The Beekeeper's Daughter. Janice Carter

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      She followed him to the kitchen door and out into the yard. The sun had disappeared behind the honey barn roof and the yard, now in shade, was cooler. A faint breeze carried with it the delicate fragrance of the tulip poplar in full bloom at the corner of the house.

      Will paused by the driver-side of the van and raised his face into the breeze. “Smells like spring.”

      “Spring’s been here for a few weeks now. We’re a long way from New Jersey.”

      “Yeah.” His expression was unreadable. “A long way,” he repeated softly, before abruptly opening the van door.

      Annie peered over his shoulder into the van. “Looks like you’ve made yourself a cozy living space.”

      “It works for me.” He set the honey inside. “That bench folds down into a bed and there’s a small fridge and propane burner for cooking. I stay at campsites wherever possible for the shower and laundry facilities.”

      “There’s one not far from here,” Annie said impulsively. “Off the main highway back toward Essex. Rest Haven Camp, about ten miles outside the town limits.”

      “Thanks for the tip. Maybe I’ll head there now and check out the job situation in the morning. And…thanks again for your hospitality, Annie.” He extended his right hand. “You took a chance asking a stranger with a story like mine into your home. I appreciate the opportunity to finally see Ambrosia Apiaries.”

      Annie placed her hand in his. Touched by the gratitude in his eyes, she was tempted to invite him to stay for supper, but common sense prevailed. Still, she had to admit to a definite spark when his hand folded around hers. Even the way he said her name made it seem exotic, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone far more daring. She stepped back from the van.

      “It was my pleasure, Will. All the best with…your road trip.”

      He nodded and turned the ignition key. The engine’s rumble made any further talk pointless. Annie waved as he reversed, made a neat three-point turn and lurched forward. Will’s left hand tipped a quick goodbye. Annie watched until the van drove out of sight. When the last dust settled, she headed for the kitchen door, wondering why she felt so inexplicably deflated.

      She cleared the table in silence and sat in the chair Will had just vacated, trying to see the room through his eyes. So ordinary really, lacking the flash of a modern kitchen. Yet there had been such awe in his face when he’d followed her inside that his odd story about the magazine article had rung true. His interest in the apiary was clearly serious and focused. She hadn’t wanted to admit that while he’d been dreaming of Garden Valley and beekeepers as a child, she’d been planning her escape.

      Ironically, he’d more or less realized his fantasy while she…well, that was another story. A long one. Annie glanced instinctively upward to her bedroom and then closed her eyes. Once upon a time she’d thought by going off to college she could escape Garden Valley and for a while, she had. Until reality caught up with her in the form of an unplanned pregnancy.

      Annie sighed and rose shakily to her feet. Tucking the letter deep into her dresser drawer had merely put it out of sight. When she reached her bedroom, she first piled her dirty laundry into a basket to take downstairs, retrieved soiled towels from the bathroom and, on the way, paused to peek into her father’s room. He’d made his bed and, as if he were coming home that night, had left his pajamas folded on top of his pillow. Annie teared up at the sight.

      Finally, she opened her dresser drawer and took out the letters.

      Sitting on the edge of her bed, she read them again, starting with her aunt’s brief note. Annie knew that her aunt would expect her to call, especially with news of her father’s surgery. Although she appreciated Aunt Isobel’s wisdom and common sense, Annie also knew that this was her problem. Her aunt had done more than enough for her. Taking a deep breath, she opened the letter from the agency. Was Sister Mary Beatty the woman who’d counseled Annie? She remembered a woman whose quiet, non-judging manner had soothed Annie’s fears and guilt.

      She lay back on the pillows at the head of her bed, letter still in hand, and stared up at the ceiling. She could simply toss it into the garbage and go on with her life. The agency wouldn’t bother her again. She closed her eyes, her thoughts flying back to August 12th, thirteen years ago, and the day she gave birth to a tiny baby girl.

      And now that baby girl—a teenager—wanted to meet her. In spite of Annie’s curiosity about the person that baby had become, she wasn’t certain she wanted to relive an event from her past that still evoked guilt. The thought of coming face-to-face with…her daughter…was almost terrifying.

      Daughter. The word sounded foreign to her, a concept she couldn’t connect with, even though she was a daughter herself.

      If her mother were still alive, what advice would she give her? If her mother hadn’t set out for Essex on that icy winter morning, what would Annie’s own teenaged years have been like? If Annie hadn’t drunk so much the night of that frat party, what would she be doing that very moment instead of lying on her bed contemplating a meeting with the daughter conceived that night?

      If, if, if. A useless word. Almost as pointless as the phrase I wish. She sat up, tossing the letter aside, and reached for a tissue on the night table. The clock radio told her it was almost six-thirty. Auntie Isobel had likely finished dinner long ago and was now dozing in front of the television. Annie hesitated, index finger poised above the phone. Then, before she could change her mind, quickly tapped in the number.

      Annie could tell from the disoriented tone in her aunt’s greeting that she had indeed been napping. “I, uh, wanted to tell you that Dad and Shirley got away just before four and that Shirley will call you tomorrow after the surgery.”

      There was a slight pause. “I know that, dear. We made those arrangements last week. Remember?”

      Annie cleared her throat. “Oh, right. Well, I also wanted to tell you that I got your letter and…the one from the adoption agency.”

      “So quickly! I just mailed them the day before yesterday.”

      The ball’s back in my court. “I was surprised. No, more than that. Well, maybe closer to shocked.”

      “I thought you might be, dear.”

      Annie closed her eyes, knowing Auntie Isobel wasn’t going to ask the question. “The letter was from a Sister Mary Beatty. She said that the…that is, my…uh, daughter wanted to make contact with me.”

      When her aunt finally spoke, she sounded almost sad. “I thought that might be the reason for the letter. I couldn’t think why else they’d be writing after all these years.”

      “The thing is…I don’t really know what to do.”

      “Of course you don’t. How could you possibly? Take your time, Annie. There’s no rush, is there?”

      “No, but I… It’s just that Dad will be home in two or three weeks and…”

      Auntie Isobel’s voice was soft. “You haven’t told him, I’m assuming.”

      Annie waited for the pounding at her temples to ease. “No. There never seemed to be a good time and then—frankly—I left it so long I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

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