When they got to the house her father handed Marsden the box of bees, watching closely as he strapped them into the truck bed next to the empty hive.
“Why don’t I sit back there and hold them?” her dad said.
“No need, they’ll be fine,” Marsden assured him. “You can sit up here.” Cassie could just picture her father bouncing around in the back of the pickup with his bees.
Her dad lifted himself into the passenger seat, angling a shoulder to keep an eye on the bees.
Marsden looked at Cassie. “You coming?”
“I’ll walk down,” she said. Marsden had a nice way with her dad, seemed better able to defuse him than she could. Probably because they had no history.
Marsden bumped across the field and had the truck bed open by the time she made her way down the driveway. He pausedbefore lifting out the box of bees. “Before we do this,” he said to her dad, “I just want to make sure you understand there’s a risk these new bees will get infected too.”
“They might not.”
Marsden raised an eyebrow. “Just so you’re clear. We can go ahead if it’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.” Her father’s mouth was set.
“Understood.” Marsden lifted out the box of bees then unloaded the empty hive. “Do you have a stand for this one?”
“A stand?”
“Like the others, to keep the boxes off the ground. Keeps them dry.” Marsden said this neutrally, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world her dad wouldn’t remember he had his other hives on concrete blocks. “No matter,” he said lightly. “You can always add one later.”
Her father had forgotten his smoker, so Marsden produced one and pulled out a wad of burlap from his pocket. He had on a fleece vest over his jeans and looked like he was ready to go hiking. No bee suit, just a veil he’d grabbed from the truck but hadn’t yet put on.
When she’d googled beekeepers, most of the pictures that came up were people encased in white hazmat suits so you couldn’t tell what they looked like. Marsden seemed unconcerned with the risk. He looked like someone you’d run into on a trail with a fifty-pound pack on his back and a cannister of bear spray. A man who could handle whatever came his way.
“You don’t wear a bee suit,” she observed.
“I do.” He was puffing smoke at the bees, which made them retreat from the screen to the interior of the box. “When I’m working a lot of hives I put it on. I’ve been stung plenty of times, believe me. It’s just that it’s easier to work without one, so for small jobs like this I don’t always bother.”
“No gloves either?” She couldn’t imagine picking up a frame of bees with bare hands.
“They’re in the truck.” He turned to her dad. “Ready?”
Her father shuffled over. He didn’t move as well as he used to, and the bee suit made it even more awkward. It would probably take Marsden all of five minutes to transfer the bees, but he stood back, letting her dad take the lead.
Her father lifted the cover off the new hive and set it on the grass. It looked like an empty condo, scrubbed clean by the previous owner. He squatted to get his arms around the box of bees but the suit made everything difficult, and he managed only to hoist the box a couple of feet before it toppled to the ground. The bees, which had been stupefied by the smoke, began to stir restlessly.
“Give them more smoke,” her dad barked.
Marsden obligingly puffed the smoker a couple of times and the bees quieted. Cassie wished he would take over, but her dad had made it clear he wanted to go it alone.
She didn’t see exactly how it happened, whether dropping the box loosened the screen and allowed a rogue bee to escape, or whether the attacker came from one of the other hives, drawn by the commotion.
One minute her father was trying to get a better grip on the box, the next he’d launched himself into the air and was batting frantically at his veil.
“Got a bee in here!”
“Don’t move,” Marsden said. “I’ll get it.”
But her dad swung his head like an enraged bull, pawing at the veil as though he could dislodge the bee from the outside.
“Dad, hold still!” Cassie cried.
Marsden tried to unzip the veil, but her dad shook him off with the panic of someone who had a stinger an inch from his eye. “Get it out of here!” he bellowed.
