Betsy Beekeeper's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

Betsy checked the last frame and knew she was close. The bees moved in steady patterns across the comb, and the honey they made was good — darker than most, with notes of clover and wildflower. But good wasn't enough. She wanted to make the best honey in the world, and that meant finding something more. The wooden shed appeared on the edge of the field three days later. Betsy noticed it on her way to the hives, standing where nothing had been before. A man waited outside with a metal case open on a folding table. Bright bottles lined the velvet interior, each one labeled with technical terms she didn't recognize. He smiled when she stopped walking. The substance would make her honey richer, he said. Stronger. Better than anything she could produce on her own. Betsy looked at the bottles, then at her own hives in the distance. The carved boxes sat honest in the sun, built by her hands, tended every morning. The bees inside knew the flowers within five miles. They worked the way bees had always worked. She turned back to the stranger and his chemical promise. Her hands wanted to shake, but she kept them still. She walked past the shed without a word and headed to her hives. The man called after her about lost opportunity, about being left behind. Betsy pulled on her gloves and lowered her veil. The best honey in the world would come from her bees and her work, or it wouldn't come at all. She lifted the first frame and got back to what she knew.