Page 7 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
‘Right, well, now you men have squared up and sorted yourselves out,’ said Hannah, ‘I’d appreciate it if we could eat breakfast before it all goes cold.’
She placed a huge dish of porridge down on the table, together with a toast rack stuffed with thick golden slices. Amos’s mouth began to water.
He caught Ned’s eye, smiling again, and felt himself begin to relax. This was a good place to be, of that there was no doubt in his mind.
‘Besides,’ added Hannah. ‘This one here…’ She pointed to Flora. ‘Has a very well-developed sense of intuition, and if she didn’t think you were okay, you wouldn’t be eating my porridge, make no mistake.’
A bark of laughter shot from Fraser’s mouth. ‘Welcome to Hope Corner Farm, Amos,’ he said. ‘You’re practically one of the family now.’
‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Fraser, but… well, carry on as you are, Amos, and I reckon you’re welcome to stay.’
Flora picked up a bowl and began to ladle porridge into it. ‘Say when,’ she said, directing a look at Amos. ‘And there’s plenty so don’t stint yourself.’
Amos didn’t nod until the bowl was practically full. He reached for the jar of honey.
‘So, what else would you like me to help with while I’m here?’ he asked. ‘I can take care of the hens too if you’d like. What time do they normally lay?’
Hannah spluttered through a mouthful of tea. ‘About eleven at this time of year, but how did you…?’
‘I introduced myself to them this morning after I heard the cockerel crowing,’ replied Amos. ‘I hope that was okay. Besides, anybody with that many eggs lined up in their kitchen has got to have a few hens about the place.’
Flora laughed. ‘There’s nothing much escapes you, is there?’ she said. ‘And actually, those eggs are destined for the village shop, but taking them down there always seems to be the one job that no one has time for any more. If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could take them?’
‘Of course,’ replied Amos. ‘I’d be happy to.’
Fraser’s spoon was already scraping his bowl and Amos picked up his own pace a little. The porridge was good: thick and creamy, the honey strong and sweet. He finished it in moments.
‘Delicious,’ he announced. ‘Thank you.’ He looked expectantly at Fraser and Ned. ‘I’ll just go and fetch my papers, shall I? And then you can show me what you’d like doing.’
Several hours later Amos found himself back on the road again and heading towards the village, a wicker basket hooked over one arm, his head tilted to enjoy the sun on his skin. He’d spent the morning discussing the work to be done on the cottage; like most farmers, Fraser and Ned could turn their hands to most things of a practical nature and much of the preliminary work had already been done, but things had recently ground to a halt. Amos hadn’t wanted to pry too much, but Fraser’s illness had clearly forced them to reconsider the future of the farm, hence the major change in direction from dairy to flowers. It was unsurprising to Amos that he had arrived at a rather pivotal moment in the lives of everyone here but, try as he might, he still couldn’t get a sense of what any of this might be leading to. Were it not, of course, for the angry voices that he had heard last night. Someone needed help and now he was on his way to meet the woman who kept bees in her garden.
Flora had scribbled Amos a note to explain to Grace who he was so that she wouldn’t question why he just happened to be carrying a basket full of eggs from the farm. Not that she would, explained Flora, sure that Grace would take one look at him and welcome him with open arms, but just in case. Amos had smiled and nodded, intrigued by the thought of meeting her.
Somehow he had pictured Grace to be much older than she was, but her wavy grey hair couldn’t disguise the smooth skin and confidence of someone much closer to his own age. Only the creases that lay at the corners of her eyes, brought on by half a lifetime of smiling, gave her away as being a little over fifty. They appeared now as she greeted him warmly.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘Beautiful day—’ She was about to say something else when she suddenly frowned. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Stand still a minute.’
Amos did as he was asked, his face dropping in confusion as he watched her come around the counter, picking up a piece of paper on her way.
‘You appear to have been accompanied into the shop,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Come on, little fella,’ she added. ‘Let’s get you back out in the fresh air.’
She placed the sheet of paper against Amos’s shoulder, and it was only then he noticed that a bee had settled there. Despite Grace’s best efforts, however, it refused to be enticed onto the paper so he wriggled his shoulder, holding his head away at an awkward angle to get a better look.
‘It isn’t dead, is it?’ he asked, when it didn’t move.
‘No, it’s alive. Stunned perhaps…’
Amos handed her the basket of eggs. ‘Could you hold these a moment?’ he asked. ‘I’ll go outside. Perhaps the air will persuade him to move.’
Grace nodded and took the basket, placing it down on the counter before following him out.
‘If he flies off inside, I’ll have a devil of a time trying to catch him. They usually end up beating themselves to death against the window.’ She shuddered. ‘I can’t bear it.’
The path to the shop, which passed through a small front garden, was flanked on either side by a low wall and Amos sat down on it, hoping that the flowers behind him might prove more interesting than he was. Grace sat down beside him and glanced at her watch.
‘Good job we’re not busy today,’ she said. ‘You weren’t in a hurry, were you?’
‘Not especially,’ said Amos, squinting towards the sun.
