The snap of the firecracker jolted Janie out of her mold-stained rocking chair. She had dozed off again while taking comfort in the warm and humid Everglade air. Tears filled her eyes as she awakened to the lush green surroundings. “Tea Cake! Muh Tea Cake!” she muttered clasping the little leather Bible next to her chest. The images of his last day, last hour, and last breath floated in her head. The thoughts were stifling, much like the humidity of another Everglade day. Gathering her senses and breathing a sigh of sadness, she flopped the little Bible on the weathered table and made her way inside. “Mish’nary chile. She dun men’t good. Her head all filled up wif dat religion stuff. Glad I kept that lil book she gabe muh. Still not sho wat it say’in,” Janie muttered to herself. “She’d ben al’ways try’in tuh change muh mind ‘bout da bees!”
Janie grew up in West Florida with Nanny. She never knew her Pa. Her Ma, well, she didn’t matter much either. It was Nanny who was both Ma and Pa to Janie. Nanny wanted Janie to have a better life than she and was always filling Janie’s head with notions of security. She even told Janie to be aware of not settling for some boy who wasn’t going to amount to anything or who wasn’t good enough for Janie. Sometimes Nanny talked so much Janie just had to leave—take a walk—clear her head.
To a young girl of sixteen, those early spring days were just right for thinking. The trees were bursting forth with new life. Birds were busy tending their broods. The bees—oh, how Janie loved watching the bees. She’d say they “wuz always buzzing around conversin’ ‘bout something.” Sometimes she spent all afternoon just watching them and that was exactly what she was doing when Emilee happened upon her. “Heh, how ya doing?” blurted Emilee. “I’ve seen you at school,” she continued as she rapidly closed the gap to Janie. Raised on the road and educated in missionary schools until she came to West Florida, there was no audible hint to Emilee’s heritage. Janie had heard Emilee was French Canadian with more French than Canadian in her. Always ready for a new adventure, Janie was soon disappointed when Emilee spoke. To Janie she sounded like most of the white folks that came through town. If Emilee must intrude at least she could have done it with a French accent. Bracing herself for this unsolicited encounter, Janie turned from watching the bees to her conversation with Emilee. Studying the red-tinted curls flowing down Emilee’s back and her cream-colored skin dappled with freckles, her mind was made up; they were going to be about as opposite as they looked. But Nanny had taught her to be polite so she put on her best face and continued in the conversation. “This mah favorit spot in de w’rld under dis pear tree!” exclaimed Janie. “I’s luv watch’in dem bees. I imagin dem com’in to da flower like a marriage. Dem bees al’ways got me think’n.”
Emilee’s crinkled nose pulled her mouth into a half smirk as she pondered Janie’s words. “Oh, okay,” said Emilee not sure what to do with the conversation. She knew Janie had a reputation for being a bit odd, but that wouldn’t stop her from starting a friendship. It was this talk about the bees that made her feel a little uneasy. “Well, bees are programmed to follow commands and that’s what they’re doing when they pollinate the blossoms on that pear tree,” she said directing the path of the conversation. Emilee had heard some strange things before regarding, “mother nature” and other twisted notions. Once she had read a book on Thomas Jefferson and knew he embraced the Enlightenment philosophy. He believed that the universe was orderly and balanced, and operated according to certain “natural laws.” Anytime she heard a person talking about finding answers in nature it brought this philosophy to mind. She was sure Janie had no idea of the impact this type of thinking could have on her life. “Janie, I am just like one of those bees. I have been given a direction and path to follow regarding my life. My job is to study, learn, and grow in Christ so that my flight is not misdirected. The answers aren’t in nature. Nature is the evidence that God exists, and... “Yeh mah nanny al’ways talk’in ‘bout the Lawd. Seems he don tell her I need tuh ….” Janie words were interrupted by Nanny’s call. “Gotta go, maybe I see ya a’gin. We can talk mohr bout da bees,” she said laughingly. She quickly dashed in the direction of Nanny’s calling voice.
Standing under the pear tree, Emilee took a moment to study the bees moving industriously from one blossom to the next. An avid reader she knew about the life of bees. For instance, Emilee knew the bees were carrying out some order given to them in the “bee dance” back at the hive and that is how they came to the pear tree. Those same bees had been nurtured and cared for by worker bees in the hive. They had been fed bee milk and bread while they were in the larva stage. “It’s all right here!” she thought. The correlation to pure spiritual milk in I Peter was clear. Oh, how Emilee wished she could have continued her talk with Janie. How she loved science and the miracles it held. Her mind paged through her school textbook.. “Maybe another day—maybe another time to talk about bees,” she sighed before hitting the dusty path leading away from town.
As Janie lay in bed she thought hard about the bees. She was sure she was right about them. Anyway it didn’t really matter, in a week or so she’d be Mrs. Logan Killicks—she shuttered thinking about it. “Da Lawd hav’in a plan for mah life and it com’in by way of Nanny” she muttered as she closed her eyes. There wasn’t much to be done about her wedding; everyone had made up their minds. Even Janie, thinking love would be found, eventually, fixed her mind on it. “Wad dat miss’nary girl know ‘bout bees anyhow.”
Janie saw Emilee from a distance all the next week. “How come I never saw her all da time before dis time,” she thought a little bothered by the discovery. In a week, all of the book type of education would be behind her and all the new, hard lessons about being a wife lay ahead of her. Nanny had to be right ‘bout love coming. Janie married Logan Killicks in a Saturday evening ceremony in Nanny’s parlor. There were sixty acres, a whole heap of chores, not to mention a husband, to occupy her mind now. “Sho’ hope he muh bee.” she thought.
Absent mindedly Janie stirred the beans on the big stove. The Everglade heat was oppressive and stove cooking only exacerbated its effect. It was the Fourth of July and the Independence noise filled the swamps. “Ther’d been a whole heap of trouble most mah life,” Janie thought, “And I ca’nt say I learned a whole lot.” Walking out the tattered screened door, Janie glanced at the worn Bible on the table. “Too bad I ne’vr got da chance tuh know wat da girl been talking bout wid dose bees. I been carrying dat ‘ting ‘round ever since mah weddin’ day wid Logan. Wad she write in it a‘gin? Janie read it softly, “For your wedding day. The bees help the trees bear fruit. Without them there would be no fruit. Don’t let your flight bee misdirected! Matthew 7:18-20. Bien a` toi. Bien amicalement! ~ Emilee."
Hearing my mother’s call I flung back the covers from my bed hurling my copy of Zora Neale Hurston’s, Their Eyes Were Watching God across my room. My bare feet hit the hardwood floor as I hurried down the stairs. My mind was not fully awake to another school day. The last few chapters of Hurston’s book hung heavily on my mind like the Everglade humidity. Another mind clearing wrestling match had commenced as I desperately tried to push bothersome images from it. Playing with the almonds in my “Honey Bunches of Oats” cereal my latest dream came back like a heralding trumpet. My heart was saddened a bit by remembering Janie’s misdirected life. As I cleared my breakfast dishes to the sink, I smiled. Janie Crawford is someone I will always remember.
Completed by: Emily Broden
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