“And how you love that line.”
“Actually, he must be pretty darn good, considering the queen gets as many as a million eggs out of one…um…quickie. And I certainly hope she’s good, since he dies afterwards.” Bett propped one foot on the dash, relaxing against the seat. “I’ve worried for a long time whether he dies happy. Maybe he dies depressed. I mean, he’s lived his whole life for that moment, and then what if the queen’s frigid?”
“Tough luck,” Zach said dryly.
“For the queen, too. What kind of deal is that, to only get to make love once in a lifetime?”
“It wouldn’t suit you by a long shot,” Zach agreed. His wife sent him a sidelong glance and he chuckled. “Is your mother going to survive our honey harvest this afternoon?”
“I doubt it.” There was no reason to expect that life would suddenly take a smooth path after doing hairpin turns all week. Bett had felt worlds better after talking with Zach about her mother, but that didn’t change unalterable facts. When Zach wanted her in the woods to help him cut wood for the winter, her mother expected her to go shopping. When her mother had decided to “fall clean” Zach’s study, half the receipts for the year had disappeared. And on the first free Sunday afternoon they’d had since summer, Zach had sat down to watch a football game. Elizabeth had spent every football game when Chet was alive chattering next to him. Bett’s dad had sort of tuned her out; Zach couldn’t.
“Bett, it’ll go fine this afternoon,” Zach assured her. He added wryly, “We’re not doing too well at matchmaking so far, are we?”
“You’d think my mother would catch on to the odd coincidence that we only have single male friends over fifty.”
Zach chucked, but only half in humor. The Monroe household was used to taking it a little easier by mid-October. The grain harvest was still going on; machinery had to be winterized; wood had to be cut for the cold months; but this was still the time of year he had extra time with Bett. Time to rest, time to fool around, time just to steal an afternoon together. And if Elizabeth miraculously found one more project for Bett to do, he would seriously consider strangling her. The instant Bett sat down and relaxed, her mother got nervous. Easy solutions were proving elusive.
The thing about getting Elizabeth married off…Zach sighed. No matter how irritated he was with her, he didn’t have in mind getting rid of the lady, but getting her involved with other people-something that Elizabeth was curiously shy about initiating on her own.
A handful of neighbors were coming over for their “honey bee” this afternoon. And if a “honey bee” wasn’t a good way of forcing people to let down their hair, Zach couldn’t imagine what was.
“My Lord,” Elizabeth said faintly.
“Now, just relax, Mom. Keep stirring,” Bett ordered cheerfully, as she lugged the huge kettle over to the stove. Elizabeth had come downstairs only moments before, dressed “for company” in expensive green linen slacks with a purple-and-green blouse, having ignored Bett’s suggestion that she wear something old. Bett, in jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, had briskly transformed the kitchen during the half hour her mother had been upstairs.
Honeycombs were stacked on a white sheet on the floor, their sweet smell permeating the entire house. A long table took up half the available floor space, again covered with a freshly washed sheet. On top of that were four five-gallon earthenware crocks and assorted glass jars. The counter next to the refrigerator was covered with cloves, lemon and cinnamon bark, those spicy smells mingling with the sweet one. Bett was wearing a white sweatband Indian-style across her forehead. And she’d immediately put her mother to work on the opposite counter with two bowls in front of her. One contained oatmeal, the other mud.
“My Lord,” Elizabeth said again.
Bett cast a critical eye at the mud mixture. “A little more dirt,” she said absently.
Elizabeth, looking more cowed than Bett had ever seen her, added a handful gingerly. “My kitchen,” she murmured. “My beautiful, clean kitchen…”
“Mother. You are going to have fun,” Bett insisted. “Really. You just have no idea-”
The front door opened. A chorus of laughter and conversation floated through from the living room, and in a moment the group descended, packing into every available space and cranny, Zach trailing behind them. He made the introductions. “Liz, this is Mabel Jordan, Susan Lee, you know Grady, Tom Fellers, Gail, Alice, Aaron, Trudy, Jane-this is Bett’s mother, Elizabeth, everyone.”
“Zach, you pour,” Bett shouted over the ensuing chatter.
The glasses were all set out. Zach started filling them from the last crock of the previous year’s mead. The women moved about the room, aproned and laughing. They were all neighbors, most of them from nearby farms. The first time Bett had mustered the courage to tentatively suggest a gathering of the local clans, she’d been panic-stricken when they actually swarmed in. Farm women were bossy. It came with the territory. The ones who didn’t want honey wine were already fussing through her cupboards looking for instant coffee or tea.
“Less dirt,” Mabel, a tall, skinny woman with iron-gray hair, told Elizabeth, peeking over her shoulder. “The consistency has to be just right when you put the honey in it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth was staring in horror as Grady and Tom Fellers took off their shoes in the doorway, then their socks. Both disappeared. Minutes later, they returned from the downstairs bathroom with bare, and clean, feet.
“Got the brew going?” Grady asked Bett.
“I’m getting it, I’m getting it,” Susan Lee told him. “You just set yourself down.”
Bett started the burner under the big kettle and measured in a quart of apple juice, two quarts of water and two pounds of honey. She bumped into Zach, whose arms steadied her as she whipped past him, and knelt to get out a 9-by-13-inch pan from the bottom cupboard. She found two, gave her startled mother a quick hug on the way back up and then poured the mixture of colloidal oatmeal and honey into the two pans. In a moment, both pans were on the floor, and Grady and Tom had planted their feet in them.
When she glanced up again, she was a little afraid Elizabeth was going into shock.
“Bett, what do you want me to do?” Alice shouted.
“Hmm. Cut up three cloves, if you would, then the juice of two lemons for the brew-” Bett popped a large piece of cinnamon bark into the huge kettle and started to stir. The liquid was simmering, wafting a tangy fragrance into the air. Suddenly, she stiffened. “Zach-”
“I’ve got the yeast, two bits. Not to worry.”
She flashed him a smile. Her mother flashed her a panicked look that said, What is going on? You’re insane. They’re insane…
“Mud’s about ready, Bett,” Mabel announced.
“Did you add the honey?”
Dripping a cupful of it across the once-spotless floor, Bett raced to that counter to add the correct proportion of honey. “Ready, ladies?”
The other women were sitting down in chairs next to the tables, scarves tied around their heads to protect their hair, their faces uplifted and brightened by irrepressible smiles. Bett glanced around. She’d planned on five. She was missing one-her mother.
Elizabeth was on her hands and knees, trailing people with a rag. Firmly, Bett took the rag away and maneuvered her mother gently into a chair beside the others. “Wouldn’t you like a mudpack? Come on, it’s fun, Mom.” Her mother didn’t answer. Bett started at the head of the line with her bowlful of mud and honey and stuck her hands in it. She couldn’t help laughing. She was very sorry her mother wasn’t enjoying it, but as she coated each upturned face with honey mud, she couldn’t help but start chuckling. Grady didn’t help matters; he was slapping his knee as he watched the women. She put some on his nose in passing; he only laughed harder.