|
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
her compact. She took it out, opened it, and peered inside at the small
mirror. “That’s a good idea. Weddings take forever to organize. If you need
any help, just ask.” “Thanks,” Trixie said, watching as Diana
powdered her nose. “Gleeps, Di, I don’t think it’s
possible for you to look any prettier. I’m the one sitting here without any
makeup on and crumbs all over my face.” “Oh, stop,” Di scolded. “You don’t need to
wear a bunch of makeup. You have natural beauty.” “I get so sick of that,” Trixie muttered
with a sigh. “That’s just a polite way of saying that I’m too lazy to fix
myself up.” “No, it’s not,” Honey disagreed, gently bumping
into her sandy-haired friend’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be so hard on
yourself, Trix.” “Yeah, I’d much rather have
natural beauty than wear a bunch of makeup,” Di told her honestly.
“I’d get to sleep in so much later every morning.” Trixie examined her sister-in-law’s face
carefully. “Funny you should bring that up, Di. I’ve been wondering if you’re
getting enough rest lately.” “Well, yeah, I guess so,” Di answered with
a shrug. “Why? Do I look tired?” “Your eyes do look kind of puffy,” Trixie explained. “They do?” Di peered anxiously into her
mirror. Trixie nodded. “Have you been crying?” “No, it must be allergies,” Di retorted in
an evasive tone. Trixie narrowed her eyes as she studied
Diana suspiciously. “In December?” “Must be.” Diana scooped up the makeup bag
from her purse and walked into the half bath in the hallway. Trixie watched her departure quizzically.
“I wonder what’s wrong with Di.” “She
said nothing was wrong,” Honey reminded her. “Then why’d she run into the bathroom?” “You know how sensitive Di is about her
looks, Trix,” Honey said gently. “You probably just hurt her feelings,
telling her that her eyes were puffy. She may’ve felt self-conscious and
wanted to check her makeup.” “Jeepers, Hon, I just finished telling her
how pretty she looks.” Trixie rolled her eyes. “It’s no wonder that guys
always complain about not being able to understand women; I am a woman, and I can’t understand my
own species half the time.” Honey patted her arm sympathetically. “Well, I know you don’t agree with me, but
I still think something’s wrong,” Trixie insisted. A loud roar reverberating from the upstairs
hallway diverted their attention from Diana. “I said to get out of my room! Jeesh, can’t a person get any privacy around here?! Get out!!!” Trixie and Honey exchanged a curious glance. “What was that all about?” Honey inquired. “Apparently Mart just woke up Bobby,”
Trixie answered, “and was forced to face the wrath of the teenage monster,
Pod Bobby.” The two flinched as the sound of a door
slamming echoed through Crabapple Farm, followed by two sets of footsteps
pounding down the staircase. A moment later, Mart and a freshly showered and
shaven Brian emerged through the kitchen doorway. “You’re alive!” Trixie exclaimed, feigning
extreme shock. “Barely,” Brian cracked dryly. “If we had left a minute later, we would’ve
perished with the other villagers,” Mart added, his blue eyes twinkling
mischievously. “Pod Bobby rarely leaves any survivors.” “Surely sweet, little, innocent Bobby isn’t
that grumpy in the morning,” Honey commented.
She had always felt fond of the youngest Belden. “Sweet,
little, innocent Bobby?” Mart echoed, scratching his head in a puzzled
manner. “The name sounds vaguely familiar; however, sweet, little, nor
innocent are attributes I would use to describe Robert Harold Belden.” “I seem to recall knowing someone by that
moniker, a long time ago,” Brian remarked, his brow marred by a frown. “But
the kid currently sleeping in that bedroom upstairs isn’t him, and I don’t
even remember when the real Bobby
disappeared.” “The last time I saw him was mid-November,
right before I left for California,” Trixie said glumly. “I think he vanished
after Thanksgiving. We need to file a missing person’s report and see if the
police can track him down. I miss him.” “Maybe we can see if the mother ship would
be willing to give us back the real Bobby in exchange for the monster
sleeping upstairs,” Mart suggested with a wink. “Pod Bobby would be a huge
asset in helping them gain world domination.” “Well, I think he’d be okay if we could get
rid of the noxious fumes in his room,” Brian surmised wryly. “Those would be
enough to drive any sane person
mad.” “You all are so mean,” Honey chastised.
“Don’t you remember how hard it was being his age? You’re no longer a kid,
but you still aren’t an adult.” Helen came back into the kitchen, a large
wicker basket filled with clean-smelling laundry in her arms. “What’s
everyone talking about?” The three oldest Belden children looked at
each other warily, their identical expressions resembling ones worn by
toddlers who had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. None
seemed anxious to answer their mother’s question. “Nothing,” Mart finally piped up, guiltily. “You mean you aren’t talking about your
little brother?” Helen arched a sandy brow, setting the basket on a corner of
the kitchen countertop. Trixie’s eyes widened, and her mouth gaped.
“How’d you know we were talking about Bobby?” Helen made a “tsk,
tsk” sound with her tongue. “Beatrix, I told you
years ago that I know everything.”
She picked up a green bath towel and folded it. “Moms, how can
you and Dad put up with his sorry attitude?” Brian inquired, his tone
expressing his disgust. “If I had
talked to you the way Bobby does, Dad would’ve skinned my hide. Mart, too.” “Yeah, Moms.
Bobby never lets you know where he is, he comes in at all hours of the
morning, he flunked a class or two…” Mart listed. “He’s just going
through a rough patch,” Helen maintained. “I’m sure a lot of young men his
age are going through the same thing.” “Larry and Terry
aren’t,” Mart argued. Just then, Diana
came back into the kitchen. “Larry and Terry aren’t what?” “Going wild,”
Mart told her. “Bobby isn’t going wild.” Helen’s blue eyes
sparked with anger. “I’m sure the Lynch boys won’t let him get into too much
trouble, will they, Di?” Di shifted her
stance uncomfortably. “Actually, Moms, I don’t think Bobby’s hanging around
my brothers much anymore, since they all went to college. Bobby’s made a new
group of friends.” “Yeah, Moms, I told you he was hanging around Mike
Larson’s younger brother,” Trixie reminded her. “And I don’t like Wart at
all. He’s even more trouble than Mike was at his age.” “Well, what do
you expect from a kid named Wart?”
Honey commented, trying to suppress a giggle. “His real name is Kirby,” Helen stated
firmly, neatly folding another towel. After taking a deep breath, she smiled
brightly, obviously preparing to change the subject. “So, what movie are you
seeing?” Mart and Honey
spoke simultaneously. “Cade Pesina’s
new movie, ‘I Feel Like Blowing Something Up’.” “ ‘Don’t Eat the Apples’, Tom Welling’s
new romantic comedy.” Mart and Honey
gawked at each other in surprise. “Di and I want to
see the comedy,” Honey said. “Well, Mart and I
never miss any of The Dragon’s movies,” Brian retorted. “It’s supposed to be
his best yet.” “That doesn’t mean much,” Di snickered
under her breath. “But we saw a
blood and guts action movie last
time, Brian,” Honey pointed out, a hint of a whine in her voice. “But last time
the four of us went together, we saw some dopey chick flick,” Mart groaned. “How about you
call a truce and see the new animated Pixar movie?”
Trixie suggested with a tart grin. “That’s more on Mart’s level anyway.” She
was rewarded with a blazing smirk from her almost-twin. “This wouldn’t be
a problem if The Cameo hadn’t added those four other screens,” Honey muttered
with an impatient sigh. “Whatever we see,
we need to leave soon if we’re going to get lunch at Wimpy’s first,” Mart
told them. “I’m hungry.” Di cocked her
head pensively to one side and studied her spouse with bemusement. “You just
ate, dear.” “Well, I’m
hungry, and I haven’t eaten,” Brian
said. “We’ll make you a
deal. Let us watch ‘Don’t Eat the Apples’, and we’ll
let you get lunch,” Di proposed with a sly smile. Trixie snickered
as she stood up and slid her arms into her cropped black leather jacket. “As
amusing as this discussion has been, I have a date with a hunky redhead. See ya!” “You aren’t
driving up to Manor House in your Civic, are you?” Brian inquired, furrowing
his dark brows with concern. Trixie shrugged
her shoulders. “That was the plan.” “Why don’t you
let me take you up there in my Subaru?” Brian offered. “It’s been snowing all
morning, and their driveway always gets so slick.” “Tom’s probably
gotten it cleaned off by now,” Trixie assured him. Brian shook his
head, refusing to be satisfied. “Not if the snow hasn’t slacked off. Leave
your little remote control car parked here, and I’ll take you up.” “It’s bigger than
a remote control car,” Trixie impatiently told him for the millionth time. “It
cost a whole lot more, too.” “You would’ve
been better off in a midsize sedan, or maybe even an SUV. Your bumper looks
like it’s made out of Tupperware.” Trixie wrinkled
her nose at her brother’s derogatory description of her compact car. “Well,
at least my ‘Tupperware bumper’ will spring back out, good as new, if I crash
into a tree.” The weary expression on her oldest sibling’s face caused Trixie
to exhale loudly. “Brian, I’ll be okay; I drive in snow all the time.” “Not when I’m
around,” he remarked smartly. Trixie turned to
her tawny-haired friend and groaned. “How do you put up with him?” Honey giggled,
holding her palms out in surrender. “Don’t bring me into this.” Brian, considering
the matter settled, was searching through the mound of keys hung on the peg
by the door for the ones to his dark blue Legacy. “Don’t bother, Bri.” Trixie had already put on her shoes and had opened
the screen door. “I’ll walk.” “You can’t walk
in this weather!” Brian exclaimed. Trixie pointedly
held up her scarf, hat, and mittens before putting them around her neck, on
her head, and on her hands. “If the weather
gets too bad, have Jim drive you h—” “Bye!” Trixie
interrupted loudly, hastening out the door before Brian could lecture her
further. She walked briskly up the footpath that led
from Crabapple Farm to Manor House, slipping and sliding a bit on the icy
trail. As Brian had told her, the snow was still coming down steadily. Trixie quickened her pace, anxious to be
reunited with that redheaded man of hers. Although she had spent Christmas
morning with him at Ten Acres, and then had spent the rest of the day making
the rounds to Crabapple Farm for breakfast, Manor House for lunch, and the
Belden Juniors’ for dinner, she was eager to see him again. Of course,
although they had spent the entire day together, they had very few minutes of
alone time. After all, she mused with a
wicked smile, Brian was there the
entire time, so we couldn’t even take advantage of the strategically hung
mistletoe. Jim, she decided, was like a drug; her
addiction to him was never sated, no matter how many hits of him she
received. Her longing to be with him only seemed to grow, even if she had just seen him approximately seven
hours ago. Trixie crunched through the snow. Although
the precipitation was several inches deep, she knew the trail by heart,
having traveled it hundreds of times the past twelve years. She had to sigh
in contentment as she made her way through the winter wonderland. Frosty
icicles hung from the surrounding trees, their branches already laden with a
thick blanket of white. Once she exited the thick hedges, dense
trees, and sprawling vines along the footpath, the Manor House came into view.
The mansion looked as if it could have been featured in a Currier and Ives
painting. Green holly wreaths with red velvet bows adorned every window and
door of the estate, including those of the garage and stable. White lights
neatly outlined the roofs of all the buildings, and twined about the trees
around the rolling yard. Although the sun was peeking through the clouds, as
soon as night fell, the lights would automatically come on, casting a glowing
shadow on the snowy ground. A movement on the wraparound veranda caught
her attention. She looked up and saw Jim sitting on the railing. His back
leaned against one of the tall poles that went up to the covered roof, and
one leg rested on the banister. He seemed to be intently studying the new
global positioning system, or GPS, that Trixie had gotten him for Christmas.
The husky redhead was clad in a thick mustard-colored Carhartt
jacket, a brown baseball cap, dark denim jeans, and a pair of insulated
leather boots, his satellite-based navigation system in hand. To Trixie, he had never looked better. His
surroundings perfectly complemented Jim’s dreamy woodsman qualities, and she
loved seeing him like this. Although he was handsome in any setting, the
forest backdrop suited him best. He always looked right at home among nature. “Hey, good-lookin’,”
she called, a saucy smile on her face. Jim glanced up, a crooked grin parting his
lips and accentuating the handsome cleft in his chin. “You’re early. Not that
I’m complaining, mind you.” “Maybe I was just anxious to see you. Whatcha doin’?” “Just checking out all the features on this
awesome GPS.” He punched a few
buttons, and then held the unit up excitedly. “Look at this! It gives you the
best hunting and fishing times for your area!” “Cool.” Trixie snaked her arms around her
fiancé’s neck, inhaling deeply to take in his tangy pine scent. “But why does
my dreamy woodsman need to know that stuff when he’s the best hunter and
fisherman around?” Jim grinned as he brushed a stray curl off
Trixie’s forehead. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” “Mmmm… Not
today,” she cooed, rubbing her nose against his in an Eskimo kiss. “Surely you can do better than that,” he
whispered huskily. He set down the GPS and wrapped his arms around her
slender waist. His mouth sought hers, and Trixie eagerly lifted her lips to
meet his kiss. Jim drew her to him, crushing her feminine curves against the
solid muscle of his chest. One hand slid up from her waist to her neck,
tenderly caressing every spot in between.
“This would probably feel better if you weren’t wearing that thick coat,” he
teased when the kiss ended. “Yes, but then I’d get cold,” Trixie told
him, her blue eyes wide with feigned innocence. “No worries,” Jim murmured. With one freckled
hand, he moved aside her crocheted scarf and placed a light kiss on the bared
skin of her throat. “As your knight in shining armor, it’s my duty to keep
you warm.” Trixie giggled as he nuzzled the nape of
her neck. “Why, Sir Jim, what an interesting technique you have of keeping
maidens from getting frostbite.” “A pleasure to serve you, m’lady,” Jim lovingly crooned. He leisurely traveled up
her throat, placing feathery kisses all along the way. With a blissful sigh, Trixie intercepted
his lips and captured them in another steamy kiss. She savored the sweet
taste of his mouth, wondering how a simple entwining of tongues could be so
arousing. Several minutes later, the pair pulled
apart breathlessly. Jim cupped her cheek with his hand, silently admiring her
beauty. The cornflower-blue hat which matched her scarf was pulled low on her
forehead, a few sandy curls peeking out and framing her heart-shaped face.
The nippy air had stained her cheeks a rosy pink, beautifully accenting her
peaches and cream complexion. Her already full lips were slightly swollen
from their passionate kisses, and her mouth was pursed in a mixture of a pout
and a smile. Jim laughed as he brushed some white flakes
away from her cheek. “I said it once, and I’ll say it again: On you, snow
looks good.” A sentimental smile passed over Trixie’s
face, but was quickly replaced by a mock indignant sniff. “That reminds me,
what was that you said about not getting engaged to somebody as dumb as me?” Jim chuckled at the memory. “I’m not sure,
but I think it had something to do
with what you said about not marrying me if I was the last man on earth.” “In case you hadn’t figured it out by now,
that statement wasn’t completely
honest,” she admitted with a giggle. “I was just afraid of being teased by
Ben.” “And judging by that rock on your left ring
finger, I changed my mind about getting myself engaged to somebody dumb as
you,” Jim countered, struggling not to laugh. Trixie huffed through a protruded lower lip
in feigned anger, lightly slapping his chest in a reproachful manner. “You’d
just better hope I don’t change my mind, Frayne. That handsome cousin
of yours is still unattached, and since his interesting career choice, he’s
not nearly as annoying…” “Ugh,” Jim groaned, clutching his heart.
“Promise me you’ll never, ever, have another ‘yen for Ben’. I barely survived
that Thanksgiving without cleaning Ben’s clock.” “I promise,” Trixie agreed. She batted her
blue eyes flirtatiously, and then added, “On one condition.” Jim quirked a suspicious ginger brow. “And
what’s that?” “That you tell me what you were thinking
when you pushed me in the snowbank,” Trixie replied, looking at him through
lowered gold-tipped lashes. A secretive smile played languidly across
Jim’s lips as he gazed longingly at his fiancée. “Well, I might have been thinking that you were the prettiest girl in the
whole wide world, with your cheeks flushed, your eyes shining, and your lips
pouting. I could have been thanking
God that you really and truly didn’t like Ben. And maybe I was wondering if Brian would sock me if I just threw
caution to the wind and scooped you up in a hot kiss.” He paused to grin at her wickedly.
“However, it’s probably more realistic that I was hoping one of my hands
would accidentally brush against your backside, which looked so cute in the
jeans you were wearing.” “James Winthrop Frayne the Second!” Trixie
teasingly scolded, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “And all this time I
thought you were an honorable Boy Scout.” “Honorable Boy Scouts need lovin’, too,” Jim stated matter-of-factly. “Is that so?” Trixie struggled to keep a
serious expression. “And is there a badge that you could earn if I give you
some lovin’?” Jim nodded solemnly. He leaned forward and
whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was made her giggle uproariously. “On our honeymoon, we’ll have to make sure
you earn that one,” she teased, her cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. “Marry me today,” he whispered, burying his
hands in her thick curls. She laughed nervously. “Jim, that’s a lot
of trouble to go through just for a merit badge.” “I’m not kidding, Shamus,” he murmured in a
husky voice. “Let’s hop on a plane, fly to Vegas, and elope.” “Are you crazy?” Trixie questioned with a
snort. “Our parents would kill us.” “Who cares what they think?” Jim clasped
her hands in his, his expression beseeching. “Marry me, Trix.” “Jim, I already agreed to marry you,” she
said, chuckling. “But since I only plan on getting married once, I want to do
it right. I also want to make it to
our honeymoon alive, and I’m afraid that won’t happen if we don’t let our
mothers throw the wedding of their… er, our dreams.” “Well, after we get married in Vegas, we’ll
let our parents throw us a big shindig here,” he suggested hopefully. “So how
‘bout it, Shamus? I could get us to the airport in under an hour.” Trixie snickered. “Only if you break the
speed limit, and we all know what a law-abiding citizen you are.” Jim’s mouth pinched as he pondered her
statement. “Well, you know my aversion to disobeying the laws of the land;
however, I’m willing to make an exception, just this once. I’ll go eighty
miles per hour, even through school zones since they are, in fact, on winter
break, if it means getting you to the church on time.” “You silly goose!” Trixie hooted. “You’re
so cute, but I can’t take off from the agency at a moment’s notice. Some of us need to work. We aren’t all heirs to the Wheeler fortune.” “You will
be as soon as you marry me,” he told her, a twinkle in his emerald eyes. “You’re such a tease.” Trixie’s eyes
sparkled as she laughed. However, she missed the earnest expression on his
face, and still thought he was joking. Before Jim could voice his feelings,
Celia stepped outside and called them inside for lunch. The tiny blonde maid had been promoted to
estate supervisor after Marge Trask retired to act as Jim’s assistant
administrator. Celia was now in charge of all the servants in the mansion,
and acted as hostess of Manor House, filling in wherever she was needed. Trixie exhaled loudly in relief as the
petite maid led the betrothed pair past the double doors leading to the
formal dining room and on to the semiformal room where the family usually
ate. Although it was much more lavish than the average dining room, by Manor
House standards it was “ordinary”. Matthew and Madeleine were already seated,
Matthew on one end of the eight-person cherry table, and Madeleine on the
opposite. The two were chatting amiably with Monica, the pleasant-looking,
slightly plump maid whose responsibility it was to serve meals. Matthew Wheeler wore money well. Although
his outfit probably cost more than most people spent on clothes in a month,
he had a casual elegance about him. He wore an expensive red Ralph Lauren
polo shirt, and a pair of neatly pressed tan Dockers. His feet were encased
in a pair of pricey Italian leather loafers, slightly scuffed but nicely
polished. Scorning jewelry as feminine, he only wore a 24K gold Rolex watch,
as well as his diamond-encrusted, thick gold wedding band. Madeleine had a simple, understated
elegance that many moneyed people tried to buy, but few truly possessed. The
cowl-necked winter white sweater she wore suited her coloring perfectly, and
the chocolate-brown dress slacks complemented her slim, tall figure. Her
shoulder-length honey-colored hair, slightly more wavy than her daughter’s,
was rolled vertically in a French twist, showing off her long, slender neck.
Several tendrils escaped from the upsweep’s confines and framed her
oval-shaped face. A thick gold chain was clasped around her neck, the tiger’s
eye slide nesting at the hollow of her throat. She wore simple diamond stud
earrings, as well as a diamond tennis bracelet and gold watch. The
three-carat diamond of her engagement ring glistened in the sunlight
streaming in the windows. Madeleine looked over at Jim and Trixie
first, and she smiled welcomingly in greeting. “Here you are. I was hoping
Celia could find you.” Trixie blushed furiously as she walked over
to her chair, remembering what had prohibited them from being on time. Jim
winked as he pulled it out for her. “Relax,” he whispered in her ear. “I am
relaxed,” she hissed quietly for only him to hear, her head lowered. After
she was seated, she carefully laid her crisp burgundy linen napkin in her
lap. Madeleine watched the two lovebirds in
amusement, hiding a smile as she picked up on the sexual tension cracking in
the air. Very perceptive, she had known since she had met them for the first
time in Autoville that they cared deeply for one another. “I’m sorry we’re late, Mother.” Jim bent
down and kissed Madeleine’s cheek before quickly finding his spot across the
table from Trixie. He gave his fiancée that crooked smile she loved so well,
his emerald green eyes twinkling merrily. “Trixie was fooling around with my GPS
unit,” he continued. “I tried to get her to quit playing with it, and come
inside to eat, but she insisted on studying the best hunting and fishing
times for “Shame on you, Jim, for blaming your
tardiness on your lovely fiancée,” Matthew chided him jokingly. Monica wheeled a two-tiered rolling cart
into the dining room. Upon the cart were two pitchers, one filled with
Perrier and the other iced tea. Four midsized plates, each with silver
covers, also were on the cart. The efficient maid grasped a pitcher in each
hand, and began filling each of the two crystal goblets at each setting with
both beverages. As a good server should, she quickly moved from glass to
glass, so quiet that one would not even know she was there performing her
duties. Celia had trained her well. “Did you have a pleasant evening at Mart
and Diana’s?” Madeleine inquired, hoping to put Trixie at ease with familiar
conversation. “Very nice,” Jim told her, nodding politely
at Monica as she placed a plate of salad greens in front of him. “Di was the
perfect hostess. Dinner was delicious, and the house was decorated
beautifully.” “She must’ve spent hours on that Christmas
tree,” Trixie commented. She sat still as a stone as Monica poured some
French dressing on her salad, afraid that she would bump the new maid’s arm,
causing Monica to spill some of the red substance on Trixie’s new shirt. If
Trixie was not mistaken, the novice servant was just as jittery as she. “If Diana’s anything like her mother, then
decorating comes naturally to her,” Madeleine commented, daintily nibbling on
a salad leaf. “I remember years ago when she hired that interior designer
from the city to come in and decorate their mansion. What a ghastly color
scheme he chose! The mansion looked so much nicer after Carolyn threw caution
to the wind and redecorated the house herself. She has such a marvelous eye
for color.” “As do you, dear,” Matthew replied, smiling
affectionately at his wife. “Why, thank you, darling.” Madeleine returned
his adoring look. “However, I have to study books and magazines; to the
Lynches it just comes naturally.” “The Belden Juniors’ house did look really nice,” Jim said.
“Their Christmas tree is huge, but she’d managed to string enough popcorn and
cranberries around the whole thing. She decorates in that cozy country way,
you know, and the tree looked like something out of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.” “I don’t know how she does it all,” Trixie
commented, with a shake of her head. “She works at the museum and the school, keeps their house
immaculately clean, decorates it like Martha Stewart, and still manages to
put on a spread fit for a king. We had spiral-sliced ham, sweet potato
casserole, roasted potatoes, green beans almandine, homemade yeast rolls…”
Temporarily at ease, she rolled her eyes at the memory of all the food she
had consumed the previous evening. “And of course, I can’t forget her lemon
meringue pie and Mart’s favorite, molasses cookies.” Matthew grinned in amusement. “I’m surprised
either of you can walk today, let alone eat. I’m just insulted now that
Maddie and I weren’t invited.” Trixie’s china blue eyes grew round. “Oh,
Mr. Wheeler, Di didn’t mean to offend you by not asking you to come. The only
people she invited were the Bob-Whites. I mean, she was going to ask you and
Mrs. Wheeler, my parents, her parents, Regan… But, well, she didn’t, an—” “Dear, he’s only joking,” Madeleine told
her. She turned to her husband, her hazel eyes dancing merrily. “Shame on you
for teasing her, Matthew!” Matthew held up a silencing hand, a rueful
grin on his face. “I’m sorry, Trixie. I couldn’t resist giving you a hard
time. As Maddie will tell you, I’m a horrible cutup.” Trixie smiled shyly up at her future
father-in-law. “That’s okay, Mr. Wheeler. I was just worried that you truly
were insulted.” “Pay no attention to him, Trixie,”
Madeleine instructed. “We were young once, too, you know. I remember how fun
the Christmas parties we went to were when we were newlyweds. We old fogies
realize you can’t spend the entire holiday season with us.”
“Oh, you aren’t old fogies at all,” Trixie reassured her. She was so
anxious to make her point that she almost knocked over her glass of tea,
barely catching it before it spilled all over the festive green tablecloth. Madeleine hid a grin behind her hand as she
noticed Trixie’s actions. In an attempt to put the sandy blonde at ease, she
changed the subject. “Trixie, did you have a good time at the school
Christmas morning?” “Oh, yes!” Trixie’s bright blue eyes
sparkled happily as she recalled her and Jim’s visit to Ten Acres to watch
all the children open their gifts. “The students were all so happy. I haven’t
seen kids enjoy Christmas that much for years. And Jim’s so good with them.” “Aw, Trixie.” Jim modestly attempted to
brush off his fiancée’s compliments. “I’m serious, Jim!” Trixie exclaimed. “Why,
you have a real gift with young people, and I’m just glad you’re using your
talents to help others. I always knew you’d be that way.” In spite of the flush on his cheeks, it was
obvious her praise pleased Jim. He looked across the table at her, casting
her one of his famous fond glances. He then turned to his adoptive father. “Thanks, Dad, for the generous donation you
made,” he told Matthew. “It really helped to buy gifts for all the kids.” “It was a pleasure, my boy.” Matthew looked
over at his son, his face beaming with pride mingled with love. “After all,
what’s the fun of being a billionaire if you can’t share the wealth?” From her spot at the table, Trixie giggled.
A moment later, her amusement turned to embarrassment as three pairs of eyes
focused upon her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks blazing a crimson red. “A
newspaper article I recently read about Mr. Wheeler just popped in my head.” Matthew, used to both good and bad publicity, merely cocked his
head pensively. “What did I do this week according to ‘Page Six’?” “It wasn’t anything like that,” Trixie
said, a grin wiggling at the corners of her mouth. “It was something I saw in
a business magazine. The writer said you were more ruthless than Donald
Trump. He kept talking about what a cutthroat business magnate you were.” “Oh, I’m much more ruthless than The Donald,” Matthew stated. Monica
practically dropped the salad plate that she was carrying back to the cart.
“He’s nothing but a big teddy bear compared to me.” Madeleine, finding her husband’s words
greatly amusing, laughed in that tinkling, melodious manner for which she was
known. Trixie joined in, deciding it was safe since the man’s own wife was
chuckling. “I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Matthew
retorted, feigning an offended tone. “I’m tough, too, you know. I’ve used the
phrase ‘You’re fired!’ a whole lot more than he has.” Monica hid a smile of her own as she placed
a plate of shrimp scampi in front of her boss. “Matthew, darling,” Madeleine murmured,
chuckling, “let’s not waste our time talking about business. We have much
more important things to discuss. Like an upcoming wedding in our family, for
instance.” She looked pointedly over first at Jim, and then at Trixie. Trixie choked suddenly on her iced tea.
Thankfully Monica was nearby to offer a clean napkin. If her hosts noticed
the incident, they did not say anything. Trixie busied herself pushing her
food around on her plate, staring holes into the golden-gilded edges of the
holiday china. “Jim, have you and your lovely fiancée set
a date yet?” Madeleine asked hopefully. Jim glanced over anxiously at Trixie, but seeing
her interest in the place setting before her, he shook his head in response.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but things have been so hectic at the school that Trixie
and I haven’t had time to sit down and talk about it.” Matthew looked up from the piece of garlic
bread that he had just broken in two. “Son, I tell you this not only as your
father, but also as your friend. Start putting your family first now. They’re the most important thing
in your life. I had to learn that lesson the hard way.” “I agree with you completely, Dad.” Jim
cast a pointed glance over at his fiancée, who was foraging tunnels through
her entrée with her fork. After daintily wiping the corners of her
mouth with the cloth napkin, Madeleine turned to Trixie. “What do you think,
dear? In which season would you prefer your wedding?” “I’ve never really thought about it, I
guess,” Trixie admitted. “I suppose you’ll expect us to have a huge ceremony,
huh?” “Only if that’s what you want.” Madeleine smiled affectionately at the girl who had
transformed her daughter’s and son’s lives and, in effect, hers. Jim gazed across the table, all his love,
devotion, and affection shining in his eyes. “If you want, Trix, we could get
married at the farm, just like you talked about during Juliana’s wedding.” “That would be lovely,” Madeleine said
appreciatively. “The crabapple blossoms are simply beautiful. It would make a
lovely setting for an outdoor wedding.” “You expect to have a wedding organized by
spring?” Matthew practically snorted. “I’m no big event planner, but I seem
to remember our ceremony taking almost a year to arrange.” “We don’t have to get married by spring…” Trixie commented softly. Madeleine did not appear to hear her future
daughter-in-law’s statement. “Well, if we couldn’t make a springtime deadline,
I’m sure we could have everything planned by fall, or maybe even summer. The
Beldens’ backyard looks so gorgeous anytime during the year. Helen does a
marvelous job with her flowers, and if Trixie wants to have your wedding
there, we’ll make it work.” Trixie grimaced as visions of her tripping
on the hem of her wedding gown and wiping out a row of seats bombarded her
thoughts. She made a mental note to have her mother bring a stick of stain
remover, to ensure her dress would remain grass stain-free throughout the
entire ceremony. She felt a penetrating pair of eyes boring
into her flesh. She warily glanced up into Jim’s emerald orbs. “Something wrong?” he prodded, a single
ginger brow quirked in bemusement. Trixie cleared her throat nervously. “No,
I’m okay. I was thinking of things we’d need for the ceremony.” “So, what do you think about having the wedding at your parents’ house?” Jim
asked. “Oh, I don’t know,” Trixie muttered,
shrugging her shoulders. “I guess I used to want to get married there, but
that was a long time ago. Lately, I’ve had some other ideas that maybe we
could talk about later.” “All right, Trix,” Jim agreed, a lopsided
grin placed firmly on his face. “But wherever you say will be fine with me. I
just want to be your husband, so just tell me when it is, where to be, and
what to wear and I’ll be there.” “You haven’t positively decided upon the
place for the ceremony either?” Madeleine questioned a wee bit warily. “Not really,” Trixie admitted sheepishly.
She pointedly ignored Jim’s smug smirk. “Well, not officially, that is.” Madeleine nodded. “So, you haven’t officially decided upon the date or
the place. Hmm… That could pose a challenge to our planning, but I suppose we
can work around it. Trixie, have you chosen your dress?” “No,” Trixie garbled through her bite of
shrimp scampi. She hurriedly gulped it down so she could speak more plainly.
“I thought about looking at Moms’ gown, but she’s a lot daintier than me.” “Maybe we could all look at it together
sometime.” Madeleine smiled over at her son. “Well, you, your mother, Honey,
and I, that is. We’ll make Matthew stay here and keep the groom occupied. We
wouldn’t want him to peek.” “Yes, he’s very bad about that,” Trixie
said with a giggle. She laughed even louder at Jim’s wounded expression. “Me
peek?” Jim gave a loud, affronted harrumph.
“Oh, contraire, Miss Snoopy-Britches.” Trixie gave him a good indignant sniff/toss
of her curls combo. “Just for that, I’m going to let your dad have a sneak
peek, too. So now you’ll be the only
Wheeler without one, so there.” “Gee, thanks,” Matthew mumbled wryly. “Just
what I’ve always wanted… a sneak peek of a frilly seventies wedding dress
that’s been buried in mothballs for over almost thirty years.” “It’s not covered in mothballs, Mr. Wheeler,”
Trixie corrected with a giggle. “It’s been in Moms’ cedar chest. I just hope
Bobby didn’t do anything to it during one of his destructive binges.” “It will be fine, dear,” Madeleine assured
her. “I’m sure my personal dressmaker could make any necessary repairs,
including any alterations. Have you thought about what your wedding party
will be wearing?” Trixie gulped loudly. “To be honest, I
really haven’t even thought about who
will be in the wedding party.” “Oh,” Madeleine said simply. Under the table,
she was wringing her hands. “Well, how about we talk about something
other than weddings?” Jim suggested. Trixie cast a grateful glance over at
him, to which he responded with a playful wink. Madeleine sighed heavily. “I’ve picked up
on the fact that neither of you wish to discuss this unmentionable upcoming
event. However, unless you’re planning to elope, we’ll need to have this
conversation eventually.” Her hazel eyes shifted anxiously from Jim, to
Trixie, and then back to Jim. “You aren’t
eloping, are you?” “And have Moms skin me?” Trixie chuckled
nervously. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Wheeler. I promise we won’t be running off to
Vegas any time soon.” “Though it’s not from a lack of trying on my part,” Jim admitted, feigning
insult. Trixie wound a curl around her index
finger, as she often did when she was apprehensive. “I’m just not ready to
make any steadfast plans right now. Maybe in a week or two…” “All right,” Madeleine agreed, though it
seemed a bit halfhearted. “You two agree upon a date. Once that’s
accomplished, we’ll begin making plans. How does that sound?” “Perfectly perfect.” Trixie loudly released
the deep breath she had been holding. Matthew, who had remained silent during
most of the marriage conversation, clapped his hands as if he were trying to
rally the troops. “So, what shall we talk about now? I could get out a pie
chart Wheeler Enterprises made, comparing our profits to Trum—” “Mother, why don’t you tell Trixie about
the Alaskan cruise Dad took you on for your birthday this past October?” Jim
interrupted. “It’d make a great honeymoon spot, if I could talk Trix into
it.” “Why, son, I thought we weren’t going to
discuss wedding stuff?” Madeleine remarked, a
tawny-colored brow cocked in amusement. “This
is different, Mother,” Jim pointed out innocently. “After all, we’d be
talking about the honeymoon, not
the actual ceremony.” “My
mistake,” Madeleine declared grandly, her lips twitching as she stifled a
grin. “And as we all know, the honeymoon is the best part,” Jim
added, a wicked smile parting his full lips. “Hear, hear,” Matthew agreed, raising his
goblet of iced tea. Madeleine shot a mock scathing glance at
her husband. “Don’t encourage him, Matthew.” Pursing her lips, she then
turned to her son. “Jim, darling, what is it Honey is so fond of saying?
ITM?” “TMI, Mother,” Jim corrected. “Too much
information.” “Ah, yes.” Madeleine nodded regally, and
then enunciated her following words carefully. “TMI, Jim. TMI.” Trixie merely giggled as she watched the
exchange. She had often heard Honey say that her sophisticated family had
lightened up considerably, but Trixie had never before witnessed this
firsthand. She was only now beginning to feel more comfortable in the
presence of her future in-laws. Honestly, she had always been fond of the formidable Matthew, most likely because
of his eerie resemblance to his adopted son. In contrast, Madeleine had
always intimidated her, in spite of her resemblance to her daughter. If she were to be entirely truthful, Trixie
would have to admit that most of her reservations about Honey and Jim’s
mother resulted from her own deep-seated insecurities. The sturdy blonde had
several issues of her own to eventually tackle, and had never felt at ease
when she was near the elegant lady of Manor House. However, she had no
grounds for her complex; in all actuality, during Jim’s short engagement to
Amanda Woodward, Madeleine had been rooting for Trixie all along. Now that the topic of weddings was
off-limits, the rest of lunch went smoothly. After a dessert of cappuccinos
and decadent chocolate mousse, the four retreated to the cozy family room
where they gathered around the fireplace and chatted. Trixie impatiently
muddled through discussions involving hostile takeovers, politics, the stock
market, export laws, and a few other topics she did not even commit to
memory. Stifling a yawn, she watched as Celia called Matthew to the phone.
When Madeleine politely excused herself to go to the powder room, Trixie
leaned over to Jim. “Is it boring in here or is it just me?” Jim gave her one of his crooked smiles.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m about ready to fall asleep.” “Let’s make a break for it!” Trixie
whispered, impulsively yanking on his arm. “Let’s go outside!” “Baby, it’s twenty-five degrees out there;
if you haven’t noticed, it’s winter outside. We’ll freeze to death.” “Not if we keep each other warm,” Trixie
suggested with a sultry smile. “Don’t you want to go for a walk with me, or
would you rather sit here while your dad breaks out the spreadsheets?” “Frostbite or spreadsheets,” Jim mulled,
thoughtfully scratching his head. “That’s a hard one.” Trixie batted her thick, gold-tipped lashes
at him. “Please, Jim? It’s so beautiful outside with all the snow. Can’t we
just go out for a little bit?” “Trix, you know I’d do anything for you,”
Jim began, “but…” He was interrupted as Matthew came back
into the room, briefcase in hand. “Jim, Marv just
called and told me the most interesting thing,” Matthew told him excitedly.
“He said that our stocks were up fi—” Jim quickly stood to his feet, pulling
Trixie upright with him. “Sorry, Dad,” he murmured apologetically, “but we
were just getting ready to go outside for a walk. Is this something we have
to discuss now, or could it wait until later?” “It’ll keep,” Matthew replied, grinning. Madeleine emerged through the doorway, the
scent of Chanel No. 9 preceding her. “Trixie, one
of my friends in the city was just telling me about the most interesting
procedure she had done at the spa. Some kind of facial peel that rej—” “Sorry, Mrs. Wheeler, but Jim’s got the
itch to show off his dreamy woodsman abilities,” Trixie cut in abruptly as
her fiancé pulled her to the doorway. “Maybe later you can tell me about that
face peeling thing.” “Certainly, dear.” Madeleine smiled at the
young couple, so obviously in love. “Dress warmly. It’s cold outside.” “We will,” Trixie and Jim chimed
simultaneously as they made their exit. Once they were alone, Madeleine gracefully
rose from her seat on the sofa and crossed the floor to the mammoth recliner
upon which her husband sat. She lowered herself into his waiting arms,
snuggling close to his broad chest. “I never
thought we’d get rid of them,” she murmured, raking her slender fingers
through the graying temples of his golden-red hair. “Jim endured that stock nonsense longer
than I thought he would,” Matthew chortled softly. “I practically put myself to sleep.” “Well, at least they’re gone now,”
Madeleine purred, leaning down to kiss her husband’s
waiting lips. “Thank goodness,” Matthew whispered. Conversation ceased as their lips became
otherwise occupied.
Trixie sighed happily as she nestled closer
to her fiancé’s broad chest. Although the temperatures were below freezing, the
fire burning in her heart kept her warm. “It’s lovely out here.” “It sure is,” Jim murmured, looking down
and admiring Trixie’s beauty. “I may’ve said this before, but on you, snow
looks good.” Trixie raised her chin, laughing. “Frayne,
you already tried that line once today, and need I remind you of the result?
I think you need to come up with some new material.” “Trix, the classics never get old,” he retorted sagely. “Who said that line was a classic?” Trixie
responded, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “And if you’re even thinking of using that ‘comfortable’
one again, you’d better come up with a new plan to impress me.” Jim exhaled in a loud, exaggerated manner.
“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” “Of course not,” Trixie answered tartly.
“Why, I was thinking of having it engraved on our tombstones someday. ‘Here
lies James Frayne the Second and his comfortable
wife.’ ” “I know you probably won’t believe this,
but I truly meant it as a compliment,” he said with a smirk. Trixie giggled impishly, greatly enjoying
her game. “Well, gee, let me think about this. I like wearing my pajama pants
because they’re ratty, roomy, soft, and I don’t have to worry about staining
them. They’re comfortable.” “True,” he conceded. “But now tell me how you
feel about Crabapple Farm.” “Why?” she asked with a wrinkle of her
nose. “What’s that got to do with anything?” “Just do it.” “Well,” Trixie began, shrugging her
shoulders, “it’s warm and inviting, and it smells nice, too. Although some
houses are fancier, I think Crabapple Farm is the most beautiful of all, with
its charm and coziness. And in the winter, there’s nothing like curling up in
front of the blazing fire in Dad’s recliner. When the blizzards howl outside,
I always feel so safe whenever I’m home. It’s secure, safe, and—” “Comfortable?” Jim supplied. “Comfortable,” Trixie echoed softly. Jim gazed down at her with loving eyes. He
tenderly brushed back a stray curl from her face, shaking a few flakes of
snow loose. “And that’s what I was trying to say about you, Shamus, but like
a typical teenage boy, I loused it up.” “What
were you trying to say?” Trixie asked shyly. “That you’re warm and inviting,” Jim
stammered, suddenly feeling very foolish. Biting back the insecurities that
had plagued him for years, he leaned down and inhaled her neck. After casting
her a lopsided grin, he added, “You smell nice,
too.” “Go on,” Trixie prompted, giggling. “Well, although some girls are what you’d
call ‘glamorous’…” “ Dot… *cough*… Murray… *cough*…” Jim smirked as Trixie choked out the
familiar name. “As I was saying, although some girls are what you’d call ‘glamorous’, I prefer one
in particular that’s charming, cozy, and starts a fire in my heart.” “Keep going,” Trixie instructed, arching
one sandy brow. “Although I haven’t been around this much corn since we
visited With his gloved knuckles, Jim caressed her
cheekbone. And although his actual flesh did not touch her skin, Trixie
shivered. “From the moment I met you, Trix, you were always my safe haven
from the storm. When the demons from my past would come back to haunt, I’d
always feel… comfortable… around
you. After you’ve been through what I’ve been through, comfortable is the best feeling in the whole world.” Blushing, he paused to study the design the
sole of his boots made as they crunched the snow below. “You probably think
that’s stupid, huh?” Trixie rose up on her tiptoes and placed a
soft kiss on his freckled cheek. “Not at all,” she whispered,
her voice husky with emotion. “In fact, I don’t think anybody’s ever said
something so sweet to me before.” “So does this mean the wedding’s still on?” “It was never off, you big goof,” Trixie teased, bumping her shoulder against
his lower arm. “Just because I haven’t decided on a date doesn’t mean that
I’m not dead-set on the groom.” “That’s a relief,” Jim muttered. Though he
tried to pass his tone off as joking, it was apparent that there was some truth
to his words. “You still love me, don’t you?” Trixie reached up and tenderly brushed back
a thatch of russet hair that was peeking out from under Jim’s ball cap. “More
than life itself. I just have a few things to work out before we make any
definite plans.” “Anything I can help with?” She shook her head, but there was a smile
on her face. Jim
chuckled ruefully. “Why are you laughing?” she prodded. “Oh, this is just ironic,” he said,
smirking. “In some warped way, I suppose I deserve this.” Trixie wrinkled her nose. “What do you
mean?” “Well, when I was engaged to Amanda, she
kept pushing me to set the date,” he explained with a sigh. “Now, the shoe’s
on the other foot, and I’m the one pushing. I guess I’m afraid that you keep
avoiding the subject because you really don’t want to marry me.” She stroked his jaw with the tips of her
fingers. “That’s silly, sweetheart. I’ve waited my whole life for you to
propose and there’s nothing I want more than to be your wife.” He took Trixie’s hand and brought it up to
his lips. He kissed her palm tenderly and then held it against his jaw. “I
won’t push anymore. Any date you set will be fine with me.” “Thank you, Jim,” she whispered. He crossed his arms, feigning anger. A
huffy scowl straightened the lines of his lips, accentuating the deep cleft
in his chin. “But just make sure you don’t develop a real ‘yen for Ben’ between now and then.” A wicked grin on her face, she gave him a
gentle push, and Jim found himself sitting in the same snowbank where he had
dumped Trixie over twelve years ago. She knelt down closer to him, barely able
to speak through her giggles. “Actually, I think I have a permanent ‘whim for
Jim’.” Quicker than she could even blink, Jim
grabbed her by the hand and pulled her onto the snowy ground with him,
grimacing slightly as her shriek made his eardrums throb. He enveloped the
petite blonde in his strong arms and pulled her on top of him. Still laughing, Trixie leaned over him, her
china blue eyes sparkling mischievously. “On you, Frayne, snow looks good.
You should wear it more frequently.” At lightning speed, she pulled up her
right gloved-hand, revealing a big snowball. Emitting something between a
guffaw and a bray, she hurled it at her fiancé, using his nose as a
bull’s-eye. The snowball hit its intended target, and
Trixie sat upright, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle a snort.
Though she would never admit it out loud, she was quaking in her boots
wondering what sort of diabolical revenge Jim would enact. The normally fiery-tempered redhead calmly
wiped the flakes away with one large hand. His face was the perfect portrait
of serenity as he continued to swipe his fingers against his rugged features,
hoping to dry some of the wetness. Using the grave tone he often took with
students who had seriously broken the rules at the academy, he remarked
ominously, “Belden, you’re going down.” With a frantic whoop, Trixie fearfully
tried to scramble away, but before she could make her getaway, Jim had
scooped her up in his arms and assumed the dominant position. Her giggles
echoed through the property as his long, sinewy fingers wormed their way into
her most ticklish crevices. “I-I’m not c-c-calling you Uncle again,”
she gasped, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes from laughing so hard.
He allowed her chuckles to die down and
then wiped a few flakes of snow from her glowing cheeks. “You can call me
anything you want, just as long as you don’t give my ring back. It took over
a decade for me to get you to wear it.” Teeth chattering, she gazed up at him, her
face filled with love. “You may not be the last man on earth, Frayne, but you are the only man for me.” Tenderly, he cupped the back of her head,
lifting her face closer to his. Tenuously at first, their lips met. Their
kiss began gentle, but became more ardent with each passing second. Amidst the snow, icicles, and frosty air, a
fiery heat rose from the amorous couple. Their love for one another was hot
enough to keep them warm, even if it was winter outside.
A big honkin’ thank you to my wonderful editors, Steph H and Kathy! You ladies are the best. How would I
survive without your amazing editing skills? Huge smoochies
going out for each of you! Thank you to MaryC, who started the Jix Authors Summer Writing
Challenge. My Glimpses into the Future Universe had been stuck at a
standstill until then, and this story was a direct result of this challenge.
So, thanks, Mary, for encouraging me to move things along. Jim and Trixie
thank you, as well. The title for this
story came from an old song I found on the internet, “It May Be Winter
Outside”. I’ve never actually heard it. The words were actually kind of
corny, and since I was in a corny mood when I wrote this, I decided the title
was perfect! :p The song Honey was
singing at the beginning of the story was “Winter Wonderland”, which remains
one of my all-time favorite wintry songs. For the record, I
ADORE Honey’s outfit. If I had bunches of money, I’d have a pair of boots exactly
like the ones she was wearing in this. The birds and
rodents mentioned in the beginning are, of course, the animals from
“Cinderella”. The birds around here wake me up at dark o’clock and the mice
preferably end up in traps. *BG* Katie Couric and Kelly Ripa are
former/current hosts for morning news programs/talk shows. Both are extremely
perky and adorable, exactly the kind of people Trixie would find annoying in
the morning. The Bedazzler commercials are driving me crazy, so I’m taking
out my vengeance by pen (or rather, keyboard). No offense to anybody who has
one. In fact, my daughter is begging and pleading for one. BTW, my views on
the Bedazzler were influenced by Stacy London on
TLC’s “What Not To Wear”. Trixie’s Snoopy PJs are dedicated to Kathy, who insisted she truly be
Miss Snoopy-Britches. *G* Old Navy is a store
that I love. It was not mentioned with permission, but they should consider
it advertising and offer me a hefty sum for my endorsement. In lieu of money,
I will also gladly accept an in-store gift certificate. J Thanks to Mal for
suggesting Dennis Rodman and Carmen Electra’s wedding! “Holp
With Fanfic Research” is a marvelous thing! For those of you
thinking about designing wedding gowns, “Warning! Bull in china shop approaching”
would NOT look good embroidered on a dress’ bodice. *G* Payless Shoes is
another real business. Once again, permission was not asked. However, they
should consider their cameo an endorsement as well. For the record, I like
their store, too, so gift cards are welcome. Don’t be too hard
on Brian while reading this story. We’ll find out more about him later.
*whistling* Dishwashers should
never be looked at uncaringly. They are marvels of technology, and Helen
Belden’s opinion of them is not necessarily that of neither The Cameo nor
Dark Orchid Productions. However, those uncaring views are those of my MIL,
and I saw Helen feeling the same way. So yes, there really and truly are
people out there who don’t appreciate the magic of the dishwasher. Yes, Mart and Di
are disgustingly happy, but I like them that way. J For the record, I
own a pair of shoes identical to the ones that Di is wearing, except they
have pink flowers on the toes instead of violet-colored ones. In case you’re
curious, the store didn’t HAVE violet-colored ones, and since pink is one of
my other favorite colors, I decided the pink ones would do. And not only are
they absolutely adorable, they are VERY comfy. J The
“nauseated/nauseous” debate occurred at Jixemitri a few months ago,
and I couldn’t resist paying homage to it here. *VEG* June Cleaver was a
character on “Leave it to Beaver”, which I adore. And no, she is not really
on speed. Helen’s line about knowing
everything comes directly from ME. I tell Rachel constantly that I know
everything, especially when it involves orneriness she’s been up to.
Actually, it’s more powers of observation/mother’s instincts than
omnipotence, but Rachel doesn’t need to know that. *batting eyes angelically* Cade “The Dragon” Pesina is a
made-up movie star introduced in “Ain’t
Too Proud to Beg”. Apparently Jack Palmer is a big fan of his also. “I
Feel Like Blowing Something Up” isn’t a real movie, but the title has a nice
ring to it, don’t you think? *VEG* Tom Welling,
however, is a real actor, although “Don’t Eat the Apples” isn’t a real movie.
The name was chosen to remind everyone of Brian. Pixar is an animated movie studio that works with Disney to
make awesome computer-animated features. Helen’s reference
to The Cameo adding the four other screens is a reference to all my
universes. For the record, I
really like Honda Civics and do not think they are “remote control” cars, but
apparently my father felt that way about Geo Storms when I wanted to buy an
adorable yellow one in 1992. The “Tupperware” bumper can be attributed to him
as well. It sounded exactly like something Brian would say. BTW, my
ultra-responsible father does own a Subaru
Legacy since they are so good in snow. For the record, all
the makes of vehicles in my universe are varied. No, they aren’t all FORDS.
I’m not loyal to any one make or model as evidenced by the plethora of
automobiles I use. Jim has a charcoal gray GMC Suburban, Trixie has a blue
Honda Civic, Honey has a gold BMW, Brian has a dark blue Subaru Legacy, Dan
has a candy apple red ’69 Ford pickup truck, Mart has a hunter green Jeep
Grand Cherokee, Diana has an earth-tone Trixie got Jim a
GPS unit in “ ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”.
And yes, you can use them to check for the best hunting and fishing times.
For those of you who do not know, their full name is a global positioning
system and it is a satellite-based navigation system. Carhartt is a brand of clothing, jackets, gloves, etc, usually
used by men for work clothes. My dh loves Carhartt,
and I could easily see Jim in a particular jacket that Damon has. It’s very
woodsy. *G* The reference to
Jim being Trixie’s knight in shining armor is a plug for my fairy tale medieval universe. What’s Ben’s
interesting career choice, you ask? All in good time, my little grasshopper. The entire “On you,
snow looks good” discussion can be found in Mystery Off Glen Road,
which I absolutely adore. However, the “whim for Jim” comment was 100% mine,
and The Cameo retains the copyright for that one. *wink* There is not a
badge for amorous Boy Scouts. However, if there was, I daresay it would be a
popular one. My husband has greatly
influenced my opinion of all things, which is why Matthew scorns jewelry for
himself. I just couldn’t picture him with a dangly bracelet, two or three
rings, a thick gold chain, or anything else besides a wedding band and a
watch. Ralph Lauren is an
expensive brand of clothing. However, Dockers are not a specific brand,
although they are a specific brand, if you know what I mean. Martha Stewart is a
lady known for her ability to decorate, cook, and be an all-around
Superwoman. And I like her. J Mart’s favorite
cookies are indeed Moms’ homemade molasses cookies. However, he really like’s
the oatmeal raisin cookies that Jim’s secretary, Dessie,
bakes as well. Matthew calling Jim
“my boy” is a direct
reference to the story of the same, found in my Portraits of the
Past universe. Page Six, which is
a gossip column, is a section of the New
York Post . I see the Wheelers being featured in there often. Trixie talked about
wanting to get married at Crabapple Farm in Mystery of the Uninvited Guest. Donald Trump is a
very, very wealthy man who was on the show “The Apprentice”. He frequently
uttered the phrase “You’re fired!”. I see him and
Matthew having a friendly rivalry. Trixie did say in
the books that she wanted to get married at Crabapple Farm. However, I wanted
to do a lot of things as a teenager that I changed my mind about when I
became an adult. So where are they getting married? Stay tuned… And yes, according
to most men, the best part of the wedding is the honeymoon. Unless there is
no honeymoon, and then they tell you it was the cake. In “Why Do Fools Fall in Love”,
we learn that Madeleine is secretly rooting for Jim to marry Trixie. Chanel No. 9 is a famous perfume, which we learn in “The Secret of the Other
Mansion” that Madeleine prefers. The infamous
“comfortable” line to which Trixie refers can be found in Happy Valley
Mystery, which although has some dumb parts, is one of my faves. I’m a sucker for the bracelet scene. *G* The last scene of this
story purposely mirrors Mystery Off Glen Road. As stated previously, I
adored that book, and since I’d made such a big deal of Jim reusing that
particular line, I decided to take it up a notch. Trixie refusing to
call Jim “Uncle” is a reference to him calling himself “Uncle Jim”, the
remark that created more Trixie and Dan fans than any other. Gee, thanks, KK. And yes, several
evil plot twists were hinted about in this story. More about each one later.
*VEG*
Home | Other Stories | E-Mail Me
|
