Chapter Text
Whenever she closes her eyes, she can see the garden - the many-splendored palette of flowers in bloom, white upon yellow upon pink upon purple, the heady scent of pure life coursing through so many little stems and leaves, and the bees.
The bees buzzing over it all, almost as if overcome with the abundance, not knowing where to land first, a loud, consistent hum, a lullaby, a morning greeting-
“Sarah? You’ve got a visitor.”
The garden disappears, and her head starts pounding almost immediately, and she retreats into herself, curls up in her armchair, hoping for it to swallow her whole. She doesn’t want visitors. She doesn’t want to be reminded, she doesn’t want to know - she just wants to close her eyes and go back into the garden, to walk its neat little stone paths, to hope that maybe, this time, if she turns the corner, right there beyond the oak and into the butterfly bushes, she won’t be alone-
“Sarah?”
The voice calls to her as if from a great distance, but she’d know it anywhere - after all, she keeps hearing it any time she dreams of the bees and the flowers.
Her eyes fly open.
1974
Stede is so small in her arms, tinier than he has any right being, she thinks - she brings him out into the garden as often as possible, shielding his little face from the sun with a soft daisy-patterned cloth, and her own eyes with her sunglasses, and he sleeps on her chest seemingly for hours on end, as content as she is in this hidden place.
Her husband doesn’t stay long, but she can’t blame him - he did buy this house for her, after all, for when he’s too busy to attend to her, and she is happy to spend the rest of the summer here if need be, just her and the baby, and the books and flowers...
Which is why the sight of a strange man entering her garden surprises her, to say the least.
“Oh, I guess Mr Bonnet forgot to mention? Name’s Earl, I’m supposed to look after the garden. A groundskeeper sort of thing, you see?”
He has a very kind face on him, and Sarah was beginning to wonder how on earth she’d manage watering all the flowers in bloom on her own, and so she lets him explore, walking by his side with the baby asleep on her shoulder, as he names every single plant, every single bloom, jotting everything down in a little notebook.
“Tell me, Mrs Bonnet,” he asks her when they come to a halt in front of the old garden shed, lain unused for ages, probably, and slated to be torn down just as soon as Edward manages to secure someone to do it. “How do you feel about bees?”
Earl proves good company - the only company she has here, really - and so she finds herself out in the garden any time he comes by, finds time passing by at the speed of light as he tells her story after wild small town story, as he quizzes her on the flowers around them, as he laughs and laughs at her slightly clumsy enthusiasm for gardening.
He reminds Sarah of her own father, a kind man long gone, the same smile lighting his kind, wrinkled cheeks when she first bakes a pie for him, his laughter carrying, his advice always, always welcome.
He brings a box of bees by when she least expects it - a swarm, he explains, the healthiest gathering of bees there is, don’t you know, perfectly ready to start looking over this garden of yours - but soon enough, she’s engrossed, a whole nother area of expertise she knows nothing about.
“Do you want to look inside?” Earl asks her. “Got a spare hood somewhere.”
The excitement she feels at that prospect is the first sign of many, that her life is about to change inevitably for the better.
The first bee sting happens when she gets too confident, only about a week of Earl’s lessons under her belt, too curious to find out what’s going on in that little box, why the bees feel the need to congregate in front of it in something that resembles a traffic jam - she pops her borrowed hood and gloves on, Stede asleep in his carriage at a safe distance, and the almost breathless thrill that overcomes her when she nears the beehive is unlike anything she’s ever felt before.
Immediately, the bees start swarming around her when she opens the lid, and the commotion almost frightens her - but she recalls Earl’s words, just gotta keep calm, they can sense that fear, believe you me, and so she does her best to settle down, and merely observe.
Thousands of tiny bodies hurry to and fro across the top of the frames, hard at work at the peak of the season, and mesmerized, she picks up one frame ever so carefully, only dislodging it from the others with some difficulty - no wonder, since it’s heavy with fresh honey, dripping off the bottom in big golden drops of liquid gold, where some of the capped cells broke open.
Fascinated, Sarah watches as the bees immediately hurry to repair the damage...
“Oh, you’re more interested in the honey itself, aren’t you,” she chuckles, and indeed, they lap up their own hard work like they know it’s about to be stolen from them at some point.
She hears the telltale creak of the gate out back then, and the thrill only builds up at the promise of Earl joining her.
“There you are! Come look! They’re so lively today!”
“Uh... Hello?”
Several things happen at once - the voice responding certainly doesn’t belong to Earl, and Sarah looks up to take a look at the newcomer, at which point her careful grip on the frame slips, and one side of it drops down. The impact of its corner hitting the rest of the beehive agitates the bees into an angry buzz, one of them immediately going on the offensive and sacrificing its little life by stinging Sarah in the upper arm, above her glove but below the sleeve of her dress, probably a poor choice for beekeeping anyway.
She yelps at the sudden jolt of pain, dropping the frame together, which gets the bees really furious, and that fear she’s been keeping at bay so well, returns in droves, and she backs away from the beehive, cursing under her breath.
“Jesus- are you okay?” the stranger in her garden - a woman she doesn’t recognize - immediately hurries to her side.
“I’m fine, it’s just a sting, I-”
“Hang on,” the newcomer sighs, and Sarah then gets to watch as she approaches the upset hive, no hood, no gloves or anything, the bees enveloping her in one agitated haze, but she doesn’t seem to care - in a few quick, practiced moves, she slides the displaced frame back into the hive, and then safely shuts the whole thing before Sarah can so much as say a word.
“There,” the woman seems pleased with her work, and completely unperturbed by all the bees still flying in warning circles around her head - when she turns back around to Sarah, though, she wears a frown that strikes the fear of god in her, makes her feel like she’s being scolded by her first grade teacher even though she, again, doesn’t even know this person.
“What on earth were you thinking, going in alone? Earl told me you were curious, but holy shit.”
“I’m sorry, do I... know you?” Sarah manages to gather some of her wits at least.
“Name’s Maura. Maura Teach. He didn’t mention I was coming by?”
Sarah can only shake her head - there’s something impressively powerful about this woman, Maura, like an aura of calm confidence, her stern features framed by strands of raven black hair falling out of the messy bob atop her head, her dark eyes piercing Sarah like she simply expects her to keep up.
She wears a dress of light blue, a simple cut tied out back, the fabric a lovely contrast with her brown skin, and Sarah doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone like her - hell, the sight of her alone is enough to make her forget the sting. Almost.
Her hand brushes across it somewhat absentmindedly, and she hisses at the new buildup of pain - before she can say a word, Maura closes the distance between them, hand outstretched in a come-hither motion.
“Let me see that,” she says simply, and Sarah finds herself obeying without really thinking about it.
Soft fingers close around the bare skin of her arm, and they both inspect the damage - the sting is still lodged in there, and it’s starting to swell and redden, and Maura hums thoughtfully while Sarah, for some reason, shivers.
“You know Earl?” she asks somewhat dumbly, and Maura shoots her a largely incomprehensible look before concentrating on the sting.
“Yeah, he’s my neighbor. Think fast.”
“What- ouch!”
In one quick jab and pull, Maura manages to get the sting out, the prickling pain of it taking Sarah by surprise.
“Sorry,” the woman offers a lopsided smile. “Had to happen. You okay?”
“I’m fine... Thank you,” Sarah exhales a bit dazedly still.
“And you’re not going to try and open up the bees without an actual beekeeper present again?”
There’s that school teacher strictness again, although somewhat played up, Sarah expects - still, she can’t stop herself from blushing.
“I promise.”
“Well, good. You know they’re not gonna be happy if you’ve got the hive open for too long. You can get away with more now since it’s so hot, but the second it starts getting even a little bit drafty in there, they get real agitated... Seriously, did Earl not cover this?”
Sarah stares. Maura watches her with her hands on her hips, eyes blazing, clearly waiting for an actual answer, but all that she can produce is: “I... think so? You know bees, too?”
Which, for some reason, makes the woman laugh, and bee sting be damned, this might easily be the most startling thing today, because it’s wonderful.
“Yeah,” Maura says, her smile infectious. “I know bees.”
And so, just like that, Sarah gets much more company than she ever bargained for, and she doesn’t half mind it.
Earl is a patient teacher, gives her books and tells her stories - Maura on the other hand has a fire to her, a passion unlike anything Sarah has ever come in contact with, and that, too, is infectious.
And when all three of them are in the same room, Sarah relearns the meaning of the word joy.
“I’m telling you you’re wrong, old man,” Maura gesticulates wildly, moving around Sarah in the space of the kitchen. “Ten, twenty years from now, we'll have hives you can look into. Glass ones. Plastic. Hell, you’ll probably be able to tell how the bees are feeling by the sound of them, or something.”
“You can already tell that, if you’re worth a dime as a beekeeper, though,” Earl counters with nowhere near as much fire as Maura - kindly, patiently, more amused than anything else.
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Maura rolls her eyes, then winks at Sarah with her next words: “Your hearing’s on its way out, anyway. What then, huh? Huh?”
“Well, then I’ll have you two lovely ladies helping me out,” Earl simply smiles, and Sarah laughs, while Maura scoffs: “You wish.”
As if annoyed by the adults having fun, the baby stirs in Sarah’s arms, fussing.
“Let me hold him,” Maura offers. “You were about to start mixing anyway, right?”
“You were about to start mixing while I told you what to do,” Sarah shoots back effortlessly, which has Earl snickering, and Maura’s eyes growing three sizes, an almost appreciative ooh.
“Here,” Sarah makes a decision, and hands Stede over - it’s strange, she’s known this woman for the entirety of two weeks, and yet she knows with absolute certainty that her baby will be safe with her.
“There we go,” Maura settles immediately, accepting the precious bundle with practiced hands - Sarah knows she has a son of her own at home, a toddler still, currently in the care of some more family in town, but it still gives her pause, the tenderness in Maura’s voice, in her every movement from that point on.
She’s almost too entranced by that to do her actual job, but fortunately baking comes as second nature to her - today’s pie is apple, with a generous helping of some lovely wild honey, courtesy of Earl, and all that’s left to do is put the dough together.
This is where Sarah thrives, this is where she’s at her happiest, hands buried in flour, the ingredient list embedded into her memory at this point, kneading and kneading, listening half to Maura and Earl talking, half to the birdsong coming from outside - she thinks she could spend the rest of her days like this, no worries, no expectations, warm sunlight, laughter and good company.
It’s only when she starts rolling out the dough that she notices the conversation has died down - she looks up from her work at Maura, who simply puts a finger to her lips, nodding towards the baby, fast asleep, and then to Earl in his chair, the very same.
“Ah,” Sarah chuckles quietly, and attributes the heat in her cheeks to summertime, and the oven already going full blast, not at all to the smile and wink Maura sends her way.
“This one?”
“Coneflower.”
“Check. This one?”
“That’s easy. Lavender.”
“Obviously. This one?”
“Uhh... Peony?”
“Close. It’s actually a kind of buttercup. They’re a bit smaller, see?”
“Really?” Sarah leans in. “I thought buttercups were, like... yellow, and tiny?”
“The wild ones are,” Maura nods, plucking one of the chubby blooms off its stem. “But then there’s special garden varieties, bred to look like this. Rich people varieties.”
“Alright," Sarah rolls her eyes, resuming pushing the pram down the path. “We get it, I have a big house.”
“Yeah you do, Rich Girl. And a big garden, full of so many weird little plants.”
“Hey, half of those were Earl’s idea, anyway!”
“You’re right,” Maura sniggers. “Earl’s weird, too.”
“Not entirely deaf yet, though!”
In their educational stroll down the garden, Sarah and Maura have made it all the way to the shed - where it was originally meant to be torn down, Earl has started rebuilding it, slowly but meticulously, and he’s working on it right now, too, hammering... something into place, the smell of fresh wood and some sort of oil he’s using to seal that permeating the air.
“Don’t pop a vessel, old man,” Maura chides him gently, while Sarah adds: “You really should take a break. I’ll make some lemonade!”
“Kind of you, darling,” Earl wipes sweat off his brow. “I think I can finally say with some certainty that this thing will last until next summer at the very least.”
“Truly a feat of high level engineering,” Maura teases him, and Sarah scolds her in turn.
“Leave him! It looks really impressive, Earl.”
“Well, if your husband wants me to look after the place even when you’re not here, I’ll need somewhere to store my tools.”
Sarah wants to smile at that as well, but all it serves is to remind her that summer is slowly coming to an end - never in her wildest dreams did she envision spending it like this, alone for weeks on end in this lovely house, meeting new people, making friends...
She doesn’t half mind it, and wouldn’t half mind it lasting forever.
“Sarah? Are you out there somewhere?”
She perks up at the sound of that familiar voice, and leaves her friends to their own devices as she hurries towards the house.
“Out here, Edward! Out in the garden!”
It feels simultaneously like years have passed, and then no time at all, since she saw her husband last, and she is happy to see him, she is... It’s just that he doesn’t belong, just a teeny tiny bit, not in his big business suit that he’s had to shed the jacket of on account of the heat, neat clothes among the wild colors of the garden.
“There you are, my love! Where’s Stede?”
Sarah doesn’t blame him for only giving her a short kiss before practically running to bend over the pram to look at his son, lifting him high up in his arms, laughing as he fusses - the sight settles one last little something within her.
“I’ve missed you both so much,” he proclaims, and she believes him.
“Mr Bonnet. Good to see you, sir,” Earl emerges from the shed, dusting his hands off.
“Earl! Good to see you, my man. I trust everything’s been to your liking here?”
“The garden’s real impressive, that’s for sure.”
“He even brought us bees!” Sarah exclaims. “Look!”
Edward squints where she’s pointing, to the box under the oak tree.
“My god, bees? Really? Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Hardly!” Sarah laughs.
“Not dangerous in the slightest, I promise,” Earl adds. “If anything, they’re going to really uplift the garden.”
“Well, if you say so. I’d hate for anything to happen to my son.”
The baby’s fussing in his arms becomes a bit too much, and so he hands him back over to Sarah, who rocks him until he calms down, big eyes watching with fascination as she takes him a little ways away from the men conversing, to find Maura, who seems to have disappeared into thin air.
“So that’s your husband, huh?” she notes when they’re reunited, leaning on the railing of the old back porch, also in need of repairs soon, probably.
“That’s Edward,” Sarah nods.
“Funny,” Maura says, but doesn’t elaborate. “Well, I’ll be on my way now.”
“Oh, but you don’t have to go just yet!” Sarah protests. “I’ll make enough lemonade for all of us!”
“It’s not really about the lemonade,” Maura smiles, somewhat wryly, and when Sarah beckons her to elaborate on that, with her confused frown alone, she only steps closer to her, revealing a slightly crumpled up flower in her hand, which she then proceeds to tuck behind Sarah’s ear.
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll be seeing you, Buttercup.”
And Sarah doesn’t really have a reason to doubt that. Not this time, anyway.