The smell of autumn seemed to arrive before the season had officially commenced. Audrey trod carefully down the path to the beehive, wearing thick gloves and a net veil tucked around her hat. The morning was blustery. A fierce, fresh wind made her tighten her scarf around her neck, while droplets of rain hung in the air, debating whether to surrender to a full downpour or remain ambivalent.

“Hello, bees.” Her voice was light, as it usually was with the bees.

Christopher was with her, his little hand slipping in and out of hers. He wore the other net veil that the beekeeper had given them. “Hello, bees.” He mimicked her in his singsong way. “We’re going to take some of your honey for the contest.”

Audrey laughed, whispering, “We shouldn’t just come out and say it. We’ve got to break it to them gently.”

“Don’t they like us taking their honey?”

“I don’t know, but it’s always best to be on the safe side, especially when you might upset someone’s feelings, don’t you think?” She gave his tummy a little tickle and he buckled in, giggling.

“I’m always nice. It’s Ben who says stupid things. Not me.”

The distant throb of a plane broke through the silence of the day.

    “Oh, look,” she said quickly, trying to sound cheery to cover her worry.

The noise gathered pace. This was no little Spitfire. This was a big bomber, maybe more than one.

And before she knew it, there they were, charging over the horizon from the coast, four huge black-gray planes pounding through the air in a precise diamond formation. They had to be Nazis.

“Quick,” she whispered, frantic. “Let’s get under the tree.”

She grabbed his hand tightly and pulled him the few yards to the shelter of the cherry tree. Enemy planes liked to strafe any civilians they saw—especially in the countryside where they were more visible in fields and lanes…and vegetable gardens. A vision of her son on the ground, blood oozing from his small frame, flashed before her eyes. She fought it away.

The thunderous sound was deafening and guttural. They were flying low and the clouds were directing the noise down to the ground, immersing Audrey and Christopher with the roar, the accompanying wind whirling their hair and clothes.

Under the sparse branches, they huddled, Audrey leaning down over her son protectively, worrying about the others: Were they safely underground? She prayed they weren’t out in the open. Wouldn’t it be typical if Ben was just standing in the street looking up at them, not thinking about what could happen?

“Let me see, Mum!” Christopher wriggled away from her.

Far from frightened, he was peering out from under the tree. “It’s all right, Mum. They’re Short Stirlings.”

“Short Stirlings?”

“They’re our biggest bombers. Look at them—they’re massive! They must be on their way home.”

He walked out, standing in the open beside the beehive, waving his arms in the air, cheering the planes on. “Come on, Britain!”

She quashed an impulse to run out and grab him back under, just in case.

No, she told herself. I have to let them live their lives.

As he put his hand up to shade his eyes, she saw the smile on his face. “Aren’t they magnificent, Mum? I hope Ben’s watching this, too. He’ll be really annoyed if he missed it,” he added with relish.

    The planes vanished almost as quickly as they’d arrived, the sound of engines fading. She stepped out and looked at the sky, back to its drab grayness, and put her hand on his little shoulder. How clever of Zelda to see that all they needed was to be armed with knowledge.

Christopher dragged her back to the beehive. “I can’t wait to try the honey.”

“Oh, I’ve forgotten the box for the frames. Why don’t you run back to the house and fetch it for me? It’s on the table,” she called after him as he started to dash away.

The sight of him, trotting back in his lilting way, made her smile. They always did, her boys. She quickly banished the thought of Ben being mown down by enemy planes, of Alexander going to war. It wasn’t for a few years. She had to enjoy each day as it came.

“There’s no sense dwelling on the future,” she told the bees. “This war is as much a matter of chance as anything. Everyone says that a bomb might ‘have your name on it,’ but the reality is that it’s completely arbitrary. You could be sitting in a shelter, thinking you’re safe, when wham! A bomb has a direct hit. Or you could be struck by one of those random bombs, dropped willy-nilly by Nazi bombers dumping their loads anywhere so that they can make it home before they run out of fuel. No warning, no sirens, no reasoning, just a split second and it’s upon you.”

Christopher was running back, the large box in his small arms. “Here you are, Mum.”

Close behind came Ben, charging up like it was the most exciting escapade in the world. “Did you see the Short Stirlings, Mum?”

Audrey grinned. “Yes, we were out here getting honey.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I’ve been dying to try it,” Ben said excitedly. “But won’t the bees get angry and sting us?”

“We have to talk to them first.” Audrey took both boys’ hands and stepped toward the hive. “Bees, I know you need honey to keep yourselves going through the winter, but you usually make at least twice the amount you use, so there’s always some to spare. We wondered if we might have a bit, for our cooking contest.” Then she added the usual wartime refrain. “It’s all in aid of the war, you know.”

    A few bees buzzed around them lazily.

“I think that means it’s all right with them.” She took a step toward the hive.

Christopher peered around from behind her, while Ben ran back to the house to assemble a makeshift veil out of an old, frayed cheesecloth tucked under his school cap.

As she lifted the lid off the wooden frame, a knot of bees came out and began circling them.

“It’s all right,” she told the bees. “I’m not here to take all your honey.” She turned to the boys briefly. “I told them that Zelda’s baby is due soon, so that’ll be why they’re a bit energetic. Bees love a new birth, especially after the death of poor Mrs. Quince.”

Ben’s face screwed up. “Do bees even have ears?”

But as she pulled a frame out of the hive, his eyes grew large with delight. The screen was bulging with honey, gooey wax thickly covering it.

It was also crawling with bees.

“Aren’t you lovely, bees!” Audrey said soothingly as a throng joined the others, swirling around them. She took out a dustpan brush and gently swept them off the frame. “You don’t like this part, do you, my little honey-makers.”

Ben leaped sideways into a bed of rhubarb. “Ouch! One got me!”

“That’s because you’re frightening them. You have to speak gently to them,” Audrey said calmly. “They love a bit of adoration, don’t you, my little darlings?”

Christopher helped Ben up as Audrey placed three frames into a box and replaced the lid on the beehive.

“You’ve got five frames left, bees, so you’ll be absolutely fine for the winter,” she said decisively, heading back into the house with the box.

    They all piled into the kitchen while Audrey put the box on the table, Ben fighting off the remaining bees, swishing them back outside.

“Get them to leave me alone!” he yelled to Audrey.

But Audrey was already heating a large kitchen knife in boiling water, standing one of the frames in a large ceramic bowl. Once hot, she used the knife to thinly slice off the top yellow-brown crust of beeswax, letting the golden honey beneath ooze out.

“It’s better not to damage the wax structure too much, because then I can put it back and the bees don’t have to do so much work next year.”

Next, Audrey popped down to the cellar, returning with a large metal pot. “This is the spinner,” she said, putting it on the table and setting the frames inside. “There’s a drum inside and a turning handle on the lid.” She demonstrated. “When it’s closed tightly, you spin the drum around—” She spun fast for a few minutes, then opened it up, peering through to the bottom. “The honey comes out due to the centrifugal force.”

She took out the frames and tipped the pot, pouring the thick, golden honey into first one jar and then another. “We’ll need some more jars.”

Dipping a teaspoon into one of the jars, they all tasted it.

“That’s the best honey I have ever tasted,” Ben declared.

Audrey looked at the glossy honey that coated her fingertip. It was thicker than the honey from the shop, swollen with sugary goodness. Then she smelled it, soaking up the sweet scents of honeysuckle, rose, and cherry blossom—flowers from her very own garden.

Her mouth began to water, and she put it onto her tongue.

The flavor hit her hard. It burst with butterscotch and caramel, underlaid with a strong floral taste, all condensed into their most concentrated form. The sweetness was awakening and soothing in one delicious glow.