Ophelia

by Charlene Raddon

  A knock came on the door. “Ophelia? Marzda? You in there?'

  “Yes, Brody,” Ophelia answered. Simply hearing his voice had her pulse jumping. “We're introducing the bees to their new home.”

  “Do you have your protective covering on?”

  Ophelia lifted her brows. “Of course. Do you think me an imbecile?”

  Marzda, behind her, giggled.

  “I'm coming in.”

  “Don't forget your covering,” she taunted.

  A few seconds later, muttering imprecations under his breath and covered with a length of gauze, he slipped inside. The bees, which had been swarming around Ophelia's and Marzda's heads, now turned to him.

  “I don't think this is the way to make the switch,” he said. “What did your father do, Marzda?”

  “It will be easier when the lemongrass oil arrives,” she said.

  “Then why don't we wait until then to try this?”

  “We didn't plan to switch them yet.” Indignation colored Marzda tone.

  “Of course not.” Ophelia brushed past him to go to the door. “We merely wanted them to have a chance to get used to the wooden hive. We're ready to leave now.”

  “All right. Come on.” He motioned for them to exit before him.

  In the hall, they removed their bee gear. As soon as Marzda had hers off, she hurried toward the stairs, saying, “I'm hungry. I'm going to go see if Henri has anything to eat.”

  Ophelia wanted to call her back. She hadn't counted on being left alone with Brody. He appeared more handsome than ever, possibly because she'd been avoiding him for two days. She'd known she couldn't keep it up forever and supposed now was as good a time as any to face him. “How are you feeling? I see your bruises have changed color and the lesions have scabbed over.”

  “Yes, I'm healing up fine. What about you? You've been keeping so busy, I haven't had a chance to say a word to you until now.”

  “I'm sorry. I wasn't ready yet to face you. I know you want to know how I feel and what's going to happen now.” As they spoke, they wandered down the corridor. Ophelia's stomach growled, reminding her that she'd skipped breakfast.

  “And?” he prompted.

  She waved her arms in a gesture of hopelessness. She disliked being put on the spot. Why couldn't they simply let life take place? “Can't we just get to know each other again, really know each other, and then see what happens?”

  He grinned. “Sounds perfect to me. How are we going to go about this?”

  “I don't know.” She glanced around as if expecting to find the answer on the walls or floor. “Spend the evenings together talking?”

  “That sounds good too. I was thinking we could go for a walk along the stream.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers. “We can tell each other what our lives have been like, where we were born, things like that.”

  “That's what I had in mind.” His skin felt warm. She enjoyed holding hands with him. Would he settle for that? For a while?

  “Good.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “What about Marzda? She still trying to get us to marry and adopt her?”

  “Yes. That girl is stubborn, Brody. She won't accept a 'maybe' or 'we'll see.'“

  “Good.” He bent down and kissed her. “I intend to be stubborn too. I lost you once. Now that I've found you again, I'm not letting go.”

  “Oh, Brody.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him again. “You are adorable.”

  He frowned, looking insulted. “Adorable? That's a word you use for a puppy or an infant, not a man. How about handsome? Masculine? Perfect?”

  Ophelia broke into laughter.

  “Brilliant? Fantastic? Marvelous?”

  The longer he went on, the more she laughed. He chuckled and, holding hands, they joined Marzda in the kitchen. Henri had a plate of beignets on the table and the girl had sugar all over her face.

  “Mrs. Crane and Mr. Duvall,” Henri greeted them. “Help yourselves. Marzda has eaten two already.”

  “No more, Marzda,” Ophelia said sternly. “You'll get sick.”

  Henri poured them some coffee and they sat at the table.

  “How is the dining room coming?” Henri asked.

  “Nearly ready.” Ophelia took a Beignet. “Will you be ready to start cooking over there by next Saturday?”

  Brody said nothing, too busy eating Henri's French donuts, as he called them.

  “Oui. Yes. I will be ready. Henri always ready to cook.” Laughter colored his words. “I am thinking, the first night, perhaps cook something special with beef or pork.”

  Ophelia tasted her pastry. “My, this is delicious.”

  Grinning, Henri said, “I suggest my specialty, beef bourguignon, with potatoes and for dessert, crème brûlée. Is very good, oui?”

  “It certainly sounds impressive.” Brody took a second beignet.

  “It sounds wonderful.” Ophelia wiped her hands on her napkin. “What do you think, Marzda?”

  “I think I ate too much sugar. My tummy hurts. I want to go home and lie down.”

  “All right. Henri, that sounds like a fantastic menu for our first night. How about we offer venison steaks or pork chops as a second choice?”

  “Very good, Mrs. Crane. Supper will be big success.”

  They took Marzda home and put her to bed, then walked to the café for dinner. Ophelia enjoyed the sunshine along the way, the rumble of Moose Creek, and the feel of her hand in Brody's. She told herself she was a fool, being so open about their developing romance. But, somehow, she couldn't care. Their relationship was no one's business but theirs.

  When they entered the café, several people greeted them. A few had speculative expressions on their faces, as if wondering exactly what was going on between Mortimer Crane's wife and the hotel manager.

  Ophelia simply smiled and went to an empty table. Fortunately, no one asked any questions, except Garnet when she brought them coffee and took their orders.

  “You two have a 'cat that ate the cream' look. Something exciting in the works?” she asked.

  “Just changes to the hotel and Gentlemen Only Salon. Today is the last day the salon will be open. A week from Saturday, you'll have some competition for the supper trade. I hope you won't mind.”

  “You're opening your dining room?” Garnet sat in an empty chair and leaned in close as if to share secret recipes.

  “Yes, only for supper. Henri, the French chef at the salon, will be our cook. He's marvelous in the kitchen.”

  “Well, to tell the truth,” Garnet said, “I'm glad to hear this. The crowd here is getting a bit too much for me to handle. The way things are going, with new people moving and new businesses opening, I'm sure there'll be business enough for both of us. I just hate to think of missing out on your opening.”

  “Yes, I wish you could come,” Ophelia said. “I wish everyone could come this one time.”

  Garnet looked around, checking on her other customers. “I'm sorely tempted to close the café that night so we can come, and it would help guarantee your opening night is a big success. Could you handle that much business?”

  Ophelia and Brody exchanged glances.

  “I think that would depend on Henri,” Brody said. “But if we get him some help for washing dishes and doing little things like salads, it would be okay.”

  “I planned on being the waitress,” Ophelia said. “But this sounds like we'd need to hire one or two more. We don't want to get a reputation for slow service.”

  Garnet stood, seeming nervous about being away from the kitchen so long. “That shouldn't be any problem. Now that the hotel belongs to you, I'm sure several women would apply for the job. I need to get back to work. Let me know what you decide.”

  “What do you think?” Ophelia asked Brody when they were alone again.

  “Let's not kick a gift horse in the teeth. Let's accept her offer. I want to see this a big success.”

  “So do I. It will be a lot of work, but worth it, I think.”<
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  “I bet Marzda wants to be one of the waitresses.” Brody drank from his coffee cup. “That may not be the best idea.”

  “Why? Those men who attacked her aren't likely to come to supper that night.”

  “How can you be sure? I'd rather not take the chance.”

  “All right.” Ophelia picked up her coffee. “You can be the one to tell her.”

  Brody groaned.

  On Tuesday, the lemongrass oil arrived and Ophelia, Brody and Marzda made their first attempt to corral the bees and get them to accept their new home.

  Marzda brought the oil and instructed Brody to sit the new box on the ground. “I need to apply the oil to draw the bees in.”

  Watching her, Ophelia said, “Maybe we could wrap a sheet around their old beehive, trapping them all inside. Then Brody could free the hive from the wall and…”

  “Yes,” Brody answered. “And… How do we get them into the new hive? It isn't empty. It has those walls inside where the bees will put their honey.”

  “We just bring the old hive out here by the new box.” Marzda said. “Then I'll stand by the new one and whistle for them. Between that and the oil, they should move inside.

  “That easily?” Brody said, scratching his head.

  “Yes. It should work fine, especially if we get the queen.” Marzda turned to Ophelia. “Do you have an old sheet to wrap around the storeroom hive?”

  “I'll take care of that.” Ophelia headed for the salon. She returned with the sheet and a piece of rope in case they needed to tie it up to keep the bees inside.

  Marzda kept dousing the new box with the oil. “You two can go ahead and get the hive while I finish this.”

  Ophelia and Brody exchanged skeptical glances but went on to the storeroom and set about their chore. He helped her wrap the sheet around the hive and she held it in place while he began cutting the hive from the wall.

  “I wonder how many of these bees we'll be setting free inside the salon while we do this.” Ophelia grimaced as a bee buzzed her nose. Thank goodness for the gauze protecting her head.

  “We'll leave all the doors and some windows open, so they can escape. It might take a while, but they'll all get out. Or die.”

  With a last grunt of effort, he broke the hive from the wall, and they carried it out in haste. Ruby and the other girls had ensconced themselves in their rooms, and Henri in his, while the process took place.

  “Here we are,” Ophelia called as they hurried to Marzda with the cloth trap.

  “Set it on the ground, sheet and all.” Marzda got up from the box and set the bottle of oil aside. Pursing her lips, she began to whistle.

  Ophelia and Brody carefully lowered the sheet to the ground and let the cloth fall open, then moved away while the bees swarmed, angry and confused. As the girl continued to whistle, the bees began to calm down and, when she moved around the yard, they followed her. Ophelia could barely believe what she saw. The girl was amazing.

  Still whistling, Marzda led the bees to the new box. They swarmed around it as if checking it out. Several located the opening and ventured inside. Stepping back, she said, “That's all we do for now. Let's go see if Henri has any more beignets.”

  “You go on,” Brody said. “I want to watch for a while.”

  On their way into the house, Ophelia told Marzda how proud she was of her for being so clever and brave.

  She'd barely reached for the door knob when shots rang out.

  Chapter Ten

  On the salon porch, Ophelia twisted around to see Brody lying face down on the ground by the hive, blood staining his white shirt sleeve. He fired another shot toward the hill. She couldn't see who he meant the bullet for.

  Henri dashed out of the salon toting a rifle. “Stay here, madam. You cannot be certain man with gun is gone. He might shoot you too.”

  “But, Brody…”

  “He is injured, I know. But you cannot help him if you're dead, can you?”

  “He's not dead,” Marzda cried.

  Ophelia muttered a prayer of thanks, adding a few words to plead that Brody stay alive. All three stood on the porch searching for signs of the villain.

  “You ladies go inside.” Henri shooed them with his free hand toward the door.

  “He's right. Hurry inside, Marzda.” Ophelia marshaled the girl into the kitchen where they watched from the windows.

  After a few minutes, Henri ventured closer to Brody, letting a wing of the building shield him. When he reached the corner, he peeked around the edge. On the grass, Brody sat up and examined his arm.

  “I'm all right,” he called. “The shooter is gone.”

  Ophelia and Marzda raced out the door and dropped to their knees beside him.

  “It's just a flesh wound,” Brody said, while Ophelia ripped off his sleeve to see the injury better.

  “Yes, it's not bad.” Ophelia stood and tugged on his good arm. “Come. Let's get you into the house.”

  “We're going inside,” Brody shouted to Henri who signaled back that he'd heard.

  In the kitchen, Ophelia carefully washed the gouge on Brody's arm, relieved that the bullet hadn't done more damage. Ruby and the other girls hurried in and buzzed around them as if the swarm had returned. Emerald brought bandages and they wrapped up the injured arm.

  “I think we should go home,” Ophelia told Brody. “You need to lie down.”

  “Don't baby me, woman,” he growled. “I'm fine.”

  Henri handed him a glass of brandy which Brody swallowed in a gulp.

  “That helped. All right, let's go.” Brody ushered Ophelia and Marzda through the salon, out the front door, across the street and into the hotel.

  “What happened?” Mrs. Dobbs asked, seeing their frightened faces and Brody's bloody, bandaged arm.

  “Someone shot at Brody but only grazed his arm.” Ophelia led him to his room, opened the door and gave him a gentle push inside. “Now, lie down and rest. I'll check on you later.”

  “Should I go tell the marshal about Brody being shot?” Marzda asked.

  “No. I don't want you out there until we're sure it's safe. I'll go talk to Marshal Bowles.” She put on her hat and gloves as she walked to the door. “Why don't you make sure Brody rests. Maybe he'd like something to eat. It's almost noon.”

  “I'll take care of him,” Marzda assured her.

  “Tell Aubrey I fired back at the man and I think I hit him, but I'm not sure,” Brody said. “Stop fussing over me.”

  “I'll tell the marshal what you said.” Ophelia scurried toward the jail, only to meet Aubrey halfway there.

  “Mrs. Crane, is something wrong?” Aubrey asked. “I heard shots.”

  “Someone shot at Brody at the base of the hill behind the Gentlemen Only Salon.”

  “Hell.” Marshal Bowles took off again, walking so fast she could barely keep up. “Is he badly hurt?”

  “No, only grazed, but I thought I should tell you about it. He's at the hotel now.”

  Aubrey accompanied Ophelia back and went in to talk to Brody before visiting the scene of the shooting.

  Brody sat at the kitchen table eating bread and jam with Marzda. Mrs. Dobbs stood at the check-in desk.

  “Hello, Aubrey,” Brody greeted the marshal.

  “He was hungry,” Marzda said, apparently worried about letting Brody out of bed.

  “You did the right thing.” Ophelia curved an arm around the girl to put her mind at ease.

  Aubrey questioned them all.

  “I'd stay inside for a few days, if I were you,” Aubrey told Brody. “I want to go see where this shooting took place.”

  Brody rose to his feet. “I'll go with you.”

  “You're hurt,” Ophelia objected.

  He took hold of her chin and looked her in the eye. “Don't fuss. I'm fine.”

  Kissing her, he followed the lawmen out the back door, but not before Cordelia sent Ophelia a glance of surprise then held up her thumb.

  “He kissed you again.” Mar
zda danced around the room in excitement. “Are you lovers yet?”

  “Marzda, what a thing to ask. That's none of your business.” Ophelia cut a slice off the loaf of bread on the table and spread it with butter and jam.

  “It would be if you adopted me.”

  “No, not even then. What goes on between a man and wife is no one's business but theirs.”

  Marzda plopped down on a chair, a grimace of disappointment on her young face.

  “You shouldn't have kissed me in front of everyone like that,” Ophelia told Brody the next day as she washed the china for the dining room and he dried. It had been so long since the dinnerware was used, it had become dusty. “You're giving Marzda ideas. She keeps talking about us getting married and adopting her.”

  Brody accepted a dish and applied his cloth to it. “What's wrong with that? I consider it a great idea.”

  She wanted to kiss him for that, but her concerns about being open with their feelings for each other stopped her. She submerged another dish into the pan of soapy water. “Brody, be serious, please. Aubrey and Cordelia think there's something going on between us now too.”

  Putting down the dish he'd dried, he took hold of her arms and turned her toward him. “Ophelia, I believe I have made it clear that I care for you, haven't I?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. The truth is that I love you. I want us to get married, and if you want to adopt Marzda, that's fine with me. Will you marry me?”

  She lowered her gaze to his shirt front. “Brody, I'm still a married woman. We shouldn't discuss this yet.”

  He dropped his arms to his sides. “You're going to hold off giving me your decision until the divorce goes through? I can't even show affection for you?”

  “We don't know yet how the divorce is going to go. I can't imagine Mortimer objecting to it, but I think discretion would be wise until we know I'm going to be free of him.”

  Brody wore a look of such distress that she stepped closer and laid her hands against his chest. “If I were free to marry you, then I would say yes. But I'm not free. Does that make you feel better?”

  A smile spread across his handsome face. “Yeah, it does.”