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May glided right up to the edge of the garden, where the intoxicating scent of yellow jessamine, a flower long past its normal blooming season, vied with whiffs of white gardenia and a kaleidoscope of four-o’clocks. Bergamot and honeysuckle beckoned a tiny hummingbird that hovered and bobbed, as if in homage to the Beekeeper, the founder of this feast, before darting around the flowers.
The soles of May’s feet lowered to touch the earth. All fear had sloughed off now, and her heart told her to run and throw herself into the Beekeeper’s waiting embrace. But before she could move, before she could act on her will, Martha appeared before her, walking clean through the Beekeeper without taking notice of the creature’s presence. The flush of the magic fell away, causing the garden to disappear, its miraculous flowers disintegrating to dust, and May’s unquestioning trust of this creature seemed to melt away in the same instant.
Martha came to a stop in front of May and grabbed ahold of her wrist, piercing her with her frightened, tear-filled eyes. “There were men come by a while ago.” She pointed toward May’s house behind her. “Things are pretty busted up in there. What did you do, anyway?” She dropped May’s arm and pushed her way around her. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know nothing about it. I’m sorry, May. I truly
am. But I can’t have any kind of trouble. I can’t be a part of this.”
“But the girls . . .”
“I’m sorry, but I got children and grandchildren of my own to worry about. I can’t go getting mixed up in whatever trouble you’ve done gotten yourself mired in. I’m sorry,” Martha said again, but she didn’t look back as she stomped her way toward the drive, her determined pace carrying her quickly away from May’s yard and toward the bend in the road.
“Let this drab little sister go home.” May jumped at the sound of the voice, and turned to find the Beekeeper once again stood behind her, although the miraculous garden seemed to have disappeared for good. “You don’t need her, ’cause you have me.”
“I gotta see to my girls,” May said, sick at heart for them.
“Don’t worry about your babies. They’re safe. And we’re gonna see to it they stay that way.”
“But they must be frightened.”
“Frightened? Those babies of yours are a hell of a lot tougher than you think. If I were you, I’d make sure they knew it was me before I stepped foot inside. They’re getting ready to flatten the next person through the door.” The Beekeeper first chuckled, then pushed the bottom of her veil to the side and spat. “Dry. Dry. Dry. What the hell does a body have to do get a drink around here?”
Something about the sight of this faceless creature spitting in her yard convinced May she must be dreaming. Any moment she would awaken. Begin her day, her real day, not this mad fantasy that couldn’t possibly be real.
“I can get you some water . . .”
“I do not want water,” the creature’s tone turned harsh.
“Chicory, then,” the words tumbled from her mouth. “I have chicory. I could brew you some.”
The Beekeeper lunged forward. “I do not want your damned chicory. Do I look like a whore for your damned chicory? What kind of goddamned house do you keep, that you ain’t got even a drop of drink for your friends? Your mother, she knew how to treat a guest.”
This was madness. May crumpled, falling to her knees. Dream or no, she’d had enough.
“There, there, my dearie. Not to worry.” The Beekeeper waved a gloved hand in the air, and a bottle appeared in it. Her other hand pushed back the bottom of her veil, revealing the same terrible emptiness that had so frightened May the night before. It was a blankness, a void that gave a person’s very soul a sense of vertigo, as if there were a danger of toppling into it and falling forever.
The eternal darkness she sensed within the creature caused her mind to flash on the horror at the turnoff. “Did you kill those men?”
“Only the one,” the Beekeeper responded. “Needed the other alive to tell the tale.” She took another swig. “That bastard used those men to send you a message, so we used them to send him one back.”
She wanted to feel bad that a man had died, but she couldn’t. May began shaking. She wrapped her arms around her chest to help still the trembling.
“You calm yourself.” The woman waved her free hand over the bottle in her other hand. May jolted when she felt the glass in her own hand. “Go on, taste.” May began to refuse, but the Beekeeper carried on. “It is very good rum. It has the pepper’s fire,” she added before returning her focus to the bottle. “No? Your mama and I used to drink until we were both falling down drunk. Falling through each other. Falling through the stars.” A wistful delight sounded in her voice.
“I am not my mother,” May responded, holding the bottle out to her.
The Beekeeper wiggled her gloved fingers, and the bottle was once again in her clasp. “More’s the pity,” she said, then brushed back the veil for another swig. As the veil fell back into place, she jumped to a new train of thought. “She can see me, you know, your little one, even though she isn’t of your blood.” The creature’s tone made it sound like she was contemplating the implications. “But the other two. The ones who should be my daughters. Nothing. I stand directly before them . . .” The Beekeeper was suddenly mere inches away, her veiled face an intimate distance from May’s, her hand waving before May’s eyes. The Beekeeper took a step back, then stood there swaying, “. . .and nothing.”
May trembled. “She’s my grandbaby. Blood or no.” Fear and longing battled in her spirit.
“Well, of course, the heart speaks the truth even when blood itself lies.” The Beekeeper fell back, suddenly several yards away. “But the little one. She’s claiming the others’ magic. Making it hers. This is something that should not be.”
This odd being frightened and soothed her in the same instant, but the need to protect her own pushed her toward the side of caution. May squinted, trying to pin the quivering image in place for inspection. “What . . . are you?”
To May’s amazement, the veiled creature began sashaying from side to side, her feet lifting and landing in a peculiar kind of dance. “I am what I have always been and what you would make of me.” She began to weave a circle around May, brushing up against her, catlike. “Embrace me, and I am the gentlest of mothers. Flee me, and I am the cruelest of predators. Offer me again your da—” She paused playfully on the word, then continued, “—delightful chicory, and you will find out for yourself where I land between those two extremes. Your foolish Prohibition has ended, has it not? For all I have to give you, I do not ask for much in return. Your mother certainly had no trouble finding a suitable offering.”
“My mama told me never to have any dealings with you.”
The creature snorted, her veil puffing out a bit as she did so. She stopped her dancing and took a few heavy old woman steps toward May’s house. May was about to chase after her, intent on stopping her before she could reach the children, but the Beekeeper came to a halt and eased down onto the front steps.
