sweeter than honey
Tiffany Dickinson
She often walked these days, in the woods at the back of the property. It was cool there. Shaded.
Quiet.
He never followed her. “Insects,” he had said. “Spiderwebs. I should have those trees taken down. We
could build another guesthouse.”
“We don’t need another guesthouse,” she had said.
He’d just stared past the emerald lawn at the sylvan landscape, brow slightly furrowed, picking at a
hangnail the manicurist hadn’t caught.
Shooing him from her thoughts, she sucked in the sweet piney air as she strolled. Pausing, she
laid her hand on the trunk of an old tree. Amazingly cool for it being the peak of summer. She leaned her
forehead against the rough bark. Its stillness seeped through her pulsing temple.
Then she heard the buzzing. Straining through the sounds of whistling birds and a hard- working
woodpecker, the sound came more clearly to her. She swerved a slight right past the tree, heading deeper
into the forest.
Several yards farther, and there it was. A downed tree, splintered, perhaps by lightning. Bees
swarmed around the open trunk; waist high. Her mouth fell open in an “O”. Without hesitating, she stepped
into the clearing before the tree.
Quiet.
He never followed her. “Insects,” he had said. “Spiderwebs. I should have those trees taken down. We
could build another guesthouse.”
“We don’t need another guesthouse,” she had said.
He’d just stared past the emerald lawn at the sylvan landscape, brow slightly furrowed, picking at a
hangnail the manicurist hadn’t caught.
Shooing him from her thoughts, she sucked in the sweet piney air as she strolled. Pausing, she
laid her hand on the trunk of an old tree. Amazingly cool for it being the peak of summer. She leaned her
forehead against the rough bark. Its stillness seeped through her pulsing temple.
Then she heard the buzzing. Straining through the sounds of whistling birds and a hard- working
woodpecker, the sound came more clearly to her. She swerved a slight right past the tree, heading deeper
into the forest.
Several yards farther, and there it was. A downed tree, splintered, perhaps by lightning. Bees
swarmed around the open trunk; waist high. Her mouth fell open in an “O”. Without hesitating, she stepped
into the clearing before the tree.
The bees worked furiously, yet with precision. Wide-eyed, she followed their flight patterns, instilled
eons ago. Although hurrying above the trunk, they waited for one another, giving space when needed. She
saw the top of a honeycomb emerging from the trunk, the golden spillage making its way down through the
crevices in the bark.
Mesmerized, she drew nearer. Staying their course, the bees appeared not to notice the intrusion.
Her arm stretched out of its own accord. One index finger swiped through the amber lava.
The contentment she felt sucking on that finger eclipsed all the manicured years of her life – the
finishing schools, the lawns, the husband.
The honey filled her veins with a glow that coursed to her heart as she turned and strode straight
back toward the house.
She departed the cool of the woods, the setting sun flinging its final offering of the day over the
velvet grass as she glided across. Not one divot, dandelion, or dirt mound in acres and acres of wasted land.
Land kept only for appearances. Appearances and barriers. Barriers from neighbors, from nature, from the
wild - the uncontrolled, the uncontrollable.
She entered the house through the double doors into the library. He sat in a corner with one lamp
on, reading. Now that’s unusual, she thought. But when he looked up and closed the book, she realized he
was reading his own book. Of course, she should have known. No one else’s ideas were worth his time.
“Ready for drinks?” he asked. Then he frowned. “Or should you change and wash up.” Not really a
question.
eons ago. Although hurrying above the trunk, they waited for one another, giving space when needed. She
saw the top of a honeycomb emerging from the trunk, the golden spillage making its way down through the
crevices in the bark.
Mesmerized, she drew nearer. Staying their course, the bees appeared not to notice the intrusion.
Her arm stretched out of its own accord. One index finger swiped through the amber lava.
The contentment she felt sucking on that finger eclipsed all the manicured years of her life – the
finishing schools, the lawns, the husband.
The honey filled her veins with a glow that coursed to her heart as she turned and strode straight
back toward the house.
She departed the cool of the woods, the setting sun flinging its final offering of the day over the
velvet grass as she glided across. Not one divot, dandelion, or dirt mound in acres and acres of wasted land.
Land kept only for appearances. Appearances and barriers. Barriers from neighbors, from nature, from the
wild - the uncontrolled, the uncontrollable.
She entered the house through the double doors into the library. He sat in a corner with one lamp
on, reading. Now that’s unusual, she thought. But when he looked up and closed the book, she realized he
was reading his own book. Of course, she should have known. No one else’s ideas were worth his time.
“Ready for drinks?” he asked. Then he frowned. “Or should you change and wash up.” Not really a
question.
“I am definitely ready for drinks,” she said. He rose and followed her as she walked out of the library,
down the parqueted hall, and into the parlor. She went straight to the bar and wrapped her warm fingers
around a bottle. As she poured, she watched the brandy slosh lazily against the sides of the snifter. I’ve
brought the honey back with me. She almost dropped the bottle, slamming it clumsily on the bar. She gulped
the nectar. It burned, and she coughed in spasms.
“You should never gulp brandy. It is meant to be sipped.” His gaze was cool. “Brandy’s not usually
your drink. Feeling adventurous tonight?” He poured himself just enough scotch.
She took a smaller sip. “There’s a tree down in the woods. Bees have made it into a hive. It’s flowing
with honey.” The triumph in her voice surprised her.
He set down his drink. “We can’t have that; you know about me and bees.”
“But it’s beautiful,” she insisted. “And it’s far from here,” she added. “The honey is the best I’ve ever
tasted,” she finished, gazing at him. Had he always looked so – bland?
“You tasted it?” His look of disgust suggested that she might have grown a stinger right out of her
forehead.
“Yes, and it was glorious.” She drained her snifter and reached for the bottle again.
“I think you’ve had enough. It’s nearly dinner time.”
“I’m not hungry. I think I’ll have a bath.” She turned and walked to the door, and he didn’t follow.
At breakfast the next morning, he greeted her with a raised cup of perfectly milky tea. “I had Briggs
call the exterminator. They will be here tomorrow.”
down the parqueted hall, and into the parlor. She went straight to the bar and wrapped her warm fingers
around a bottle. As she poured, she watched the brandy slosh lazily against the sides of the snifter. I’ve
brought the honey back with me. She almost dropped the bottle, slamming it clumsily on the bar. She gulped
the nectar. It burned, and she coughed in spasms.
“You should never gulp brandy. It is meant to be sipped.” His gaze was cool. “Brandy’s not usually
your drink. Feeling adventurous tonight?” He poured himself just enough scotch.
She took a smaller sip. “There’s a tree down in the woods. Bees have made it into a hive. It’s flowing
with honey.” The triumph in her voice surprised her.
He set down his drink. “We can’t have that; you know about me and bees.”
“But it’s beautiful,” she insisted. “And it’s far from here,” she added. “The honey is the best I’ve ever
tasted,” she finished, gazing at him. Had he always looked so – bland?
“You tasted it?” His look of disgust suggested that she might have grown a stinger right out of her
forehead.
“Yes, and it was glorious.” She drained her snifter and reached for the bottle again.
“I think you’ve had enough. It’s nearly dinner time.”
“I’m not hungry. I think I’ll have a bath.” She turned and walked to the door, and he didn’t follow.
At breakfast the next morning, he greeted her with a raised cup of perfectly milky tea. “I had Briggs
call the exterminator. They will be here tomorrow.”
“But—”
“I will not have that risk on my property.” He looked down at his newspaper. Then back up at her.
“On our property,” he said.
She drank half a cup of black tea in silence. Then she went to the kitchen to find coffee. On the
counter, an almost-full coffee pot sat steaming. She found a mug, poured a cup and added cream and sugar.
Sipping, she thought, Good, but not as good as honey. She knew some people put honey in their coffee. Setting
down the mug, she began searching cupboards for the perfect container, opening six tall doors before she
found it.
Grasping the wide-mouth jar like a treasure, she stepped out of the kitchen, down the back steps,
and trudged across the dew-kissed grass. The morning was still cool; the dark woods had not yet been
penetrated by the sun. She concentrated on remembering her steps to find the broken trunk.
She stepped as lightly as she could on the pine needle-covered ground. It surprised her how easily
she found the hive. It was quieter now.
As she approached the hive, the bees stirred noisily. She realized she had nothing to scoop the honey
with. “I haven’t thought this out well,” she said to the bees cheerfully. She looked around on the ground and
found a flat sturdy piece of bark. She wasn’t worried about a little dirt. Besides, wasn’t honey supposed to be
antibacterial?
As she scooped, the bees swarmed, but didn’t attack. She was careful not to move the honeycomb.
A couple of bees landed on the sleeves of her light cotton sweater. Feeling a kinship with them, she did not
wave them away. When the jar was half full, she tossed away the bark and clapped on the lid.
“I will not have that risk on my property.” He looked down at his newspaper. Then back up at her.
“On our property,” he said.
She drank half a cup of black tea in silence. Then she went to the kitchen to find coffee. On the
counter, an almost-full coffee pot sat steaming. She found a mug, poured a cup and added cream and sugar.
Sipping, she thought, Good, but not as good as honey. She knew some people put honey in their coffee. Setting
down the mug, she began searching cupboards for the perfect container, opening six tall doors before she
found it.
Grasping the wide-mouth jar like a treasure, she stepped out of the kitchen, down the back steps,
and trudged across the dew-kissed grass. The morning was still cool; the dark woods had not yet been
penetrated by the sun. She concentrated on remembering her steps to find the broken trunk.
She stepped as lightly as she could on the pine needle-covered ground. It surprised her how easily
she found the hive. It was quieter now.
As she approached the hive, the bees stirred noisily. She realized she had nothing to scoop the honey
with. “I haven’t thought this out well,” she said to the bees cheerfully. She looked around on the ground and
found a flat sturdy piece of bark. She wasn’t worried about a little dirt. Besides, wasn’t honey supposed to be
antibacterial?
As she scooped, the bees swarmed, but didn’t attack. She was careful not to move the honeycomb.
A couple of bees landed on the sleeves of her light cotton sweater. Feeling a kinship with them, she did not
wave them away. When the jar was half full, she tossed away the bark and clapped on the lid.
As she made her way back, her heart soared at the triumph of keeping even a piece of this treasure
that had been created on her land. She carried her jar of golden life like an Olympian carrying the torch to
the eternal flame. Rushing up the back stairs to the kitchen, she was surprised by Briggs, who was readying
car keys and a list to go to town.
Breathless, she said, “Briggs. Look what I found in the woods!”
“Honey?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s incredible. And there were no bees?”
“Oh, yes. But they left me alone.”
“Well, I wouldn’t tell the Professor. You know how he is about these things. You know the
exterminator’s coming tomorrow.”
“I know. That’s why I went and got it.”
“Ah. Well, I’m off to town – unless there is anything you require?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
Briggs raised his eyebrows slightly at the slang, but only said, “Then I’ll be back this afternoon. A
cold lunch is in the refrigerator.”
“Thank you, Briggs.”
Her heart pounded as she stood in the silent kitchen. Suddenly it felt stuffy; she pushed open the
window above the sink for some air.
Gazing lovingly at the amber jar, it amazed her that by simply staring at it she could hear the
buzzing bees that had created such a wonder.
that had been created on her land. She carried her jar of golden life like an Olympian carrying the torch to
the eternal flame. Rushing up the back stairs to the kitchen, she was surprised by Briggs, who was readying
car keys and a list to go to town.
Breathless, she said, “Briggs. Look what I found in the woods!”
“Honey?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s incredible. And there were no bees?”
“Oh, yes. But they left me alone.”
“Well, I wouldn’t tell the Professor. You know how he is about these things. You know the
exterminator’s coming tomorrow.”
“I know. That’s why I went and got it.”
“Ah. Well, I’m off to town – unless there is anything you require?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
Briggs raised his eyebrows slightly at the slang, but only said, “Then I’ll be back this afternoon. A
cold lunch is in the refrigerator.”
“Thank you, Briggs.”
Her heart pounded as she stood in the silent kitchen. Suddenly it felt stuffy; she pushed open the
window above the sink for some air.
Gazing lovingly at the amber jar, it amazed her that by simply staring at it she could hear the
buzzing bees that had created such a wonder.
She settled the jar safely on the windowsill. A thrill of joy pulsed through her as she noted the
golden shadow cast on the counter by the sun light shining through it.
Again, she found him sitting in the library, reading the work of his mentor this time. When he
looked up, he said, “I knew I would find an error in his theory, and I did. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.” He
scowled at the bark and needles on her sweater. “Have you been in the woods again?”
“Yes, I got some honey.”
“What? Unpasteurized, wild honey in here?” He stood up.
“It’s okay. I’m sure it’s safe.”
“I’m not willing to take the chance. Where is it?”
“The kitchen. Why?”
He pushed past her and rushed down the hall. She ran after him, a clammy panic overtaking her.
She’d never seen him move that fast.
In the kitchen, he picked up the jar with both hands while looking around for a trash can.
“No!” she cried out.
His face was purple – with rage or effort she could not tell.
She heard the jar crack as it crashed into the empty steel waste container.
He turned toward the sink to wash his hands, breathing hard. Her mind swimming, she bent over
the trash can to survey the damage and heard him gasp. “Bees! On your back!”
She turned to see two bees circling his head as he fruitlessly waved at them.
golden shadow cast on the counter by the sun light shining through it.
Again, she found him sitting in the library, reading the work of his mentor this time. When he
looked up, he said, “I knew I would find an error in his theory, and I did. I’ll tell you all about it at lunch.” He
scowled at the bark and needles on her sweater. “Have you been in the woods again?”
“Yes, I got some honey.”
“What? Unpasteurized, wild honey in here?” He stood up.
“It’s okay. I’m sure it’s safe.”
“I’m not willing to take the chance. Where is it?”
“The kitchen. Why?”
He pushed past her and rushed down the hall. She ran after him, a clammy panic overtaking her.
She’d never seen him move that fast.
In the kitchen, he picked up the jar with both hands while looking around for a trash can.
“No!” she cried out.
His face was purple – with rage or effort she could not tell.
She heard the jar crack as it crashed into the empty steel waste container.
He turned toward the sink to wash his hands, breathing hard. Her mind swimming, she bent over
the trash can to survey the damage and heard him gasp. “Bees! On your back!”
She turned to see two bees circling his head as he fruitlessly waved at them.
One landed on his collar, and as he jerked and slapped his hands impotently, it dropped down into
his shirt.
She stood frozen. The Epi-pens were elsewhere – in bathrooms and bedrooms - but not in the
kitchen, a place he never entered. She stood transfixed as he crushed the second bee against his cheek, but
not before it stung him on the lip. He beat at his chest, gurgling noises coming from his mouth.
She watched the swelling, transfixed. His lips, his neck. He clutched his throat. Eyes wide, gasping.
She shook herself and moved toward the door. Could she get the Epi-pen in time? The closest one
was probably upstairs. She decided she could not.
He slid down against the cabinet, groping for the counter.
She stood by the door watching the hand on the other side of the island, hearing thrashing. Then the
hand slid off, and she heard it thud on the floor.
Silence. She held her breath. Her heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Then she heard buzzing. A bee flew up
from behind the island. It circled over the counter twice before flying out the open kitchen window.
She walked to the phone hanging on the wall and dialed 9-1-1.
She waited and spoke into the receiver. “My husband was stung by a bee. He’s deathly allergic.”
After hanging up, she stood still and listened. Still silence.
his shirt.
She stood frozen. The Epi-pens were elsewhere – in bathrooms and bedrooms - but not in the
kitchen, a place he never entered. She stood transfixed as he crushed the second bee against his cheek, but
not before it stung him on the lip. He beat at his chest, gurgling noises coming from his mouth.
She watched the swelling, transfixed. His lips, his neck. He clutched his throat. Eyes wide, gasping.
She shook herself and moved toward the door. Could she get the Epi-pen in time? The closest one
was probably upstairs. She decided she could not.
He slid down against the cabinet, groping for the counter.
She stood by the door watching the hand on the other side of the island, hearing thrashing. Then the
hand slid off, and she heard it thud on the floor.
Silence. She held her breath. Her heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Then she heard buzzing. A bee flew up
from behind the island. It circled over the counter twice before flying out the open kitchen window.
She walked to the phone hanging on the wall and dialed 9-1-1.
She waited and spoke into the receiver. “My husband was stung by a bee. He’s deathly allergic.”
After hanging up, she stood still and listened. Still silence.
She got a clean mug, poured a full cup of hot coffee and found the drawer with spoons. She dipped
the silver spoon into the cracked jar of honey in the clean trash can and swirled it gently into the coffee. She
laid the spoon beside the sink and drank slowly, allowing the sweet warmth to fill every fissure in her being.
Carrying the cup to the library, she sat in the window seat that had waited unoccupied for years. Not
since she was a newlywed had she crawled onto its welcoming lap. She leaned back against the cushions and
waited for the ambulance.
The coroner who came and investigated the scene, noted the open window. “Bee must’ve come in
through there.” He peered into the garbage can. “Must’ve smelled this honey.” He looked up at her. “You don’t
keep an Epi-pen in here?”
“No.” She shook her head slightly. “My husband rarely enters – I mean, entered – this room. He
didn’t believe in…” She searched for the right word. “Honey.”
the silver spoon into the cracked jar of honey in the clean trash can and swirled it gently into the coffee. She
laid the spoon beside the sink and drank slowly, allowing the sweet warmth to fill every fissure in her being.
Carrying the cup to the library, she sat in the window seat that had waited unoccupied for years. Not
since she was a newlywed had she crawled onto its welcoming lap. She leaned back against the cushions and
waited for the ambulance.
The coroner who came and investigated the scene, noted the open window. “Bee must’ve come in
through there.” He peered into the garbage can. “Must’ve smelled this honey.” He looked up at her. “You don’t
keep an Epi-pen in here?”
“No.” She shook her head slightly. “My husband rarely enters – I mean, entered – this room. He
didn’t believe in…” She searched for the right word. “Honey.”