Page 7 of The Beekeeper

“That’s…a lot.” She blinked, still trying to wrap her head around the number. “How do they fit?”

I smiled. “Come. I’ll show you.”

With a little reluctance, she let me bring her to the nearest hive.

“Right here, this is their front door.” I pointed to the small slit at the bottom of the tower. Like they’d heard my cue, two bees crawled out from the opening.

Paisley jumped back behind me with a whimper.

“It’s okay. They can’t hurt you,” I promised, letting her watch as I lowered my finger in front of the nearest honeybee who, after a second of hesitation, felt her way onto the tip. “See?” I rolled my finger as the new bee crawled along it.

“Won’t she sting you?” Paisley whispered like the bee could hear.

“She’s too little yet,” I explained, slowly bringing my finger closer to her. “Baby honeybees don’t have stingers right away. Kind of like how baby Logan crawls before he can walk.”

Paisley’s fascination with my other cousin’s infant son was well-marked in my memory. She always wanted to see and hold him at our family gatherings.

Paisley said nothing, but must’ve believed me because she peeked out to look closer. I gave her a few seconds to watch and believe that there was no danger. I wanted her to feel safe enough to be adventurous.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Paisley stiffened.

“You don’t have to.” I gave her the out if she wanted it, and then waited.

Another few moments elapsed, and I heard her whisper, “Are you sure she can’t sting?”

“Positive,” I whispered back.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I assured her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Gingerly, she extended her little palm and unfurled her fingers, her head tipping to mine, uncertain.

I leveled my finger next to her palm, and a few moments later, the little bee crawled into Paisley’s hand and was greeted by the little girl’s enthusiastic gasp.

“I think she likes you,” I said, watching Paisley stare wide-eyed at the bee wobbling around her palm.

Pais looked at me with the biggest smile on her face, all dimples and missing front teeth.

“How do you know it’s a she?”

“Because right now all the bees are girls. They’re doing all the work to build their hive and take care of themselves and their sisters.”

“What are the boy bees doing?”

“There are no boy bees yet. They’ll be born in a few weeks,” I explained, and before she could ask more about the male bees and their job in the hive, I added, “Here, look”—I moved my finger close to the bee—“you can pet her butt.”

Paisley giggled.

“Go ahead,” I encouraged.

She took her finger and touched the bee where I showed her, laughing as she quickly drew her hand back.

“See? She’s friendly.” I cupped my hand under Paisley’s and guided it toward the hive. “Here, we’ll drop her back off at her front door.”