Dakota Born

  Gage saw the look of relief and suspected his half brother hadn’t been as confident of that as he claimed. It just went to prove how important it was to follow through on his promises—despite his feelings. If he’d made an excuse the way he’d been tempted to, he would’ve sent Kevin the wrong message. Gage was the closest thing Kevin had to a father figure, and he took his responsibility seriously.

  “Can I help you carry something inside?”

  “Yeah.” Gage lowered the tailgate of his truck. He’d brought along a couple of boxes and frames, an extractor and a smoker, which he planned to demonstrate with during his talk.

  Kevin reached for a box. “Miss Snyder said she’d like to talk to you privately for a couple of minutes when you’re finished. She wants to know if you can stay.”

  “I’ll tell her I can.” He wasn’t going to send a teenager to do his talking for him. As far as he was concerned, he had nothing to say to Lindsay Snyder that hadn’t been said the night before. Apparently she wanted the last word; he’d give it to her, but that was all she was getting from him.

  The class watched as Gage and Kevin walked in with various boxes and pieces of equipment. Lindsay’s gaze sought him out, and he met her look with cool indifference.

  She took her cue from that, and didn’t personally greet him.

  “When I first moved to Buffalo Valley,” she said, standing in front of the class, “I approached a number of people about coming in and talking about their lives, their interests, their history in Buffalo Valley. We’re fortunate to have Kevin’s brother, Gage Sinclair, here to talk to us today about beekeeping.”

  Her introduction was followed by polite applause and plenty of curious stares as he and Kevin carried the equipment to the front of the classroom. He waited until Kevin took his seat. Gage wasn’t comfortable talking in front of a group and was especially ill at ease when it was a group of teenagers, even if he had known most of them their entire lives.

  “I thought I could start by telling you how I got interested in bees.” He waited until he saw Lindsay nod before he continued. He cleared his throat. “Anyone in here ever been stung?”

  They almost all raised their hands.

  “I was, too, plenty of times. The summer I was twelve I got stung by a nasty-tempered bee. Do you know what happens if you don’t get the stinger out?” Again his question was followed by several raised hands. “It festers into a boil. I couldn’t believe that a stinger so small I could barely see it would do that to my body. It was an unpleasant experience, but it made me curious about wasps and hornets and bees, and I found honeybees fascinating.”

  “I’d be more afraid of them than curious,” Kevin’s girlfriend piped up.

  “That’s because you’re a girl,” one of the Loomis twins said with a snicker.

  Lindsay cast her students a look that quickly silenced them.

  “When I was thirteen, I was assigned to write a paper on the subject of my choice. My mother suggested I write about bees, seeing I already knew so much about them.”

  “When did you start keeping bees?” Amanda Jensen wanted to know.

  “About ten years ago,” Gage said. “And I’m still learning. The hives are a challenge every single season.”

  “Even now?”

  “Even now,” he told them, and went on to explain the different feeding cycles.

  “Where did you get your bees? Did you buy them?”

  One of the Lammermann boys laughed at Calla Stern’s question and she turned around and glared at him.

  “Actually, that’s an excellent question. There are three ways to get bees, and each has its pros and cons. The first is a nucs or nucleus, and they’re generally bought as a three-or five-foot frame. They store an open brood and a laying queen, plus a fair number of bees of all ages.” He held up a frame for them to see. “This frame fits inside the box where the hive lives.”

  “So you can buy the nucs?” Stan Muller asked.

  “Yes. You can also get what’s known as a package. Bees are sold by the pound, just like something off Hansen’s grocery-store shelf. Like the nucs, the package includes a mated, laying queen bee.”

  “You can actually buy bees,” Calla said with a tinge of righteous justification.

  Gage went on to explain that this was the method he’d first used himself, and he described a lot of the errors he’d made in those early days.

  “You said there were three methods of getting bees,” Kevin reminded him.

  “The third is swarms. How many of you have seen a bee swarm?”

  Only one hand went up. “Personally I never have,” Gage confessed. “Most beekeepers don’t resort to catching swarms to supplement their hives.”

  “But why?” Bert Loomis asked. “It sounds like a great way to get bees without having to pay for them.”

  “It does, but there’s always the risk of bringing disease into your hives and that’s something all beekeepers want to avoid.”

  For an hour Gage answered questions and was impressed by the students’ interest. When the school bus arrived, he was pleasantly surprised to note the time. He hadn’t expected his talk to go this well.

  “Thank you, Mr. Sinclair,” Lindsay said from the back of the room.

  “I brought everyone something to take home,” Gage explained opening a box. “There’s a small jar of honey…”

  “It’s really good,” Kevin assured his friends. He stood and grabbed his books from the edge of his desk. “Meet you at the truck in half an hour, Gage.”

  Gage nodded. “I also have these creamy bars made from beeswax. They’re used like hand lotion. I brought one for each of the ladies.”

  He was thanked again as the students filed out of the classroom. Gage stayed behind, taking extra time to gather up the items he’d brought with him.

  It wasn’t long before he was alone with Lindsay. “I understand you had something you wanted to say,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes.” She stayed at the far end of the room, near the door, as if she, too, were uncomfortable being close to him. Her hands were clenched, shoulders straight, back rigid.

  “First of all, I want you to know I appreciate your coming in this afternoon.”

  “I stick to my word.”

  “I didn’t tell you I wouldn’t date anyone else,” she reminded him, her eyes flashing.

  He supposed he had to concede that point, but he was uninterested in furthering the argument. From this day forward, he’d do everything in his power to avoid her. It only made sense. Clearly, she didn’t want to pursue a relationship; just as clearly, he shouldn’t pursue one.

  “Perhaps it’d be best not to talk about our quarrel.”

  “I’m more than willing to drop the entire matter.” He reached for his equipment again.

  “The reason I asked to speak to you,” she began in a rush. She hesitated and glanced down at her clenched hands. “I thought you’d like to know I found the hollow brick.”

  “You did?” Gage said, astounded. “How?” He’d been over every inch of that fireplace.

  A chagrined smile came and went. “After you left, I…uh, I kicked the fireplace.”

  “You kicked the fireplace?” he repeated incredulously.

  Her expression was sheepish. “You made me so mad, I couldn’t stand it. Wherever I hit must’ve triggered the mechanism because the brick slid out smooth as could be.”

  “And?” He sincerely hoped she didn’t intend to keep him in suspense.

  “It was empty.”

  “Empty,” he echoed. He could tell from her voice that she was intensely disappointed. He didn’t know what she’d been expecting to find; she hadn’t said and he hadn’t pried. But finding the brick wasn’t idle curiosity on her part.

  “I’m sure she moved it.”

  Gage figured the she had to be Gina Snyder. He remembered her well, and she hadn’t looked like someone with a deep dark secret she kept buried in a fireplace.

  Lindsay gave a small shake of her hea
d as though she regretted having spoken. “Never mind.”

  Gage lifted the boxes and headed toward the door. This time she didn’t stop him, but she followed him outside. Walking ahead of him, she lowered the tailgate on his pickup. Gage slid everything onto the bed.

  “Thank you again,” she said, and Gage thought he heard a hint of sadness in her voice.

  He didn’t have anything else to add. He merely nodded in acknowledgment and climbed inside the truck.

  “Gage.” She walked over to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Eyes cast down, she said, “I wanted you to know I’m sorry our friendship’s come to an end, especially over something so silly. If it’s any consolation, I had a miserable night. I don’t even want to go out with Ambrose….”

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Listen, I’m not interested in your date. It’s better like this for both of us. I’ll stay out of your way and you can stay out of mine. Agreed?”

  “What is it with everyone?” she cried. “Why does everyone treat me like this? I came to this town hoping to make a difference, but so far my only real friend is Hassie. Am I really such an outsider? It’s like you’re all holding your breath waiting for me to pack my bags and leave—even the kids. It drives me crazy. I’m here day after day, and…never mind, you don’t want to hear it…You’re like everyone else. Fine, you don’t want to be my friend because of some terrible wrong I’m supposed to have committed against you. You know what? I don’t need friends like you.” She turned and hurried back into the school.

  Gage watched her leave, astonished at her outburst and half tempted to go after her. But he didn’t. She wasn’t one of them; she didn’t understand. Most likely, she never would.

  Joanie Wyatt reached deep inside the large-capacity washing machine for Brandon’s wet coveralls and placed them inside the dryer. With the heavy October rains, she could no longer use the line to dry their laundry.

  The washer still looked new, although the bright enamel sheen had faded a bit. She’d once viewed the beautiful new washer and dryer as the most incredible appliances on the face of the earth. The anniversary gift had added excitement to her sagging marriage, but her joy had been tarnished by Brandon’s cruel words.

  He seemed to regret that awful night as much as she did. His anger was gone, replaced by depression. Whereas earlier he’d lashed out at her, now his frustration had turned inward. She wanted to help him, but didn’t know how, and her inability to reach him left her with a hopeless, desperate feeling.

  Joanie would’ve given anything to be able to return the new appliances. She’d rather beat clothes against a rock than have Brandon worry about meeting the payments, although he’d never actually complained about it. The amount wasn’t all that much—a hundred and twenty-five dollars a month—but on top of all their other expenses…Every time she used the washer and dryer now, she felt guilty.

  But it wasn’t as if she could avoid washing clothes, and Mondays were wash days. That was the schedule her mother had kept and the one Joanie adopted when she got married. The house seemed unnaturally quiet as she hauled the sheets, still warm from the dryer, upstairs to Sage’s and Stevie’s bedrooms.

  She was making the beds when the room started to swim, and she realized she was close to fainting. Eyes shut, she sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed, waiting for the dizzy spell to pass.

  She drew in several deep breaths and tried to remember if she’d had breakfast with the children. Sage had wanted French toast, Joanie recalled, and she’d prepared half a dozen slices, but now that she thought about it, she realized she hadn’t eaten any herself. Her unhappiness had robbed her of appetite this past week. She didn’t need to step on a scale to know she’d lost weight, which was probably why she was so tired. Most nights she went to bed soon after the children were asleep.

  When the dizziness passed, Joanie resumed the bed-making, but it wasn’t long before she felt faint a second time. If this was going to continue, it would take her all day to change the sheets.

  Disgusted with herself, she returned downstairs and popped a slice of bread in the toaster, thinking that if she ate something she’d feel better. She added peanut butter to the toast and had just swallowed her first bite when the phone rang.

  It was her mother. “Hi, Mom,” she said, forcing a note of gladness into her voice. She was trying to hide her unhappiness from her family.

  “Hello, sweetheart. I didn’t hear from you yesterday.” Her mother’s tone was slightly accusatory.

  They took turns phoning each other on Sundays. Brandon hadn’t said anything, but she knew he was looking for ways to cut expenses. “I wrote you, instead,” Joanie explained.

  “Wrote me a letter?” Her mother sounded puzzled. “Joanie, is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine…. It’s just that with wheat and corn prices so low, I was hoping to save a few dollars, that’s all.”

  “But I’ll miss talking to you and the kids. Perhaps I should phone you.”

  “No, Mom, that wouldn’t be fair. Anyway, it won’t be for long. Next year’s sure to be better.”

  “For your sake I hope so.” Her mother hesitated, then asked, “Is Brandon treating you well?”

  “Mother, of course he is!” She didn’t care to explain that her own husband seemed to be blaming her for the low price of corn, the current rainy conditions and just about everything else that was wrong with his world. “I love him—I’ve always loved him.”

  “I know. It’s just that…” Her mother let the rest fade. “The reason I wanted to talk to you has to do with Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s not for weeks yet.”

  “It’ll be here before you know it.”

  Joanie suspected that was true; the summer seemed to go so quickly, and now they were halfway through fall.

  “Your brother and Kelly are flying in with the kids.”

  “Jay’s coming?” Joanie hadn’t seen her older brother in two years. “It’ll be wonderful to see Jessie and Eddie.”

  “It’s hard to believe they’re twelve and ten,” her mother said conversationally. “It seems only yesterday that they were born. I do hope you and Brandon will be here. Your father and I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to have a family portrait taken.”

  The joy and excitement Joanie had felt for a moment left her. “I’ll talk to him, Mom, but I can’t make any guarantees.”

  “Do try. It would be so nice if we could all be together.”

  “It would be,” she agreed. “I’ll ask him right away.”

  “Ask me what?” Brandon said from behind her.

  Joanie placed her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at her husband, trying to gauge his mood. “Thanksgiving,” she said.

  His eyes revealed no emotion.

  “I’ll talk it over with Brandon and let you know as soon as we decide,” she told her mother.

  “Will you write or phone me with your answer?”

  “I’ll write you, Mom.”

  Brandon was waiting for her when Joanie finished with the phone call. “What’s this about writing your mother?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, dismissing the question rather than explaining why she wasn’t phoning the way she normally did.

  “We can afford for you to call your family, Joanie.”

  Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears.

  “You crying?” He frowned as he asked the question.

  “No…yes.” She plucked a tissue from the box and blew her nose, shocked at this unwarranted display of emotion.

  “All right,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “You do what you want. Write your mother, phone her, it’s up to you.”

  She blew her nose again, wondering if she was coming down with a cold. It wouldn’t surprise her with the cold damp weather they’d been having.

  “About Thanksgiving?” she said, glancing at her husband, hoping she could convince him to leave the farm long enough to spend the holiday with her family.
It would be like a vacation, and they could use the break.

  “My brother and his family are flying in,” Joanie told him. “I haven’t seen him in two years.”

  “And you want to be with Jay and his family at Thanksgiving,” Brandon said. “I’d never keep you and the kids from seeing your brother and your parents.”

  “Mom and Dad want you there, too.”

  He shook his head even before he spoke. “I can’t leave the farm.”

  “But Gage said he’d be willing to look after the animals if we wanted to get away for a little while,” she said, rushing the words in her eagerness. “We’d only be gone a couple of days.”

  “Joanie…”

  “We could leave early Thursday morning, have dinner with them and then drive home on Friday afternoon. Mom mentioned something about a family portrait or we could leave their place sooner, but I don’t think any photography studios would be open Thanksgiving Day.” She knew why she was rambling—because the instant she stopped talking, Brandon would tell her no.

  “You know how I feel about your parents,” he muttered.

  The tears were back, frustrating and angering her. “You don’t have a clue how they feel about you! You’ve never given them a chance.”

  “If you want to spend Thanksgiving with your family, Joanie, go. I won’t stand in your way.”

  “You’d rather spend Thanksgiving Day alone than be with your family?”

  “Tell me, do I have a lot to be thankful for? Not this year.”

  “You have your health and a wife and children who love you. Isn’t that enough?” She knew there was no point in arguing with him; Brandon wasn’t going to listen. Smearing the tears across her cheek, she forced herself to stop. “I’ll plan on driving to my parents without you then,” she said as evenly as her emotions would allow. “We’ll leave Thursday morning, like I suggested, and return on Friday.”

  “There’s no reason for you to hurry home.”

  He might have hit her for the effect those words had on her heart. “Brandon, are you saying…you don’t want us to come back?” she challenged. “Because if you are, then you don’t need to wait until Thanksgiving for us to leave.” If he wanted out of their marriage, the least he could do was be honest enough to tell her.