She is about my age, tall and slim with light brown skin that reminds me of Abel. She looks familiar, and I stare for a moment, puzzled, trying to place her.

  “Thanks, I made it. My first time baking a wedding cake. You want to try some?”

  She hesitates, then nods. “We’re not supposed to eat the food, but since it is the baker who offers . . .” She sets the dirty plates down as I cut a piece and slide it onto a plate for her. She scrutinizes it for a long moment, then takes a taste and nods in approval. “It’s very good.”

  Her name tag says Tsehay. I tilt my head, trying to recall where I have seen her before. There it is. Hope House, the women and children’s shelter in Seattle. She was a client for a few months back when I first volunteered there. If I remember correctly, she got into permanent housing shortly after I started at the shelter. In the whirl of the wedding plans, I haven’t yet returned to my volunteer position. I make a mental note to contact them next week.

  “Tsehay,” I say, “I think we’ve met before. Did you ever stay at Hope House?”

  She looks surprised, then nods. “For a few months, yes. My two daughters and I.” She studies my face, and then her eyes light up. “I remember you,” she says. “You made cookies for everyone at the house and brought them in a silver box.”

  I nod. “That’s right. How are you?” I am delighted to see her again. She was a staff favorite, always conscientious and kind to the other women. I rack my brain for her country of origin. Eritrea. I think she’s originally from Eritrea.

  “I am well,” she says, placing her dirty cake plate on the stack at her feet, then blowing gently on a honeybee that is walking back and forth on the handle of her fork. “You know, back home I was a—what’s the word?—a baker. I made cakes like these, very fancy cakes for weddings and parties.”

  “Really? I had no idea you were a baker. Do you still bake?”

  She shakes her head. “No. When I came to America as a refugee five years ago, it was very hard to find a job. I have twin daughters, and my husband is dead. I had to take whatever I could find.” She shrugs. “This catering job is okay. It is not what I want to do with my life, but it pays and I can afford an apartment, not living at Hope House like some of the other refugee women I know.” She hesitates. “But still I miss it. Sometimes when I sleep I dream I am back in Eritrea, baking cakes like this.” She gives me a quick sideways smile, tinged with wistfulness.

  “It’s good to see you.” I reach out and clasp her hand.

  Tsehay glances back at the house. “I should get back to work. It is good to see you, too, Mia.” She gives a little nod and picks up the dessert plates, balancing them in front of her. “Thank you for the cake,” she says. “It was delicious.”

  I watch her walk carefully toward the kitchen of the house, and something stirs in my mind. I think about sitting with Delphine on the rise of earth at the edge of the refugee camp. The harsh smell of cigarette smoke and Delphine’s voice floating through the darkness, the contours of her face lit by the orange glow of the cigarette as we watch the refugees. What had she said to me? That this was just the start. After they were settled in their new homes, the real work would begin. How to house them and feed them and teach them language and find them employment? How to help them craft a life with a new language and culture? How to help them create a new definition of home?

  I watch Tsehay walk into the house, her posture upright, almost regal, carefully carrying the stack of glass plates. A few honeybees buzz after her, perhaps drawn by the scent of sugar. A baker with no way to bake. A refugee trying to find her place in a strange new land. As I watch her retreating back, I have the first stirring of an idea, inchoate, vague, but lit with a flicker of excitement. What if there was a way to help women like Tsehay find their place in this new country? What if baking could play a part? And what if I am the one to do it?

  I am just starting to turn the idea over in my head, letting my scattered thoughts coalesce, when Kai finds me at the cake table. He offers his hand to me.

  “May I have this dance?” he asks, and I let him lead me to the tiny square of a dance floor. Nana Alice and Albert clap and whistle as we take our positions and the band begins to play an old Sinatra classic, “The Best Is Yet to Come.”

  “Earth to Mia,” Kai whispers in my ear while he whirls me around the dance floor with more enthusiasm than ability. “You’re a million miles away. What are you thinking about right now?”

  I glance up at him, the idea crystalizing in my brain, quick and bright as a flashbulb. A way to do what I love and help women like Tsehay build a new life in America.

  “I think I just figured out what I’m supposed to do with my life.” I feel a little shaky with the newness of it, the wonder.

  As we twirl around the dance floor, neither of us paying much attention to the actual dancing, I briefly tell him my plan, sketching out the rough idea, still unsure of the details.

  “What do you think?” I ask, looking up at him as the final notes of the song die away, suddenly nervous. “Is it good, terrible?”

  We slow to a stop, and Kai stares at me hard for a moment, thinking it through, and then he says solemnly, “It’s good, Mia. Better than good. It could really help a lot of women. You need to talk to Lars and see if he’ll fund the project. He feels so bad about how things went with Team Caritas that he’s said he’ll fund any project that seems worthwhile.”

  I stare at him, astonished. I can’t stop the smile that spreads, slow and sweet as golden honey, from ear to ear. “You think this is worthwhile?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I think so.” Kai hoots in excitement and then twirls and dips me, planting a firm kiss on my lips as I hover in his arms above the ground.

  “That’s my girl,” he says, grinning at me. I laugh with delight, exhilarated and so very relieved. After so long a wait, agonizing over my life purpose, in the end I am astonished that it has come so easily. It seems so simple and natural, this recognition of the path I was meant to walk. It feels so right.

  Epilogue

  Seattle

  Eighteen months later

  My phone rings just as I am touching up the displays in the glass bakery case.

>   “This is Mia,” I answer without looking at the caller on the screen. I stand back and slightly adjust the angle of a vintage ivory platter of ka’ak, a famous anise cookie from Syria.

  “So today’s the day. How are you feeling?” It’s Kai. I grin at the sound of his voice and nudge a pyramid of organic lavender honey shortbread cookies—the lavender and honey sourced from West Wind Farm—so that they are not lopsided but perfectly symmetrical.

  “Great! Everything’s ready. Where are you? Are you over the pass?” There was snow in the Cascades, and Snoqualmie Pass was closed yesterday.

  “Over the pass and headed your way. I’m fifteen minutes out, tops. I’ll be there in time for the grand opening. Wouldn’t miss my best girl’s big day.”

  I grin and wave away two honeybees that are buzzing around the inside of the display case. Although it’s January and I’m in the middle of the city, miles from any hives, I am not surprised to see the bees. I know why they are here. These fuzzy little helpers are my guides, my beacons, enlightening me step-by-step along the path. They guided me around the world and through the terrain of my own heart until I reached my rightful place. How appropriate that they would be here today to celebrate the fulfillment of this destined dream.

  “It’s all happening for real,” I say, taking a deep breath. After eighteen months of planning, training, and preparations, it has all come down to this day.

  I set out a teacup saucer of sugar water for the bees and survey the front room. Everything looks perfect—delectable and inviting. The long glass case gleams in the rare January sunshine streaming through the tall windows of our storefront location on the outskirts of the International District. A few white painted tables and sunny yellow chairs dot the small eating area. Across one of the big front windows in beautiful looping script is the name Alice’s Place, and in smaller letters “Artisanal bakery. All are welcome.”