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It May Be
Winter Outside
But in my
heart it’s spring…
The last story
previously in the Glimpses into the Future universe was “ ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”. We pick up
with our storyline on the day after Christmas. Join us in Sleepyside as
Trixie prepares for a lunch date with Jim at Manor House with Matthew and
Madeleine. December 26th… Trixie Belden sat
at the tiny kitchen table in the apartment she shared with her best friend
and business partner, Honey Wheeler. In one hand, she held a steaming cup of coffee,
and in the other, a jelly doughnut. If those two items could not rouse Trixie
from her groggy condition, then all hope was lost. “We sing a love song, as we go along; walkin’ in a winter wonderland,” Honey sang
cheerfully as she glided gracefully into the room. Dressed in a hunter green
cashmere sweater, dark tailored jeans, and a pair of tobacco-brown
high-heeled boots, she looked as if she had wandered in from a fashion shoot.
As always, her trademarked honey-colored hair hung in silky tresses, and her
perfectly applied makeup accented her features rather than overpowered them. “Good morning!”
she exclaimed, her enormous hazel eyes shining happily. Trixie lifted her
face high enough to peer at her friend. “Must you always be so cheerful in the morning?” she questioned in a surly
tone. “Must you always
be so grumpy in the morning?” Honey
countered, her tone sugary sweet. Trixie yawned
loudly, not even bothering to politely cover her open mouth with her hand.
“You knew I wasn’t a morning person when you moved in with me.” “And you knew I was,” Honey pointed out with a
giggle. “But look at the bright side. At least I’m not singing to little
sparrows wearing kerchiefs that are flying around, making my bed, and hanging
up my clothes for me.” “I hereby decree
that any bird entering this
apartment without my permission should be shot on sight,” Trixie muttered
into her coffee mug. “And that goes for any rodents, too. I don’t care how
well they can sew.” Honey shook her
head in mock disapproval. “Don’t you know that we have birds coming in and
out of here all the time?” Trixie quirked a
golden brow curiously. “I’m probably walking right into a trap, but since I’m
so sleepy, I’ll bite. What birds
are you talking about, pray tell?” “Why, Bob-Whites
of course,” Honey announced perkily, flipping her hands with the palms face
up in a cutsie gesture. “Please stop!”
Trixie groaned. She covered her face with her hands, hoping it would shield
her from the ebullient onslaught. “I feel like I’m having breakfast with some
frighteningly perky Katie Couric/Kelly Ripa hybrid. Have mercy on me, please!” Honey snickered
as she opened the breadbox and pulled out a bag of blueberry bagels. “What?” Trixie
demanded huffily. Honey gave an
airy wave of her hand. “Nothing.” She busied herself pouring a glass of
orange juice. “Tell me!” Trixie
ordered impatiently. Honey bit her lip
in an attempt to keep from smiling; however, the effort was futile. “Oh, I
just get tickled thinking about you being married to Jim. Compared to him,
I’m positively boorish in the morning.” “Don’t tell me that,”
Trixie moaned, clutching her sandy curls. “All right.”
Honey took a sip of her juice, and then casually commented, “Of course, Jim
gets up much earlier than me. If he’s asleep past seven, he must either be
sick or dead.” Trixie looked up
from her coffee, a devilish grin on her face. “Well then, I’ll have to devise
some wicked plan to force him to stay in bed a bit longer.” “Ewww!” Honey squealed. She covered her ears with her
hands. “TMI! TMI! Let’s talk about something else.” “You’re the one who brought up the
subject of Jim in bed,” Trixie retorted, her eyes wide with feigned
innocence. “Okay, why don’t
we talk about why this is such a wonderful day?” Honey proposed brightly.
Figuratively waving the white flag of surrender, she took the coffeepot and
refilled her friend’s cup. Trixie rolled her
eyes as she opened several packets of sweetener and dumped them into her
coffee. “Like a little
coffee with your sugar, eh?” The sandy blonde
looked over at Honey and stuck out her tongue. “You’d like coffee if you
tried it.” “No, thanks,”
Honey replied, grimacing. “But I am
curious how one can drink so much sweetener and
still be so sour in the mornings.” “Hardy-har-har,” Trixie mumbled sleepily. “You’re a regular
comedienne. Now let’s talk about something else, something really good… Hey,
I know! Let’s talk about Jim!” Judging the face
Honey made, she didn’t agree. “I’d rather talk about why today is such a wonderful day. It’s Saturday, Brian has four whole days off in a row from the
hospital, the snow outside looks beautiful, there’s a big New Year’s party
scheduled at the country club…” She sighed contentedly. “Life is good.” Trixie looked up
at her best friend, and shook her head in surprise. The differences between
her and Honey never failed to amuse Trixie. However, in spite of those
differences, she was convinced that they were the perfect team, each bringing
their own unique strengths and weaknesses into the partnership. Honey was looking
at the shiny silver toaster, checking her reflection as she waited for her
bagel to pop up from the slot. “Do you think I should pull my hair back? Or
would Brian prefer it down?” “Bri’s so tired from working at the hospital constantly
that it’s a safe bet he wouldn’t notice if you shaved it all off,” Trixie
said, rubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes. “So then you
think I should pull it back?” Trixie snorted
loudly, which resulted in accidentally spitting a doughnut crumb across the
room. “Hon, you look great. Someday I’m going to sneak in your room and
search for the fashion consultant, hairdresser, and makeup artist who’re
hiding under your bed.” “What’re you talking
about?” Honey questioned. Her carefully plucked light-brown brows formed an
arch above her eyes. “In the twelve-plus
years that I’ve known you, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve
seen you looking less than perfect, and they were usually when we’d been
kidnapped or being held at gunpoint.” Trixie’s voice was filled with wonder
rather than malice. “It’s disgusting, really.” “You’re in a
lovely mood,” Honey teased, a bright smile on her face. Used to Trixie’s
hatred of mornings, she wasn’t offended. “Seriously, how do you do it?” Trixie queried with a
wrinkle of her pert nose. “Look snazzy all the time, that is.” Honey leaned down
closer to her best friend’s ear. “I could tell you, but then I’d h—” “Then you’d have
to kill me,” Trixie interrupted impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. And I’ll bet you
could do it without even messing up your hair, smudging your makeup, or wrinkling your clothes.” “Of course,”
Honey stated, shrugging her shoulders as if Trixie’s statement was the most
obvious remark ever made. “Hey, I don’t have eight years of finishing school
under my belt without having something
to show for it.” Trixie snickered
in her most unladylike fashion. “Aw, grace, poise, manners… Who needs that crap?” “Somebody must’ve gotten up on the
wrong side of the bed this morning,” Honey commented jokingly. Trixie stuck her tongue out in response, a
gesture made even more comical by the powdered-sugar mustache over her upper
lip. “No, somebody didn’t stay in
bed long enough this morning,” she amended. “I was up too late last night.” “But we got home at the same time from Mart
and Di’s.” “True, but Brian was so exhausted from working those awful shifts that he’d
gone on to Crabapple Farm,” Trixie answered. “Jim brought me home, and he had not been working fourteen-hour shifts anywhere.” “So?” “So, I had
to kiss him good-bye,” Trixie pointed out with a saucy grin. “That takes all of what? Five minutes?” Trixie’s expression became innocent. “Not
if you do it right.” “And how long does it take if you ‘do it
right’?” “Oh, I’d say about two or three hours,”
Trixie commented matter-of-factly. Honey grimaced as she spread low-fat cream
cheese on her bagel. “I’m not hearing this,” she chanted in a sing-song
voice. “There’s nothing to hear,” Trixie insisted.
“We were just kissing.” “For two or three hours?” Honey snickered
in disbelief. “Yeah, right.” “It’s true,” Trixie told her. Her china
blue eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Your brother’s a simply woooonderful ki—” “I thought we were going to talk about
something else,” Honey told her, a frown marring her delicate brow. “We are
talking about something else,” Trixie replied. “Originally, we were talking about Jim in bed, and now, we’re talking about Jim being a
good kisser. Those are two entirely different subjects, especially since I
don’t know yet what Jim’s like in b—” “Sleigh bells ring!
Are you listenin’?!” Honey sang loudly,
her ears covered by her hands. “In the
lane, snow is glistenin’!” Trixie giggled merrily as she selected
another doughnut from the box. “This is the most fun I’ve had all morning.” Honey merely glared murderously over at
her. “Okay, I’ll stop,” Trixie promised
congenially. “And if I go back on my word, you can torture me with a hot
story about Brian.” It was on the tip of Honey’s tongue to say
that she had no such stories as of late, but she chose to keep that fact to
herself. Instead, she changed the subject. “So, what time do you have to be
at Manor House for your luncheon with the fam?” “Eleven-thirty.” “Would you mind
dropping me off at the Farm?” Honey asked in between bites of her bagel. “Not a problem.
What time is it now?” Honey peeked at
the antique gold wristwatch she had worn since she was a teenager. “Almost
nine. That gives you plenty of time to get ready.” Her gaze shifted to
Trixie’s rumpled PJs. “I’m assuming you aren’t
wearing those…” “I thought about
it,” Trixie said with an uncaring shrug. “They’re clean.” “Please tell me you’re joking.” “The world would be a much happier place if
people wore pajamas everywhere,” Trixie remarked sagely. Honey rolled her
eyes in exasperation. “You do wear
pajamas everywhere. Well, pajama pants
at least.” “Not everywhere. Just to the grocery store,
the gas station, Blockbuster Video…” Honey’s lips
twitched with amusement. “Just every place except for the office, and maybe
the occasional dinner out with Jim?” “Exactly,” Trixie
agreed, nodding. “And if they ever make pinstriped jammy
bottoms, I will be wearing them to
work.” “Something for us
all to look forward to,” Honey said with a giggle. Trixie looked down at the long-sleeved
green flannel top and matching pajama pants she was wearing. “Hey, they’re
clean, they’re comfortable, and
they’re festive. Can’t get much better than that.” Honey pursed her
lips thoughtfully. “Yes, that large moose on the front of your shirt is very…
interesting.” “It’s a
reindeer,” Trixie corrected in a wounded tone. “Oh.” Honey
leaned closer and examined the design. “And do those red sequins on his face
represent pimples?” Trixie exhaled
loudly. “Hel-LO? Those sequins make up Rudolph’s
nose!” She furrowed her brow as she inspected her top more closely. “Some of
them must’ve come off in the washing machine. They’re supposed to be all
clumped together instead of being spread out like that. But it is a nose, not a massive outbreak of
reindeer zits.” “I see.” Honey
nodded slowly, hands clasped demurely on the edge of the table. “Well, that usage of sequins is quite… unique.” She took a sip of her orange
juice, and then nonchalantly added, “Remind me to hide your Bedazzler after you get in the shower.” Trixie sniffed
huffily. “I’ll have you know, Miss Fashion Icon, that these sequins were
already applied to this shirt when I got these PJs.
I don’t even own a Bedazzler.” “And
the world breaths a collective sigh of relief,” Honey stated grandly. “Pray tell, what
adorned the sweater you wore to the big Christmas shindig last night at Mart
and Di’s?” Trixie inquired archly. “Sequins,” Honey
answered with a nod. “However, there are good
sequins and there are bad
sequins. And, my fashion-challenged friend, the sequins on your pajama top
are a fine example of sequins at their worst. Where on earth did you find
such an ensemble?” “They were a gift
from Aunt Alicia,” Trixie admitted with a giggle. “It’s the only thing she’s
ever given me that I actually like. I think she made them herself.” “And does she own a Bedazzler?”
Honey inquired, narrowing her hazel eyes suspiciously. “Yes,” Trixie
croaked out before she burst into laughter. Honey smiled in
satisfaction. “Mystery solved.” “Well, I like my jammies,”
Trixie insisted stubbornly. “And Jim likes them, too.” “Oh, he probably
just thinks your butt looks cute in them,” Honey remarked teasingly. The dimples in
the corners of Trixie’s mouth appeared as she grinned mischievously. “As a matter
of fact, h—” “Since we’ve
established what you aren’t wearing
to Manor House,” Honey interrupted with a grin of her own, “why don’t we
discuss what you are wearing?” Trixie took her
index finger and scooped a glob of strawberry jelly from her doughnut. After
licking it off, she absentmindedly commented, “I dunno.
Probably some jeans and a T-shirt. You know I’m not good at coordinating and
stuff like that, so I’ll play it safe. Do you think jeans and a holiday tee
will be okay?” “Since lunch isn’t
a formal affair, you’ll look fine.” “I don’t want to
look fine.” A frown marred Trixie’s
brow. “Trixie, you’ll look
cute. Don’t worry about it.” The sandy blonde grimaced with disgust. “I
want to look classy, not cute. I’d
rather wear my Snoopy pajamas than look cute.” “Well, ‘cute’ is how you’ll look if you
wear jeans and your Christmas T-shirt.” Honey nibbled at her bagel, and once
her bite was chewed, she added, “Particularly if you wear your jingle bell
socks with it.” “You don’t like my jingle bell socks?” Honey merely focused on her blueberry
bagel. “You know how nervous I feel around your
mom!” Trixie clutched her curls and moaned in despair. “I want to look like I
belong at Manor House, not like I
snuck in with a bunch of carolers to use the bathroom and got lost on my way
out.” “Mother adores you, Trixie,” Honey encouraged.
“Even if you came to lunch in a potato sack, she’d think it was clever.” “Well, since you’re
stylish, what do you think I should
wear?” Honey scratched
her chin thoughtfully. “Lunch isn’t nearly as formal as dinner at Manor House,
but it isn’t what you’d call casual either. You know how Mother likes keeping
things fancy. But like I said, you can wear whatever you want; it’ll be fine.” “Forget about what I want to wear,” Trixie said with an impatient sigh. “We all know
that I’m a fashion disaster. The question I should be asking is: What would you wear?” “I suppose I’d wear a nice blouse of
some sort with a pair of slacks, or maybe even a skirt,” Honey offered. “That’s
probably how Mother will be dressed.” “Would you
consider my new gray Old Navy T-shirt to be ‘nice’?” Trixie inquired
hopefully. “At least it doesn’t have a
picture of Santa Claus on it.” “Why don’t you
wear the new silk blouse Mother bought you?” Honey suggested gently. “You
look so pretty in red.” “Is it the itchy
kind of silk?” Trixie inquired, more concerned with eating her doughnut than
in discussing her wardrobe. “Silk is one of
the softest fabrics in the world,” Honey told her with a gentle smile. “There
is no ‘itchy kind’.” “Well, sometimes
the shirt’s lining is itchy,”
Trixie pointed out stubbornly. Honey’s usual endless supply of forbearance
was currently being taxed. “It’s guaranteed not to itch. But if you’re worried, you could wear a camisole
underneath.” “Okay,” Trixie
agreed. She wiped a few stray crumbs from her chin. “What should I wear with
it?” “Your black dress
pants would look good.” Trixie snarled
her nose at the suggestion. She looked under the table pointedly at Honey’s
dark, tailored denims. “You’re
wearing jeans, so why do I have to
wear dress pants?” “Two reasons,”
Honey explained patiently. “One, all of your jeans are
baggy and stained; the ones I’m wearing are dressy. Two, you’re going to a
fancy-schmancy luncheon at Manor House, and Brian’s
taking me to the movies with Mart and Di.” “Lucky dog,”
Trixie grumbled. “How come you don’t have to go to your parents’ house with
me and Jim?” “Because Brian
and I aren’t engaged and don’t have a wedding to plan,” Honey responded
cryptically. Trixie noticed a hint of irritation in that
statement; however, she chose to pursue that topic at a later time. “I don’t
know why we have to do this today. We were just at Manor House for lunch
yesterday before we went to Mart and Di’s that night.” “True, but you didn’t discuss wedding
plans,” Honey pointed out. “That’s because there aren’t any yet,”
Trixie retorted mournfully. “Whenever I think about dresses, cakes, rings,
and all that other junk associated with weddings, my head starts spinning.” “Which is why Mother
scheduled this luncheon.” Honey smiled across the table at her best
friend. “You need to settle on a date so you can start ironing out the rest
of the details.” “I know,” Trixie muttered. Honey’s large greenish-brown eyes bore
holes into Trixie’s face. “Jim’s really anxious to tie the knot. I can’t
count the number of times that he’s mentioned it to me.” “I
know,” Trixie said, echoing her earlier statement. Honey narrowed her eyes skeptically. “You
don’t sound very excited,” she
commented. Trixie sighed wearily, and laid her face in
her folded arms, which were resting on the table. “I am excited about being married to Jim; it’s the wedding part that
I’m not looking forward to.” “Really?” Honey’s expression became
quizzical. “I can’t wait until Brian and I get married. I’ve been planning my
wedding since I was five-years-old.” Trixie lifted her head, smirking over at
her friend in disbelief. “That’s because you’re you, and I’m me. You’ll
have some sort of Prince Charles and Lady Di wedding, but I’ll just botch up
everything when I get married to Jim. The only celebrity wedding ours will resemble will probably be
Dennis Rodman and Carmen Electra’s.” “Trixie!” Honey gasped, barely able to suppress
a giggle. “You’re being ridiculous!” “Don’t you remember what happened at Tom
and Celia’s wedding?” Trixie asked, exhaling heavily. “Mart ate all the ham before we got there?”
Honey offered with a hopeful smile. “No.” Trixie shook her head in
disagreement, but after a moment she smirked wryly. “Well, okay, Mart did eat most of the ham, but that’s
not what I’m talking about. Don’t you remember how I tripped on the hem of my
skirt and fell flat on my face at the reception?” “That was a long time ago, sweetie,” Honey
assured her. “You haven’t been that
clumsy in years.” “You don’t understand; I think about that
embarrassing incident every single day of my life,” Trixie admitted. “I have
a recurring nightmare about my own wedding, where my feet get tangled up in
my dress and I land in a heap with my skirt tail over my head.” “Actually, it’s a train, not a tail,” Honey corrected sweetly, batting her huge
eyes. Trixie sighed impatiently. “Well, whatever it is, I’ll probably have it
hoisted over my head, accidentally mooning every single guest there.” “You didn’t trip, nor moon, a single soul
during Juliana’s wedding,” Honey pointed out loyally. “But I worried about it the entire time.”
Trixie moaned as she buried her fingers in her shoulder-length sandy curls.
“Oh, woe. I can just see me tripping on the front of my dress, and tumbling
down the aisle of the church, dragging Dad right along with me. First, we’d
bowl over Jim, and then we’d take out the minister and the rest of our
wedding party. Your poor mother would probably faint dead away and then go
into exile, afraid to show her face ever again around “Don’t be silly, Trixie!” Honey scolded
light-heartedly. “I’m
not being silly,” Trixie corrected adamantly. “I’m being realistic.
You’ve seen me walk in heels; the seamstress might as well embroider
‘Warning! Bull in china shop approaching!’ on the bodice of my dress.” “All those letters may take up a lot of
room,” Honey commented, the corners of her lips quivering from the effort of
suppressing a smile. “I’ve got a big chest; it’ll fit,” Trixie
deadpanned. No longer able to stifle her amusement,
Honey hooted uproariously. When her giggling began to cease, she looked
across the table at Trixie, whose irritated scowl only made Honey start
laughing again. After several minutes she finally calmed down. “Well, that’s easy to solve,” Honey finally
said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “During Juliana’s wedding, you
mentioned getting married at Crabapple Farm. Why don’t you do that? It could
be a semiformal affair, nothing too elaborate. I’m sure Ella Kline would
design you a calf-length wedding dress, and you
could even wear a pair of ivory ballerina flats that are tastefully embellished. Problem solved.” Trixie shook her head disparagingly. “Dear,
sweet, naïve Honey. Does that sound
like a high society wedding to you?” “No, bu—” “I’m not marrying some average Joe, Hon,”
Trixie stated matter-of-factly. “I’m marrying James Winthrop Frayne the
Second, who is next in line to run Wheeler Enterprises, graduated summa cum
laude from Harvard with a double major in business and education, made a
fortune on his own with his brilliant investments on Wall Street, is the
founder and administrator of a highly
accredited academy, and is the son
of both a self-made billionaire and the heiress to the Hart family’s
billions.” Trixie sighed loudly as she paused to catch
her breath. “Crabapple Farm, Ella Kline, and Payless Shoes aren’t going to
cut it.” “They’ll cut it if they make you happy,”
Honey remarked gently. “After all, you’re
the bride, and it’ll be your special
day.” “Tell that to your mom,” Trixie shot back.
“It’ll be a miracle if the guest list is under a thousand.” “You’ve got her all wrong, Trix. Yes,
Mother loves all the hoopla associated with fancy society weddings, but she’d
never want to make you uncomfortable. She’s so happy that Jim’s marrying you
instead of Amanda that she wouldn’t care if the ceremony took place in a
pigsty.” Trixie lifted one brow critically. “You calling my backyard a pigsty?” “Quit twisting my words just because you’re
grumpy,” Honey scolded, the twinkle in her eyes belying her stern tone. “You
know that Mother’s always commented about how beautiful Crabapple Farm’s
backyard is. I’m sure she’d think it’d be a lovely place for your wedding.” “I’m not even sure I want to get married at the Farm anymore,” Trixie admitted sadly.
“I mean, that was years ago. I have another place in mind, although it’s not
a huge cathedral either.” “Where?” Honey asked, curious. Trixie shrugged her shoulders and made a
locking motion in front of her lips. Once her mouth was “locked” up tight,
she tossed the “key” behind her. Honey walked over to her best friend’s
chair, and knelt in front of it. With sympathetic eyes, she placed a gentle
hand on Trixie’s arm. “I know for a fact that you’ll look beautiful, no
matter what kind of dress or shoes you wear.” Trixie smirked in response. “Says you.” “I have a feeling that a certain redheaded
brother of mine would agree,” Honey said offhandedly. “And that’s what’s most important.” Just as when she was a teenager, Trixie
blushed to the roots of her sandy curls. As she often did when she received a
compliment, she changed the subject. “Will you loan me that stylist you’re
hiding under your bed when Jim and I do
get married?” “Sure,” Honey agreed with a smile. She
reached up and tousled her friend’s already messy ringlets. “Although the
groom may fuss if one single curl is out of place. Especially his curl.” Not even realizing what she was doing,
Trixie reached up and wound her index finger through “Jim’s” curl, which hung
in the middle of her forehead. Honey cleared her throat to draw Trixie
back to reality. “It’s after nine-thirty. Shouldn’t you be in the shower?” “I guess so,” Trixie acknowledged sheepishly.
“After all, the sooner I get to Manor House, the sooner I get to kiss that
handsome brother of yours.” “TMI, Trixie. TMI.”
At a quarter past ten, Trixie pulled her
bright royal blue Honda Civic into the driveway of Crabapple Farm. Before she
could even unfasten her seatbelt, Honey had already vacated the car. Trixie snickered
as she watched her tawny-haired friend bolt for the house. Making sure to first knock all the snow off
the black, sturdy boots she had insisted upon wearing (much to Honey’s
chagrin), Trixie opened the back door leading to the cheery red and white
kitchen of Crabapple Farm. She hung her coat, scarf, hat, and gloves on a
hook, and then inhaled deeply. The inviting smell of cinnamon taunted her
nostrils and beckoned her further inside. Trixie sighed happily; the aromas
emanating from her childhood home never failed to comfort her. Helen Belden was attending her usual post:
the kitchen stove. She was armed with a potholder in one hand and a spatula
in the other. As she chatted with Honey, she used her potholder to remove a
baking sheet containing freshly baked apple fritters from the oven and set it
on the stovetop. With the spatula she wielded, she scooped up the fritters
from another sheet that had already cooled and placed them in a napkin-lined
basket. In spite of her busy hands, Helen kept up a steady stream of conversation
with Honey, who was casting discreet longing glances toward the hallway. Trixie smiled inwardly, knowing her
mannerly friend was much too polite to break off the conversation with her
mother to search for Brian. And Trixie also
knew that Brian was really the person Honey wanted to see. “Hey, Moms,” Trixie greeted cheerily. She
went over to her petite mother and kissed her cheek. “Something smells good.” Helen immediately found a plate in the
cupboard, put a warm, flaky apple fritter on it, and handed it to her
daughter. “You know where the juice and glasses are.” “Yummy-yum-yum,” Trixie murmured, inhaling
the mingled fragrance of cinnamon, apples, nutmeg, and pastry crust. “Thanks,
Moms.” “Trixie!” Honey assumed a mock stern
expression. “Didn’t you just eat two
doughnuts at our apartment?” “That was over an hour ago,” Trixie
responded haughtily. “Besides, there’s always
room for Moms’ homemade apple fritters.” “Would you like one, Honey?” Helen
immediately reached for another plate. Honey shook her head, a polite smile on her
face. “No, thank you, Mrs. Belden. They look heavenly, but I just had
breakfast.” Helen closed that cupboard door and opened
another. She pulled out a roll of aluminum foil and immediately began
wrapping several of the pastries up in it. “I’ll send some home with you to
heat up for breakfast tomorrow.” “Oh, you don’t have to d—” Honey began.
However, a wink from her best friend caused her to leave that sentence
hanging. It was a well-known fact that nobody was allowed to leave Crabapple
Farm without eating; Honey was getting off the hook easy by leaving with a
doggy bag. “That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Belden. Thank you.” An amused grin on her face, Trixie plopped
down at the round maple table, her plate in one hand and a tall glass of
orange juice in the other. “Gleeps, the house sure
is quiet without me and Mart here. Where
is everyone?” A sentimental expression clouded Helen’s
normally cheerful countenance. “Your father’s at the bank until Trixie snorted loudly, and was rewarded
with a scathing glare from her mother. “That doesn’t surprise me about
Bobby,” she retorted. “He’s going through that awkward ‘lazy, little, spoiled
bum’ stage. Of course, he’s been going through it since birth…” She giggled
as she dodged another murderous bullet from her mother. “But Brian never sleeps in, and it’s after “Is it really?” Helen wrinkled her brow as
she looked up from the dishes she was washing at the sink and glanced over at
the apple-shaped clock on the wall above the kitchen table. “I had no idea it
was that late. I was letting Brian sleep as long as he could, since he’s been
working so hard at the hospital lately.” Honey nodded in agreement. “You’re right. “I don’t think he will,” Helen commented.
She smiled over at Honey. “I think he misses a certain girl-next-door too
much to do that.” Honey blushed prettily, nervously tucking a
strand of golden-brown hair behind one ear. She accepted compliments almost
as reluctantly as her best friend. Thankfully, Trixie came to her rescue,
making loud gagging sounds, and Honey cast her a
grateful look. “Something wrong, dear?” Helen inquired.
She quirked a flaxen brow at her daughter. “Nope, nothing at all,” Trixie answered,
happily munching on her second breakfast. The phone rang, and Helen left her dishcloth
in the sink to answer it. “Good morning, Crabapple Farm… Hello, son… Oh, yes,
excuse me. Hello, favorite son… No,
he’s still in bed… Yes, I realize it’s the day after Christmas and not April Fool’s Day… Yes, I’m sure Brian remembers your
plans to go to the movies… I was letting him sleep as long as he could… Yes, dear, I remember how poor little you
had to feed the chickens at the crack of dawn.” From her spot at the table, Trixie played
an imaginary violin to accompany whatever grousing tune her middle brother was
singing. “I’m sure he’ll be awake by then,” Helen
continued. “Yes, Honey’s here… Well, I’m sure she could… We’ll see you
then... Buh-bye.” She replaced the phone in its
cradle. “Honey, Mart’s worried that Brian will oversleep and you’ll miss the
matinee at The Cameo. Do you think you could go to his room and wake him up?” “Sure,” Honey agreed congenially. She began
to exit the kitchen when a loud “Pssst!” halted her
progress. She turned back to the table. “You gonna need a
chaperone up there?” Trixie asked in a stage whisper. Honey shot her a threatening glance, and
then continued her trek upstairs to Brian’s bedroom. Crabapple Farm is such a pleasant place, she thought, and she
climbed the steps. Manor House is
beautiful, but I bet it would’ve been wonderful to grow up here. It’s so
secure and homey… Once on the second-floor of the house, she
walked past the master bedroom at the top of the stairs, and could not resist
peeking inside. The large four-poster bed was neatly made, a cheery-colored
quilt spread over the queen-sized mattress. She walked on past Trixie’s old
room, which was actually clean for once. Across the hall was Bobby’s
closed-off bedroom, which was most likely
not clean. A poster bearing the words “No parents allowed” had been stuck
to his door with duct tape. It may have been her imagination, but Honey was
positive she could smell the stifling odor of musty gym socks emanating from
under the door. The bedroom Brian and Mart had shared was
at the end of the hall, across from the Belden kids’ bathroom. The door had
been left open a crack, and Honey deftly pushed it open and peeked inside.
After Mart and Di had married, the two twin beds had been replaced by a
simple queen-sized one, which stood in the middle of the room. There, Brian
lay on his back, one strong arm shielding his face from the faint rays of
sunlight shining through the window. The other arm was sprawled out over the
expanse of bed beside him, exposing his muscled, chest and flat, taut
abdomen. Though the room was chilly, the comforter and blanket were tangled
up around his long legs. Honey smiled as she drank in the picture
before her. She never tired of looking at Brian; she had loved him since the
first moment she laid eyes on him. There was something so secure, so
familiar, so safe, about being with him. She treaded softly to the foot of the bed.
Though she was supposed to rouse him from his slumber, she couldn’t resist
picking up a blanket that had fallen to the floor and, after one final
admiring glance, spread it over his lower body. Brian did not seem aware of her presence.
He remained asleep, his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his slightly
stubbly cheek as the sunlight outside filtered in through the ancient blinds.
Honey sat down on the bed next to him, admiring his sleeping form. With a
delicate hand, she stroked back a brownish-black lock of hair from his
forehead. She could tell that it had been some time since he had been to the
barber, something he rarely neglected. His dark hair had begun to curl around
his rugged face, a fact which he deplored. Unlike Mart and Bobby, Brian had
never embraced his naturally wavy hair. Thankfully for him, his hair was not
nearly as curly as the rest of his siblings’. Her slender fingers developed a mind of
their own, gently tracing a path from his hair, to his forehead, to his
stubbly jaw line, to his full lips. She could not help but think that any
woman would be jealous of his incredibly long, sooty eyelashes, as well as
his perfectly shaped mouth. Those disgustingly long lashes fluttered
open to reveal a large pair of chocolate brown eyes. A slow, easy smile
played at the corners of that luscious mouth as Brian sleepily appraised his
situation. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Honey murmured
in a silky voice. She lowered her lips and placed a feathery kiss on his
forehead. “Morning,” Brian mumbled with a yawn. With
long, skillful fingers that were perfectly suited for a physician, he rubbed
his eyes attempting to make the world look a bit less bleary. When things
were a bit more focused, he smiled lazily up at his girlfriend. “I could get
used to this.” “Get used to what?” “Waking up to you beside me.” “Sounds good to me,” Honey purred, running
her fingers through the thick waves of his hair. “Someday,” he replied simply. Suddenly, he
bolted upright and looked over at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “What
time is it?” “ “That feels so good,” he sighed pleasurably.
However, his bliss was short-lived. “I really should get in the shower. Mart
and Di will be here in a few minutes.” “You have half an hour.” Honey raised her
head and looked at him through sultry lowered lashes. “Don’t you want to
spend a few minutes alone with me?” “Of course I do.” “Then relax.” Honey’s hand traveled over
the contours of his chest, burying her fingers in the dark thatch of hair
covering his pectoral muscles. The hair formed a skinny path as it led down
his torso, and Honey blushed as she imagined what sort of treasure could be
found the end of the trail. Instead of exploring that enticing road, her
fingers skimmed upward. She knelt closer to him, gripping each of his broad
shoulders in her slender, yet strong, hands. “You’re tense,” she told him, her long
amber-colored hair cascading around her oval face. Brian closed his eyes, willing himself to
relax. However, his inner clock ticked away like a time bomb, reminding him
that he had a schedule to follow. He leaned forward slightly. “I’m going to
be late if I don’t hurry.” “Then we’ll catch a later show,” Honey
murmured, lowering her lips to his. She lightly pressed her mouth against
his, waiting for him to deepen the kiss, but he never did. Instead, he pulled
away and chastely kissed her forehead before sitting upright in the bed,
murmuring something about morning breath. Honey remained frozen in her spot, wordless
as he stood and walked over to the dresser to find clean clothes. Once he found
some satisfactory garments, he returned to the bed and kissed the top of her
head. “I’ll be out of the shower soon,” he said,
ruffling her hair. She merely nodded in response, tears
forming in her hazel eyes as she watched him leave the room. For a moment,
she wondered what would happen if she left the farm and went to Manor House.
Would Brian even notice?
Meanwhile downstairs, Trixie watched in
amusement as her mother took the plate and glass she had finished using and
dunked them in hot, soapy water. “You
do realize that that machine
over there will do that for you, don’t you?” she queried with an impish grin. “That?”
Helen glanced uncaringly at the Trixie snorted in disbelief. “I beg to
differ. Just keep stickin’ ‘em
in there ‘til the dishwasher’s full, and then push the ‘start’ button. It
can’t get much quicker than that.” “I prefer doing them this way,” Helen insisted with a wrinkle of her nose, the exact
same expression often made by Trixie. “So why didn’t Dad get a dishwasher when I
lived here and could’ve made good use of it?” “Trixie, dear, when you lived here, we already
had a perfectly good dishwasher.” Helen smiled sweetly. “Then why did Dad get you the dishwasher
now?” “Just to annoy you,” her mother quipped. Trixie made a face at her mother. “That’s
probably true.” “Actually, he said it’d be nice for family
dinners, especially since we’re growing by the minute,” Helen explained.
“Your father’s so thoughtful, you know.” Although Trixie grimaced at the lovesick
look on her mother’s face, inwardly it made her happy. It was obvious that
after almost thirty years of marriage, Helen and Peter Belden were still as
crazy about one another as they were on their wedding day. “Moms?” Trixie’s voice was soft. “How do
you do it?” Helen looked up from the loaf of bread she
was kneading. “Do what, dear?” “Love Dad so much after all these years,”
Trixie answered, her voice filled with wonder. “Why do you have the perfect
marriage, and how can Jim and I have that?” “No marriage is perfect,” Helen pointed out
with a smile. “They all take a great deal of work. Your father and I went
through rough patches, just like everybody else. The secret is sticking with
it instead of giving up at the first hint of trouble.” “I know that,”
Trixie said, a bit annoyed. “But there must be some reason that you and Dad
are so disgustingly happy. Can’t you give me a clue?” Helen left her dough and washed her hands at
the sink. After drying them, she crossed the room to the ancient maple table
and wrapped her arms around Trixie’s shoulders. “Daughter, there are several
keys to a happy marriage. One, never go to bed angry. Two, the winner of an
argument is the one who says ‘I’m sorry’ first. Three, your spouse should be
your best friend, so marry someone whose company you enjoy. Looks fade, but
his personality will last forever. Four, treat your husband as you would want
him to treat you. And five, take time to enjoy one another, mind, body, and
spirit.” “That’s beautiful, Moms.” Trixie grinned
wickedly, and then added, “All except the last part, that is. I’d rather not
think about you ‘enjoying Dad’s body’. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘too
much information’, also known as ‘TMI’?” Helen leaned down and kissed the top of
Trixie’s head. “But that’s the best part.” “Ewww,” Trixie
groaned, wincing. Before she could comment further, the loud screech of the
old screen door being opened alerted them to incoming visitors. “Greetings and salutations!” Mart called
out gaily as he bounded through the threshold, carrying his bride in his
arms. “Next on the Newlywed Show, it’s the
sappiest couple around, the Belden Juniors!” Trixie announced, doing her best
Wink Martindale impersonation. The “Belden Juniors”, as Mart and Diana were
often referred, merely beamed. Helen walked over to the pair, worry etched
on her features. “Di, are you okay? You didn’t slip on the ice, did you?” “I’m fine,” Di assured her with a giggle.
To prove her point, Mart carefully lowered her until her feet were touching
the linoleum floor. “My darling husband just didn’t want me to get my new
shoes wet. Aren’t they adorable?” She stuck out one small foot to display a
black satin flat that had violet-colored flowers embroidered across the toe. “Very pretty,” Helen commented with a grin. “I
think they’re disgusting,” Trixie commented from her spot at the table. Di looked over at her sister-in-law,
clearly wounded. “You don’t like my shoes?” “Oh, your shoes are cute,” Trixie
corrected, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Comfy, too. But I thought we
were talking about you and Mart.” “Hardy-har-har,”
Mart retorted, carefully placing his wet shoes by the door. He walked over to
the table and plunked down in the seat next to his sister. “You’re just
jealous because nobody carried you
through the snow.” “Honey can’t lift me, silly,” Trixie
pointed out with a giggle. Feeling Di’s threatening gaze upon him,
Mart covered his mouth first with one hand, and then the other. He shook his
head back and forth, fighting an inward battle to resist insulting his
sister. “You walked right into that one, Trix,” Di
said, laughing. She brought over a glass of milk and a plate of apple
fritters to her husband. “Instead of making a derogatory remark about your
sister, why don’t you use your mouth for eating?” Diana’s method of distraction succeeded, as
Mart’s total attention shifted from his sister to the flaky pastries on the
plate in front of him. “Moms’ apple fritters!” he exclaimed excitedly.
He looked up at his wife, his eyes full of adoration. “Diana Belden, I love
you.” Helen gasped, feigning insult. “I made them.” “Yes, but if it were not for my beauteous
bride, I would not be preparing to sink my teeth into this magnificent
delicacy,” Mart stated gallantly. With a giggle, Di sat on one of his knees
and wrapped her arms around his neck. He held up the fritter for her to
taste. “Good, huh?” Trixie exhaled loudly in exasperation.
“Well, marriage must be an amazing
institution; Mart’s never shared a bit of food in his entire life, especially Moms’ baked goods.” Helen and Mart laughed as Di nibbled a few
bites. “This is really good, Moms,” Di told her
with an enthusiastic nod of her head. “Maybe someday I could come over and
you could teach me how to make these.” Mart groaned in utter gratification,
clutching his heart dramatically. “Fair Diana, you know just how to make me
quiver with delight.” “Mart, please don’t quiver in my presence,
especially with delight,” Trixie pleaded. She covered her eyes just in case
her brother purposely disobeyed her request. “It’s making me nauseous.” “Nauseated,” Mart corrected. He opened his
mouth as Di fed him another bite. “My dear grammatically challenged sister,
‘nauseous’ is an adjective meaning to cause nausea, but you feel nauseated, which is an adverb.” “Well, your ‘nauseous’ table manners are
making me ‘nauseated’,” Trixie snapped impatiently. Having impeccable timing as always, Honey
came back into the kitchen. “Where’s Brian?” Trixie questioned. “In the shower,” Honey answered briskly.
“He’ll be down in a few minutes.” Without another word, she claimed the open
spot by Trixie. “You mean he isn’t ready yet?” Mart whooped
gleefully. “Mr. Punctuality is actually…” he paused to gasp loudly, “…late?” He scooted out from under Di
and raced across the kitchen, skidding slightly because of the slick soles of
his socks. “Where are you going?” Di inquired
curiously. “I’ve got to make sure he knows that I know
he’s late!” Mart yelled from the hallway. “Shhh!” Helen
ordered. “Bobby’s still asleep!” “Not for long!” Mart hollered, bounding up
the stairs two at a time. “I’ll wake up the little prince on my way to make
sure Brian’s aware that we weren’t
late for once!” Helen shook her head in disdain. “Your
little brother got in after four in the morning from his friend’s house.
He’ll be a bear if you get him up now.” Instead of sitting and fretting, she
went into the laundry room and started the washing machine. Trixie rolled her eyes. “Good grief! My
family’s so weird. Mart’s acting like a three-year-old, off bragging that he
got here before Mr. Anally Punctual; Bobby expects to be treated like the
king of the world and blows a gasket if he isn’t; and my mother’s running
around doing chores like June Cleaver on speed.” She turned to her ebony-haired
sister-in-law. “I’m so sorry you married into this.” “Aw, it’s okay,
Trixie,” Di responded matter-of-factly. “After all these years of marriage to
Mart, I’m just as whacky as the rest of you.” “That’s a relief,” Trixie remarked with a
snort. She turned to Honey. “Are you sure you
want to marry into this bunch someday?” Honey’s mood lightened, and she was able to
laugh. “Your relatives look pretty good compared to some of mine. We’ve kept
most of the really weird ones
hidden.” Trixie quirked a sandy eyebrow suspiciously.
“Will any of the ‘really weird ones’ be coming to the wedding?” The three girls giggled uproariously, just
as they had when they were teenagers. Once the laughter subsided, Trixie picked
up a spoon that her mother somehow had missed during her cleaning spree. She
blew on the rounded part, and then carefully stuck it on her nose, allowing
it to hang by itself. “I’m just glad that I’m the normal one in the family,”
she commented, making sure not to knock the spoon off balance. “You’re
the normal one?” Di hooted in disbelief. “I have a feeling that my darling
spouse would disagree.” “Mart and I always disagree, even
when we secretly agree,” Trixie
observed. “That makes tons of sense,” Honey replied
sarcastically. “Of course, this bit of information makes me glad you and Jim
aren’t coming with us to the movies. We’d never decide what we want to see.” “You aren’t coming?” Di questioned. Trixie shook her head, agilely catching the
spoon as it dropped off her nose. “No, Mrs. Wheeler invited me to Manor House
for lunch. I think she wants to begin planning the wedding.” Di picked up her handbag and dug inside for |
