Trixie Belden® is a registered trademark of Golden Books. This story is not meant to infringe on any copyrights.

*Adult themes, strong sexual references, NOT for all ages

Author’s Note: Here I am again, composing another tale of tangled lives and mysterious goings-on, and submitting it for your approval. In accordance with my new-found policy of Full Disclosure, let me warn you now! This story takes place several months after The Spring Break Scam (hereafter SBS), and, therefore, 10 years after Have You Seen This Child? (hereafter HYSTC, which took place 2 ½ years after book #1). While you do not need to have read those stories to enjoy this one, it might help. In case you choose not to read those, but still want to read this one, great! Check this spot for a few clues as to who’s who and what's what.

Now, it’s obvious a wedding is going to take place at some point in this narrative. What may not be so readily obvious is that certain events may not be suitable for the faint of heart, including, but not limited to, the immediately following: the aftermath of Honey’s ‘naughty’ bridal shower. Of course, a bunch of other things are going on, so don’t just skip this section. Just read it lightly and you’ll be fine. Okay? Okay!

Oh – who are Ruth Kettner, Lester Mundy, Marvin Easton and Shrimpy Davis? Read Midnight Marauder.

We last left our friends in Clearwater, Florida. Jim asked Trixie to marry him (in effect) and she turned him down to date Dan (who bought her a kitten – but that’s not why she’s dating him – the kitten is symbolic). Mart told Diana that, although they ended their previous relationship badly, he wants to get back with her. She informed him she’s engaged to a fellow actor. Anne (Dan’s ex-girlfriend – see HYSTC) is now dating Regan, Dan’s uncle. It’s now late May. Brian & Honey are getting married in four weeks and wedding fever is slowly rising… Join us, won’t you?

The Pleasure of Your Company

by Shana

Chapter One

32 days to go

"Come on, Trixie Belden! You’ll make us late!" Honey Wheeler snapped at her best friend and roommate. "You know how I hate being late." She had to raise her voice because, at that moment, Trixie had buried herself in her bedroom closet while Honey waited for her in the hall.

"I know," Trixie sighed, calling out. "Believe me, I know. And I’ll just be a second. I can’t find my other shoe!"

Honey groaned, checked her watch and tapped her foot. It wasn’t unusual for Trixie to lose things, particularly in the disaster area she called her bedroom, and it wasn’t unusual for Trixie to be late for things. What bothered Honey about Trixie’s current tardiness was that Trixie herself had stressed the need for punctuality. ‘1 p.m. on the dot’ she had said. ‘Moms is expecting us’ she had said.

‘Moms’ was the affectionate name Trixie and her brothers had for their mother, Helen Belden, and it was to the Belden family homestead they were planning to go that afternoon. Which made Honey even more nervous, considering that Helen Belden was due to become Honey’s mother-in-law, just as soon as Honey and Brian took their vows.

It more than made her nervous. Frankly, the prospect terrified her.

Honey wanted more than anything to commiserate with her very best friend, but since Trixie regarded her mother as nothing less than a saint, Honey couldn’t very well complain about how inadequate the woman made her feel.

So, from time to time, the normally calm, serene and centered Honey Wheeler became a shrieking, snappish, shrewish harridan. It was an unwelcome transformation.

Trixie finally appeared from her bedroom, bearing aloft her lost shoe. "Got it!" she crowed. "Just give me a moment to tie the laces and I’ll be all set."

"You know," Honey said, "you were the one who set the time for this little get-together. The least you could do is be punctual."

Trixie, sitting on the floor to pull on her shoe, grinned up at her friend. "When have I ever been punctual? Moms even says I was born late."

"Well, your mother would know," Honey muttered.

Trixie glanced up again, pushing her long yellow curls out of her eyes. "Excuse me? What did you say?"

Honey flushed guiltily. "Nothing! Nothing at all." She smiled reassuringly. "Ready to go?" As Trixie stood and nodded, Honey jingled her key ring. "Shall I drive this time?"

"Sure thing." Trixie frowned. "Now, where did I leave my purse?"

Honey groaned as Trixie proceeded to tear apart her bedroom one more time.

Twenty minutes later, Honey turned her cream-colored Camry onto Glen Road. Since the street saw very little traffic, especially on Tuesday afternoons, she floored the accelerator.

"Hello? Honey? What’s going on?" Trixie blurted out, startled by the sudden speed.

"We’re late," Honey explained. "But there’s no way I’m going to let it be in any way my fault."

Trixie stared at her friend, then shook her head. "Whatever. Someday you’re going to tell me what’s up with you."

Honey just sighed and continued driving. As the car passed Ten Acres, a huge blue construction truck rumbled out from the hidden driveway directly into the Camry’s path. Without blinking, Honey simultaneously mashed her fist onto the horn and swerved around the truck, continuing toward the Belden farm.

White-faced, Trixie twisted in her seat. "Are you crazy? You want to get me killed or something?"

"What are you talking about? We weren’t in any danger," Honey replied calmly. They had reached the mailbox for Crabapple Farm. Honey slowed the car and pulled carefully up the long drive, finally parking next to the detached garage.

"Oh? Oh, really? Then what do you call that that you just almost plowed us into?" At Honey’s dismissive wave, Trixie continued, her voice rising into an almost hysterical pitch. "That huge blue truck you almost hit? What about that?"

Honey checked her makeup in the visor mirror. "Really, Trixie, you need to stop exaggerating. It wasn’t that large and I easily avoided it. Relax. Your mother will think something’s wrong if you go in looking like that." Honey grabbed her purse and exited the car, slamming the door shut.

Trixie hurried to join her, slamming the passenger door closed. "Looking like what? Like my best friend just tried to kill me? Now, why should she think that?"

Honey stopped walking toward the white-frame farmhouse. Her eyes clouded and she sighed. "You’re right. I was in too much of a hurry. I’m just nervous, I guess."

"About what?" Trixie grinned. "You’ve been to my house plenty of times before."

"Never to meet the famous Aunt Alicia, I haven’t." Honey grimaced. "I wonder if she’s…"

Trixie frowned. "If she’s what?" She glanced up at the farmhouse. "Alicia’s really nice. A little old-fashioned, but nice. She’ll love you."

"If you say so," Honey said slowly.

"Come on!" Trixie urged. "Let’s go already. I didn’t have lunch yet and Alicia makes really great sandwiches. Don’t ask me how she does it, exactly, but…"

As Trixie rambled on about her aunt, leading the way onto the wide, shady porch, Honey followed, lost in her own thoughts. She was getting married in just four short weeks. Married. Starting a whole new life. Leaving the old one behind. Giving up… everything. Her independence. Her identity. Her… well, everything.

Trixie was holding open the front door, her mouth opening and closing and words coming out, but Honey couldn’t hear a single one, much less make a sensible reply. She just entered the farmhouse, struck once more by the smell of baking bread and cinnamon embedded in the aged wood flooring. She let her purse fall into its usual place in the corner of the foyer, then she proceeded down the main hall to the family room in back.

The door to the family room, however, was closed, a rather unusual occurrence. She glanced back at Trixie, who had followed her down the hall. Trixie just shrugged. "Open it," she said.

Honey shrugged in reply and pushed on the door. Immediately, she was hit with a wave of sound. "SURPRISE!"

The word rang in her ear along with shouted congratulations, laughter and applause. Several lights flashed in her eyes, disorienting her immediately to her surroundings. She was struck with the impression of many people all standing around, staring at her. She felt Trixie hug her from behind.

"Were you surprised? Did you guess?" Trixie asked.

Honey just shook her head. "No. I had no idea. This is for me?" She glanced around the room as the blue dots in her eyes faded. Green, gold and white streamers hung from the low ceiling beams. Several balloon bouquets in matching colors had been tied to each chair and table. A huge banner reading CONGRATULATIONS hung over the mantle, while a similar one spelling out SHOWERS OF HAPPINESS stretched over the bay window. A table had been set with white linen, several stacks of plates and flatware and several trays of finger sandwiches, a punch bowl and cups. A white rocking chair sat in a place of honor in front of the hearth. A huge mound of brightly papered boxes towered next to it.

Honey gulped. "But I thought we had planned one for next Saturday."

Madeleine Wheeler approached her daughter. "That was just a ruse, my darling, so that we could easily plan the real one for today!" She enveloped Honey in a hug. "Come and have some punch and sit down. Helen and I have planned quite the afternoon for you!"

Honey saw Helen smile at her and the two women hugged briefly. "Thank you, Mrs. Belden," Honey breathed. "Mrs. Lynch!" Honey greeted the next woman in her path with a hug as well. "It’s so good you were able to come, too!"

The other guests included Miss Trask, Anne Maypenny, the Lynch twins (Julie and Kathy), and, of course, Trixie’s Aunt Alicia.

As Honey was introduced to Helen’s older sister, she was struck immediately with the physical similarities between the two sisters. They had the same face, the same color eyes and the same twist to their mouth when they smiled. But while these aspects were similar, where Helen’s features were soft, Alicia’s were hard, and vice-versa. Alicia also stood several inches shorter than Helen or Honey. The woman wore a tidy blouse with hand-embroidered floral designs on the collar and a matching peach skirt. Honey’s trained eye recognized the same stitching that so many of Trixie’s clothes used to have, before her friend started insisting on buying all her garments ready-made.

Alicia wrapped Honey into a long hug. "Oh! I’m so glad to finally get to meet you! Of course, Helen’s told me all about you, but she couldn’t do you justice! What beautiful hair! And such a lovely figure! Oh!" she sighed rapturously, "You’ll make a beautiful bride! Absolutely stunning! Don’t you agree, Helen?"

Helen did agree. "I’ve always thought Honey a very pretty girl, Alicia," Helen said kindly.

"Why haven’t you ever painted her?" Alicia asked, her firm hand grabbing hold of Honey’s chin and turning her face into the light.

"Alicia!" Helen sighed. "I don’t do portraits. You know that!"

"Hey, everybody!" Trixie clapped her hands suddenly. "I think we’re missing one very important guest!"

"Who?" Honey turned, grateful for the opportunity to escape what was rapidly becoming a difficult moment.

Anne laughed. "I think she’s right in your dad’s study, Trix. Honey, why don’t you go find out?"

Frowning slightly, Honey agreed. "All right, but who--?" She opened the study door and let out a piercing shriek. "DIANA! You’re here!"

The two women hugged each other, laughing and almost crying with happiness. "When did you get in?" Honey asked. "I wasn’t expecting you until Friday!"

Diana grinned. "I know. But we wrapped early, so I thought– why not? I didn’t know today was your bridal shower until Thomas and I arrived last night, and Mom thought I’d make a perfect surprise gift. What do you think?"

Honey’s eyes shone as she hugged her once more. "I think it’s all too perfectly perfect!"

*     *     *

After playing six bridal shower games, including ‘How Well Do You Know The Bride (which Anne won easily, considering Trixie had come up with the questions thereby disqualifying herself), eating two plates of finger sandwiches and devouring half the cake, the party-goers were quite willing to sit and sip coffee while Honey opened her presents.

The first box presented to her came from Aunt Alicia. It was an oversized sewing kit, complete with every color thread and every size needle imaginable. A second package contained several patterns for pillows and duvets. "I was told you adore sewing and embroidery as much as I! What fun you’ll have decorating for your new home!" Alicia gushed.

Honey thanked her as politely as she could and passed the box to be dutifully admired by the assembled guests. It was a thoughtful gift; Honey did enjoy sewing. It was the idea of sitting home, night after night, sewing slipcovers and pillow cases while Brian was late nights at the hospital that bothered her. Is this going to be my life now? The dutiful wife at home?

Julie and Kathy Lynch went Dutch on their gift: the everyday dish pattern Brian and Honey had chosen from Tiffany’s in New York. It was on the tip of Honey’s tongue to ask how the teenagers had been able to afford it. But then, they were Lynch girls. And they did go halves. She passed a single dish, not wishing to burden each woman with the heavy weight of the entire pattern.

Miss Trask presented Honey with two of her table linen patterns. "I expect to be invited to a dinner party very soon, so that you can show off your hostess skills," she said, her gray eyes twinkling merrily.

Honey smiled as everyone else laughed, and passed the box. "As long as you forgive me if I happen to accidentally spill on these beautiful tablecloths, I think I will manage."

"When are you and Brian planning to have children?" Alicia asked suddenly.

"Oh! Good heavens, Alicia!" Helen exclaimed. "I hope not for a long time. Peter and I are not ready to become grandparents. At least let us get Bobby out of the house first."

Honey forced herself to join in the laughter. Children! Oh, my! That means late-night feedings and screaming and diapers and Brian too tired to help and school functions and – and – and – I don’t feel well.

Anne stood up and laid a large, flat box in Honey’s lap. "My present next!" She sat back down on the sofa, adding, "Well, it’s from Bill, too."

Diana looked up at that. "You know, they told me you and Regan were dating. I still can’t quite believe it."

"Oh, they’re quite the scandal in town!" Trixie laughed. "You should see them. Always holding hands, stealing kisses. It’s sickening!"

As Anne scowled, feigning irritation, Honey summoned the nerve to say, "Are you describing Anne and Regan? Or you and Dan, Trixie?" She tried to sound casual, even as she sneaked a peek to determine Helen’s reaction to the teasing remark. Did Helen want Trixie dating Dan?

Trixie blushed scarlet as the laughter moved from Anne’s expense to hers. "One kiss! One! That’s it, Honey Wheeler!"

Anne giggled, muttering loud enough for everyone to hear, "Poor Dan. Just one?"

As the laughter began to die down, Helen asked her daughter mildly, "Which ‘one’ kiss are you referring to? The one I saw in the kitchen a couple weeks ago? The one outside Town Hall last Thursday? Or the one I interrupted in the supermarket yesterday afternoon?"

"Mother!" Trixie squeaked. "You’re supposed to be on my side!"

"But, Trixie, dear," Helen said gently, "I’m about to gain another daughter. I can only back one at a time."

Honey smiled as the laughter rose in earnest once more. She felt encouraged by Helen’s words and tone. Maybe she was finally warming up to the idea of including Honey in her family. She began opening Anne’s present and found that it was a scrapbook full of pictures going back twelve years, right back to Honey’s first summer in Manor House. As Honey paged through the photos, they instantly transported her to a simpler place and time.

There were photos of her in her bathing suit diving into the lake; photos of her on Lady; at picnics; at a school dance. On each opposing page were pictures of Brian at corresponding times or events. If there was a picture of the two of them together, somehow Anne and Regan had found a souvenir that also commemorated the event. As she turned the pages, Honey saw pressed flowers, a square of gold silk, a blue prize ribbon, menus and programs from various restaurants and cultural events.

Honey hugged the book to her chest. "Thank you, Anne. This was really thoughtful. I know Brian and I are going to have a great time looking through this book."

"Well," Anne smiled self-deprecatingly, "I was all set to buy you guys a set of those wine glasses you wanted, but Bill thought this would be more personal. It was also his idea to start the whole thing off with your baby pictures. See? The first page?"

Honey turned to the first page, which she had somehow managed to skip, and gasped. "Oh! Brian’s baby picture! He looks so adorable!" She ran her finger over the image. "He had so much hair!"

Helen got up from her seat and moved to get a closer look at her firstborn’s baby picture. She smiled tenderly. "Yes, he did. It all fell out in a matter of days and he was bald for months afterward. Peter was certain his son was experiencing the worst case of male-pattern baldness known to man, but, as Doctor Ferris assured us, his hair grew back soon enough."

Honey carefully set the scrapbook next to her feet, unwilling to risk it circling the room. "What’s next?"

Diana placed a box in Honey’s lap. "This is from London, specially ordered for the Big Event, so I can’t return it!" She grinned nervously.

Honey unwrapped a small box, revealing twin Waterford cut crystal goblets with the initials MB engraved on one and BB on the other. "These are exquisite, Diana!" Honey breathed, lifting one into the light. The beautifully crafted crystal caught the light, sending shimmering rainbows throughout the room.

"I thought about putting your middle initials on it, too," Diana commented, "but I didn’t know what you were doing about ‘Wheeler’, so I left it off. I figured ‘MB’ wouldn’t be a problem."

"You did fine," Honey assured her. "Actually, I haven’t quite decided about my last name." She caught Helen’s intrigued glance – or was that suspicion in her eyes?

As the women passed around the goblets, Trixie placed her present in Honey’s hands. "Unlike certain other women I could name," she said, with a sly look to Anne, "I didn’t require a man’s help in deciding on my gift."

Tearing the paper revealed a silver picture frame. Honey carefully unwrapped the rest of it and smiled. "It’s beautiful, Trixie! We’ll keep our wedding photo in it."

"I hoped you might," Trixie smiled. "Of course, you’ll have to polish it every now and then. But that’s the price you pay, I suppose."

The women all laughed together, agreeing that the wife bore most of the burdens in maintaining a clean and well-managed home.

Honey sighed inwardly. The price you pay…

Mrs. Lynch’s gift came next: a complete silver service for 12, including serving pieces, salt & pepper shakers and two serving trays. Honey thanked the woman profusely. "You really shouldn’t have," Honey told her.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Lynch replied with an arched look at Diana. "I feel as if my own daughter is getting married."

"Mother!" Diana scolded. "It hasn’t been announced yet. I explained it all to you!" Briefly for the benefit of those who weren’t aware, Diana explained how she had been engaged for almost a year to a fellow actor, Thomas Thorne. They met on a movie set in England and swiftly became inseparable. They kept the news out of the tabloids to protect their privacy, but they intended to marry in the fall. The couple planned to make a formal announcement a week or so after Honey and Brian’s wedding. "--so as not to take anything away from their Happy Event," Diana explained. "Now stop acting as if I’ve left you out of everything! Honestly!" She grinned, belying her insulted tone.

"Really, dear!" Mrs. Lynch remarked dryly. "Must everything be so dramatic? You’d think we were dealing with an incredibly talented actress here!"

"Whatever, mother!" Diana chuckled. "Go on, Honey. Open the next one."

Helen Belden’s gift came next. She and Peter were giving the couple three sets of bed linens, all 350+ count and each a more beautiful pattern than the next. "I can’t wait to sleep in these," Honey blurted out, stunned by the generous gift. Then she blushed as the younger women burst out laughing once more. "You know what I mean!"

"We’ve also decided to give you another gift, but we couldn’t wrap it, so here," Helen said, handing an envelope to Honey.

Honey slipped her finger along the flap and lifted it, peeking inside. She pulled out a pair of airline tickets to Paris. She looked up with wonder. "You’re paying for our flight to Paris?" As Helen nodded, Honey exclaimed, "Thank you! With Daddy paying for the hotel stay, we’ll be able to afford to eat!"

Most of the party-goers knew that Honey and Brian were trying to start their marriage off not a single dime in debt, and without touching one cent of Honey’s trust fund or future inheritance. Of course, with Brian’s med school loans far from paid off, they fought an uphill battle. Still, they had wanted to pay their own way as much as possible. But they weren’t stupid. If the Wheelers wanted to give a week’s hotel stay in Paris and another week in a rented country house in Provence, and now it appeared the Beldens were putting up for two first-class airline tickets, that was perfectly all right with them.

Finally, it was time to open her mother’s gift. First, Madeleine had a speech. "Madeleine," she began, addressing her daughter by her proper name, "when I told my stepmother that Matthew Wheeler had asked me to marry him, and that I had accepted, she gave me some advice, some of which I am passing on to you today. The rest of it, I’ll tell you later." She ignored the surprised and amused looks of the other guests and focused on her daughter.

"My dear little girl," she continued, "I want you to know this one thing. Your father and I love you very much and, no matter what decisions you make in the future, I want you to know we will always be there for you. But when you get married and that ring goes on your finger, you’ll no longer be a Wheeler, but a Belden, and a married woman. But you’ll always be my daughter. With that in mind, this is your gift from your father and me." She took a slender box from her purse and presented it to her daughter.

Honey ran her hand reverently over the wrapping paper before sliding a finger under a fold, gently removing the box. She lifted the lid and a slight frown creased her forehead. "Mother?" she began, "what’s –" She held up a large, heavy, elegantly carved, gold key. Then realization dawned. "Oh, Mother! You didn’t!"

Madeleine merely nodded. "Of course we did."

"What is it?" Anne asked. "What did you do, Maddie?"

"My daughter can explain, I trust," Madeleine answered, ceding the floor to Honey.

Her daughter swallowed hard, disbelieving tears in her eyes. "This, if I’m not mistaken, is the key to the Grandfather clock in my father’s study in Manor House. You’re giving it to me?"

Madeleine spread her hands. "Why not? It’s been passed on now for four generations, from mother to daughter upon the daughter’s marriage. You’re the fifth to receive it."

"Why a clock?" Diana asked. "Not that that clock isn’t absolutely gorgeous, you understand."

"I understand," Madeleine replied. "It’s not a typical wedding gift. But it’s symbolic, as most heirlooms are."

Trixie spoke up then. "It represents Time." As the others turned to her with questioning glances, she continued. "I’m right, aren’t I? A clock measures time. Minutes into hours into days into years. Continuous. Infinite. It’s a link from the past to the present and a reminder that we’re all just a link in a chain that goes back to the very beginning and will continue on long after we’re gone. It’s Life."

"That’s exactly right, Trixie," Madeleine said. "Though I wouldn’t be able to put it so succinctly."

Trixie shook her head, still marveling. "I think it’s an incredibly meaningful gift."

Anne and Diana shared a glance. "No kidding!" they said in unison.

"Madeleine," Helen said quietly, "you’ve outdone yourself."

Honey just let the tears slide down her cheeks. "Oh, Mother! Thank you!" With the key clutched in her slim hand, she stood, letting the box and paper fall to the floor, and embraced her mother.

"Well!" Trixie stood, clapping her hands. "If that’s the end of the presents, we do still have more cake and coffee, if anyone’s interested."

While Trixie served more coffee to her mother and aunt, Honey sank back into the bridal rocking chair and let her thoughts consume her. Minutes into hours into days into years… spent doing what? Laundry and dusting and diapers and carpools and recitals and Brian always late getting home or getting up early for surgery or pulling double-shifts so Doctor so-and-so can make his golf game or take his wife to Cape Cod for the weekend. Long nights spent sewing while he reads his medical journals. He’ll develop some habit I can’t stand. Like Daddy’s pipe-smoking bothers Mother. Or he’ll take to speaking about me like I’m not real: my wife, I think I’ll keep her. What am I doing? Why am I doing this to myself?

Honey barely registered the conversations going on around her.

Diana to Anne: "So, when are you going to tell me about Regan? How did you two hook up, anyway? Your email wasn’t exactly clear on the subject, you know."

Anne to Diana: "What’s your point? No, seriously, I’ll make you and Thomas dinner this week. I’ll invite Bill and we could maybe grab a movie later. Or we could rent one, if you like."

Diana to Anne: "How can you give me all the juicy details if Regan’s right there?"

Anne to Diana: "We’ll barbecue. That’ll keep the guys outside while we talk inside. That way, you can give me all the dirt about Thomas at the same time."

Diana to Anne: "Deal!"

Miss Trask to Madeleine: "No, no. I think this was the perfect time. Really. She loves the clock. You know that."

Madeleine to Miss Trask: "But it’s not a very romantic gift".

Miss Trask to Madeleine: "Nonsense! It’s the perfect gift. Traditional, meaningful and valuable."

Madeleine to Miss Trask: "I suppose..."

Mrs. Lynch to Miss Trask and Madeleine: "I thought it was an extremely meaningful gift. I wish I had an heirloom to pass on to Diana, but… well…"

Miss Trask to Mrs. Lynch: "You have other, equally important gifts for all of your children…"

Alicia to Helen: "Sheets? Sheets, Helen? I suppose that’s what you missed most when you and Peter got married."

Helen to Alicia: "Everyone needs sheets, Alicia! And these are the best. Extremely comfortable. They’ll keep for years and years."

Alicia to Helen: "What happened to ‘Peter and I took nothing from no one. No handouts. No gifts.’ Another of your counter-culture values wearing away?"

Helen to Alicia: "You just never tried to understand me or Peter, did you? When I think of all the--"

Trixie to Alicia and Helen: "Hey, you two! This is a party! No arguments until it’s over, all right?"

Julie to Kathy: "I thought Bobby was going to be here."

Kathy to Julie: "Duh! This is a girls-only party. Bobby’s over at Ten Acres with Jim and Dan, overseeing some of the construction".

Julie to Kathy: "Still, I thought he might show."

Kathy to Julie: "You want to go over to Ten Acres later on and check out the construction workers?"

Julie to Kathy: "We’re not exactly dressed for it, but, yeah! Let’s!"

The bridal shower broke up soon afterward. Mrs. Lynch left for home in her Lexus, the twins decided to walk, Miss Trask drove Mrs. Wheeler back to Manor House and Mrs. Belden started cleaning up the mess from the party. "Miss Trask said she’d have Tom come by later on to pick up the presents for you, Honey, so don’t worry about that," Helen said.

"Oh, thanks," Honey said. "That was thoughtful." Idly, she stacked a set of paper plates, still not really paying attention to the goings-on around her. It wasn’t until Trixie called her name that she realized she had been addressed. "I’m sorry. What did you say?"

Trixie grinned. "I just wanted to make sure that you were free Saturday." She cast a sly glance at Diana and Anne. "We’re having another bridal shower for you. A special shower."

"What do you mean?" Honey asked, honestly bewildered. "What’s wrong with the one I just had?"

Anne laughed. "Nothing. If you consider a wedding to be just a social contract. But it’s more than that. Especially for you."

"Yeah, Honey," Diana agreed. "June seventeenth is more than just the day you change your name, you know. It’s the day you lose your--" She broke off her sentence as Helen returned from the kitchen.

"Are you girls going to help me or hinder me or haven’t you decided yet?" she asked with a mild reproof.

"We’re helping, Moms!" Trixie hastened to assure her. "Just stay in there and we’ll bring you what needs to be washed, okay?" Helen nodded and left the room.

Honey had blushed scarlet. "I can’t believe you guys!"

"Well…" Trixie defended them. "It’s true. You and Brian haven’t done anything much yet, so the wedding night is sure to be a major milestone for the two of you in way more ways than one."

Honey wasn’t quite mollified. "So what’s this have to do with my next bridal shower?"

Anne and Diana nudged each other. Anne said, "It’s a theme shower."

"Yeah," Diana said. "This one was nice. The next one is naughty."

"Ohmigosh," Honey breathed. "Not too naughty, I hope! I’ll die of embarrassment!"

"Relax," Anne shrugged. "A little embarrassment’s never killed anyone yet."

"Yet," Honey emphasized. "Yet."

*     *     *

Several hundred yards directly east of the farmhouse, a flurry of activity marked the restoration of Ten Acres, the Frayne family mansion, and the foundation of Ten Acres, the school for troubled youth. As a huge bulldozer cleared brush at one end of the property, a work crew busily shingled the roof of the main house and another laid the floors.

"I almost can’t believe you got this all started so quickly," Dan Mangan said.

"Money talks," Jim Frayne replied honestly. "The construction company gets a 10% bonus if they finish before October." The two men stood well out of harm’s way, observing the goings-on.

"What’s in October?" Dan asked.

"I just want the house to be ready before the weather turns cold."

"When do you figure you’ll be open for business?"

Jim thought a moment. "I was originally planning on opening a year from now, but maybe, if all goes well, I’ll be able to start after winter thaw. Or at least by April."

Dan nodded. "To get a head start on that summer school traffic?"

Jim shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It’s never too soon to try and help someone."

They turned as Bobby Belden hurried up to them. "Hey, guys! You’ll never believe it!" the tall young man gushed. Like Jim and Dan, he had dressed in a loose, long-sleeved shirt, jeans and ankle-high work boots.

"What?" Jim asked, a tolerant smile on his lips.

"Foreman said if I left them alone for awhile they’d going to let me drive the bulldozer! Isn’t that cool?" Bobby’s big blue eyes darted from one amused expression to the other. "What? You’re acting like it’s not going to happen or something."

"It’s not, Bobby," Dan said kindly. "You can’t drive one of those without a special license and a union membership. I think the foreman just wanted to get rid of you and all your questions."

Bobby’s face fell. "You think?" He looked to Jim for support.

Jim shrugged. "You can be a pest, you know. But only sometimes," he added as Bobby’s face fell further.

"Forget about it," Dan laughed. "If you’re real good, I’ll let you drive the truck on the way back."

Bobby didn’t look impressed. "Thanks, Dan. You’re a real pal."

"Don’t say I never saved your life or nothing," Dan replied easily. Bobby grinned then, and their mutual teasing subsided.

"Seriously, though," Bobby said to Jim. "Are you going to do anything cool to the old place while you’re remodeling?"

"Cool like what?" Jim asked.

"Like secret doors or mysterious passages. Rooms that appear only at certain times of the day. Revolving bookcases. That sort of thing."

Dan and Jim shared a look. "It’s the genes," Jim remarked.

"Definitely," Dan agreed.

"Oh, come on, guys!" Bobby pleaded. "You can’t tell me it never occurred to you to make a few, simple, minor modifications to the original plans!"

"I just want it back the way it was when it was new," Jim told him. "That’s all." He turned as the foreman approached.

"Hey, Mr. Frayne," he said, nodding greetings to the other two. "I can get a team started on that summerhouse whenever you give the word."

"How’s tomorrow, then?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Frayne," the foreman replied. "They’ll be here at six."

"That’ll be fine. I’ll be here around 8 or so to check on their progress."

The foreman agreed and returned to his work crew.

Dan frowned. "I thought you were going to tear the summerhouse down completely." Dan didn’t notice Bobby’s look of shock at the statement.

"I was," Jim said, "It’s decrepit and unsafe. But then I realized that if it weren’t for that summerhouse, I wouldn’t have had a place to hide from my stepfather all those years ago. Besides, I spent quite a few lazy afternoons in that little building. I’d hate to just tear down all those memories." Bobby, his eyes huge, nodded in vehement agreement.

"So you’re going to clear the bushes, too?" Dan turned and tried to picture the landscape. "You’ll get a great view of Crabapple Farm then." Bobby’s face whitened. He turned and tried to peer through the brush.

"I know," Jim said, turning as well. "It’s a nice spot and it should be a terrific view. I’m looking forward to it."

Dan finally noticed Bobby’s agitation. "What’s the matter with you?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing. I’m just glad you’re not tearing down the summerhouse, is all."

Jim frowned. "I didn’t think I ever showed you where it is."

"You didn’t." Bobby kept his eyes on the bushes.

"Then how’d you find it?" Jim pressed.

"I was just out exploring one day and found it. You can find lots of things when nobody’s watching you, you know," Bobby explained.

"How well I know what trouble you can get into when you’re not being watched," Jim remarked. "But what’s the big deal with the summerhouse?"

Bobby began to blush. "There’s no big deal about it."

Dan and Jim shared a look. Dan moved directly in Bobby’s line of sight. "What’s the big deal about the summerhouse?" he repeated more firmly.

Bobby glanced from one to the other. "Swear you won’t tell a word of this to anyone?"

Dan and Jim shared another look, then grinned and nodded. "Sure." "Yeah."

The tall blonde sighed. "The summerhouse is where I…" He got as far as that before twin shrieks of delight sounded from the bushes.

"Bobby Belden, what a surprise!" said one voice.

"Like you didn’t know he was here," said the other.

The trio turned to see Julie and Kathy Lynch emerge from a little-used footpath connecting Crabapple Farm with Ten Acres. Still dressed in their party clothes, they brushed leaves from their knit skirts and pulled twigs from their dark hair before approaching them. They exchanged polite greetings while Julie hooked her arm through Bobby’s and said, "Why don’t you show me all the progress?"

Bobby didn’t look too pleased to be the focus of the girl’s attention. He carefully disengaged his arm as he told her, "Look, Julie, it’s not really safe to go wandering around without a safety helmet on."

"You’re not wearing one," Kathy pointed out.

"That’s beside the point–"

"That’s because you have no brain to be hurt if something hit your head," Kathy continued as if Bobby hadn’t spoken.

"Katharina!" Julie reprimanded her sister. "Be nice!" Kathy just rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I heard about your blue ribbon at the county-wide horse show last month," Jim said. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Kathy smiled. "But the horse really does most of the work."

Julie pulled Bobby off to one side. "We just came from your place. The shower was so wonderful!"

"That’s great," Bobby said unemotionally. "I was worried."

Julie looked hurt for a moment, but rallied herself. "I just meant it was a nice party and a really great way to start off the ‘wedding mania’."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just that the next few weeks are going to be very busy around your place, what with tuxedo fittings and rehearsals and parties and dinners and all that. If you want to get away from all that wedding nonsense, don’t forget our house, okay? The twins have declared it a wedding-free zone."

When one of the two pairs of Lynch twins referred to ‘the twins’, they meant all four of them, so Bobby knew Terry and Larry were just as sick of the wedding hysteria as he had become. "I may just take you up on that," Bobby said, grimacing.

"That’s wonderful!" Julie gushed.

Meanwhile, Kathy had peppered Jim with questions about the construction. She asked about the framing, the roofing, the plumbing and the drywall. It was clear she had spent some time reading up on the subject of home building and restoration. By the time Julie and Bobby returned to the general conversation, Jim felt as if he’d just been put through the ringer. He was more than glad when Julie suggested Bobby escort the girls home, though he suspected Kathy would have preferred to ask more questions.

As they left, Dan turned to Jim. "You realize what this means, don’t you?"

"That Julie has a major crush on Bobby?"

"Well, that," Dan allowed. "But something more important." He met Jim’s questioning look with a troubled frown. "We still don’t know what happened to Bobby in the summerhouse."

*     *     *

"Doctor Belden to Reception. Doctor Belden to Reception."

As the page came over the Westchester County Hospital PA system, Mart Belden leaned forward over the reception counter. "Couldn’t you please have said ‘stat’?"

"No, sir!" the nurse replied. "Only in an emergency. Now be patient. Dr. Belden will soon be here. He’s very punctual."

"Yeah, yeah," Mart muttered, "I know."

Several minutes passed and Mart was about to have his brother paged again, when a familiar voice said softly to the nurse at the counter, "Did someone page me?"

"I did!" Mart hurried forward. "I didn’t think you’d ever get here."

Brian looked up, recognized his brother, smiled and then looked guilty. "Sorry, Mart, but time’s gotten away from me. Can we reschedule lunch?"

Mart groaned. "Oh, come on, Brian! That’s the fifth time in three weeks! Don’t you eat anymore?"

Brian stepped away from the interested nurse, obviously hanging on every word. In a hushed voice, Brian told his brother, "Let’s not have any disagreements here, okay? The Gossip Grapevine thrives on reporting conflicts among the staff."

"Still the perfectionist, is that it?"

Brian frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You’re still so afraid of making a mistake that you’re not willing to appear human. Lighten up! You’re getting married in four weeks!"

"I know," Brian groaned. "And there’s so much to do before then--"

"Let me help you," Mart interrupted. "I’ll be off for the summer in a week so I can run errands for you, pick up your tux, your present for Honey--"

But Brian hadn’t stopped talking. "--I’ve got to reschedule four surgeries and five consultations, just to make it to Manor House for dinner tonight. The pediatric rotation is about to change, so just as I’ve gotten one group broken in I’m due for the next bunch of ignoramuses--"

"Hold on, there!" Mart finally cut in. "Aren’t you forgetting something? Or should I say, someone?"

"Who?" Brian asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Your fiancée?" Mart prompted.

"You mean Honey?"

"Who else?"

"What about her?"

Mart’s mouth opened and then closed, nonplused. "I don’t believe it. You’re about to pledge the rest of your life to this girl and she’s not even enough of a priority for you to mention her in your list of things to do?"

Brian’s face softened. "You don’t understand, Mart! Honey is my priority! That’s why I’ve got all this stuff to take care of. So that I can take those two weeks off to France and not worry about things here. You’ve got me all wrong--"

"Excuse me, Brian?"

They were interrupted by a soft voice and a pair of expressive green eyes. As Brian turned and said, "Sure, Amy, what’s up?", Mart’s eyes traveled from Amy’s professional-length brown hair to her eyes to her curving figure, not quite hidden beneath her lab coat. Her name tag read: Amy Law. Her left hand read: unmarried.

Mart half listened to the jargon-filled conversation that followed. Instead, he noticed how Brian’s eyes had lit up when Amy interrupted them, and how his brother leaned his head toward Amy as she pointed to something on the patient chart she carried. He then noticed how Amy smiled as Brian complimented her on some deduction or other, and how she clasped his arm just before she turned to leave. She touched him just above the elbow. Mart thought that was significant.

"Who was that?" Mart asked.

Brian, staring after Amy, turned, startled. "Hm? Oh! I’m sorry. That was rude. That was Amy Law. I knew her in med school."

"Oh?" Mart asked without inflection.

"Yeah. She’s a brilliant diagnostician."

Mart nodded. "I see. So, when are we rescheduling? As usual, anytime after school lets out, I’m free."

Brian pulled out his planner and the brothers began searching for a hole in his schedule.

*     *     *

Sidewalk outside Sleepyside Stationery & Supply
(meanwhile)

"Excuse me, Miss, but don’t I know you?"

She turned abruptly at the sudden, but strangely familiar voice. "I beg your pardon?" It took her just a moment, then she immediately recognized the man who had addressed her. He hadn’t grown an inch since she last saw him, his hair had already begun to thin, but his brown eyes still twinkled merrily with mischief. "Shrimpy Davis?" she asked, incredulous.

"I do know you!" Shrimpy threw his arms wide and they embraced. "I heard you were moving back here. How have you been? Do you need any help with moving or anything? I heard you’re renting one of those places out on Glen. Is that right?"

She laughed. "Still the same old Shrimpy. Yes, I moved in yesterday to the old Hartman place. Mrs. Hartman is renting me her garage apartment." She shrugged. "It’s a start, anyway, and she’s real sweet."

A small hand tugged on her jeans impatiently. "Mommy. Can we go now? I’m hungry." A thin little boy half buried his face against his mother’s thigh.

"Hey!" Shrimpy’s face split in a grin. "Is this who I think it is? My word, he’s the spitting image of his father!" He stuck out his hand. "How do you do? I’m Shrimpy!"

The little boy smiled, but didn’t reply. His mother gently admonished him, turning him away from her leg toward Shrimpy. "Say hello properly, Steven. You know how. Shrimpy, may I present Steven? Steven, this is Mr. Davis, a very old friend of your father’s and mine."

Gingerly, Steven extended his hand and Shrimpy took it solemnly in his. "It’s very nice to meet you, Steven. Your father and I were best friends. I hope we can be best friends, too."

Steven nodded. "You knew my dad?"

"Uh-huh. We were in the same club, you know? We did lots of fun things together."

Steven’s face clouded. "You know he’s not here anymore, right?"

Shrimpy glanced up at the woman’s face uncertainly. She calmly nodded back at him. Shrimpy sighed. "Yeah, I know. I was real sad to hear the news. We all were," he said, glancing up once more into the woman’s serene expression. Shrimpy straightened. "I’m real glad you decided to come back. Sleepyside hasn’t been the same since you left, you know, and broke my heart."

"Shrimpy!" the woman laughed. "It’s not like I didn’t give you every opportunity."

He shrugged in reply. "I don’t know about that. Sometimes I think you knew exactly what you were doing, stringing me along until he couldn’t stand it any longer and claimed you."

Her laughter increased. "As if I were an object in a Lost & Found! Honestly, Shrimpy! Les didn’t ‘claim’ me. We got married," she said, regaining her sobriety. "And we were very happy together." She took Steven’s hand in hers and smiled down into the boy’s eyes. "Very happy."

Shrimpy smiled sadly. "I know. I read the letters. The infrequent letters, I might add."

"Shrim-py," she drawled in gentle warning. "We wrote as often as you did."

"I know," he admitted. "I’m just being stupid." He glanced across the street. "Wimpy’s still serves the best burgers on the planet. Want to grab an early dinner?"

"Can we, Mom? Can we? Huh, Mom? Can we? Please?" Steven begged his mother, but she shook her head.

"We’ve got groceries to take home and Mrs. Hartman invited us for goulash," she told him.

Steven’s face twisted in mute disapproval of his dinner plans.

"You’ll like Mrs. Hartman’s goulash," Shrimpy said. "It’s almost even better than a Wimpy burger."

"Oh, dear," she said. "I wish I could invite you, but this being our first invitation, I don’t know the etiquette about inviting you along."

"That’s all right," Shrimpy held up a hand. "I’ve been eating dinner with Lt. Molinson, believe it or not, every Tuesday for three years now. I think I can handle it one more time."

"There’s a base around here?" Steven asked suddenly. "I didn’t see one. Why aren’t we living on the base, Mom?"

"Lt. Molinson is a policeman, not a soldier, and I already told you, Steven," she replied with a smile. "We won’t live on bases anymore. We’re living on a farm now and it’s going to be much nicer. You’ll go to school in the fall. The same school your father and Shrimpy here and I went to, in fact. You’ll love it."

"You will," Shrimpy confirmed. "Sleepyside is a great place to grow up in. And grow old in," he said to the woman. "I hope you stick around a long time."

"I will. And thank you, Shrimpy. It’s great to see a familiar face again." She turned as if to leave, then stopped suddenly. "By the way, do you still work at Crimper’s?"

Shrimpy drew himself up straight. "I most certainly do. You’re looking at the youngest person to ever be promoted to Floor Manager! Why?"

She sighed. "I’ll probably need a job as soon as possible. I want to start my party-planning business, but that won’t pay off for a while, unless I get something high-profile and fast. I don’t want to use up all of Les’s savings or rely on his pension too heavily, you know?" She rooted suddenly through her purse, then held out a white business card and handed it to him. "I just picked these up. You’re the first to see them."

Shrimpy took the card, but didn’t look at it. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. "Well, there might be a opening in Furniture," he said after a moment, "I’ll check and be sure. Come by the store Thursday. That’s my next shift. I’ll tell the boss you’ll be by." He gestured his farewell with the card. She nodded, smiled, took the little boy’s hand and carefully crossed the street to her car.

As Shrimpy watched her settle the little guy into the back seat of her beat-up, dark green Chevrolet, he glanced at the card she’d handed him. It read:

Ruth Kettner-Mundy
Parties, Weddings, All Occasions
Let me worry! You have fun!

He smiled. It was so good to see her again!

*     *     *

Anne Maypenny’s house, Glen Road
Thursday evening
30 days to go

"Typical This is just so typical "

Startled by the sudden statement and amused by the overly-disgusted tone, Diana turned to Anne and asked, "What is?"

"This is. " Anne gestured to encompass the entire scene. Diana sat on one of the outdoor lounge chairs in Anne’s back yard. Anne slumped casually on her steel-framed-but-otherwise-wooden glider. Both women kept well out of the sunlight, though with the day rapidly fading into a starlit night, that was becoming a moot objective. A semi-circle of empty lawn chairs and benches rounded out the immediate vicinity.

Beyond, spread out across Anne's back yard, a softball game neared its conclusion. Regan, Brian, Dan, Bobby, Larry and Julie faced off against Jim, Trixie, Terry, Kathy, Mart and Thomas Thorne, Diana' s British fiancé. Currently, Regan's team was up to bat and down by one run in the bottom of the ninth. As Anne and Diana watched, Bobby stepped up to the plate.

"Come on, Bobby!" Julie shouted from the ‘dugout’, along Anne’s garden shed. "You can do it! Hit it out of the yard!"

Anne laughed. "That isn't too hard," she snickered aside to Diana, "considering the acreage." Diana smiled in agreement.

Jim, pitching, checked the field. Somehow, Larry had managed to get a double off him and now he was threatening to steal third. Jim grinned, shaking his head. "Forget it, Lynch! I'm wise to you!" he called to the teenager.

Sulkily, Larry stepped closer to the feed bag currently serving as second plate. Mart, doubling as second and short, catcalled Bobby. Jim faced home plate once more, checked Honey, pulling double duty as catcher and umpire for both teams, then wound up and released a perfect underhand strike.

At least, Honey called it a strike.

Scowling, Bobby kicked at the dirt surrounding home plate, actually the top of a fruit crate. Honey easily tossed the ball back to Jim, then encouraged her future brother-in-law with a smile. "You can do it, Bobby. You're the best player out here."

Bobby glanced out to left field, actually Anne's north-most property line, and pointed directly at Kathy Lynch. "The next one's going right there!" he shouted, heedless of the opposition's amusement. Kathy scowled right back at him, punching her fist into her glove.

Jim checked Larry, then turned and pitched another strike. Bobby swung hard for it and missed. Biting his lip in frustration, he let Honey toss the ball back to Jim, then returned to his batting position. Out in right field, Kathy just grinned.

"So, what's typical? You haven't said," Diana mentioned, her eyes still focused on the drama at home plate.

"Oh," Anne responded. "That you and I make plans for a double date cookout thing, and suddenly I'm inviting the entire neighborhood. We no sooner finish eating before the guys challenge each other to a physical contest. It happens every single time we get--WAY TO GO, BOBBY!" Anne leapt to her feet and cheered as Bobby finally connected bat to ball, sending the fat softball soaring into the woods.

As Jim groaned in frustration, Bobby easily jogged the bases. When he reached home, his teammates, congratulating Larry's run, turned to sweep Bobby into a group celebratory hug.

"Go Team! Go Team! Go Team!" they chanted, jumping up and down in unison.

"Um, hey, guys?" Anne finally broke into their celebration "Guys? My ball?"

Regan turned, a huge smile on his face, and swept Anne into his arms, picking her up and swinging her in a circle. "We came from behind and won! Isn't that great?"

Anne clung to Regan's shoulders until he set her on her feet. "But, what about mmmm--!" she tried again, but he kissed her, stopping her question. When he broke off the kiss with a laugh, she stared up at him, a dazed look in her eyes. She turned to the rest of the crowd and called out, "That’s it! Party’s over! Everyone – go home!" Regan just shook his head with a smile and hugged her tight once more.

Jim's team, dejected they had lost by one run, stood nearby, licking their wounds. Jim spoke up first, "Great game, guys. Now, can you help us find the ball?"

Dan grinned, walked over to Jim and they shook hands. "Great game. I'm sure your luck will change eventually."

Jim just shook his head, fighting a grin. "Get over yourself."

Julie Lynch had taken the opportunity of the group hug to latch herself onto Bobby's waist. "You were fabulous, Bobby! You're such a good athlete!"

"Thanks, Julie," Bobby said weakly, trying to disengage the fifteen-year-old from him. "It was a good effort all the way around."

Kathy sauntered up to the pair, an odd glint in her eyes. "Forget it, Jule," she addressed her sister. "He's a college man now and way too old for you."

"Good game, Kathy," Bobby said.

"Yeah, whatever," Kathy agreed. "I noticed you never hit the ball out to me once. That fly ball went straight over right center, though."

"Hey, he was just being smart," Larry broke in, "hitting the ball to the guy who’s never played real baseball before."

Thomas Thorne, overhearing, just shook his head. "What you Yanks call ‘baseball’ is nothing more than a simple corruption of Cricket. Cricket, of course, is the sport of kings."

"I thought that was polo?" Anne asked innocently, her arms wrapped around Regan’s waist.

Diana stepped between Anne and Thomas and kissed him on his cheek. "Well, I thought you did just fine," she said, smiling up into his piercing green eyes and ruffling his thick blond hair.

"Alas, darling," Thomas remarked, patting her cheek with one elegant finger, "I lost the game. Therefore, I did not do ‘just fine’. I failed. That’s perhaps too fine a distinction to make, however."

A confused frown puckered Diana’s forehead, but she smiled anyway and kissed Thomas once more. After she pulled away, Thomas moved to shake Mart’s hand, standing nearby. "Thanks for encouraging me to play," he said. "Perhaps I can return the favor by teaching you football?"

Mart frowned. "I know how to play foot- oh!" he said as realization dawned. "You mean soccer."

Thomas sighed. "Yes, ‘soccer’. I suppose ‘when in Rome’ and all that. How about it?"

Mart shrugged. "Sure. I like soccer."

"Great!" Thomas smiled. "I’ll look forward to it."

Dan approached Trixie. "Great game, Trixie," he offered.

"Your team cheats." Trixie glared at him, almost daring him to get angry or upset.

Instead, Dan just laughed. "You’ll have to prove it, Detective."

"Oh, please," she groaned in reply. "Jim’s right. Get over yourself. It was just luck, you know."

"I’ve never denied I’m an incredibly lucky person," Dan agreed, one large tanned hand over his heart, looking straight into her eyes as he uttered every word. He watched, pleased, as Trixie slowly blushed and looked away.

"You devil," she cursed him, but Dan could tell she wasn’t even slightly upset.

"So, who’s going to find my softball?" Anne said, dragging the topic back to her missing sports equipment.

Sighing en masse, the crowd of fifteen turned to face the woods across Anne’s back yard, darkening with the approaching night. Fireflies began to dance across the gently sloping lawn. An early hoot owl called in the distance. Behind them, a mouse or a chipmunk could be heard rustling through the underbrush. The tires of a passing car hissed on faraway Glen Road. Above them, the Milky Way struggled to appear, a thick swatch of cotton against an otherwise velvet sky.

The entire world was at peace.

Even the missing softball.

BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP!

Brian cursed, pulling his pager from his shorts pocket. He glanced at the number. Without looking up, he asked, "Anne? Can I use your phone a moment? Again?"

"Of course, Brian. You don’t need to ask," she replied.

"Is it the hospital again?" Honey asked, slightly irritated. The hospital had paged him four times already that evening.

"Of course it is," Brian answered, striding purposefully toward the back porch of Anne’s farmhouse.

Honey, stung by his snappish reply, muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Can’t you tell them to call someone else?"

As he pulled open the screened door, Brian heard her words. He stopped, turned and said, "It’s my job, Honey. You’d better get used to it."

Stifling a hasty reply, Honey bowed her head. Seeking to draw attention from her best friend, Trixie announced her intention to search for the softball before it got much later. After a quick round-up of flashlights from the garden shed and the cars, most of the group split up and set out to search the woods while the others began to clean up from the barbecue and the softball game.

Searching alone, Jim found the softball rather easily. A small boy with thick, curly black hair had found it for him, in fact. The little boy stood in a small clearing, tossing the ball high up into the air and then trying to catch it. The sound of the ball striking the ground, bouncing and rolling over exposed tree roots was what first attracted Jim to that direction.

"Hello there," Jim said when he entered the clearing. "What are you doing?" He judged the little boy to be about eight years old, but quite thin and pale.

Startled green eyes jumped up as Jim’s presence registered in the little boy’s mind. "Nothing."

Jim smiled, hoping to reassure the little guy. "I think I lost that softball," he began. "Did you find it in the woods or is that your own?" As the little boy hesitated to reply, Jim continued. "I only ask because I can’t tell from this distance if it’s the one I’m looking for or not."

The little boy looked carefully at the softball and turned it over in his hands. He shrugged. "I don’t know. I found it. But it might not be yours."

"Do you mind if I take a look at it? If it’s not the one I’m looking for, I’ll give it right back. I promise." Jim tried to look and sound honest.

The little boy didn’t look up. "You’re a stranger. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers."

"That’s easily fixed," Jim replied, holding out his hand. "My name’s Jim. What’s yours?"

He still didn’t look up. "Mom says that’s just a sneaky way to get around the rules."

Jim chuckled. "Well, now, your mom sounds like a smart lady. But what can I do to get you to let me see that softball?"

The little boy shrugged. "I don’t know." He looked about to say something more, but then they both heard a worried shout from the direction of Glen Road: "Steven! Where are you?"

"Uh-oh," the little boy said. "That’s my mom."

Jim felt relieved. Maybe now he could get the boy to give him the softball. He was about to ask for it again when the little boy took off running, but not in the direction of the shout. "What the--?" Jim blurted, then chased after him.

Knowing the woods as well as he did, and able to track a bee through a rose garden, Jim easily kept up with the little boy, though he wondered why he was running from his mother. Taking a side path, he passed the little guy and then cut through the bushes. Suddenly appearing in the little boy’s way, Jim was able to scare him enough to run back toward the woman still frantically calling "Steven! Where are you?"

In a matter of minutes, Steven had plowed straight into the calling woman, Jim two steps behind. Puffing slightly from the sudden exertion, Jim didn’t immediately acknowledge the woman now fiercely hugging the little boy. As she questioned Steven about his state of mind and his health, Jim took a good look at her.

The woman was average height, about 5’ 6" or so, he estimated. She had long, straight lemon-yellow hair, a wide forehead and a thick pair of glasses. The woman straightened, obviously just noticing Jim’s appearance. "Excuse me! I didn’t see you there for a moment," she said.

It suddenly occurred to Jim that it might appear as if he were chasing her son for nefarious purposes. "I hope you don’t think--" he began.

"Think what, Jim?" she said suddenly, then broke off, embarrassed. "I’m sorry. I recognized you, is all. I’m sure you don’t remember me."

Then, just as suddenly, Jim did remember her. "You’re Ruthie Kettner!" He stepped forward. "Of course I remember you!"

She flushed, pleased. "I’m surprised and flattered that you do. But it’s Kettner-Mundy, now." She glanced down at the little boy. "May I present Steven Kettner-Mundy? Steven, this is Mr. Wheeler."

"He said his name was ‘Jim’," Steven contradicted.

"It’s Mr. Wheeler to you," Ruth corrected him firmly.

"Actually, it’s ‘Frayne’. But he can call me ‘Jim’. I don’t mind," he said.

"Really? I thought you had it legally changed or something."

"No," he replied. "I was only a Wheeler when it was convenient. You know, for family stuff and like that. Legally, I was always Frayne. It was easier than changing it on everything."

Ruth nodded. "Believe me. I know all about changing your name! First mine was Robertson, then my mom remarried when I was five and it was Kettner. Then I got married and it became Mundy for about a month and then it was Kettner-Mundy." She laughed. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for a man to change his name in the US Army?"

Jim smiled. "I can only imagine. How is Lester, by the way?"

Ruth’s laughter faded. "He’s much better, I’m sure." With a careful glance to an equally sober-faced Steven, she said gently, "He’s with the angels now."

"I’m sorry," Jim said honestly. "I hadn’t heard." Concern he might have inadvertently dredged up a painful memory creased his brow.

"That’s okay," Ruth smiled kindly. "It’s not a secret, but I’m sure you can understand why I don’t publicize it, either." She took a deep breath. "He tried to stop a fight in a bar last New Year’s Eve. Some drunk pulled a gun and it was all over."

"Daddy died saving someone’s life," said Steven.

Jim crouched down to the little boy’s eye level. "Your daddy was a good man. I knew him when he lived here. I was proud to call him my friend, though I wished I knew him better than I did." Jim glanced up at Ruth. "He died a hero."

"It’s how he chose to live, too," Ruth agreed, then shook loose her reverie. "But enough of that. Steven is late for his date with the bathtub and I’ve got some email to answer."

"You’re on the net?" Jim asked, standing.

Ruth nodded. "Yeah. I’m at ‘partyplans@ij.net’."

"‘partyplans’?" he asked.

"It’s the business I hope to get started here. I’m a party planner. You know, bar mitzvahs, weddings, graduation parties. Around here, I expect I’ll do a lot of horse-theme events, but those are fun," she explained. "I’d give you a card, but I didn’t even bring my purse when I came out here, looking for my little runaway."

"Does he do this often?" Jim asked.

"Oh, yes," Ruth replied. "Steven just hates taking baths! He’ll do anything to avoid them. He’s never gone quite so far, though. I think not being on the base has him a little over-excited."

"So you live nearby?" he asked. When she nodded, he asked, "Where?"

"Mrs. Hartman’s got a real nice garage apartment. It’s a small two-bedroom, one bath and a full kitchen. It’s perfect for the two of us, especially since she’ll let me run my business out of the garage for now."

Jim nodded admiringly. "That sounds really great, Ruth. You’ll have to drop by Ten Acres sometime and see what’s been going on there." At her questioning look, he told her about his restoration of the old manor house and his plans to build a special school there as well.

"That sounds wonderful," Ruth said. "I know Steven would adore going to a school like that, that taught him about practical things as well as math and science and social studies!"

"I hate social studies!" Steven groused. "It’s boring!"

"I’m sorry, Jim, but it is getting late and I do need to give him his bath." Ruth held out her hand. As Jim took it in his, she said, "It was real nice running into you like this. I think I will come on down to Ten Acres and take you up on that offer of a tour and a lemonade."

"I look forward to it," Jim said. "By the way. Steven?" The little boy looked up at him. "That is the softball I was looking for."

Steven grinned, then handed the ball to Jim. "I know. But maybe we could play sometime?"

Jim grinned back and tossed the ball a few inches into the air and caught it. "Count on it." He smiled at Ruth. "Good night." To Steven, he said, "It was nice to meet you."

Ruth took Steven by the hand and led him toward Glen Road, calling out her own goodbye to Jim. As they passed from view, Jim heard the rustle of Trixie and Bobby as they stumbled into the clearing, Dan just a step behind.

"Did you find it?" Trixie asked.

"Right here," Jim replied.

"Great!" Bobby exclaimed. "That means we can finally all get some ice cream! Anne said she’d treat if we found the ball."

As Jim laughed, he noticed Dan looking strangely at him. "What’s wrong?" he asked the dark-haired man.

"Nothing," Dan replied. "Everything’s fine, I guess."

"Well, come on, then," Jim urged. "I could go for some Rocky Road." He led the way out of the clearing back toward Anne’s house.

"Rum Raisin for me," Bobby said, following along behind.

"I’ve always been partial to Strawberry," Trixie said thoughtfully. "I don’t know why."

"I’ll remember that," Dan grinned. "But for me, Mint Chocolate Chip. My mother would buy that for us every Sunday on our way home from Mass. It always makes me happy."

"Hm," Trixie said, winking up at Dan. "I’ll have to remember that." Hand in hand, they walked back to the farmhouse.

Chapter Two

Saturday afternoon, 28 days to go

"Oh! My! God! You have GOT to be joking!" "You expect me to wear this?" "I’m not sure Brian’s the type…" "Now this I think I could get into…" "Yes, but, how am I going to get over the embarrassment at even thinking of suggesting something like that?"

Honey Wheeler lay flat on her bed, nursing a nervous headache, reviewing the afternoon, her shower gifts and her reaction to each. Most of that stuff, she knew, she would never in a million years have the courage to ever look at again, much less suggest to Brian that they try it. Some of it, however, she thought she might keep long enough in case her future husband declared an interest. What surprised her were the few items that actually peaked her curiosity.

Anne, Diana and Trixie, however, seemed quite at ease discussing the gifts as they sorted through the bounty. Trixie had invited over twenty of Honey’s friends and acquaintances, from high school girls she had kept in touch with to friends in the Merchant’s Association of Sleepyside and neighbors in their apartment complex. Once the assembled guests had left, Honey had retreated to her room and the trio followed, unwilling to let their friend escape their company.

Anne held up a clingy white silk nightgown. It had spaghetti straps, a lace bodice and a slit up the side. She turned to Honey’s full-length mirror and held the gown against her body, judging the effect. "What do you think, Diana? Is it me?"

Diana laughed. "No. It’s too demure. This is more your style." She tossed a short black and scarlet see-through baby-doll at her friend.

Anne tossed her a wry look. "What are you trying to say, Diana? That I’m not pure?"

"Well," Trixie replied for her, "if the shoe no longer fits, why keep it in your closet?"

While Diana dissolved in laughter, Anne fought valiantly to maintain her dignity. "Just because Bill and I…" she began. "Just because we… I… Oh, forget it." She handed the white negligee to Diana and held the black and scarlet fabric in front of her. "I guess black is more my color."

"See?" Diana grinned.

Trixie took the nightgowns and folded them into one of the suitcases that Honey planned to take with her on her honeymoon. She debated including some of the other gifts, like the body paint. "What do you think, Honey? Should I put this in, too? Or do you think you’ll be wanting to save it to look forward to when you get home?"

Honey groaned, rolled over and buried her head in her pillow. "I can’t think about that. How can you? I mean, this is your brother we’re talking about!"

"I know," Trixie admitted. "And a few years ago, even a few months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to consider my brother having sex, but now, well." She shrugged. "Give me some credit. I got over it."

"Oh. Wonderful." Honey rolled back onto her back and stared up at her ceiling fan.

"So, are you taking the body paint or not?" Anne asked.

"Not, I guess," Honey replied. "But the bubble bath would be nice."

"It’s already in there," Trixie confirmed.

"You know, that’s really good stuff," Diana said. "They have that brand in England. It leaves your skin really soft and the fragrance isn’t too strong, either."

"So, do you and Thomas, then, indulge in the bubbly?" Anne snickered lightly.

Diana frowned. "No, for some reason, Thomas doesn’t like bathing with me. I think it’s a European thing."

"It could just be a Thomas thing," Trixie said mildly. "You know, he’s not really what I would have pictured for you."

"No?"

Anne sighed. "I’d have to agree. I always thought you’d be with someone more like, well…" She glanced at Trixie. "More fun, I guess."

"Thomas is fun. He’s lots of fun," Diana defended.

"We’re sure he is," Trixie agreed hastily. "He’s probably just shy or something, being around so many strangers who know you so well we speak in shorthand. We’d probably intimidate anyone new."

Diana sucked in her lower lip in a worried frown. "Do you think it was awful of me to leave him alone this afternoon to come to the party?"

"You left him alone?" Anne repeated. "I thought your dad was taking him golfing or something."

"He was supposed to," Diana said. "But then when we were all out at the Club for dinner last night, they took a brief tour and Thomas decided the course wasn’t suitable for his ‘skill level’, so he canceled."

Both Trixie and Anne looked surprised at that. Even Honey turned her head to stare at Diana. "He actually said that to your dad?" Honey asked.

Diana shrugged. "Well, in a much nicer way, of course. I mean, it sounds really awful when I say it, but he has a way of saying things that seem real sweet but kind of aren’t, if you think about them later. Which is probably a mistake." Her frown deepened as she considered her own words.

Anne idly picked up another of Honey’s bridal shower gifts, a gift package of edible underwear, and said mildly, "He does this often?"

Diana sank onto the edge of Honey’s bed. "No. Not really. At least, I don’t think so." She smiled hopefully. "He’s really sweet to me when we’re alone. It’s just when we’re around other people that he’s, well, more of a… oh, what’s the word?"

"Jerk?" Trixie offered.

"Idiot?" Anne supplied.

"Typical man who thinks he can run a woman’s life just because they’re engaged?" Honey suggested.

Three sets of eyes turned toward Honey. "You want to explain that?" Anne asked.

"Not really," Honey admitted. "I’m just feeling this headache real bad."

"Hasn’t the aspirin helped yet?" Trixie asked. "You want me to bring you some more?"

"I’ll be fine," Honey assured her. "But thanks. It’s just this day and– and everything."

Diana picked up another of Honey’s shower gifts and began paging through the well-illustrated book. She stopped on a particular page. "You know, that actually looks almost painful."

Anne peered over Diana’s shoulder. "You’re right, it does."

"Let me see that." Trixie sat next to Diana. "Ouch!"

Diana flipped to another page. "Now that looks like fun!"

"It is," Anne agreed. "But that one," she pointed to an accompanying illustration, "takes practice." She elbowed Diana. "Not that practice isn’t worth it."

Almost unwillingly, Honey sat up and moved to sit behind Diana, positioning herself so she could see between Anne’s and Diana’s shoulders. They continued flipping the pages, discussing the drawings and comparing experiences, Honey trying to glean as much information as she could without actually asking for specifics. After a few moments, she noticed Trixie had become silent as well, leaving the bulk of the conversation to Anne and Diana.

Several minutes later, those two women realized they now monopolized the conversation by default. They began to giggle. "Listen to us go on!" Diana laughed. "You’d think we were ‘professionals’ or something!"

"Well," Anne said slyly, "you are the only one of us to actually get paid for sex."

"Oh, you!" Diana said, rolling her eyes. "Like that really counts. One scene in one movie."

"One love scene, you mean," Anne smiled.

"With one really gorgeous Frenchman, no less!" Trixie joined in the teasing.

"Ugh!" Diana wrinkled his nose. "He may look good onscreen, but in person he’s a dog. Always after the female extras, eats tons of garlic and onions, and he doesn’t know how to kiss worth salt."

"Poor baby," Anne commiserated.

"Well, it is awful!" Diana protested. "It’s not at all romantic, you know, to film a love scene. There’s all these people standing around, just outside camera range. Makeup, lighting, sound guys, the cameras, the director, the script person, the prop people. And every time they call ‘cut’, all these people just rush in and fix things and then they scurry away and they call ‘action’ and then you have to pretend that nothing’s changed from before they called ‘cut’ and– and–" she paused, flustered. "It’s just really awful all the way around."

"Guess so," Trixie agreed. "I’d hate to think of having an audience every time Dan kissed me or anything."

"Ain’t it the truth!" Anne nodded.

"An audience?" Honey whispered. "Oh, no!"

"What’s wrong?" Trixie asked, watching as her best friend flung herself backwards onto her bed in despair.

"Now I’m going to imagine an audience! Watching me! As if I weren’t embarrassed or nervous enough about it!" Honey moaned, distressed.

Diana closed the book and she, Anne, and Trixie, kneeling or sitting cross-legged on the bed, moved to comfort Honey, "You’re nervous about the wedding night?" Anne guessed.

Honey nodded, almost wailing, "I’ve never even come close!"

"It’s not so bad," Diana said soothingly.

"Speak for yourself," Anne contradicted. "My first time was the worst, most horrible, physically painful experience of my life. I’d say emotionally painful, too, except that was that day in Manor House when I confronted the Langs." She noticed Honey’s anguish double. "Oh, sorry," Anne apologized.

"Mine was just disappointing," Trixie said slowly. She took a deep breath. "What say we give Honey the benefit of our experience and maybe she won’t be so scared?"

They agreed. One by one, they shared their experiences. As the hour passed, Honey began to see that, , while for each woman the experience was different, the enjoyment each felt was in direct proportion to the love each woman held for the man in question.

Maybe, Honey thought, it won’t be so terrible…

*     *     *

Meanwhile…

How bad could it be? she wondered. He did say to just come over. He did seem sincere. And one thing about Jim Wheeler, that is, Frayne, is that he always said what he meant. But then again, maybe he just wants to see Steven. She chuckled. Good thing I brought him, then!

"What’s funny, Mommy?"

"Nothing, honey," Ruth replied. "I’m just happy. It’s a beautiful day and I start work on Monday morning."

"Why do you have to work again?"

"Because I need to make some money," she told him. "I also hope to make some contacts and, hopefully, get some party work."

"You mean like the contacts in your eyes? You want to make those kind?" He looked up at her with a puzzled frown.

Ruth told herself she had worn her contacts that day so that she could also wear her sunglasses, not because Lester had always told her that her eyes were her best feature and she shouldn’t hide them. She told herself that wearing a loose, clingy tank top and short-shorts was just due to the midday heat and that pulling her hair off her neck into a long ponytail was just to keep herself as cool as possible and not for any other reason. But Steven had asked her a question. She laughed. "No, not those kind of contacts. I mean I hope to meet some people who maybe know some people who need a party planned for them."

"Oh."

They had been walking for fifteen minutes now, along Glen Road toward Ten Acres. Every five feet or so, Steven would run up close to the tree and brush line and look in, claiming to see Robin Hood or Will Scarlet hiding in the trees. At each pretend sighting, Ruth smiled tolerantly and waited patiently for the boy to return to her side.

She felt her husband’s loss keenly. If Lester were here, she knew, he would somehow be able to tap into Steven’s natural exuberance and curiosity. Somehow, he would manage to curb Steven’s rebellious tendencies while encouraging the boy’s independence. Somehow, Lester would have been able to do the things Ruth found so difficult to handle herself.

A boy needs a father, she heard her mother’s voice repeat. A woman just can’t do it all on her own.

"Come on, Steven," Ruth finally said after the fifth reported sighting of a Merry Man. "Let’s get there sometime today, all right?"

Steven’s face fell, but he obediently fell into step alongside her. "Sorry, Mom."

"I only mean that you have all summer to explore the woods, as long as you stay off the posted property, all right?"

"What’s ‘posted property’?"

Ruth pointed out a NO TRESPASSING sign nailed into a tree. "That means no one is allowed to go in there."

"But I saw someone in there," Steven insisted. "I did! Why is he allowed? Or doesn’t he know the rules?"

"Some people are allowed," Ruth explained. "But they know who they are. You’re not one of those people. I just don’t want you getting into trouble, okay?"

"Okay," Steven said, disappointment dripping from his mouth.

They walked on in silence. A moment or two further down the road and the distant rumbling they had previously ignored grew in volume until Ruth recognized the sound of a chainsaw. They had reached the driveway for Ten Acres.

A billboard announcing the school’s anticipated late Spring opening stood proudly on the roadside, next to the selection of posted permits the village required. Hesitantly, Ruth took Steven’s hand in hers and ventured up the driveway toward the construction site. What she saw impressed and amazed her.

She had seen the mansion only on TV, the first time when an airplane crashed into the preserve and the pilot bailed out directly over the old house. A news crew had been dispatched to cover the story. Ruth vividly remembered the amused reporter going on about the old legend of a ‘miser’s fortune’ buried somewhere on the property. Like most people in town, she had dismissed the story as wishful thinking while still holding out a secret hope it might be true. Then, when the truth came out, that old Mr. Frayne not only had a fortune but a missing heir, she found herself avidly reading all the newspaper and magazine coverage, as well as watching the television reports.

The second time was when the old mansion went up in flames one hot summer night. She remembered thinking the fortune had probably burned up, too. At least, that was popular opinion among the Villagers. Then all the facts came out and when Jim Frayne, missing heir, turned up in school, adopted by the wealthy Wheelers, living on Glen Road, and befriended by the Belden kids, it all seemed too perfect for words. She remembered wondering why exciting and wonderful things never happened to her.

Ruth could easily recall the feelings of isolation and loneliness that characterized most of her teenage years. Until the Miss Lonelyheart column appeared in the school paper, that was, and she sent in a letter and got her reply. It was difficult to get up the nerve to talk to people, but when she realized that Shrimpy, Lester and Marvin Easton were also lonely, it got easier. The quartet formed a club, The Third Hand Gang. Their stated purpose was to lend a hand to anyone who needed one. It was through the Gang’s efforts that Ruth realized her talent for organization and her gift for throwing parties. The success of her Senior Prom was due mostly to her efforts.

Once she left high school, Ruth feared she would sink back into a morass of isolation, but she didn’t. Her friendships with Marvin, Shrimpy and Lester stayed strong. Lester joined the Army and, on one of his few leaves, asked her to marry him. Ruth grinned, remembering how happy she had felt, planning her own wedding. Then Steven came along…

"Is this it, Mommy?"

Steven’s voice broke her from her reverie. She smiled down at him. "Yes, it is. Be careful, though. We don’t want to get in anyone’s way, all right? One of us could get hurt."

"I’ll be careful," Steven promised.

Together, they stared at the massive construction project. At least 10 well-traveled vehicles, obviously belonging to the tradesmen, crowded near the southern end of the cleared land. At least twice as many workers crawled over the roof and moved across the grass-less ground. Several times she saw workers inside the framed-in house as they passed in front of the windows.

Ruth didn’t see Jim, though. She did see an older man with graying hair consulting a blueprint. She took Steven firmly by the hand and approached him. He was saying something to a younger man in jeans and a paint-splashed T-shirt. She waited for them to finish.

"I don’t care what you think you can or can’t do," the older man was saying. "I told Frayne he’d get this by October. The whole thing. Now you find some way to level that ground. Use a spoon if you have to, but get it done!"

The younger man cursed, noticed Ruth and Steven overhear him, scowled and stalked away. The older man turned, startled. "Can I help you?"

Ruth smiled. "I think so. Is Jim Frayne around here? I was looking for him."

"He expecting you?" The man’s tone made it clear he found it unlikely to be the case.

"Not exactly, but--" she began.

"He ain’t here. Try up at the house." The man returned to his plans.

"This house?" Ruth asked, uncertain.

The man huffed, stuffed the plans under his arm and puffed at her, "Don’t go near this house. It’s a construction site. I mean the Manor House. Up that way." He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the Wheeler property. "Or are you going to stand around here all day?"

Ruth felt her spine stiffen. "No, of course not. We’ll be on our way, then. Thank you for your time." She turned, still gripping Steven’s hand, and began walking back to Glen Road.

"Where are we going now, Mommy?" Steven asked.

"Back home," she replied. "Jim isn’t here right now." But even as she spoke, a green pickup truck turned up the drive toward them. Ruth stopped, unsure of just where the truck would be parking. As it neared her, she recognized Jim in the passenger seat. The truck turned and parked several feet in front of her, blocking her path.

Jim got out of the truck, a broad smile on his face. "Ruth! Don’t tell me you’re leaving already! I just got here!" He strode forward then stopped, planting his fists on his hips in mock indignation.

"Well, we got here and you weren’t here so we were going to come back another time and-and-and-" She stopped speaking. The driver of the truck had gotten out and was approaching the group. She felt herself blush.

"Hi, Ruthie," he said quietly.

"Hello, Dan," she replied, just as quietly.

Dan held out his hand and she clasped it, hesitating only slightly. Then Dan swiftly dipped his head and kissed her on the cheek. "You look great," he told her. "Jim told us you were back in town. I was real sorry to hear about Lester. We all were."

"Thank you. May I introduce you to Steven Kettner-Mundy? Steven, this is Mr. Mangan." She smiled as Steven shook hands in his best grown-up manner.

"Since you’re here now," Steven said to Jim, "does that mean we can stay and look around?"

Ruth watched Jim carefully for signs of deception, but found none as he replied, "Of course it does! I’m glad you two found time to drop by. Dan and I were just out getting some lunch or we’d have been here."

"Oh?" Ruth turned to Dan. "You’re in on this restoration project, too?"

Dan grinned. "Oh, no. I just like to watch people spend money." He laughed at Jim’s sour look. "Actually," Dan continued, "I don’t have to work until three this afternoon."

"Where do you work?" Ruth asked politely.

"Mostly I work there." Dan gestured to the side of the pickup where the words ‘Sleepyside Stables, W. R. Regan, Proprietor’ were spelled out in neat white letters.

Ruth frowned a moment, then said, "Oh! That’s your uncle! I saw an ad for riding lessons at the stables this morning up in Mr. Lytell’s store."

"Oh?" Jim asked. "Were you thinking of learning to ride?"

"Oh, not me," Ruth demurred. "Horses terrify me. But I thought Steven might like to learn. If I can keep him away from the straw, that is."

"What’s wrong with straw?" Jim asked.

"He’s allergic," Ruth explained. "Actually, there isn’t much Steven isn’t allergic to. Crabgrass, pollen, dust, nuts, synthetic clothing, silver, strawberries, chocolate, the caramel coloring in most sodas, insect bites, milk… Did I leave anything out?"

"You forgot chalk, paraffin and furniture cleaner," Steven reminded her.

"And it seems there’s always something new," Ruth continued. "He gets severe asthma attacks. Sometimes, he spends days in the hospital for them."

"That’s terrible!" Dan said softly.

"No kidding!" Jim agreed, crouching down to face Steven eye-to-eye. "Sounds like a tough way to grow up."

Steven nodded. "I hate it."

Ruth smiled, but her forehead wrinkled in a frown. "The doctors assure us he’ll grow out of it. After all, Les had the same allergies when he was a boy, and he grew out of all of them just fine. I’m confident Steven will, too."

Dan crouched beside Jim and smiled at Steven. "Hey, if your old man could do it, so can you. So, what do you say. You want to learn to ride a horse?"

Steven grinned. "Do I ever! Can I learn today?"

Dan glanced up at Ruth. "Well, that depends on your mother." He stood. "And my uncle’s schedule. He’s the teacher. I handle the staff." He glanced at Jim. "Unless Jim here wants to volunteer."

"Oh, no," Ruth hastened to assure them both. "I couldn’t impose, not when you’ve obviously got so much on your mind with Ten Acres!"

"It’s no trouble at all," Jim replied. "I’d be happy to do it. I’ll call and set the whole thing up with Regan. We can start Monday. How’s that?"

"I’m sorry. I start work at Crimper’s on Monday," Ruth said, her frown returning.

"I thought you had some party planning business going?" Dan asked.

"I do," she replied. "But I need some cash coming in until I get a party to plan. Which reminds me I can’t afford to pay for any lessons for a while. I’m afraid Steven will just have to settle for a visit."

"Aw, Mom!" Steven complained.

"Steven!" Ruth said mildly, effectively ending Steven’s verbal sulk.

Jim and Dan stifled their grins, immediately recognizing the maternal tone in Ruth’s voice and amused to see it employed at someone else.

"A visit sounds like a sensible alternative," Jim said. "If you like, I could swing by some time Monday when you will be home and take both of you to meet Regan and some of the other people who work there, and introduce you to some of the horses. Who knows? Maybe Steven can work out a barter with Regan for the lessons."

"What kind of barter?" Ruth asked, just as Steven’s interest perked and he asked what ‘barter’ meant.

Dan shrugged. "The going rate for an hour’s lesson is two hours mucking out stalls. But that’s work more suited for someone a little older. He’d probably suggest two hours cleaning tack. Or, he might teach him how to groom. He’s got two Shetland ponies now. They require special grooming but since they’re so small, it wouldn’t be so hard for Steven to do."

"That sounds reasonable," Ruth said, nodding her head thoughtfully. "And I appreciate your offer, Jim. I should be off work by two. Give me a chance to make a late lunch first. Pick us up any time after four? Or is that too late?"

"It’s not too late," Jim said, "But why don’t you let me take you both to lunch? Nothing fancy. I can swing by and pick up Steven from Mrs. Hartman’s place, then meet you at Crimper’s and take you to, say, Wimpy’s?"

"Burgers! Yes!" Steven punched the air with his little fist. "I love burgers!"

The adults laughed at Steven’s exuberance. "That sounds fine," Ruth agreed. "As long as you let me return the favor some time."

"No problem there," Jim said. "As long as you repay me with home cooking. That’s the deal."

Ruth smiled. "Deal." They shook hands on it, then Jim leaned down to Steven. "What say you and I take a tour of what’s been accomplished this morning?"

"Okay!" Steven smiled, then followed Jim as he strode toward the foreman.

Dan turned to Ruth. "You really do look great, by the way."

"Thanks, Dan," she said. "So do you."

"And I really was sorry to hear about Lester," he continued softly. She nodded. "He was a great guy." She nodded again.

There was a long silence as they watched Jim bring Steven closer to the house, then stop and point out interesting features of the restoration process.

Then Ruth said, "How have you been?"

"Oh, fine," Dan replied. "I got my degree in business management so that I could help Bill with the stables. After graduation, I just came back here and started work.Between one thing and another, there's not too much else to tell."

She wanted to ask, but didn’t want to seem too interested in the answer and possibly embarrass herself. "You seeing anyone?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. You remember Trixie Belden? We’re dating."

Ruth smiled, relieved. Then she wondered why she felt relief. Did she ever really think Dan was interested in her? Even though he took her out a few times all those years ago in high school, he never gave her the impression he was madly in love with her or anything. Just lonely. Then when that Anne showed up, and she and Dan began dating, Ruth knew for sure. Dan had never liked her like he liked Anne. Aloud, she said, "I liked Trixie. She always seemed so happy all the time. So involved with things."

Dan laughed. "That’s for sure. I’ve never met anyone who could do half a dozen things at one time and never miss a beat. Like now, for instance," he said, then proceeded to bring Ruth up to speed on Honey and Brian’s wedding, and Trixie’s hands-on involvement in it, as well as the detective work that seemed to be picking up, as well as her four-times-a-week riding practice, as well as her charitable activities, her volunteer duties at the hospital, her other friends and her online pen-pals. "Yet she still manages to find time to go out and relax. Like tonight, for instance. She’s got another bridal shower for Honey planned, and she’s coming over to the house to watch an old Pink Panther movie with me, after she drops by the hospital to visit her brother. She’s amazing."

Whew! Ruth thought. It’s a good thing I’m not interested in Dan, or I’d be in for some serious competition! "So, how’s Anne?" she asked.

Dan turned to her with a sly smile. "You ready for this one?"

*     *     *

Later Saturday afternoon

As Trixie finished loading the last of the plates into her dishwasher, a thought occurred. "We need to have a bachelorette party." Diana and Anne had already left to go home, as both had dates that night. Trixie planned to meet Dan at the stables later on.

"Why?" Honey asked. "I mean, why do we ‘need’ one?"

"Because." Trixie filled the dishwasher with soap and closed the door. "Jim’s throwing Brian a bachelor party for all the guys. He’s even invited Bobby and the twins."

"And we need one because…."

"Because it’s only fair." Trixie set the machine to start and joined Honey in their living room. "It’ll be fun."

Honey just looked at her. "Uh-uh. No. No way."

"What?" Trixie looked hurt. "I haven’t suggested anything yet!"

"But I know that look! And I’m not so stupid I don’t know what goes on at bachelorette parties!" Honey shook her head vehemently. "I do NOT want a male stripper to show up!"

Trixie started to laugh. "Oh, for heaven’s sake! Not that kind of party!" She groaned. "You remember that awful one we went to in New York? And they had that fake cop come in and ‘arrest’ the bride to be?"

"And he actually handcuffed her to her chair before taking off his clothes!" Honey groaned, too. "It was SO embarrassing!"

"I agree," Trixie said. "It was in poor taste. That’s why this one will be better." She smiled. "It’ll be more like a slumber party. We’ll have it two nights before the wedding," she said, warming to her plan. "The same night as Brian’s bachelor party. We’ll just invite Anne and Diana and have our last slumber party as four single women! You’re planning to move back to Manor House that day anyway, so as to make it more convenient for the rehearsal and all that, so we’ll have it over there in your old room."

Honey began to smile. "I kind of like that, actually." She removed the tortoise shell clip that held her honey-blonde hair in place and began fiddling with it.

"I’ll set the whole thing up," Trixie grinned. "It’ll be great!"

*     *     *

early Monday afternoon, 26 days to go

"Ms. Klein! You have such an exquisite way with a needle and thread! Simply exquisite!" Madeleine Wheeler clasped her hands to her breast and sighed rapturously. Ella Klein smiled shyly and pushed her wheelchair further back to better asses the view.

"Mother, really!" Honey protested. She stood on a foot-high platform in her wedding dress and stared at the bank of mirrors reflecting her in all her bridal finery. While the dress were certainly lovely, she didn’t really think she looked that good. But maybe, just a little?

Her dress was modeled after a design Honey had seen years ago in Italy. It was white, of course, and silk, with a huge skirt that, thanks to seven different slips and petticoats, seemed to float around her. Scallops of Alencon lace decorated the hemline, including the yards of chapel-length train.

The bodice was likewise edged in lace along the sweetheart neckline. There were no sleeves, just tiny straps of silk that hung just off Honey’s shoulder in an illusion of support. In reality, the dress was so perfectly fitted to Honey’s body that even without the sleeves, it would completely preserve her modesty.

Otherwise, the dress had no ornamentation, a fact which Madeleine decried upon first viewing, three months ago. Now, even she had to admit that Honey’s dress needed no further adornment. "Even one more scallop of lace would ruin the effect," she told her daughter.

"Gloves," Ella Klein declared. "What you need now are gloves. Here," she said, turning to open a drawer. "Try these on just for effect." She rolled the chair forward and Honey leaned carefully to grab the gloves from the woman’s outstretched hand.

Honey slipped the gloves over her hands and slowly pulled them over her elbows. "Now," Madeleine said, rising from her comfortable chair, "if we just pull your hair into an upsweep," she gestured with her hands, "I think you’ll be perfect!"

"What style veil did you decide on?" Ella asked. "I have the lace all set to go."

Madeleine smiled. "That’s the one thing I kept from my own wedding: my tiara." She pulled a jeweler’s box from her oversized purse and opened it. Immediately the dressing room was filled with tiny rainbows of sparkling light.

Honey couldn’t help but grow a bit more excited at this. On those few occasions when she and her parents had been home together and Honey was still in that dress-up stage, her mother had sometimes lent her jewelry to her daughter to try on. Her diamond and pearl tiara had always been her favorite. "My own crown," she whispered, recalling her childhood fantasy of being a fairy princess.

As Madeleine handed the tiara to her daughter, a curtained area off the dressing room opened and three familiar faces popped in followed by three excited squeaks. "Oh! Honey! You look beautiful!" "You look like a princess!" "Like an angel!"

Having just returned with sodas from the nearby fast-food place, Anne, Diana and Trixie pushed through the opening, set their drinks on a low counter and moved to surround Honey, now trying to balance the tiara on her head with suddenly nervous fingers. Diana and Anne moved to lift the heavy train and giggle at each other. "Will we need someone to lift this so she can walk down the aisle?" Anne laughed.

"No," Honey replied, "it’s not that heavy." She frowned. "It pulls a little at the shoulder, though."

Ella easily moved closer to the podium. "Show me," she requested. She was a talented seamstress, and this was by no means her first wedding gown, but fittings often proved to be the most difficult for her. Honey tried to reach around her own back to indicate the seam in question.

Thinking quickly, Trixie reached up and asked, "Is it here? Here?" She moved her finger until Honey nodded.

"Right there. It pulls a little when I move," Honey said.

Ella nodded and gave Trixie a pin. "Mark it, please." She smiled. "Don’t worry. I thought you might find that area a problem. I’ll have it fixed by next week no problem."

Honey sighed. "Another fitting?"

Ella laughed. "You’ll have one every Monday until the wedding, and the day before, too. We want to be sure it fits you perfectly."

"Right," Honey agreed. "Perfectly perfect." But she didn’t sound too pleased about the prospect.

"Girls?" Ella asked. "Help Honey out of her dress. It’s time to fit your bridesmaid’s gowns now."

It took them another full hour to get each girl into her bridesmaid dress, fitted and then out again. The dresses were tea-length versions of the wedding gown, done over in a pale greenish-gold fabric that succeeded in bringing out the highlights in Trixie’s golden curls, the violet of Diana’s eyes and make Anne’s skin appear luminous.

"What color is your hair going to be for the wedding, Anne?" Diana asked.

"Oh, gold," Anne answered promptly. "I had originally planned on green, to match the decorations, but gold is probably more appropriate."

"You’re joking, of course," Honey said swiftly.

Anne smiled. "Of course. I’ll probably even tone down the red a bit to something more suitable for your wedding album."

"Thank you," Madeleine said quietly. "Some of us were worried about that."

"Oh, Maddie, relax," Anne laughed. "I’m not that inappropriate, you know! Besides," she continued, "Bill likes me in auburn hair. Even if he does think blue is kind of cool."

"You guys must have strange conversations," Trixie said, shaking her head.

Honey tuned out the rest of the girls’ banter. She stared at herself in the mirror, trying to determine if she really would be a beautiful bride. They say every woman is beautiful on her wedding day, she thought, but I wonder if that’s really true or just something they tell ugly brides. I don’t see anything so special about me. There’s just this strange hair that can’t decide if it’s light brown or dark blonde, these eyes that change all the time from green to brown and this face. This ordinary face. It’s not like I’ve got some spectacular figure, either, not like Trixie. And it’s not like I’m Diana, who’s so beautiful that she stops traffic. And it’s not like I’m like Anne, either, who’s just quirky enough in her features to be – what did Jim say once about her? ‘Arresting’. I’m not that, either.

"Was there something else, Honey?" Ella asked gently, breaking Honey out of her despondent interior monologue.

"Oh, no, Ella. I’m fine." Honey smiled. "The dress has certainly turned out better than I’d hoped. You’re a genius. Mother’s right." She saw that the others were ready to go on to lunch. She stood and got her purse. "Guess I’ll see you next Monday!"

Ella nodded, a questioning look in her eyes. "Next Monday it is. If you think of anything, any questions or anything, feel free to call me, okay?"

Honey didn’t miss the implication: if she wanted to discuss what was bothering her, she could rely on Ella. "Thanks," she said. "I will."

*     *     *

Later, the same Monday

Jim did just as he promised. He drove by Mrs. Hartman’s to pick up Steven, then into town to pick up Ruth at Crimper’s. He parked across the street from Wimpy’s, then he and Steven strolled the sidewalk toward the department store to meet Ruth. He smiled as he saw her come out of the store right at 2:05 and looking like she’d just been run over by a truck. Her skirt and blouse had wrinkled and her heels seemed to be bothering her feet, but her hair still managed to look neat, held in place by a large clip.

"Tough day?" he said in greeting.

"I hate retail," Ruth grinned wearily. "Hello, Steven! How was your day?"

Steven hugged his mother. "I missed you! Mrs. Hartman is nice, but she watches soap operas all day. What’s a vastecomy?"

Startled, Ruth blinked at her son. "Where did you hear that?"

Frowning, Steven replied. "On the TV. Somebody’s got one and that means he didn’t have a kid, only Mrs. Hartman said something about how the man only thought he had one, but he was drunk so he didn’t remember and so she thinks the baby is really his only no one else does."

Struggling to follow the twisted logic, Ruth nodded. "I see." She glanced at Jim, a tolerant smile on his face. "We can discuss it later tonight, okay? After I talk to Mrs. Hartman about this soap you’re watching with her."

Steven shrugged and Jim suggested they get to Wimpy’s before the after-school rush hit the popular hamburger joint.

They enjoyed their late lunch and the conversation, in which, Ruth noted with pleasure, Jim took pains to include Steven. After Jim explained that Regan and Dan kept handmade ice cream on hand at his place and was expecting them to have a dish or two each, the trio soon found their way to Sleepyside Stables.

Bill Regan had bought the original acreage for his stables several years ago. With patience, good fortune and hard work, he had managed to renovate the existing stone farmhouse and completely rebuild the stables into something better suited for equine habitation. He personally owned one horse himself, a spirited Arabian, kept eight for rent, including two Shetlands, and boarded twenty more.

As Jim pulled into the long driveway, he noticed a red mustang convertible parked beside the company vehicle. Once his passengers got out of his Lexus, he noticed a familiar white Mazda hidden beside the huge truck. Trixie’s here, he thought mildly.

Steven kept up an excited patter, going on and on about the horses and his secret desire to be a cowboy. Apparently, he had recently seen a John Wayne movie, for the word ‘Pilgrim’ kept infiltrating his speech.

Ruth stopped as they approached the open yard past the parking area between the stables and the pasture. Several horses frolicked in the grass while horse noises could be heard from the stables. "Where to?" Ruth asked.

Jim glanced around the yard, looking for a familiar face. Where was everyone?

"Afternoon, Jim!" Marcia Walker emerged from the stables and strode up to the group, wiping her hands on her jeans. "How’s it going?" Her friendly smile put Ruth and Steven at ease.

Jim introduced them. "Marcia is in charge of the rentals," Jim explained. He quickly filled her in on the situation regarding Steven’s allergies and his desire to trade for lessons.

"Oh," Marcia grinned, a twinkle in her eye, "in that case, you’ll want to talk to Regan. He’s out in the pasture." She gestured in the general direction and patted Steven on the head. "Looking forward to setting you up with a horse, Steven. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Mundy."

Ruth smiled as Marcia returned to her work in the stable. "She seems nice," she commented.

Jim grinned. "You’ve never met Regan, have you? He’s a great guy and wouldn’t hire someone who wasn’t nice. Come on. I think I can see his hair from here." He started walking toward the pasture gate, Steven almost running to keep up.

Ruth followed along slowly, watching Steven trying to match Jim’s long stride. She was struck with a pang of recognition. He used to walk that way with Les on the base. Sighing, she shook her head. Now was not the time to be missing her husband!

Jim held the gate open for them as they passed through, then ‘locked’ it by slipping a loop of rope over the fence post. "Regan’s over there with Trixie and Dan. Come on. I’ll introduce you."

The pasture wasn’t as flat as the grass made it seem. The ground had ruts and divots in it that made staring at one’s feet essential in order to successfully navigate a path across it, especially in low-heeled work shoes and a skirt. So it happened that Ruth didn’t have much opportunity to observe the situation she and her son had walked into.

Jim introduced her to Regan and as she shook his hand, she stared into his bright blue eyes, immediately struck with the friendly yet reserved manner so familiar to his friends. She smiled as he shook hands with Steven.

"So, you want to learn about horses, is that right?" Regan asked him, crouching in order to look the little boy straight in the eye. As Steven replied in the definitively affirmative, Ruth renewed her acquaintance with Trixie Belden

"It’s nice to see you again," Trixie said. "I was sorry to hear about Lester."

Am I going to hear this from everyone I meet? Aloud, Ruth replied, "Thanks. It’s nice to see you again, too. I saw your storefront on Second. Congratulations on the agency. I gather the sign’s going to read ‘Belden-Belden’ soon?"

Trixie grinned. "Well, we’re not sure about that. It might be ‘Belden & Belden’, or it might just stay the same. Honey’s not sure if she’s changing her name or not." She gave Jim an odd look, then asked Ruth, "Aren’t you going to take riding lessons, too?"

"Oh, goodness, no!" Ruth exclaimed. "Like I said, horses terrify me."

At that, Regan stood straight. "You’ve got to be kidding. Why? Did you fall off one once?"

Ruth shook her head. "No. You’ll laugh when I tell you why." They protested, of course. With Jim’s encouragement, she related her frightening tale. "When I was eight or nine, I stayed up late to watch a movie on cable. It was Equus."

At the mention of the movie, Regan shuddered. "That’s enough. I understand."

"What?" Dan asked. "What’s to understand? What’s it about?"

Trixie frowned. "Isn’t that based on a true story or something about a kid in England who – oh! Never mind."

"What?" Dan repeated. "A kid in England who what?"

"Don’t say it," Regan warned. "Please."

Trixie hesitated, then gestured for Dan to lean down so she could whisper in his ear. As Ruth watched, knowing what Trixie was telling him, she almost giggled as Dan’s eyes flew open wide and he grimaced. "You’re kidding! Really? That’s a true story?"

Trixie nodded. "Yeah. Honey and I rented it one night in New York. We watched a lot of movies about crimes and stuff. Especially the ones based on true crimes."

"Someone want to fill me in, then?" Jim asked. "I’ve never seen it."

Ruth sighed, then gestured for Jim to lean close so she could tell him. As he bent his red head to hers, however, she got a good whiff of his cologne and she almost blushed. He smelled great. She took a breath and whispered, "It’s about a teenage boy in England who blinds horses because one watched him have sex in a stable."

Jim turned his head abruptly at her brief description. He was still leaning toward her, though, so now he looked her straight in the eye. She saw flecks of gold in his emerald eyes as the irises shifted back and forth in confusion. "There’s more to it than that, right?"

"Right," she sighed. "He mixes up his love/hate relationship with horses with his fear of God and--"

"No," Jim shook his head. "I mean, there’s more to your fear of horses than just that movie."

"Well," Ruth hesitated. "You’d have to see the movie. When he’s having sex," she whispered again into his ear, "it’s all photographed in this crazy wide-angle lens thing, and the horses really look menacing. I think it’s their eyes, all bulging out on both sides of their head, like they can see everything. And they’re so expressionless, too, you know? They just stare at you. Gives me the willies. Always has."

Jim straightened. "I guess I’ll have to see this movie."

"No, you don’t," Regan said vehemently. "I made the mistake of renting it once and had to turn it off. When they show the kid actually--" he glanced at Steven, calmly observing the adults and their whispers "--committing the crime, well, that was too much for me. Gave me nightmares."

Trixie laughed. "You? Nightmares?" Regan just looked at her, daring her to continue laughing. She sobered immediately. "Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. Of course, you’d have nightmares. You love horses."

"It’s a gruesome movie," Regan said, putting an end to the discussion.

"Look, Mommy! Look!" Steven shouted, yanking on Ruth’s arm and pointing across the pasture. "Horses! I see a horse! Look!"

Ruth couldn’t help but laugh a little at Steven’s exuberance. She saw Regan’s approving gaze and asked him, "Would you mind taking Steven a little closer for me?"

"Not at all," he replied. "How about it, Steven? Want to meet Frodo and Samwise?" He gestured to a pair of gray and white Shetlands, their long coats blowing gently in the summer breeze.

"You bet, Mr. Regan!" Steven crowed. He took Regan’s outstretched hand and together they walked across the pasture.

"Steven’s really cute," Trixie said. "You must be real proud of him."

"He’s got his father’s charm, that’s for sure," Ruth agreed.

"And his mother’s eyes, I think," Jim said thoughtfully.

"I don’t have black eyes," Ruth contradicted. "Mine are just brown."

Jim gestured dismissively. "That’s not what I mean. They’re not the same color, but he’s got the same twinkle."

Ruth noticed Trixie and Dan had turned slightly away from her and Jim, obviously giving them a bit of privacy. She felt slightly uncomfortable, being alone with the handsome man, the sole object of his attention. Didn’t I hear he and Trixie dated in high school? Or, at least I heard they had a huge fight and broke up. Of course, she and Dan are dating, which means she doesn’t want Jim, so he’s free, but what does he want? This is so confusing! I don’t know what to do! Why did you leave me alone, Lester? Life was so much simpler when you were alive!

Since she didn’t reply, Jim took a step back from her, allowing her some breathing space, even in the open pasture. "You guys have plans for later?" he asked Dan and Trixie.

Trixie began to reply, "Yeah, we’re –" but was interrupted by a shout from across the pasture.

Regan was calling Ruth and it seemed urgent.

Immediately, Ruth broke from the group and sprinted across the pasture, giving no thought to her own safety as she raced across the unfamiliar and treacherous terrain in her heeled shoes, her skirt flying up behind her. She reached Regan in seconds, then brushed past him, kneeling beside Steven, her hair slipping from its clip.

The little boy just stood still, his shoulders drooping, his arms at his sides. Ruth touched his pale cheek, then felt his pockets as he whispered, "Mommy. I can’t breathe."

"He was just petting the horse and then he told me he couldn’t breathe," Ruth heard Regan inform the others, who had followed in her mad dash across the pasture.

Ruth gently rubbed Steven’s shoulders as she calmly asked, "Jim? I left my purse in your car by mistake. Could you run and get it? Steven’s inhaler is in it. I shouldn’t have left it, but I thought he’d be all right." She glanced up, but Jim had already taken off back toward the parking lot. From her periphery, she saw him leap the fence.

"Is there anything we can do in the meantime?" Trixie asked.

"No," Ruth said, as calmly as she could. "Just give him some space, is all. Thanks." She smiled up at them, barely noticing that Regan had begun herding the inquisitive Shetlands away from the scene. "Once Jim gets back here this will all be over. Isn’t that right, honey?" she said to Steven. "Just a few seconds more and you’ll be all better."

Steven kept panting, his cheeks hollowing with each inhalation of air that somehow never made it to his lungs. He flinched a little at the sudden thunder of Jim’s shoes on the dirt.

"Here you go," Jim panted. "I just brought the whole thing."

"Thanks," Ruth said absently, finding the inhaler and a bottle of medication. She easily disassembled the inhaler, opened the bottle, shook out a capsule, dropped it into the tubular end of the inhaler and reassembled it, thereby puncturing the capsule, releasing the powder. Dropping the bottle into the grass, she held up the inhaler to Steven’s mouth. "Ready?" she asked him. When he nodded, his eyes huge, desperate and fearful, she handed Steven the inhaler and he sucked the powder into his lungs.

After a few moments, Ruth calmly removed the inhaler, placed it into her purse, then took Steven into her arms as his breathing slowly began to return to normal. She felt his thin arms reach around her and hold on tight as she patted and rubbed his back and whispered to him, "it’s all right. You’re better now."

After a moment, she pulled back to look in Steven’s eyes. "Feel better?" Steven nodded, but didn’t look up at the others. Ruth stood, however, and faced them. "Thank you so much for not panicking, Regan," she began. "I probably shouldn’t have let him go with you by himself and I definitely shouldn’t have left my purse in your car, Jim. Thank you, too, for going after it."

Jim brushed aside her thanks. "Don’t mention it."

Regan concurred. "I’m just sorry I didn’t know what to do immediately, except call you."

Ruth smiled kindly. "That’s all you could have done. That and keep calm, of course. I find the attacks get worse when people around Steven freak out. It makes him nervous if he sees the people around him get nervous."

Trixie nodded. "I can imagine. When I was in Arizona, years ago, I remember talking to some of the asthmatics at the dude ranch where we stayed. Some of them mentioned how awful it was to think their condition caused other people discomfort."

"Steven’s the same way," Ruth confirmed. "Right now, I suspect he’s feeling a little embarrassed, though." She smiled down at the curly-haired eight year old, burying his face against her thigh.

Regan frowned. "Is he allergic to horses, then? Is that it? I would never have let him so close if that were the case."

"I don’t think so," Ruth said. "Isn’t that heather growing along that fence and stuck into the Shetland’s coats?" She pointed to the bright purple flowers that clustered along the far fence posts, and the petals stuck into the Shetland’s long coats.

Regan nodded. "He’s allergic to heather, then?"

Ruth grinned. "Any flowering plant, it seems. He’s lucked out with animals. It’s just cat saliva he’s allergic to, and most brands of dog flea powder."

Dan frowned. "I figure he has to be tested for allergies, but why would anyone test a kid for an allergy to flea powder?"

Ruth chuckled. "I’m not entirely sure, unless Lester wanted to get us a family pet. Which, being in the Army, didn’t make much sense since we would have had to leave it behind when we moved. Besides, they also tested him for an allergy to candle wax, but since he’d have to ingest it to trigger the allergy, I’m not sure what they were implying about my little man, here!"

The adults laughed while Steven blushed scarlet. Ruth glanced down at him once more and sighed. "I guess we’d better ask you to take us home, Jim. Steven’s probably had enough for one afternoon."

Steven protested. "But, Mom! I didn’t get to clean the horse! Regan said--"

Ruth interrupted. "Mr. Regan."

Steven stuck out his lower lip. "He said I could call him ‘Regan’! He said everyone does."

Ruth glanced at Regan, her lips twitching in a rueful smile. Regan had the grace to begin an apology, but Ruth dismissed it with a wave. "All right, then," she said to Steven. "What did Regan say?"

"That if I was very quiet and paid strict attention I could maybe help clean up Frodo," Steven said quietly.

Ruth thought a moment, then turned to Regan. "Is there a cot or a couch or something that Steven could lie down on for an hour or so? I’d really like to be sure he’s all better before allowing him so close to the horses again."

"Of course," Regan said. "But you’re welcome to have him lie down in the house. I’ll show you."

"I’ll show her," Jim volunteered.

Minutes later, Ruth, Jim and Steven made their way to the back door of the stone farmhouse Dan and his uncle called home. From the porch, they entered a spacious, modern kitchen. Ruth could see doors leading into a mud room with a washer and dryer, into a large formal, obviously little-used dining room, into a walk-in pantry and into the main hall.

Jim lead them through the hall past the wide staircase into the great room. As her eyes grew accustomed to the lower light level, Ruth heard a familiar and unwelcome voice in an adjoining room. She turned and looked through an open set of French doors into a book-lined study, her heart jumping with sudden trepidation.

Her old nemesis, Anne Maypenny, was clearly visible and audible, her feet up on a huge mahogany desk, her ear sealed to a phone receiver and her oddly colored hair blowing in the breeze from an open window. "Come on, Di! Get serious! If you really love him, what does it matter? You know the truth, right? I mean, don’t you?" she was saying.

"If this isn’t comfortable enough," Jim said, "I don’t think it would be too much of a problem to use one of the guest rooms upstairs."

Ruth’s attention jumped back to Jim. "No. I’m sure this will be fine." She glanced around the room then, taking in the rustic decorative style with an approving nod. "Who did the decorating? Regan?" Clearly, the leather couch, rough-hewn tables, faux fur rug, and the paintings of the Irish countryside reflected the homeowner.

Jim opened his mouth to answer, but the reply came from the study. "I did."

They turned and saw Anne standing in the doorway. "If I hadn’t, you’d be looking at an old sofa and some empty crates." She grinned, then stepped forward. "Hello, Ruth. It’s good to see you again."

Forcing herself to smile at her former tormentor, Ruth returned her greeting and introduced Steven. Then she turned to Jim and said, "Perhaps it would be better if he lay down upstairs. Then we won’t disturb Anne."

"Disturb me?" Anne repeated. "How? Why?"

Jim briefly explained Steven’s attack and Ruth’s desire for him to rest a while before continuing to visit the Shetlands. At the mention of Frodo and Samwise, Anne’s eyes lit up.

"You’re going to learn to ride Frodo and Sam? They’re the best! I wish I were small enough to ride them," Anne gushed, "but I’m not." Her face fell into a comical sulk.

Steven giggled. Ruth felt uncomfortable. Anne was charming the pants off another Mundy and Ruth just wasn’t sure she liked it.

"Go ahead upstairs," Anne continued. "The guest room is the first door on the right and there’s a bathroom the next door down from that. It’s a real cool room with a great view of the pasture."

Ruth glanced at Jim, uncertain if Anne were usurping the role of Woman of the House or not. Jim seemed amenable, however, so she took Steven’s hand in hers and began leading him upstairs. A moment later, Jim hurried up the staircase after them.

Steven stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling beams. Ruth pulled the sailcloth drapes closed over the window and moved to stand with Jim in the doorway. Steven sighed loudly, then said, "Aren’t you going to sing to me, Mom?"

"You sing to him?" Jim said softly, a wistful light in his eyes.

Ruth blushed. "I don’t have much of a voice, but, yeah. I do. He’s used to it. I can meet you downstairs in a few minutes. It doesn’t take long to put him out."

"Go ahead," Jim urged. "I’d love to listen."

Blushing harder, Ruth complied. She sat carefully on the edge of the bed and mentally ran through her lullaby repertoire. What hadn’t she sung in a while? Then the perfect song came to mind. In an almost fragile voice, she began with:

‘Hush a bye, don't you cry, go to sleep, my little baby…
When you wake, you shall have, all the pretty little horses…’*

As her voice slowly filled the room, Jim felt a old memory stir in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and laid his head on his hand against the doorjamb, and remembered… Betje, his mother, singing softly to him as he curled up in bed, trying vainly not to fall asleep and failing miserably each evening; her ever-present perfume of baking powder and cinnamon; the soft comfort of her hands as she cleaned his skinned knees and bruised elbows, always ‘with a kiss to make it better’… His heart ached with the memories.

Ruth heard Steven’s breathing grow regular and deep. She rose silently and kissed his forehead, then turned and approached Jim, intrigued by the odd expression on his face. She touched his arm gently and his eyes opened, momentarily startled. He blinked as if seeing her for the first time.

Afraid to break the spell cast by his intensifying gaze, Ruth just stood frozen in place, inches away from him. He lifted his hand and softly brushed his fingers along her cheek. She felt her breath catch in her throat and for a moment felt time suspend its forward motion. Then, just as suddenly, Jim’s eyes closed and his lips brushed against hers.

Ruth felt her lips tremble against his for a moment before he stepped back into the hallway. He gestured for her to precede him toward the stairs and she did, her mind reeling from the sudden sweetness of Jim’s kiss and what it all might mean for her, Steven and the rest of her life in Sleepyside.

As she descended the stairs, Ruth decided she’d just have to think about it all much later on. At least when she could breathe again. It’s too bad they don’t make inhalers for that…

Author’s Note: None of these characters, particularly the ones I made up myself, are based on anyone living or dead. I want to make that clear before proceeding. Even if I somehow used your name, it wasn’t yours when I assigned it to a character. Does that make sense? I hope so!

Chapter Three

Later that same day…

It took longer that night than usual, but, finally, all the work crews had gone home, deserting Ten Acres once more. He waited another five minutes, but eager anticipation overcame him and he moved into the shadow of the newly restored house and across the dirt yard.

The moon was rising slowly, barely visible between the branches and limbs of the tall trees surrounding the property. A few thick clouds could be seen scurrying across the darkening sky, edged deep red and purple by the setting sun.

He ignored all this, however, intent on reaching the smaller building on time. As he approached the wooden structure, however, dismay pricked at him. "Darn it!" he cursed mildly. The workers had already gone ahead and cleared the land and dismantled the roof. All that remained were the front wall and the flooring of the old summerhouse.

It occurred to him it resembled nothing so much as one of those bombed-out buildings he’d seen pictures of in old WWII photographs of Dresden. At least, that was how it looked.

From the bushes to one side he heard a twig snap. He pursed his lips and whistled: bob, bob-white! Bob-white! He heard an answering: bo-ob, bob-whhhhite! Bob-whhhite! He grinned in relief. No one in that family could whistle. As he waited, the bushes parted and a familiar and beautiful sight greeted him.

She hesitated, but when he called her name and opened his arms, she stepped into his embrace with a soaring heart. They kissed in the moonlight, their pulses racing, their thoughts only of each other.

After a moment, he asked her how she was doing and if she had any problems getting away.

She said no, that everyone assumed she had gone to bed early with a headache. Her father and future brother-in-law, she said, were discussing politics in the library. The others were watching old movies or were in the game room.

Together they strolled to what remained of the summerhouse. He allowed her to precede him and she entered the windowless and door-less building. She stood in another shaft of moonlight, turned and smiled at him.

She told him she’d done nothing but think of him. In two weeks, she said, school would be over and she would be able to spend more time with him.

He reminded her of her parents, and their rules about when she was old enough to date. It’s still a month to your birthday, he said.

She cursed her parents and their rules, then covered her face with her hands.

He put his arms around her and comforted her. He led her to their usual corner and they sat on the floor. His arm still around her, her head tucked onto his chest, they began to talk.

They spoke, as they usually did, of their dreams, their plans, their goals. They told each other funny stories about the things they had heard, seen and witnessed. She told him about a website devoted to her favorite fictional detective. He shared the address of his dormitory’s website, and told her about his own home page.

They discussed their feelings in terms only teenagers understand, but passion overtook them, as it did every time they were alone together. He held back, wanting to wait until it was right for both of them.

As her heart rate eased from a swift to a merely steady pound, she agreed. The floor of a summerhouse was not the place she wanted to remember as the site of their first time. Then she admitted that she relied on his good sense to keep them from moving too fast.

Then he admitted that it was thinking of what was best for her that stopped him.

He wanted it to be right for both of them, he told her, because he loved her.

She loved him, too, she replied.

Some moments later, they got up and went to their respective homes, leaving the summerhouse in peace.

Another few moments passed, and a girl, looking remarkably similar to the one who had just been kissed good night, emerged from the nearby shadows, an expression of rage on her face.

"That traitor!" she said, then cursed the fates that saddled her with such a villainous sibling. She vowed to get even, no matter what it took.

*     *     *

Jim stared up at the night sky and searched for a familiar constellation. He heard the sound of crickets chirping nearby and the tinkle of wind chimes on Mrs. Hartman’s back patio. If he listened even harder, he could hear Ruth singing another lullaby to Steven as she sent him to sleep.

The rest of the afternoon had actually gone well, he thought. Despite his initial reservations, Anne had been on her best behavior, even going so far as to compliment Ruth. He smiled to himself, remembering Ruth’s astonished look when her old rival told her that she envied her.

Once Steven had woken up from his nap, they had all taken a quick trip through the stables as Regan gave Steven the Grand Tour, as he called it. Privately, Jim was amazed at the success Regan had made of the old place. In just six short years, Regan had built up a solid reputation among the ‘horsy set’ of Westchester - no small feat, considering Westchester County was very serious about horses.

Once Regan and Ruth agreed on a schedule and worked out a trade for the riding lessons, the six adults and Steven shared ice cream on the porch and laughed about old times. That was when Anne made that odd comment about envying Ruth.

At first, Jim thought it a comment made in poor taste. Who would envy a widow forced to raise her only son on her own? Then Anne clarified. She envied Ruth’s poise, her strength of character and her willingness to let bygones go by. ‘You’re a better woman than I am, Ruth Mundy,’ Anne had said. ‘I was never willing to just let things go in high school, like you were. That irritated me no end, that I couldn’t make you mad.’

They had all laughed at that, remembering the tricks Anne used to play on poor, unsuspecting Ruthie Kettner. Ruth dared to ask what was it about her that brought out the worst in Anne. ‘Because I’d see you with your friends and you always seemed so nice,’ Ruth had said.

‘Wasn’t it obvious?’ Anne explained, laughing. ‘You had dated Dan before I moved here. I was jealous and wanted to be sure you’d never date him again. But you were so gracious about it I couldn’t stand it so I had to keep making sure.’

Ruth had been confused. ‘But you broke up with Dan.’

Anne had laughed harder at that. ‘I never said it was logical, just that it was obvious.’ Then Anne did something she did rarely. She apologized to Ruth for all the nasty tricks and pranks, for all the hurt she had caused and for all the lies she had told. ‘All it did was make me more miserable than I already was. In my own defense, I can only say that I was struggling to come to terms with my own mixed-up feelings and you were an easy target for my misplaced anger.’

Jim couldn’t help notice the way Regan looked at Anne when she spoke, and during the rest of the evening, too. He clearly adored her and she returned the adoration a hundred-fold. Jim wondered if they had always looked at each other like that, like they were the only two people in the world.

Jim also couldn’t help notice the developing closeness between Dan and Trixie. He had to admit, they made a kind of odd sense as a couple. Both of them took risk in stride, responsibility easily and commitment seriously. She seemed happier. So did Dan.

He smiled to himself. He was actually pretty happy, too.

Startled out of his reverie, Jim turned as the sliding screen door opened and Ruth appeared on the wooden sundeck. She pushed the screen back into place and said, "Steven’s finally asleep. Did you want something to drink? It’s a little warm for coffee, but I could get some for you. Or soda. I don’t generally keep beer in the house any more."

"That’s okay," he replied. "I should probably go."

Ruth actually seemed distressed at the thought of his departure. "Oh, must you? I was hoping to talk some more…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"I could stay a little longer," he admitted with a sly grin. "It’s not like I have a curfew or anything."

"Great," she said, "Then make yourself comfortable. Can’t I get you anything?"

"No, really," he assured her. "I’m fine. Help yourself, though." He chose one of the wooden lounge chairs on the deck and sat down sideways, his elbows on his knees. She sat in the matching chair and they faced each other across a span of several inches.

"I’m fine, too."

He couldn’t think of a thing to say. The moonlight flooded the deck, turning everything silver, including Ruth’s long blonde hair. She had removed the clip and let her hair hang straight, falling over her shoulders and framing her face. As Jim watched, her eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. She took several long breaths and licked her lower lip. He felt nervous, like he was on his first date.

Ruth laughed. "Now I can’t think of a thing to say!" She covered her face with a hand.

Jim laughed, too, then reached over and pulled her hand from her face. Still holding her hand in his, he said, "Tell me how you got into the party planning thing."

Surprise lit Ruth’s eyes. "Okay. It’s probably not very interesting…"

"Tell me anyway," he said. "What made you decide to make it a career?"

"Well! All right," Ruth said. "If you insist."

"I do." In an attempt to put her more at ease, he lay back against the lounge chair and looked up into the night sky.

Ruth likewise made herself more comfortable. A moment later, she began to tell a funny story about the first time she went shopping at the PX on base and how she mistook a Captain for a Sergeant and ended up inviting an entire platoon for a party. Jim laughed along with her remembered embarrassment. Then, when she said how she managed to plan, prepare for and host that party, and have it remembered as the ‘party of the year’ around the base, his laughter turned to admiration. Hosting large parties single-handedly was not his forté.

Ruth described her daily routines, her outside interests and her part-time work at a Savannah crafts store, near the Army base where Lester had been stationed. She told how she had been commissioned by the base commander’s wife to host a party for the Brass, and how that led to several off-base parties as well. "I guess," she concluded, "that when it came down to my having to support Steven and myself, that I realized part-time work wouldn’t cut it. I couldn’t afford to take too many hours away from Steven, either. I think parenting is worth making sacrifices. So, I put together a business plan and asked for a start-up loan, but got turned down. I don’t have enough collateral or experience, I guess. Or personal credit. Everything was through Les."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. A moment passed and he began to tell her of his own struggles to find independent financing for his school. They began comparing notes on the long, difficult process of starting up a small business. He confessed his irrational worry that no one would enroll in his school and he’d be stuck with empty dorms and classrooms.

She confessed her worry that she’d have to pay back her business loan by working at Crimper’s until retirement.

He didn’t like owing people money, he told her, for that had been a problem when his father died; taking care of the family debts all at once put a strain on their finances and left his mother vulnerable to his future step-father’s attention.

He carefully skirted the actual chain of events that led to his running away and ending up in Sleepyside. It had been fodder for the papers for a few weeks and he figured if she had any questions she would ask. She didn’t ask. Instead, she just regarded him with her clear blue eyes and understanding smile.

She told him how well she could understand his mother’s situation. "Being a single mother of a little boy is tough," she said. "My mother is always on my case about it. She’s afraid I’ll smother him or something. That’s one reason I want him to take riding lessons from Regan. I want Steven to have some adult male influences."

Jim grinned. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Well," he chuckled. "That includes me, right?" He turned conspiratorial. "Do you ever think that one day you’ll wake up and suddenly feel like an adult? Cause I still don’t. I mean, sure. Grown men –" he stopped himself with another laugh. "Listen to me! I’m a grown man!" They laughed together a moment more. He continued, "Grown men call me ‘Mr. Frayne’. I can’t get used to it. That was always my dad, you know? Now it’s me. When did I become a ‘Mister’?"

Ruth laughed louder. "About the same time I became a ‘Missus’," she said. "I just could not get used to being ‘Mrs. Mundy’! And on the base that’s all I was called! That or ‘Ma’am’, I mean. Southerners are real strict about that sort of thing," she went on. "And soldiers, for the most part, are extremely polite. Especially when they know you’re married to one of them."

"So you know what I mean?" Jim asked. "I still feel like a kid and any minute now someone’s going to tell me it’s time to put my toys away and go to bed."

Ruth nodded, laughing ruefully. "I hear myself saying those exact words to Steven and I could just die! When did I get so old? When did I start setting the rules instead of having them set for me? When did I become ‘Mom’?"

"Well," Jim grinned slyly. "I imagine Lester had something to do with that."

She stopped laughing then and stared at him, surprised at the remark and his suggestive tone. "Well, actually," she admitted, "Lester had everything to do with it." She frowned and stared into the middle distance. The conversation lapsed.

Jim felt he’d ruined their good time by bringing up Lester. That was just stupid! he told himself. "I’m sorry," he said, "I shouldn’t have said that."

"No," Ruth assured him, "that’s okay. You can’t pretend he never existed, after all." She sighed softly, her shoulders rising in a gentle motion. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, seemingly changing her mind.

"What were you going to say?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It’s not important."

He waited patiently.

She relented. "It’s just about Lester, is all."

He still did not say a word.

"It’s nothing, really! Besides, it’s bad form to discuss one’s dead husband while in the company of another man!" Her light tone made him smile.

"Gallows humor?" he asked.

"No, just in poor taste," she said cheerfully.

"Tell me, though. If you want, that is." He regarded her steadily, even as a mosquito began whining around his ear. He brushed the insect aside, making contact with the small body, but not crushing it.

"Vulcan respect for life?" she asked, then immediately blushed and covered her face. "I can’t believe I just said that!"

Jim laughed. "What’s wrong?" He still swatted at the mosquito, finally chasing it away over the banister of the sundeck.

"I just really, really embarrassed myself with that one!" she groaned. "You’ll never look at me like a responsible adult again after quoting Star Trek!"

"Oh!" Jim said in sudden recognition. "Is that what you said?" He laughed gently. "It’s okay. My dad used to make me watch Next Generation with him when I was a kid. I loved that show. Data and Worf and… and… the bald guy. What’s his name. The Captain."

"Picard."

"Right," Jim nodded. "It was the best. The old series used to come on late nights and during the summer, my dad would let me stay up to watch them with him." He shook his head in wonder. "When he took me camping, we’d look up at the stars and try to plot space battles and stuff. It’s how he taught me the constellations and the stars. We always had such a blast."

"I knew you weren’t a Trekker, but I’m surprised you’ve seen the show," she said.

"Really?" He frowned. "Why? I mean, I’m not a Trekker, but how could you tell?"

She smirked. "We can recognize one of our own. It’s like an Immortal thing."

"A what?"

"Never mind," she said hastily. "Don’t you watch any TV?"

"Well," he admitted, "I kind of like that crocodile-hunter guy on Animal Planet."

"Uh… how nice," she said, staring at him blankly.

Jim began to panic. Quickly reversing the conversation, he said, "You know, Mart’s into sci-fi. So’s Anne. Anne can quote dialogue, cite you the actual episodes that any character appears in and explain to you why warp drive is supposed to work. Of course, she can also depress you with all the reasons why humans will probably never reach the stars in our lifetimes."

She nodded her head, saying casually, "Anne has that ability, all right, to depress."

"You’re not still upset with her, are you?"

"Of course not," she assured him with a wave. "I’ve gotten over a lot of things since high school. Heck. If I can get over seeing my husband shot dead right in front of me, I can get over Anne’s practical jokes!"

Jim had no response to that sudden bit of news except a blurted, "Excuse me? If you can get over what?"

Ruth sighed. "I don’t really tell people that part of it, do I." She sighed again and, very quietly, told the circumstances of Lester’s death.

She told him how Lester, an Airborne Ranger, had been on maneuvers until December 28^th. He came home, they had a belated family Christmas, and on New Year’s Eve, they hired a baby-sitter and went out to a local bar to ‘ring in the new’. Around 11:30 p.m., a fight started at the next table. When one of the participants landed on the table in front of Ruth, spilling her drink onto her new dress, Lester got mad. He attempted to stop the fight by forcing the ‘aggressor’ away from the ‘victim’. Instead, he just gave the ‘victim’ the chance to take out his gun, aim and shoot. Because the ‘victim’ was so drunk, he completely missed his intended target. He hit Lester square in the back.

Her voice was quiet when she described her quaking fear as she rushed to Lester’s side. She told how she held his head in her lap while he told her he loved her and asked her to promise to take care of Steven no matter what. He died moments later.

"There was a trial, of course," Ruth explained. "It was a court-martial, because the shooter turned out to be a Recruit. If I remember right, he got sentenced to Leavenworth." She paused and again Jim waited for her to continue.

"I guess that was supposed to settle things, because after that, things went right back to normal. At least, for the people around me. The Army suggested I get counseling, but I resisted the idea. Eventually, though, I had to. I kept crying at the most inopportune moments. While in line at the Piggly-Wiggly, waiting to pick up Steven from day care. Making coffee." She sighed again. "So I went to a grief counselor and pretty much that was it."

"How do you mean?" Jim asked quietly.

Ruth shrugged. "I mean, that was the end of my thinking my strange outbursts were strange. They weren’t. I just had to learn to express my grief and anger in a more productive way."

"Your anger?" he asked, still quietly. He knew what havoc that kind of anger could wreak on a person’s soul.

"Oh my, yes!" Ruth shook her head ruefully. "I was so angry that Lester had dragged me down South in the first place, away from everyone and everything I ever knew, saddled me with Steven and then up and got himself killed." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then looked away again.

Jim waited. He had realized Ruth needed time to sort out her thoughts and if he let her alone, she would come up with just what she needed to say when she needed to say it. She spoke now more hesitantly and apologetically. "When you told Steven his father died a ‘hero’, I didn’t correct you. I think it’s important that Steven remember his father in a positive light. I’ve never told him all the details about that night and I’m not sure I ever will. I think it would disillusion him too much."

Jim nodded. "You’re probably right. At least, for now. As he gets older, though, he’ll probably want to know the truth."

"Wouldn’t we all," Ruth said quietly.

Jim tried to break the somber mood with a redirection of the conversation. "So, you tried to start a party consultation business."

"That’s about the size of it."

"So when you couldn’t get a loan in Savannah, you came back here?"

"Yeah. Home sweet home," she said softly.

"Don’t you like Sleepyside?" he asked.

Ruth sighed. "Don’t get me wrong," she said. "I loved living here when I was a kid. It’s a great little town. My mother told me how the townspeople ganged up to keep that huge discount super-store from locating here. I’m glad. It would have ruined the shopping district downtown."

"I was part of that fight," Jim recalled. "All the Bob-Whites were. But it took Trixie and my sister to uncover the information that really stopped the project in its tracks."

She eyed him thoughtfully. "You admire Trixie, don’t you?"

He took his time with his answer. Since he always prided himself on his honesty, he said, "Yes, I do. I always have. She’s been there for me more times than I can count and she’s never let me down. She helped me through the worst days of my life and gave me a new family. I can never repay her for all she’s done." He paused a moment longer, then said, "I thought our relationship might turn into something more, but I was wrong. It won’t. It all worked out in the end, though, and we’re still the best of friends."

Ruth nodded slowly, then stared up at the stars. "Isn’t that the Summer Triangle?"

Jim looked up, following her pointing finger. "Not quite," he corrected her with a smile. "That’s part of Cassiopeia. Over there," he leaned over to guide her wrist, "is the Triangle."

"Oh," she said. "That’s right."

Jim let his hand rest on her wrist for a moment, enjoying the feel of her pulse throbbing just beneath her cool skin. Realizing what he was doing, he abruptly let go.

They sat in silence for several minutes, but neither seemed bothered by the lapsed conversation. Jim wondered if he had ruined his chances with Ruth by discussing Trixie. Heck, he reminded himself, he had even brought up Lester. But then, she didn’t seem to be too distressed or bothered by the conversation. She wasn’t throwing him out.

He turned his head against the wooden lounger and looked at her. Her chair turned a little away from his, so she didn’t notice him noticing her. He wondered when she had become so beautiful. His mental image of her in high school just didn’t match the woman now sitting next to him. That girl was sturdy. This woman was slender. That girl was gawky and shy. This woman was graceful and confident. Charming, even. About the only things that matched were the long blonde hair and the ice blue eyes. That and her smile. She had always had a friendly smile.

Ruth was smiling at him now, in fact. Realizing that she noticed that he was noticing her made him break off his stare. "I’m sorry," he said, "did you say something?"

Her cheerful laughter washed over him. "I just said that I had a question," she repeated.

"Oh?"

"Well," she demurred, "My mother always told me that if I want to know something, I have to ask. The trouble is, the thing I want to know is kind of embarrassing."

As Jim waited patiently, she turned away and laughed again. "What?" he asked. "Don’t I get to know? What’s so funny?"

Her shoulders still shaking with nervous laughter, Ruth finally managed to settle down enough to ask, "I want to know why you kissed me earlier."

For a moment, Jim was too stunned to reply. The most incredible and unwelcome feeling of déjà vu swept over him. What is this? I kiss a girl and all she wants to know is ‘why’? First Trixie, now Ruth. What am I doing wrong?

Ruth must have seen his discomfort for she immediately sat straight and sobered up. "That’s not how I meant that! I mean… well…" She frowned. "Maybe I do mean it like that."

Jim tried hard to control his temper. He really did. He took several deep breaths and rubbed his temple in hopes of ridding himself early on of a suddenly splitting headache. Ruth continued to ramble on with her explanation.

"I just wish I had a girlfriend I could talk to about this!" she moaned, obviously feeling uncomfortable. She began to babble. "I mean, someone I was close to that I could ask: ‘what does it mean when a guy you’ve just become reacquainted with suddenly touches your cheek and then kisses you, and then he just goes on as if nothing happened. Is this normal behavior for this guy or was he really making a pass, and if he was making a pass, then did I do the right thing by not doing anything about it, or should I have pushed him into a bedroom and had my wicked way with him right there on the spot?’"

"Your ‘wicked way’?" Jim quoted, biting back his laughter. He couldn’t help it. She was clearly in agony and while that suited his anger, it didn’t suit his chivalrous nature. "You wanted to have your wicked way with me?"

"Ummm," she said, clearly uncertain the best way to proceed. "I didn’t say that. Did I?"

"No," he shook his head, an innocent expression on his face. "You didn’t." He sighed and turned serious. "I’m just feeling a bit out of my depth here. You’re not the first girl to ask me why I kissed her. I’m not taking it as a compliment."

"But it is!" Ruth insisted, and swung her legs over the side of the lounger to face him more directly. "At least, for me it is." She paused as if another, different, not entirely welcome, thought occurred to her.

Sensing a change in her mood and a possible new angle to their conversation, Jim mimicked her pose, sitting sideways on the lounge facing her, their knees inches apart. He waited while she wrestled with her thoughts.

"I guess," she began slowly, "I’d have to also ask this hypothetical friend if I was doing the right thing. I have to be careful who I let into my life. Not just for me, but for Steven. If I’m going to…" she hesitated, "…start a relationship with someone, that someone has to be willing to take Steven, too. We’re a package deal."

Jim nodded. He’d once been part of such a package deal.

Ruth continued, "I’d have to ask my friend: am I ready to start dating again? How will I know? At what point would I be disloyal to Lester’s memory and is that even possible? What Les and I had can never be duplicated and I wouldn’t want to try. But I think I could have something just as meaningful and wonderful." She looked at him. "I think I need to try, anyway."

Jim considered her words carefully. He knew what she was saying. She was interested in dating, but she was also letting him know that she was putting Steven’s needs up front with her own. She wasn’t seeking to replace Lester, but to find happiness again. Was she saying she was hoping to find it with him?

Maybe we’re moving too fast. Maybe I should just go before this goes too far. She’s only been back in town for 2 weeks. She’s planning to stay a long time. That gives me time to take things nice and easy. Of course, I never pushed things with Trixie and look how that turned out. She ended up falling for Dan. Of course, Ruth’s already dated Dan, so doesn’t that mean she’s built up Dan Antibodies? Why am I so worried about what women think of Dan? I should worry what they think of me. It’s not like I haven’t had relationships and it’s not like I couldn’t get a date with almost anyone I wanted. Do I want to date a woman who’s already saddled with so much responsibility? Do I want to step into another ready-made family and struggle to find my place in it? Getting used to the Wheelers was tough enough. I don’t know that I can do that again. She’s so pretty, though, with those eyes and that hair. And sweet, the way she takes care of Steven. And brave, the way she yanked up roots and came back here to settle and start her own business. I could do so much worse. So could she. I can’t think about this now. I’m just running in circles. Why don’t I stop over-analyzing things for once in my life and just let nature take its course? See what happens and if it doesn’t go anywhere, at least I’ve managed to turn Ruth from a ‘girl I knew in high school’ to a good friend.

He nodded, then, and stood, saying, "It’s getting really late. I have a breakfast meeting with the architect for the dormitory and I haven’t yet looked over the preliminary plans. And you did say you had to work in the morning."

Ruth stood, too, a hint of worry creasing her forehead. "You’re probably right," she said.

She walked with him to the edge of the sundeck. He paused at the top step, looking down the short flight of stairs to the grass and the place he parked his car. She asked him softly, "Something wrong?"

"No," Jim admitted. He took a breath, suddenly uncertain. "Would you mind very much if I kissed you goodnight?"

Surprise flooded her features. "Why, Mr. Frayne!" she grinned. "We’re such an adult!"

He felt himself blush. "Well, Miss Kettner," he said, purposely not using her married name, "I just want to be sure I don’t make any mistakes."

She smiled up at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if he were worthy or not. He must have passed muster, for she nodded and said, "Certainly, Mr. Frayne. You may kiss me."

He didn’t reply. He just gripped her shoulders gently and bent his neck, letting his lips press softly against hers. A moment passed and he felt her respond to him, so he deepened his kiss. Her hands touched his waist, lightly resting on his cotton shirt.

He broke the kiss and said, "Do you have plans for dinner tomorrow night?"

"Why, no," she said. "I don’t."

"Would you care to have dinner with me?" Before she could reply to that, he hurriedly said, "Miss Trask, the manager of Manor House, would be delighted to baby-sit Steven, if that’s what you’re worried about. We could go into White Plains, if you like. There’s a new Italian place just opened up. It’s supposed to be quite good, but a little fancy. Brian’s taking Honey there on Friday. Or, if you want something more casual, we could go to the Roadhouse over on Albany Post. It’s up to you."

She thought a moment. "The Roadhouse sounds like a lot of fun. I don’t have a lot of fancy clothes."

"Perfect. So, I’ll come by around seven?" Jim asked.

Ruth nodded. "If you’re sure Miss Trask won’t mind baby-sitting on such short notice."

"She won’t mind. She’ll look forward to it, in fact." Jim grinned. "She can’t wait for Honey to start having kids so she can vie with Trixie for the title of ‘Favorite Aunt’."

"Then, seven it is."

"I look forward to it." Jim swiftly kissed her one more time.

Ruth pushed at his shoulders, laughed and said, "If you don’t go now, you’ll never get those plans looked at and it’ll be all my fault!"

"Then you’ll just have to figure out some way to make it up to me, won’t you!" He laughed with her, but took his keys from his pocket, descended the steps and got into his car.

As he backed out of the driveway, he saw Ruth waving goodnight. He waved back at her, absurdly pleased with the way the world was working things out for him. If he hadn’t driven her home that night, if he hadn’t volunteered to take her to the Stables in the first place, if he hadn’t gone after that softball… A lot of things had to take place to get him to this spot, he knew, and he was grateful for every last one of them. He liked how Nature was taking its course.

*     *     *

"Well, Diana, darling," Thomas said abruptly. "I think I’d better be getting on up to my room now. It’s getting late."

Diana looked up from the script in her lap. "Oh?" She glanced at the clock. "It’s not even nine."

Thomas sighed and glanced apologetically at his fiancée. "I know. I guess I’m still feeling the jet lag. I can’t get used to this time zone."

Diana nodded slowly. "Did you want me to come up with you? Maybe ‘chat’ a little?" She looked carefully out the open doorway of the library to the game room. She saw that her parents were still engaged in their Gin Rummy and her brothers had been absorbed by their video game. She slid off the couch and moved to stand in front of him.

As Diana slid her hands over his chest onto his shoulders, Thomas shook his head with a smile and removed her hands. "Not in your parents’ house, Di," he said. "That’s just not done. Besides, I’m really tired. Be a good girl and finish that script. Isn’t it any good?"

"Ugh," she replied. "It’s an action flick. I have no desire to play somebody’s trophy girlfriend."

He frowned. "I thought the part was a scientist?"

Diana started to laugh. "Yeah, right. I checked some of the science part with Anne. You know what she said? That it was practically impossible the way it’s described for humans to travel in space without--"

"I’m sure that’s all terrifically interesting," Thomas interrupted, "but isn’t it just a movie? Who cares if it’s accurate?"

She regarded him with surprise. "Shouldn’t it be? I mean, isn’t it better to be accurate than prove you just don’t care about the product?"

"Accuracy doesn’t sell tickets," Thomas reminded her with a tap on her nose. "Special effects, witty dialogue and the hero’s beautiful girlfriend does."

"I didn’t get into this business to make money. I’ve got plenty of that just by being born into this family."

"How well I know the affluence to which you’ve grown accustomed," he replied dryly. "I’m surrounded by it."

Diana felt her smile freeze. She knew that Thomas had grown up in near-poverty circumstances. The only thing that brought him any fortune, she knew, were his marquee looks and his near-perfect memory. His acting talent, she also realized, restricted itself to light romances and archetypal characters that required no delicate shading or nuance. Being at her home in Sleepyside, among her family’s rather ostentatious display of wealth, must rankle him.

He must have noticed her distress, for he apologized, "I’m sorry, Diana. I don’t mean to upset you. I’m being a jackass. Forgive me?" He bent his knees so that he was eye level with her and repeated his request for forgiveness.

She relented. She couldn’t stay angry with him for very long. Sometimes, she just felt for him so! She knew poverty quite well. Unlike her brothers or sisters, she had clear memories of the tiny two-bedroom apartment the Lynch family shared, just on the edge of the Hawthorne Street district. Respectable, but shabby. When her father hit it rich with an opportune purchase of an Internet-company stock, their fortunes reversed dramatically and they moved from that two-bedroom dive to the 28-room mansion on the river.

Diana knew it wasn’t a thing to be ashamed of, being rich. It had taken her awhile, true, but she had eventually come to terms with her family’s status. In fact, it amused her to see and hear her brothers and sisters speak and act as if the family always had money. Still, she realized it might bother Thomas, to see the everyday luxury she was so accustomed to, when he had so little of his own.

He wasn’t even that well-known an actor, yet. He had gotten respectable reviews for his role in ‘Avalon’, and a few calls for other pictures, but nothing really big. She could forgive him. She even told him so.

Thomas kissed her on the tip of her nose, then went into the game room to say good night to her family. Diana followed.

"Where’re the girls?" Diana asked.

Her mother glanced up from her hand of cards. "Oh, they’ve both got headaches. You know how they are. Can’t do a thing by themselves."

Her father chortled. "One gets an itch and the other scratches. Been that way since the day they were born, isn’t that right, dear?"

Her mother nodded, played a card and cheerfully said, "Gin! And, since I ended with a diamond, that makes it double points!"

Diana and Thomas let them alone with their game and moved toward Terry and Larry on the couch. Since it was late, and summer, and the windows were open instead of the air conditioning on, they wore only a pair of shorts each. Diana grinned at the idea that, here they were wearing not much more than they had in Clearwater, yet then they had been mortified and here they were comfortable. Just put them in familiar surroundings and watch out! she smiled to herself.

Thomas asked, "Who’s winning?"

Terry crowed, "I’m wiping the floor with him!"

Larry muttered sourly, "Not for long, you’re not!"

They leaned forward, intent on the gruesome spectacle on the screen. They were playing ‘No Exit’, a particularly depressing (to Diana’s mind) and frightening chase game. Each brother ‘played’ a well-armed mutant whose task was to hunt down and search out other mutant monsters through a maze full of traps. The first one to clear all the traps and kill all the mutant monsters found the exit and moved to the next level.

As Diana watched, unwillingly drawn into the action, Terry finally slew his last mutant and the exit appeared. He leapt up, fists punching the air and shouted, "Take that, you slug!"

Diana laughed at his exuberance and Larry’s quiet dismay. She turned to Thomas, intending to suggest that he go on up to his room when he said instead, "I’ll take on the winner. One of you, show me how this thing works, will you?"

Terry shrugged his assent while Larry just tossed his game pad onto the couch in defeat. "Go ahead, Thomas," he said. "I may as well watch him whip your butt, too."

"Sounds delightful," Thomas grinned and hurried around the sofa to sit between the twins. "Now, how do you fire?"

As Diana watched in curious disbelief, Terry and Larry proceeded to give instructions and tips, excitedly finishing each other’s sentences and talking at the same time. Thomas seemed to have forgotten his earlier fatigue in his eagerness to bond with his future brothers-in-law.

I guess it’s a good thing they share interests, Diana thought approvingly. She left them alone and walked idly back to the library and her script. She stared at it, disgusted at the thought of playing someone so brainless, and left the library.

Walking down the long main hallway of the house, Diana heard a muffled noise from one of the darkened rooms. She poked in her head and switched on the light. "Who-? Oh, Harrison!" she said. "What are you doing in here?"

The very proper butler glared at her indignantly. "I beg your pardon, Miss Diana, but there seems to be a problem with this door." He gestured at a French door that led to the western gardens.

"Oh? What problem?" She came forward to investigate.

"I check these doors every night before I retire," he said. "They were unlocked earlier, so I locked them. Then I heard a noise out here, and when I checked them just now, they are unlocked."

Diana looked, but could see nothing to indicate anyone had broken in. "Do you think I should call the police?"

"Oh, no," Harrison assured her. "I checked and there is nothing missing." He gestured to indicate the room which housed Mrs. Lynch’s collection of Lladro figurines and Mr. Lynch’s prized original Chagall. "There is too much here to tempt the casual or professional burglar. I was here just five minutes ago. A burglar would have still been here, don’t you think?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "Do you think I should call Trixie?"

Harrison smiled kindly. "While I appreciate Trixie’s strong detection skills, I do not think this merits further examination. It is just as possible that I mistook the door for being locked earlier."

"Well, it’s locked now," Diana said firmly. "So I’m sure we’ll be fine."

"I’m certain of it as well, Miss Diana," he confirmed.

"Then I’m going upstairs and check on the girls," she said. As she left the room, she didn’t see the worried frown on the butler’s face, nor his expression when he straightened a small oriental rug on the parquet floor.

Upstairs, Diana knocked on the main door to her sisters’ suite of rooms. She didn’t hear a noise, so she pushed open the door, softly announcing her presence. She entered her sisters’ sitting room carefully, shutting the door quietly behind her. Stealing first to Julie’s, then to Kathy’s door, she listened for any sound to indicate her sisters’ presence. She found none.

Curious, she opened Julie’s door. The bedside table light was on, the radio played softly, clothes were strewn about the floor and her schoolbooks lay scattered across her desk. Julie was not there.

She opened Kathy’s door, switching on the overhead light. Kathy had scattered her books on the bed, her clothes hung over her chair, the screen saver on her computer played, but her radio was silent. Still, she wasn’t there, either.

Puzzled, Diana sat on Kathy’s bed and tried to figure out where her sisters had gone. She heard the outer door open, so she went out to greet whoever had followed her in.

When Julie saw her older sister waiting for her, she blanched. "What’s going on? Are they looking for me?" she asked.

"Who? Why?" Diana questioned. "What’s going on? Where were you?"

Julie began babbling about needing to take a walk outside for some fresh air. She had just gotten to the part about the night blooming jasmine when the door opened again and Kathy came in. She jumped to see her sisters both waiting for her. "What’s up?" she asked casually.

Diana repeated her questions.

"I was just outside for a walk. Why?"

"Didn’t you see Julie out there, too?" Diana asked.

Kathy glanced at Julie. "Why, no. I didn’t. Were you out for a walk, too?"

Diana didn’t miss the sudden tension spring up between them, nor the accusatory look that passed from Julie to Kathy and the bewildered look that Kathy returned.

"Yeah, she was," Diana answered.

"So, what’s the big deal?" Kathy asked. "We’re allowed to go for walks, you know."

"I know," Diana said, backing down. "I was just worried about you. Poor Harrison’s convinced we’ve got a burglar or something because one of you left the garden parlor door open."

"Oh, sorry," Kathy said, glancing at Julie. "It won’t happen again, will it, sis?"

"No. It certainly won’t," Julie replied.

"Good." Diana smiled at both of them. "Then I’ll tell Harrison there’s nothing to worry about. Good night!" She kissed them both on the cheek and left them alone. Closing the door behind her, Diana couldn’t help but wonder when the little imps had grown old enough to sneak out of the house on a school night. Good thing I was such a model daughter!

*     *     *

"So, when were you going to tell me, Helen?"

Helen Belden looked up warily from her book. "What are you talking about, Alicia?" she asked her older sister. She had been enjoying the latest from her favorite author in peace and quiet. Bobby was up in his room, having returned from his nightly run a half hour ago, Peter was in his study, surfing the web. And her sister had been, she assumed, utilizing her time in the most efficient manner possible.

"That you finally admit that I was right."

"About what?" Helen regarded her sister calmly.

Alicia sat next to her on the sofa, her knees pressed together and her hands folded primly in her lap. "About life, Helen. Specifically, your life." She smiled thinly, a hint of triumph in her eyes. "You’re happier being a homemaker, aren’t you."

Helen considered her next words carefully. Alicia had the rather unwelcome ability to induce Helen’s formidable temper. "I’m happy, yes. I like my life here, with Peter and the children. I’m not sure what you’re talking about, though."

"Why, Helen! I should think it’d be obvious!" She spread her hands in emphasis. "Look around you! You’ve recreated your childhood here. Everything in its place. Not a speck of dust to be found. Home cooked meals. Never a sign of take out. You even wear an apron to wash the dishes."

"What are you talking about, Alicia," Helen said, hearing the growl in her voice and hating it. "What’s your point?"

Alicia smiled and patted Helen’s arm. "That I was right. Giving up your ‘career’ as a painter was the right choice. The only good thing that came out of those two years at college was your marriage proposal. Although why you couldn’t have accepted one of the boys at home, I’ll never know. You just had to go away and go to school, didn’t you?"

"Yeah, that’s right," Helen snapped. "I did. I just had to be selfish and go to college and study art. Then I met Peter and immediately realized I was an idiot for trying to develop my mind and talent and needed to become somebody’s helpmeet and wife and mother and nothing more than a glorified maid for some man!" She felt herself begin to shake. The depth of her anger surprised her, but her sister’s reaction surprised her more.

Tears sparkled in Alicia’s deep blue eyes, the exact shade of Helen’s own. "Why are you so angry with me? I think you did the right thing by marrying Peter."

Suddenly, her anger evaporated. "I know you do," Helen admitted. "So do I. But not for the reasons you think. But if it makes you happy to think of me and my life like that, then go ahead. Think it."

Alicia blinked, more than a bit confused by her sister’s sudden capitulation. "How do you see your life then, Helen?"

"You really want to know?" At Alicia’s hesitant nod, Helen closed her book and set it on the coffee table beside her empty teacup. "Then I’ll tell you. Before I went to college, I painted all the time. It satisfied something in me that nothing else could, especially after Mom and Dad died and we went to live with Uncle Mart and Aunt Helen."

Helen took another moment to collect her thoughts. "I went away to college because, frankly, I couldn’t stand it there any longer. I hated being told what to do and how to do it. I needed to get out on my own. When I met Peter, suddenly all the parts of my life made sense. He fulfilled something in me that painting never could. When we moved here, painting just became something I used to do. My real creative spirit, in my opinion, came alive when we moved here, to take care of his parents."

She smiled at the comfortably cozy room, the site of so many wonderful memories. The corner where the Christmas tree always stood. The coffee table, the top of which Brian used to ‘drive’ his little Matchbox cars across. The chair Mart climbed up on when he was four and fell off, cracking his head on the floor and prompting a visit to the emergency room. The fireplace, where she had found Trixie’s dangling feet as the three-year old tried to figure out if it were possible for Santa Claus to get into the farmhouse that way. The rug Bobby threw up on after eating too much Halloween candy after Trick-or-Treating. Even the slippery spot on the floor where Reddy would always manage to slip if he ran too fast.

The spot by the window where Peter proposed to her, almost thirty years ago.

"My real life began here, in this room," Helen continued. "My true purpose, my true calling, was always to see the beauty that surrounds us all, and bring that beauty to the attention of others. If I can do that by raising four healthy, wonderful children, enjoy an almost-perfect marriage and relationship with the man of my dreams, then, yes. I’m still an artist. I’m just working on a larger and more mutable scale."

Alicia seemed to be gauging her sister’s sincerity as she spoke. "I see," she said, nodding. "Well. I’m for bed. I’ll see you in the morning."

As she left the room, Helen wished her sister good night. She tried to regain interest in her book, but failed. Instead, she took her teacup into the kitchen, rinsed it and left it to dry in the sink. On her way to the stairs, she paused, hearing the click-clack-clack of Peter in his study at the computer. A thought occurred.

Helen knocked lightly on the study door, then entered. "Peter? Find anything?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I’m still trying to narrow it down between the Highlands or the Lowlands. It’s difficult to choose. City or countryside?" He turned to her, pushing his chair back from the desk and facing her. "What do you think?"

Helen sat on Peter’s lap and put her arms around his neck. "I think that no matter where we go for our anniversary, it’s going to be wonderful." She kissed him and he hugged her tight for a moment.

"But you must have an opinion," he said. "I want you to be able to take some pictures and when we get back, I want you to do a painting or two. Please?"

He looked so lost, Helen couldn’t help but laugh. "Come on, Peter. You want me to decide? Why can’t we do both? That way, you get your city and I get my countryside."

"Both?" He blinked as if the thought hadn’t yet occurred to him. "That’s a wonderful idea! Of course, it’ll mean an extra week away…"

Helen smiled. "I know. I also know that you have another week of vacation due, and that we’ll still be back in time for Bobby to go back to school. We can ask Trixie to stay here with him while we’re gone, or even Mart. Though I really think Bobby can handle things on his own for two weeks."

"Our little Bobby? Who’d have ever thought so?" Peter grinned. He turned serious then, and asked her, "When did our little babies grow up to be so responsible? Brian’s getting married in a few weeks! He’s a doctor. Mart’s a teacher. Even Trixie’s got her own business. And now we’re trusting the family homestead to Bobby, the brattiest of them all."

"Peter!" Helen scolded mildly.

"What?" he defended himself. "You know it’s true. Just between you and me," he said softly. "Don’t you think we coddled him a little much as a child?"

"Maybe," Helen admitted. "But he’s certainly grown more responsible. I think this working for Trixie will be good for him."

"Me, too," Peter agreed. "I’m glad the theater didn’t have a spot for him for the summer. I think he’ll learn a lot more about life from working for his sister than by watching the latest Star Wars movie fifty times in a row."

"Enough of all that," Helen said, kissing him on the cheek. "I was just coming in to say goodnight. Are you going to be much longer?"

Peter considered her words. "I don’t have to be." As Helen’s eyebrows rose in invitation, he turned the chair with her still comfortably in his lap and began clicking the mouse. "Let me just bookmark this page and I’ll go up with you."

A moment later, he had turned off the PC, took Helen’s hand in his and they ascended the stairs together.

 *     *     *

Amy loved the hospital at night. Everyone seemed so insulated from the rest of the world. There were no visitors, no surgeries planned, no rounds. Just the staff and the patients, and the patients were usually asleep.

She had gotten two cups of coffee, the last two available before the cafeteria closed, and had almost gotten them both to the on-call room before spilling one of them over her hand. Grimacing with the sudden, searing pain, she shouldered open the door and hurried to the conference table to set down the cups.

"Ouch!" she said, shaking off the burning liquid.

A handsome, dark-haired doctor, the only other occupant of the room, glanced up from his scut work. "You okay?" he asked.

"I’ll be fine. Just let me go wash off my hand." She smiled at him as his eyes stared eagerly at the steaming cups. "Yes, that one’s for you," she told him, then hurried to the sink.

"Thanks. Did you bring any sugar?" he called to her.

"No, sorry," she said. "I’ll check the cabinets for some." She looked around the little kitchenette, even in the refrigerator, but all she found was "Just an almost-empty bag. Looks like ants have gotten into it."

"No, thanks," came the reply. "I’ll live."

She joined him at the table. "How’s it going?"

He sighed and rubbed his whiskered chin. "So far, so good."

"You know," she said, "You could get an intern to do that for you."

He grinned, "Oh, no! That was my first mistake. I got an intern to do this once and he made a mistake and Dr. Rickart hasn’t yet let me forget it. Besides, I like to do my own work."

"Whatever," she said. "You want any help putting it in the computer?"

"No thanks. Just the company’s fine, if you’re on a break."

"I am," she said and smiled into those melting, chocolate brown eyes she found so appealing.

She regarded him as he returned to work. There was just something so wonderful about the way he concentrated on his work, the way that one lock of brown hair fell over his forehead, the way his hands held the pen and paper. He frowned a little at his paperwork, and she smiled, remembering…

Are you going to take all day with that journal? she’d asked him…

"Huh? Oh, no," he’d said, a little embarrassed. "Sorry. I’m just rereading this article about self-managed pain therapy in children."

"Really? That’s the one I was after, too. Is it any good?"

They started discussing the article, then the medical program, then each other. They ended up sharing a pizza and a pitcher of soda, neither one of them actually old enough to drink.

"It’s so weird to finally meet someone else who’s a year ahead! I thought I was the only one," she’d confessed.

He smiled. "You should meet my friend Jim. He’s jumped ahead two years and is he ever having a hard time of it! All his friends at Harvard are out drinking every night, but he has to stay in because he’s too young to go."

"Two years? Wow." They commiserated on being first in their high school class, then only in the top 25% when they hit college. "It’s a come-down, isn’t it."

"Yeah," he’d said. "I got so used to being at the top, at first I was afraid I had lost something of myself by going to college. Isn’t that strange?"

"Not really. I thought so, too. It’s like suddenly, you’re not who you always thought you were. It’s disorienting."

They shared a lot of pizzas after that. Eventually, they ended up sharing breakfasts as well.

Then she made her mistake. She told him she loved him. When he didn’t reply, she knew it was over. Rather, she realized it had never really begun.

They drifted apart, each absorbed into their own careers, their own lives. Then came that wonderful, out of the blue call.

Come to Sleepyside, they had said. There’s a position opening up, they had said. You’re perfect for it, they had said.

Yes, she had said.

What are you doing here, Brian had said, completely surprised that day she showed up in the on-call room.

I’m the new Pediatrician, she had said. We’re working together now.

That’s… great, was his reply.

After that awkward moment, they fell into their old rhythms. Discuss, argue, pizza, understand, agree. Late nights watching over sick children. Early morning rounds.

And now… late night cups of coffee.

Yes, Amy reflected, watching him at work. This was going to work out to her advantage.

*     *     *

"I’m telling y’all what I told y’all earlier. I’m not going to tell you again!"

"Just tell me what you’ve got for a forwarding address. She gave you one, right?"

"Just her mama’s address up north."

"Give it to me. I want to send her a letter."

Minutes later…

"J’get it?"

"Yeah. I got it."

"So. Where to?"

"Some hick town called Sleepyside, New York."

"Sleepyside, huh? Never heard of it."

"Me, neither."

"Guess we’re going there, though. Huh."

"If’n y’all ever get a move on, yeah."

"So we’re going!"

Chapter 4

23 days to go

The following Wednesday found the male contingent of the bridal party getting measured for their tuxedos. A month earlier, Honey and Brian had agreed on a particular tux style. Since the wedding was to be a formal affair and take place before noon, morning coats were required, which meant tails. Brian, being a traditionalist by nature, wanted it kept simple: black and white. Honey pushed for green or gold cummerbunds, at least for the groomsmen, but Brian held firm. Black and white it was.

Getting measured for a tux, Brian thought, was not the best use of his time. He could be making rounds, checking on a small outbreak of chicken pox in the poorer section of the village or spending a few hours in the medical van that patrolled the outlying areas of Westchester County. Instead he had to remain still while some guy measured his inseam and told him to suck in his gut.

"I don’t have a gut," he said tightly, ignoring the small bit of skin that gently rolled over his waistband.

"Whatever you say, sir," the tailor replied, shaking his head.

That does it. I’m skipping the dessert bar at the cafeteria from now on, Brian told himself sternly. He reminded himself rather harshly that Mart hadn’t been told to suck in his gut, nor Jim nor Dan neither. In fact, although this was the first time he’d been clothes shopping with Mart since high school, this was also the first time he’d noticed that Mart had long since dispensed with his weight problem. True, Mart was never what he’d call overweight, but his brother had not been known to turn down an extra meal.

It was disconcerting for Brian to realize that his own brother had conquered something that now sought to wreak havoc on his own body: the tendency to overeat sweets.

Bobby was next on the platform and Brian gratefully took a spot on the sofa to watch with the others. Jim, Dan and Mart were whispering and laughing in a way that made Brian nervous. "What’s going on?" Brian asked.

"We’re just discussing the bachelor party," Dan replied. "You’re going to love it!"

Brian glanced warily at Jim. "What’s the plan?"

"Well, now," Jim said, "I’m not sure I should tell you just yet. Suffice to say, you will be adequately taken care of."

Dan and Mart dissolved into laughter. Brian shook his head. "Look, Jim, I told you when I asked you to be my Best Man. No hookers! That’s all I asked!" He gestured at Bobby. "Besides, Bobby’s going to be there! I’m not--"

"Don’t worry!" Jim interrupted. "Bobby’ll be fine. I’m not taking him anywhere he couldn’t get into on his own."

With that enigmatic statement, Jim let the matter drop.

Bobby called over to them. "Hey, guys! What do you think? Should I get a haircut or keep it long?" He fluffed his shoulder-length blond curls thoughtfully.

"Cut it! Cut it!" Mart called. "You’ll never regret it if you do." Since he had turned eight and was deemed old enough to determine his own hairstyle, Mart Belden had kept his hair as short as possible. His stated purpose in doing so was to minimize drying time, conserve shampoo and to prove his lack of vanity. After all, Brian spent twenty minutes every day blow drying his hair to achieve the perfect ‘lay’ along his forehead and Mart knew perfectly well that in high school, Dan moussed religiously.

Of course, everyone knew the real reason Mart cropped his hair. Left on its own, Mart’s blond hair curled into as many tangled ringlets as Trixie’s, Bobby’s or his mother’s. While Bobby didn’t seem to mind being mistaken for a girl (which hadn’t happened since he hit puberty and six feet), Mart sure did. Especially when that girl he seemed to be mistaken for was his sister.

"Keep it!" Dan called, just as loudly. "Girls love long hair."

"Cut it!" Jim chuckled. "You look like a young Roger Daltrey."

"Who?" Bobby asked, clearly bewildered.

"Exactly," Jim said, grinning widely as the others, even the tailor, began to laugh.

"Compromise," Brian suggested. "Trim it up for the pictures, but don’t do anything rash. It’s all planned and if you show up at the ceremony not looking like yourself, François will have a fit."

"How is that wedding planner-consultant guy working out, anyway? He still getting on your nerves?" Dan asked.

"He’s getting on Honey’s nerves," Brian replied. He paused a moment, then shrugged. "I don’t understand it. First, planning the wedding is too much to expect Miss Trask to do, what with all her other responsibilities, so they get a consultant. Then Honey spends all her time complaining about the guy."

"What’s wrong with François?" Bobby asked, stepping off the platform to join them.

"Nothing. Except Honey says he’s a control freak," Brian explained. "Which I always thought was what you wanted in a wedding consultant. Someone who would control things." He stood as the tailor approached, a large planner in his hands.

Jim glanced at his watch. "Brian? How much longer is this going to run? I’ve got an appointment coming up soon."

"Oh?" Brian asked. "I guess you can go now, if you need to. Another meeting with the builders?"

"Not exactly," Jim admitted. "I’ve got a date tonight."

Brian nodded, then stepped to the side to confer with the tailor about his schedule.

"Really?" Dan looked interested. "Another date with Ruth?"

"Ruthie Kettner?" Mart asked. "You’re dating Ruthie Kettner?"

"There a problem with that?" Jim asked them both.

"No! Not at all," Mart assured him. "Ruthie’s a great girl. I just, well… She’s only just gotten back in town and already you’re dating her? Aren’t you moving kind of fast?"

Jim looked from Mart to Dan and saw only studied polite interest in his reply. "Ruth’s a very nice woman and I don’t think it’s ‘moving fast’ to take her out to dinner."

"That was last night," Dan said slyly. "What’s on the agenda tonight?"

Grinning tightly, Jim replied, "Not that it’s any of your concern, but tonight we’re renting some movies and hanging out at Manor House. Ruth and Steven, so I’m sure I’ll be adequately chaperoned."

"Just one more question. Little kids have bedtimes," Dan laughed. "Do their mothers?"

"Stuff it, Dan," Jim said evenly. "That answer your question?"

Instead of being intimidated, Dan burst out laughing. "Oh, yeah! I got all my questions answered!"

Feeling a bit uncomfortable being the focus of his friends’ amusement, Jim took his leave and left.

"You’re not jealous or anything, are you?" Mart asked Dan.

"Course not!" Dan replied. "Are you?"

"Of Jim and Ruth?" Mart frowned. "Why?"

Dan replied easily. "Cause he’s got a girlfriend and you don’t."

"Bite me," Mart replied.

Bobby, intently watching the entire exchange, grinned. Poor Mart, he wanted to say, everyone’s got a girl but him.

*     *     *

"You certainly have a beautiful home, Jim," Ruth told him upon the completion of her tour of Manor House.

"Thanks," Jim replied, "but the credit belongs mostly to Mother. She’s the decorator."

"Do the Wheelers still live here?"

"No," he said. "At least, not as often as they used to." He shrugged. "Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable." He gestured to the chairs and sofas in the comfortable family room. They could easily hear Steven in the game room nearby, playing happily with an antique pinball machine. "Mostly, they come by here for October, when the Hudson is perfect for sailing. Or they come for a few weeks in the spring, to see the gardens and stuff. Mostly, they divide their time between their house in Miami, their building in Manhattan or their ranch in Montana."

Ruth smiled. "So, they just prefer staying in places whose names begin with ‘M’?" She sat easily on one of the long sofas and set her purse down beside her feet.

Jim laughed, sinking into the sofa beside her. "I hadn’t noticed that before, but I guess you’re right!"

"So you live here alone?" She glanced around the room, taking in the family pictures, the plaques and awards given to Matthew or Madeleine Wheeler for one thing or another, a few trophies for equestrienne events tucked away in a glass case, several shelves of paperbacks and well-worn hardcovers, a TV screen and an impressive stereo system. The room reflected both wealth and comfort. She liked it.

"Unless you count the staff," he said, nodding. "But even then, it’s not a lot of people. I don’t require much."

"Guess not," Ruth said slowly. Then, changing the subject, she said, "I really enjoyed dinner last night. The Roadhouse was a really cool place."

"Thanks," Jim said with a small smile. "We can go back there any time you like."

"I’ll remember that," she said, returning his smile.

"Hey, Jim?" Steven called from the other room. "What’s ‘TILT’ mean?"

Jim started to laugh. "I can’t believe that little guy tilted the machine!" He got up and walked into the other room, saying, "Excuse me, but I’ve got to put a stop to this abuse of my prized pinball game!"

Ruth laughed and assured him she was fine. After a moment, she got more comfortable on the sofa, laid her head on the cushioned back and closed her eyes to think.

Okay, Ruth. What’s going on? You’re on a date with a perfectly wonderful guy, yet you’re full of self-doubt. Why? It’s Jim Frayne! Isn’t that reason enough? So what? He’s just a regular guy. He’s got money. You’re going to hold that against him? Besides, he’s not just spending his money on status symbols. He’s actually trying to build something meaningful with it. You must respect that. I do! It’s just, well, he’s gorgeous. Sure he is. In that J Crew, rugged outdoorsy way, he’s a Fox. Well, I’m not rich. His parents will think I’m a fortune hunter. If he wanted ‘rich’, wouldn’t he be dating ‘rich’? And if he cared what the Wheelers thought, he wouldn’t have been interested in you, would he! I’m not gorgeous. I knew this was it! Still think of yourself as ‘drippy Ruthie Kettner’, don’t you! Even though Anne admitted she was jealous of you and that’s why she trashed your reputation and made your life miserable ten years ago, you still think she was right? I guess so… Get over it! What did Lester always tell you? You were too beautiful. You attracted attention wherever you went, but you were too modest to ever notice people noticing you. Besides, I thought we covered all this yesterday. We did. But that was when I could imagine he was just being polite. Now it looks as if he’s really interested in something more. And you’re not? I didn’t say that…

*     *     *

Hours later, Jim carried a sleeping Steven to Ruth’s ancient Chevrolet. "You’re sure you want to take him home? I don’t mind if he stays in one of the spare bedrooms."

Ruth held open the back door and stepped out of the way. Unsure how to reply, she just kept quiet.

Jim laid Steven across the back seat, made sure to tuck his little feet out of the way, then softly closed the door. He turned to Ruth, the question still on his face. "Really. It’d be no trouble."

She looked up at him, then looked away. "What about me?"

Realization swept Jim’s features. "Oh! Oh, that," he said. There was a pause. Dark green eyes met her ice blue ones and he smiled sincerely. "You could have my sister’s old room. I’m not trying to pressure you into anything more."

"I see," she replied. Then Jim’s arms were around her shoulders and his mouth pressed against hers and for a moment or two, her feet didn’t touch the ground.

He held her a moment longer, then brushed a long strand of white-blond hair from her face. "I guess you’d sleep better in your own bed."

"I do have to work in the morning," she agreed.

"Then let’s get you home!" He opened up the door for her, allowed her to get comfortable, then closed it. As she started the car, waved and backed into the driveway, he reflected on the evening. It was a lot of fun. I’ve gotten used to not having people around all the time, yet even with the two of them there, I never felt crowded. It was… companionable. Of course, that kiss was not ‘companionable’. Note to myself: kiss Ruth as often as possible.

*    *     *

19 days to go (Friday)

"This is the life!" Bobby said as he leaned back in the fully-adjustable chair and rested his feet on the desk. His sister had just left her office to pick up the mail from the Belden-Wheeler PO Box, leaving him ‘in charge’ for the next twenty minutes. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

After a few seconds, he glanced at the computer screen saver. It had just begun the SETI+Home program, whereby the computer dialed into SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence), downloaded signal information and began sorting through it, searching for evidence of intelligent alien life as part of a world-wide effort to sift through the trillions of bytes of information the organization had accumulated since its inception.

He stared at the weird symbols and numbers for a few more seconds, then sighed. It was boring to be at the agency by himself.

He thought about why he was there at all. He had been on Spring Break with his two best friends, Terry and Larry Lynch, when they had fallen victim to a scam. Three girls, also being scammed, had practically mugged them, robbing them of most of their clothes, money and possessions. Trixie, Honey and the rest of their friends had gone to Clearwater to rescue them. At the end of their little adventure, Trixie presented the college trio with their bill.

Terry and Larry got their father to pay their share, but not without giving up most of their privileges and freedom. Bobby grinned, thinking of how the twins had been assigned landscaping duties at the Lynch Lodge, as he called their house. The summer had been heating up nicely. Terry and Larry had done nothing but complain about the rising temperature since starting their chore schedule last week.

To pay his own share, Bobby agreed to work for his sister at her detective agency. When Honey went off on her honeymoon, he was supposed to pick up some of the slack in her place. Except, as Trixie explained, he was not allowed access to any of the systems or files unless under careful supervision. Her careful supervision, she later clarified. She didn’t even give him his own password to the screen saver so that he could play FreeCell whenever he wanted.

Bobby sat up straight and tucked his long legs under the desk. Wouldn’t it be cool if like, right now, the SETI thing found evidence of an ET? And, like, the message just spelled out and, like, some alien-guy needs someone to come save his planet and I’m the only one who believes him so I go and there’s this beautiful princess and…

As Bobby fell into idle fantasy, the front door to the agency opened and closed.

"Hello?" a woman’s voice called. "Is anyone here?"

Startled, Bobby hurried into the reception area. "Yes! Hi! Can I help you?" He tried to put a name to the woman’s face, but failed. She was about average height, he supposed, with light brown hair and blue eyes. She wore somewhat heavy makeup with bright orange lipstick. She had dressed in a teal business suit, but her skirt didn’t quite make it to her kneecaps. As Bobby glanced further, he noticed she wore new shoes. They had fresh creases.

The woman took notice of Bobby, too, except she seemed mainly impressed with his height. "Are you Belden or Wheeler?" she asked, referring to the sign on the door.

"Belden," Bobby replied truthfully.

"Fine," she said, then glanced at the comfortable couch. "Are we going to sit?"

"Oh, please do," Bobby hastened to reply. "Can I get you a soda or something?"

"Coffee would be great," she answered.

Coffee, Bobby thought. I haven’t made coffee before… He nodded and hurried into the back office. Trixie hated coffee and Honey preferred tea anyway, so the coffeemaker existed only for the agency’s clients. Trixie hadn’t even shown Bobby how to work the machine.

Bobby approached the snack counter with trepidation and determination. The electric teapot he understood. The refrigerator, the microwave, the can opener, these items he had mastered. The coffeemaker mocked him. He heard the woman in the outer office sit down on the sofa and begin tapping her fingernails on her shiny purse. She was obviously growing impatient.

He’d seen Trixie make coffee for one of the lawyers that came around every so often to discuss cases. How exactly did she manage to make the horribly bitter stuff? And how hard could it really be? Bobby took the empty coffee carafe and filled it halfway from the bottled water dispenser that stood in the corner. Then he poured it into the reservoir of the coffee machine. Then he ran out of ideas.

After searching through the small cabinet that served as a pantry for the coffee grounds and filter, he pulled open the plastic cup-like thing that sat just above the heating element in the machine. He put the filter inside, then began filling up the filter with coffee. He was surprised to see just how much coffee grounds it took to fill the thing up. He noticed that the grounds settled as he shook the plastic container, so he continued to pack it all in, filling it to the brim. No wonder coffee’s in such demand, he thought as he emptied the package. You run through it all so fast!

He shoved the filter into place, wiped away the grounds that got knocked off the top, and switched on the machine. He heard the motor start and the water begin to steam almost immediately. After a few moments, a thin dripping stream of dark brown liquid spit out onto the heating element, and Bobby realized he’d forgotten to replace the carafe. He hurriedly fixed the situation and then watched, pleased, as the carafe began to fill with dark coffee.

Bobby returned to the outer reception, beaming in triumph. "Coffee’ll be ready in just a minute," he announced. "Now, what can we do for you?"

The woman rolled her eyes as if to say ‘finally!’ She crossed her legs and pulled her skirt up a bit on her upper thigh, smiling at Bobby. "Well," she began, "I’m looking for someone. Do you handle missing persons cases?"

Bobby sat on the sofa next to her and tried to look both sympathetic and responsible. "Of course we do. The agency has found many missing people. It’s one of our specialties."

She didn’t seem to be impressed, but she nodded anyway. "Good. Well, this shouldn’t be too difficult, anyway. I don’t think this person will be too hard to find."

"Oh?"

"Yes. She doesn’t know I’m looking for her." She frowned. "Shouldn’t you be taking notes or something?"

"What? Oh! Umm… yeah," Bobby nodded. "Hold on a second, okay?" He stood and hurried into the back office and began rummaging through Trixie’s desk. He found a spiral notebook and a pen. As he walked back to the other room, he got a strong whiff of the coffee. The dripping stream hadn’t ended yet, so he just returned to the reception, the woman and the sofa.

Bobby clicked his pen and turned to the first page of the notebook. He quickly checked the page to be sure it was blank and then looked up expectantly. "Go on," he urged.

She shrugged. "Okay, well, like I said," she began, "I want you to find my son. He’s with some little--" she used a rather descriptive, if unflattering, term, "--and I want him back. I have to have him back, you see."

Bobby, still mentally reeling from the casual use of a word he’d only heard once by accident when he was helping Trixie catalog some phone surveillance tapes she’d taken in Queens, just nodded. "Of course, you do."

"Is that coffee ready yet?" The woman smiled.

"Sure. Yeah. Probably." Bobby put the notebook and pen on the low table and went to check on the coffee. He got out an official Belden-Wheeler Agency coffee mug from the cabinet and filled it full. Belatedly, he called out, "Cream or sugar?"

He heard her reply, "I take it black."

He nodded, thinking to himself, Well, I got that part right. It’s certainly black. He replaced the carafe and took the mug to the woman without spilling a drop. "How is it?" he asked as she took the mug.

She cautiously took a sip, then hid her reaction with a swift turn of her head. She coughed a little. "It’s, um, strong." She set the mug on the low table. "I want to let it cool a bit," she explained, smiling as he retook his seat. She shifted a little on the sofa and leaned closer to him. "You’re awfully young to be a detective, aren’t you?"

"I’m old enough," Bobby replied easily. He began to notice more things about her. As she leaned forward, he caught a glimpse of cleavage. As she brushed her hand through her hair, he got a whiff of expensive perfume. Her eyes glowed with a promise. If only I weren’t spoken for, he thought wistfully.

"Old enough for what, exactly?" she cooed at him.

Bobby heard a note in her voice and a memory flashed in his mind. "Where are you from?" he asked suddenly.

She blinked at him. "Columbus," she replied, then added, "Georgia."

He nodded. "I knew some girls once from Georgia. Maybe you--"

"Georgia’s a big state. Lots of people come from Georgia."

"They were from Rome," he said.

"That’s upstate."

"You ever been there?"

"No."

"Oh."

Stuck for conversation, Bobby stared down at his blank sheet of paper. He hadn’t taken a single note. He wasn’t even sure what he should be writing down. His mind raced for a question to ask. Any question. It suddenly occurred to him he hadn’t asked "What’s your name?"

The woman grinned, displaying perfect teeth. "Lillian. But you can call me ‘Lil’. Everyone does."

"It’s very nice to meet you, Lil," Bobby said, holding out his hand.

Just as Lil took his hand in hers, the front door opened and Trixie, her eyes on the stack of mail she held in her hands, called out, "Bobby! I’m back! Quit trying to break into the--" She stopped when she saw Bobby and Lil on the sofa. "I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there. Bobby," she said to her brother, "take the mail into the office, will you? Pull out the bills and put them on my desk. The other stuff goes into the main basket, remember?"

Bobby felt a blush threaten. He stood, "Um, sure, but, um, Trixie, I, well, that is, I--"

"Yes? You what?" Trixie asked, her company smile firmly in place.

"Nothing," Bobby admitted. "Nice meeting you," he said to Lil.

Lil looked up in confusion. "Aren’t you the detective?" she asked Bobby.

Trixie smiled tightly. "No, he’s not. He’s my little brother. I’m the detective. It’s nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand. "I’m Trixie Belden. I see you’ve met Bobby."

Lil stood and took Trixie’s hand. "I’m Lil, but since I’ve already started with him, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish with him, too."

"That’s impossible," Trixie said as nicely as she could. "He’s not licensed. He’s just temporary office help while my partner is getting married. If you like, however," she continued, "he can stay. It’d be a good experience for him."

"Fine," Lil nodded, retaking her seat. Bobby sat next to her and Trixie pulled over an armchair.

"Well, Bobby," Trixie said. "It’s good to see you’ve been taking notes. Let’s see what you got so far." She took the notebook from him and glanced at the empty page. "I see," she said mildly. She reached for the pen and tried to make a notation on the paper. She frowned. "This pen is out of ink," she informed him. "Get another one from my desk, okay?"

As Bobby retrieved a new pen, Trixie asked, "So. Is ‘Lil’ your first or last name?"

"Both." At Trixie’s skeptical glance, she continued. "I’m an entertainer."

"I see," Trixie nodded. Bobby returned with the pen. "What do you do? How do you entertain?"

Lil answered easily, "I’m an exotic dancer."

Trixie nodded. "And the name on your birth certificate?"

"Lillian Nichols."

Trixie wrote that down. "Current address?"

"I’m staying at the Dew-Drop right now, room 6," Lil replied with a swift glance at Bobby. "But my permanent address is," she said, and gave them an address in Columbus, Georgia.

"And what brings you here today? How can I help you?"

"I want to find my son."

"I see. He’s run away?"

"No. He’s been taken from me."

Trixie looked up from her note-taking. "Kidnapping is a federal crime," she said. "Have you called in the FBI?"

"No. It’s not like that."

"I don’t understand."

"Y’all haven’t let me explain."

Trixie set her notebook on the table, leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. "Please explain, Lil."

"I’ll just do that." Lil mimicked Trixie’s pose, readjusted her skirt and smiled at Bobby. "It’s like this. About eight or so years ago, I was working at a club in Columbus, near Fort Benning. I met a young soldier and we fell in love. We broke up over some minor thing and a few weeks later I discovered I was pregnant. By the time the baby came, he was married. I thought my precious little boy would be better off with his father, so I let him keep little Stevie. But now… now…" Lil’s voice broke.

Trixie watched dispassionately as Lil covered her eyes with one hand. Bobby, meanwhile, grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and handed it to the woman. She took it with a grateful smile and dabbed at her eyes.

Lil took a shuddering breath, clutched her dry tissue and continued. "Then recently I discovered that the soldier had died and that his wife had taken my son with her back here, to New York. Well, I want my son back!"

"And the name of the boy’s father was--?" Trixie asked.

"Lester Mundy. He was a Sergeant when he died," Lil supplied. "He told me all about Sleepyside the first night we met. It’s a real quaint town."

"I see." Trixie turned over the notebook and closed the pen. "I’m sorry, Ms. Nichols--"

"Lil," the woman corrected, "please."

"Fine. Lil," Trixie began again, "I’m sorry, but with my partner going on her honeymoon soon, the agency will be short-staffed. I’m afraid we can’t take on any new cases at this time. I suggest you take this up with the police."

"But! But, you!" Lil stood as Trixie stood. Bobby leapt to his feet as well. "I have money. Is that it? I can pay whatever you want!"

"No." Trixie held firm. "I’m not taking on any new cases unless they won’t require immediate investigation. I just don’t have the hours in the day to accommodate such an important job and keep up with my prior commitments. I’m sure you understand."

Lil huffed, but Bobby could see she wasn’t going to argue further. Knowing his sister like he did, however, told Bobby that she wasn’t about to back down or reconsider. He escorted Lil to the door. "Oh! You didn’t finish your coffee!" he said.

"That’s okay," Lil simpered. "Looks like I’ll be in town for a while. Maybe you could make it up to me some time."

Bobby flushed as Lil winked, then turned and exited the agency. He watched carefully as the woman strut across the street then continue up the sidewalk towards the center of town.

"You okay, Bobby?" Trixie asked. She pushed the armchair back into position and picked up the mug of coffee.

"Yeah," he answered. "Yeah, I’m fine." He turned to her. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask me anything," she replied, handing him the mug. "Go ahead."

Bobby followed Trixie into her office, carrying the mug of coffee. She sat at her desk and began sorting through the stack of mail. Bobby sat across from her at Honey’s desk. "Why didn’t you take Lil’s case?"

Trixie sighed. "Long story," she said. "And I can’t concentrate on this," she gestured with the mail. "I’m going to be out the rest of the day. Just answer the phones and take messages. Page me if something comes up urgent. Otherwise, just close up at five. I’ll see you tomorrow at the big family picnic, right?"

"Yeah," Bobby replied. "You going to tell me then?"

"We’ll see," Trixie said, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "But for now, I have to go."

"You going to see Honey?" Bobby asked.

"No," Trixie replied. "And if she calls in, I’ve just gone home early. Don’t say anything about Lil, okay? Honey doesn’t need distractions right now." She grabbed her keys and hurried out of the office.

Bobby stared at the mug of coffee. Cautiously, he sniffed it. Then he sipped it. It was almost… chewy. Once his rather violent reaction subsided, he grabbed a stack of napkins and began sopping up the spilled brew off of Honey’s desk blotter. As he soaked up the black coffee lake, he barely took note of Honey’s neat handwriting on the huge desk calendar tucked into the blotter. For that day, she had written ‘Dinner in White Plains with Brian!’ and circled the words with a large heart.

*     *     *

Trixie sped through Sleepyside, her thoughts racing and her heart pounding. She had to find Ruth. She had to figure out what was going on. She had to – she had to slow down. Control her impatience. Ease off the accelerator. Avoid another speeding ticket.

Chewing her nails absentmindedly, Trixie turned down Glen Road toward Mrs. Hartman’s home. She parked her Mazda in the drive and considered just going straight up to the garage apartment, but didn’t want to appear rude.

Her knock on the front door was answered by the light pound of youthful feet and a shouted, "I’ll get it!"

Steven opened the door and stared up at her. "Hi, Ms. Belden!"

Trixie’s heart began to sink. "Hi, Steven. Is your mother here?"

Steven was already holding open the door and beckoning her inside. "Hurry! You don’t want to miss this! Some guy is about to tell his girlfriend she’s really his sister!"

"Excuse me?" Trixie entered the door, uncertain just what she was walking into, when she heard the familiar theme of the popular soap opera All My Children. Steven led her into the TV room where Mrs. Hartman sat knitting. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Hartman!" Trixie greeted the elderly woman.

"Why, Trixie Belden!" Mrs. Hartman exclaimed. "How good to see you again! Have you come on business or pleasure?" She hurriedly muted the volume on the TV. "Steven, honey, why don’t you be a dear and clean up your toys from the other room before your ride comes, okay?" Steven nodded and trotted off obediently to the other parlor.

Trixie leaned down to kiss the woman’s cheek. "I’ve mostly come on business, but I never pass up a chance to visit. How have you been?"

"Oh," Mrs. Hartman demurred, "my hip still gives me trouble, but the doctors say if I follow through on my regimen, I’ll be fit enough for dancing in a couple months."

"That’s wonderful!" Trixie smiled. It had been almost two years since Mrs. Hartman slipped on the sidewalk outside her church and broke her hip. Never having been a particularly strong woman, her recovery had been slow but steady. Since her husband had passed on several more years ago, Trixie and the other Bob-Whites had regularly paid her visits and performed odd jobs around her place. Fixing up the garage apartment suitable for renting had been their first project. "How is it going having the little scamp around all the time?" Trixie asked, referring to Steven, who was busy with his toys in the other room.

"Oh, he’s a dear," Mrs. Hartman replied. "We go on walks to the mailbox every day and on Sundays, he walks with me to Mr. Lytell’s store and I buy him flavored ices."

"That sounds like such fun!" Trixie said. "But I wonder how Ruth’s business is coming along? Has she gotten any clients yet?"

"Oh, not yet," Mrs. Hartman said, frowning. "But I understand that the Lynch girls have been asking their mother to allow them to have a Sweet Sixteen party. Perhaps I can suggest Ruth put in a bid."

"I’m sure that would be fine," Trixie assured her. "Mrs. Lynch loves to host parties, but she’s not that in tune with what’s current among teenagers. Somehow, I think Ruth would know how to put together a good party. Did you ever hear about the prom she organized for the high school?" Mrs. Hartman shook her head, so Trixie launched into a brief description of the prom that Dan and Anne and Mart and Di had attended their senior year. When she finished her recitation of the food and music, she asked, "Speaking of Ruth, where is she now?"

Mrs. Hartman glanced up at the clock. "Actually, Jim Frayne is coming by to pick up Stevie for his first riding lesson and Ruth is going to meet them all there in about an hour when she gets off work to help supervise." She turned confidential. "You know Steven had an attack the first time he went out there. He’s allergic to all that heather, you know."

"I know. I was there," Trixie confessed. "Good thing they realized what it was or the poor little guy would probably be banned from the stables completely."

Just then, they heard a car drive up and park outside. Trixie stood and through the front window could see the top of Jim’s red head as he walked around the vehicle toward the porch. "Jim’s here," she announced. "I’ll go let him in and we’ll take Steven to the stables."

"Have a good time!" Mrs. Hartman called out, then turned up the volume on her soap and returned to her knitting.

In her car, with Jim and Steven following behind, Trixie reflected on just what she was going to do. How should she tell Ruth that she knew her secret? How do you just go up to a woman and say, hey! You’re not that boy’s mother and never were! Give him back!

She made it to the stables in record time. Jim pulled up in his car several minutes later, but he didn’t say a word about Trixie’s driving. He let Steven do it for him.

"Wow! Ms. Belden! You sure know how to drive, don’t you!" the little boy gushed. "Mom never drives that fast! Wow! Vroooom! Zoooom!" He laughed and ran between the parked cars, making racing noises.

Jim just gave Trixie a look. "You’re such a dangerous influence on the youth of America," he said with mock seriousness. "Good thing Mart’s the teacher."

"Yeah," Trixie laughed. "Like Mart Belden is anyone’s idea of a perfect role model."

Collecting Steven, they made their way toward the stables. Once there, they found Regan discussing one of the horses with Marcia, his assistant. He looked up, grinned to see them, then listened intently to Marcia’s reply. After a moment more, he finished his conference and joined the trio at the stable entrance.

"Afternoon," Regan greeted them. "How are you today, Steven?"

"Feeling great!" Steven replied cheerily. "Where’s my horse?"

Regan laughed. "Let’s go find out, okay?" Together, they disappeared into the large, airy stable in search of Frodo, the friendly Shetland.

"So," Trixie turned to Jim, "what’s on your agenda today?"

"You mean," Jim turned to Trixie, "why am I here watching some kid get a riding lesson?"

"Sort of," she admitted. Then it hit her. "You’re after Ruth, aren’t you?"

Jim stared levelly at her. "What if I am? What’s it to you?"

Startled, Trixie took a step backward. "Nothing! I just--just was curious, that’s all!"

Jim sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. "Don’t mind me," he said. He glanced up at the stone farmhouse. "Regan’s going to be a while before he lets Steven saddle up. Let’s grab a soda or something and sit out on the porch, okay?"

"Sounds good to me," Trixie agreed.

Several minutes later found them sitting side by side on the wide porch, sipping sodas and not speaking.

"Are you going to explain that last remark or am I going to have to guess?" Trixie finally said.

Jim sighed and squinted into the sunlight. He hesitated, clearly in the throes of indecision as to how to begin. He started several times, but only got as far as ‘well, you see’ or ‘it’s like this’ before his conversation petered out.

"Let me try," Trixie offered. "Tell me if I’m wrong." At Jim’s reluctant nod, she continued. "You’re attracted to Ruth. Yes or no."

Jim took a deep breath, then nodded his head.

"No," Trixie fought a devilish grin. "You have to say it out loud."

He shot her a dirty look, then sighed. "Yes. I’m attracted to Ruth. In fact, I’ve kissed her. A couple times."

That was a detail Trixie was unprepared to guess. "I see," she said neutrally. "Go on."

"Oh, no," Jim shook his head. "You said to let you guess. I’ll tell you if you’re wrong."

"Fine." Trixie thought about it, glad to have something else to consider than what to tell Ruth about Lil. "You’re still attracted to me." Saying it out loud sounded incredibly arrogant and conceited, but she said it anyway.

Jim remained silent a long time. Then he finally shook his head. "No, not any more." He glanced at her apologetically. "I’ve spent the time since Florida trying to see you as you are and not as I wish you were. I’ve been watching you with Dan and, well… I expected to feel more jealousy or something." He shrugged. "I didn’t. Not after the first time I saw you kiss him, that is."

Trixie wondered when that could have been, but let him continue uninterrupted.

"You guys were coming out of a movie and I was sitting in Wimpy’s feeling sorry for myself. You were laughing about something and he just took you in his arms and kissed you." Jim paused, the memory washing over his face. "For about thirty seconds I was ready to leap through the window and punch his lights out." He glanced ruefully at her. "For about thirty seconds, that is."

"Why?" Trixie asked. "I mean, why didn’t you? I mean, why did you stop feeling jealous?" She frowned. "I’m not sure that question makes sense."

He grinned. "No, it makes perfect Trixie Belden sense." He shrugged. "I’m not exactly sure. I think it’s because I reminded myself that you had given me every opportunity when we were teenagers and I was too focused on my future to see it. I was a fool, Trixie. I really was."

"No, Jim," Trixie smiled. "You had more important things to think about than dating me."

"Don’t put yourself down," Jim lightly scolded. "You have always been important to me."

She knew that. "Go on," she said. "Answer my muddled question."

He sighed. "I guess I realized I had no right to ‘defend your honor’, since you had made your preference clear. I also realized that I would look like a complete idiot if I did start a fight with him. He’s a good friend of mine and to fight for a girl who doesn’t want me is stupid. Not that I couldn’t take him, you understand." He chuckled. "Anyway, that’s when it hit me. All of a sudden and crystal clear: you don’t want me. Then I felt better."

Trixie blinked in confusion. "Okay. My brain must be misfiring or something. How does knowing I don’t want you make you feel better when just thirty seconds before you were wanting me so bad you were ready to punch out Dan?"

Jim’s chuckling increased. "It sounds so irrational when you say it like that!"

Trixie had to laugh with him. "Well, then you say it!"

"Okay, I’ll try." He frowned. "Huh. This may be harder than I thought." He waited a moment longer, then said, "I realized that I loved you, and will probably always love you, but that I’m not in love with you." He glanced at her. "I realized, when I saw you kiss him, that loving someone and being in love are two different things."

Trixie asked in a quiet voice, "Are you in love with Ruth?" This was really important. She needed to know how much havoc this Lil person would cause in her friend’s life.

Jim nodded. "I guess I am. Or, at least, I’m heading in that direction. You were right." He shook his head. "It wouldn’t have worked out between us. I care about you, and I want to protect you, but I see now that that’s not what you need, nor I. Although you should still be more careful." They laughed together.

He continued. "I’m glad I came to this realization when I did because, let me tell you. I was headed for a serious confrontation with Dan otherwise and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin a good friendship over a woman. That’s not a cool thing for a guy to do."

"Well, that’s awfully mature--hey!" Trixie laughed, feigning insult. "Suddenly I’m not worth it?"

"Well…" Jim smiled weakly. "I guess that’s what I realized when I saw that you preferred Dan to me."

A moment later, the laughter began to fade. Trixie took Jim’s hand and said, "Well, I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’m glad you’re over me!"

Jim smiled into her big blue eyes and grinned. "Me, too!"

"Hey, guys! What’s going on?" Dan strolled casually out onto the porch, the front door swinging shut behind him.

Trixie and Jim looked up, startled at Dan’s sudden appearance. Trixie felt Jim remove his hand from hers and stand. "Not much. Just waiting on Ruth to show up for Steven’s riding lesson."

"Oh?" Dan asked, cracking open a can of soda.

"She’s bringing a pair of riding boots for him," Jim continued.

"That’s good," Dan nodded. He took several swallows of soda before taking Jim’s place on the glider next to Trixie. "How about you, Trixie? What’s going on?"

"Oh, nothing much. I just need to see Ruth about something." She smiled up at Jim. "It’s nothing terrible," she lied easily.

Dan frowned. "She just got into town a couple weeks ago. What could possibly have happened that would require a detective?"

Jim turned as Ruth’s battered car pulled to a stop in the parking lot. "I’ll take the riding boots to Steven while you interrogate her. How’s that sound, Trixie?"

"Thanks, Jim," Trixie agreed. As soon as Jim caught up with Ruth, she realized that he had left her alone with Dan. She took her opportunity. "Are you mad at me or something?"

Startled black eyes darted to her. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Come on," she told him flat out. "You saw me and Jim holding hands. I know you did. I saw the look on your face when you walked out here. You’re upset." Dan didn’t reply. "You shouldn’t be, you know."

"Why’s that?"

Trixie smiled. "He’s falling for Ruth and I couldn’t be happier."

Dan straightened his neck to observe the other couple. "He is?" He glanced at Trixie. "You are?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I am."

Dan put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and grinned into her blonde curls. "It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy."

She pulled back a bit to look him straight in the eye. "What couldn’t?"

He grinned devilishly and moved his mouth closer to hers. "To find out that the guy who used to be after my girlfriend is now after someone else and that my girlfriend is honestly happy about it." He kissed her then, his lips brushing hers with gentle force.

Trixie let her thoughts swirl away as she kissed him back, but one thought persisted. Startled by it, she gasped and broke their contact. "You’re the nicer guy?"

Wounded eyes met hers. "Don’t you think so?"

Giggling, she stroked his cheek. "Kiss me again. I haven’t quite decided."

"Excuse me? Trixie? Jim said you needed to talk to me about something?"

Still laughing, Trixie pulled out of Dan’s embrace and stood. As she saw Ruth, dressed casually in a freshly pressed blouse and shorts, a curiously hopeful expression on her face, her mood plummeted. She still hadn’t decided how to go about broaching the subject of Steven’s maternity.

*     *     *

Anne Maypenny closed up her private lab, The Magician’s Workshop, with a happy yawn. She’d been working on her latest breakthrough in computer technology since she’d been inspired yesterday morning and was way overdue for a break. Taking her car keys, her insulin kit and her purse, she ordered the computer to turn off the lights and set the alarm. She strolled briskly to her cherry red Mustang convertible, opened the door and tossed her things onto the passenger side while simultaneously sliding into the driver’s seat.

She pulled the seatbelt over her shoulder and turned the ignition, delighting in the familiar soft roar of the engine. Anne punched a button and the roof folded into place. She inserted her favorite coming-home-from-work-on-her-way-to-see-Bill CD and reversed sharply onto the small, little-used access road that led to the Workshop.

Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she hummed along as Freddie Mercury belted out ‘Don’t stop me now! I’m having such a good time! I’m having a ball!’

She sang along to her favorite part: I’ll make a supersonic-man-out-of-you!

She wasn’t sure just what attracted her to the music of Queen, or why she associated it with Bill Regan. Perhaps it was the exuberance of their early music, the sheer joy of each note, or the fact that, on her first day as Regan’s stable hand/assistant back at Manor House, they had irritated each other beyond limit. Until, that was, the radio played a request, Bohemian Rhapsody, and to their mutual surprise, Regan and Anne had spontaneously begun singing in harmony: Mamma mia! Mamma Mia! Mamma Mia let me go!

That had broken the ice.

She still remembered the mixture of embarrassment, surprise and amusement when they realized they each had a soft spot for 70s music.

Of course, they had since discovered a host of other things they had in common, but that was a pretty good start.

Anne’s Mustang cruised easily toward the stables. The car seemed to almost make the turns on its own. I wonder if I could get someone working on that… she thought idly, then let her brain kick into a theoretical analysis of just what such a computer chip would have to include, if it were going to drive a car by itself.

She found herself pulling into the parking lot at the stables almost on complete auto-pilot. She grabbed her things and exited the car, delighted to see Regan nearby, giving Steven Mundy a riding lesson on Frodo. Anne sauntered over to the fence and climbed up on it.

"Hey! Bill!" she called, waving her free hand. Regan turned, recognized her and waved. Anne waited a moment while he strode easily through the ankle-high grass, the shadow from his wide-brimmed hat covering his expression. As he got closer, though, Anne could easily see his welcoming smile.

After a moment spent in pleasant greeting, Anne asked, "Hey, stranger, how’s it going?"

Regan tapped her chin. "Better now that you’re here. I missed you last night."

"I missed you, too," Anne admitted. "But I couldn’t leave. I was downloading some files from the MIT library system and every half hour it prompted me to continue. It would have taken me just as long to write a program to accept everything I needed to accept and deny what I needed to deny as it would have to just wait it out. I did sleep, though."

He nodded. "I didn’t."

She sighed. "I didn’t really, either."

Regan said softly, "Then next time, why don’t you just come home?"

With a crooked grin, she replied, "My home or yours?"

"Does it really matter?" Regan’s eyebrows met in a puzzled wrinkle. Then he shook his head and his expression cleared. "My home is wherever you are. I’m tired of this long-term engagement. When are you going to marry me?"

Anne let a burst of laughter escape her lips. "I’ve had more romantic proposals, you know!"

"And they’ve all been from me," Regan replied easily. "And each time you’ve said ‘yes, but not right now’. I’m getting antsy. I want us to be married. Let’s just set the date and be done with it."

Anne thought a moment. "Okay, you’re right," she said, then swallowed another yawn. "But I’m incredibly tired. Let me sleep and then we’ll talk about setting a date when I’m feeling more like myself, okay?"

Regan hesitated, then nodded. "Deal."

"Is your bed free for a few hours?" she asked. At the curious look in his eyes, she continued, "I mean, can I crash in your room? That and a shower and I’ll be ready tonight for our usual ride through the preserve."

He nodded. "Yes, of course you can. You don’t need to ask."

"Well-l," she dragged out the word, "I just want to be sure I’m still welcome there." She stepped off the lower fence rail and dropped lightly onto the grass. As she lifted her hand off the fence, Regan laid his firmly on top of it, trapping her in place. She looked up at him, questioning.

"You’re welcome there any time you want. You know that. Any time at all," he told her, the twinkle in his bright blue eyes belying the gravity of his tone, but not the sincerity.

Anne winked at him, then walked across the parking lot to the front yard and the wide stone porch. As she drew closer, she noticed that Trixie, Jim, Ruth and Dan were all standing around, obviously discussing something important. Slowing her pace, unwilling to intrude, she saw tears in Ruth’s eyes, Jim’s hand on her shoulder and Dan and Trixie’s solemn expressions. Then she heard Ruth say, "I didn’t kidnap him! He belongs with me!"

In a flash, Anne ascended the steps and joined them on the porch.

*     *     *

Trixie took a deep breath. She had to think of something, some way to break the news to Ruth about Steven. But how? And was this ethical? She hadn’t taken on Lil as a client, and no money changed hands, so she assumed she was within her rights to take the little bit of information she’d gleaned and use it to help her old friend.

Of course, Ruth wasn’t exactly an old friend. Thanks to Anne and Ruth’s rivalry in high school, there had been no opportunity for any of the Bob-Whites to risk getting to know Ruth better. But, they were older now and, armed with Jim’s recent revelations, there was no way Trixie was not going to help her.

"I do need to talk with you, Ruth," she said. "It’s about Steven."

Trixie saw Ruth pale a bit, then glance up at Dan and then over her shoulder to see Jim strolling into the stables with Steven’s riding boots. "What about Steven?"

"It might be better if we do this alone," Trixie said. "Sorry, Dan."

"That’s okay," Dan assured her. "I’ll go see if I can help Jim." A worried frown on his handsome face, he nodded to Ruth and went off toward the stables.

"Sit down," Trixie suggested. Ruth did. "I had a visit today. Someone came in looking for her son."

"Let me guess. Brown hair, blue eyes, great figure. Probably wearing a miniskirt and some obnoxious color lipstick."

"You know her?" Trixie wasn’t exactly surprised, but knowing Lil and Ruth knew each other didn’t help her know what to do next.

"Lillian Nichols," Ruth nodded. "Yeah, I know her." She turned to face Trixie directly and Trixie could easily see the pain in Ruth’s eyes. "She’s Steven’s mother."

"I see." Trixie said. "Do you know she’s in town?"

Ruth shook her head. "No, I didn’t know but I’m not surprised. She’s looking for Steven, I guess?"

"That’s what she says," Trixie replied. "Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I might be able to help you."

Ruth nodded, fighting back tears. "When Lester entered the service, it was the first time he’d ever been away from home. He got lonely. After being there almost a year, he finally went with some of the guys to a strip club. That’s where he met Lil. They talked, they slept together, and that was pretty much it."

Trixie nodded in understanding. Lester would have been eighteen when he graduated, at least nineteen when he met Lil. Nineteen-year-olds, she knew from personal experience, did stupid things sometimes. "He didn’t use protection?" she asked as gently as she could.

Ruth smiled then. "No, he didn’t. Even though the Army preaches it constantly, and the strip club was on V-D Boulevard." At Trixie’s questioning look, she explained. "Victory Drive. It’s right outside Fort Benning. It’s where all the strip clubs and bars are."

Trixie allowed Ruth to collect her thoughts. She saw Jim and Dan stride out of the stable, laughing about something or other. From the other end of the stable, she could see Regan emerge, leading Frodo. Astride Frodo, clearly thrilled, was Steven.

"Anyway," Ruth continued finally, "Lester and I wrote letters and called each other and when he came home on leave, we both realized we meant more to each other than just friends. I guess it was because Anne was out of the picture that I felt more comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to tell him outright how much I missed him and everything. He asked me to marry him and I said yes."

Trixie smiled. "I saw the write up in the paper. It sounded like a real nice party."

Ruth nodded. "It was. It was just family, you understand," she explained. "Although Les wanted to invite the whole town! It was quick and cheap and we honeymooned in Tarrytown. Then," she sighed. "a few days later I find myself in government housing because Les gets stationed in Fort Stewart in Savannah with the Rangers. A few months pass and one night a woman knocks on the door and says she’s got Les’s baby and does he want it or should she just leave it in the alley?"

"She said what?" Trixie couldn’t quite absorb the details as fast as Ruth dished them out.

Ruth nodded her head. "Yeah. That’s pretty much what she said. I tell you though, Trixie," Ruth said, shaking her head earnestly. "I took one look at that little boy’s face and I fell in love. He was mine. No two ways about it!"

"You’re sure he was Lester’s?" Trixie hated asking, but needed to know. Sometimes being a detective meant risking a few bruised feelings.

Ruth grinned. "Oh, yeah. Les knew right away. He was born tongue-tied and so was Steven."

"What’s that?"

Ruth thought a moment. "Well, it’s when the skin connecting the tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too long. You can’t stick out your tongue, or move it around like you’re supposed to. The doctor just snips it with a little scissors. Besides," she continued, "Les had the baby’s blood type tested, just to be absolutely sure. But by then, of course, Lil had gone. Disappeared. She told Les that a baby didn’t fit into her plan, but she didn’t believe in abortion, so that was that."

Slowly, the picture came clear. "So when Les died, that left you and Steven. Mother and son."

"As far as anyone knows," Ruth said. "Not that I keep it a secret. I just don’t go around broadcasting it." She looked steadily at Trixie. "Steven doesn’t know. Les was going to tell him when he thought he was ready, but…" She shrugged.

By this time, Jim and Dan had reached the porch. They exchanged questioning looks with Trixie, who turned back to Ruth. "Do you want me to tell anyone else?"

Ruth saw the two men standing at the foot of the steps, patiently waiting to see if they were welcome. Ruth took a shuddering breath and nodded. "They can know."

It only took Trixie a moment to fill in Jim and Dan on the details. They listened to everything Trixie had to say without interruption, then fell silent, apparently unwilling to risk hurting Ruth’s feelings with questions.

"Don’t you have anything to say?" Ruth asked quietly. She didn’t look up.

Jim knelt in front of her, his hands on hers in her lap. He looked up into her eyes, not giving her the opportunity to avoid him. "I want to help you. Please let me," he said softly.

Trixie stood and moved toward Dan. She pulled him a little to the side, then told him, "Lil was in my office today claiming Ruth kidnapped Steven. She wants her son back."

Overhearing Trixie’s words, Ruth jumped up. Jim stood, too, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as Ruth said, "I didn’t kidnap him! He belongs with me!"

Suddenly, Anne appeared in the center of the group, momentarily startling Trixie. Where did she come from? Oh, that’s right… that was her car pulling up a moment ago. Oh, dear… I haven’t seen that look on Anne’s face since…

Trixie didn’t get to finish her thought, however, for Anne growled sarcastically, "Someone talking about a kidnapping and you haven’t asked the expert? Spill it. What’s going on?"

Author’s Note: My mom made watermelon punch for a block party some years ago. Basically, you take a watermelon that will stand up on one end and slice off the top to form a lid (like carving a pumpkin). Scoop out the melon, put it in a bowl and pour liquor – any kind will do – into the melon and the bowl. In the bowl, also add any kind of fruit you wish (blueberries, sliced strawberries, raspberries, sliced apples (no seeds! <G>) – any kind at all) and let it all marinate. As the liquor gets soaked into the fruit, pour in more as desired. Eventually, return the fruit to the melon so that it all soaks up together. The top goes on as a lid and you’re ready! Just scoop out the fruit into bowls to serve. A non-alcohol version can be made with water, some sugar and the fruit. Just make sure to let it all soak up several hours in advance to ensure that all the fruit gets sweetened appropriately. Be sure to refrigerate!

What does this have to do with the story? Read and find out!

Chapter 5

Immediately following

"Well?" Anne practically spat the word. "Who’s been kidnapped?" She glared from Jim to Dan to Trixie to Ruth, finally settling her venomous stare on the distraught woman.

"Nobody!" Dan stated firmly.

"Not exactly," Trixie began hesitantly.

"Steven," Ruth said, standing tall. She took a deep breath, then explained. "Steven’s not my natural son. He’s Lester’s by another woman. When Lester died, I just took him with me here. As far as he knows, however, I am his mother."

Anne started to laugh. "Could someone tell me just why this sounds so familiar?" She shrugged and her whole manner changed to one of cheerful derision. "I thought Adele Lang was dead. Suicide, they told me, but no. She’s right here, in the flesh. The flesh of one of my dearest friends."

Ruth shuddered from the sudden blast of familiar scorn. "Don’t do this, Anne, please!" she begged, clearly hating herself for even caring what Anne thought of her.

"Do what?" Anne blinked exaggeratedly, as if innocent. "I’m suddenly figuring out just why I’ve always hated you. You remind me so much of the woman who kidnapped me and then raised me to think she was my mother and then freaked out when I confronted her with the truth!" She gestured as if it were obvious. "Tell me, when Steven finally tells you he hates you for keeping his real mother from him, are you going to kill yourself, too?"

"That’s enough, Anne!" Jim finally broke in. "Why don’t you leave right now before--"

"Before what?" Anne interrupted, focusing her intense stare on his emerald eyes. "Before I share with my dear friend Ruth more tales from my turbulent teens?"

"Before you say something you’ll truly regret!" Dan moved to stand in front of her, blocking her view of the others. Behind him, Trixie took Ruth’s arm and urged her into the house.

"I’ve never said anything I could regret!" she defended herself. "If she can’t handle the truth, then maybe she should just stop lying!"

"If you would just listen a moment, you’d understand that Ruth has nothing to feel guilty or ashamed about. You’d understand that Ruth is nothing like Adele," Dan said angrily.

"I’m going to talk to Ruth," Jim said quietly over Dan’s shoulder. "You keep her away, okay?"

A new fury re-ignited Anne’s temper. "How dare you! I have just as much right, if not more, to be heard on this! Who among any of you has ever been in this situation before? None of you. But I have!"

Dan grabbed Anne’s shoulders as she tried to push past him to enter the house. "Stop it, Anne! Really! Sometimes you can be such a b----!"

"Excuse me, Daniel?" Regan casually ascended the stone steps to the porch, his calm tone in sharp contrast to the fury in his eyes. "What did you say?"

Dan ground his teeth in frustration. "You don’t know what’s going on," he began, releasing Anne from his strong grip. Anne glared up into his face once more, then pushed past him and yanked open the front door, allowing it to bang against the glider and slam shut.

Before Dan could move to follow her, Regan clapped his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. "Perhaps you should explain, then," he said, his voice deceptively calm.

*     *     *

Inside the great room of the stone house, Trixie led Ruth to the sofa and told her to sit. She hurried to the kitchen and got a glass of ice water. When she returned, she heard Jim come in through the front door as well. They each took a seat on either side of Ruth, who began sipping the water.

"Thanks," Ruth said, clutching the glass tightly.

"Are you okay?" Trixie asked. Behind Ruth’s head, she caught Jim’s worried look.

"I’ll be all right," Ruth said. "I just didn’t think it would all blow up like that."

"I told Dan to keep her outside," Jim said. "You’ll be safe from her in here."

"How’s Dan going to keep her outside?" Ruth asked dryly. "Tie her to a tree?"

"He’ll get her to see reason," Trixie said. "He’ll calm her down."

"Yeah, right."

The trio on the couch looked up to see Anne, brown eyes flashing furiously, standing in the doorway. It was she who had spoken so sarcastically. She took a few steps forward. "How wonderful to see my friends coddling a kidnapper. Nice to know where your loyalties lie."

"Come on, Anne!" Jim said, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Ruth is not Adele and the situations are completely different!"

"Oh, are they?" Anne fluttered her eyelashes. "Please. Explain it to little old me, won’t you?"

Trixie reached behind Ruth’s back and laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder, urging him to silence. "Fine. I will," she said. "Lester has a one-nighter with a stripper in Columbus. He gets her pregnant but doesn’t know it. He marries Ruth and a few months later, the stripper shows up with Steven and says she’ll leave the baby in an alley if Lester and Ruth don’t take care of him. How is that the same as what happened to you?"

Anne didn’t even blink. "How do you know all this?" she asked. "Did she tell you?"

"It’s what happened," Ruth mumbled. Louder, she said, "It’s the truth!"

"According to you." Anne folded her arms. "What about Steven’s mother? What does she say? Or does she even know you’ve transported her son across state lines? Which is a Federal offense. I know this for a fact. It was one of the charges brought against the Langs."

Ruth glanced at Trixie. Trixie took a deep breath, then admitted, "Lil, Steven’s mother, says Ruth kidnapped her son." Briefly, she outlined the meeting that had taken place earlier that afternoon in the office of Belden-Wheeler. She didn’t pause as the front door opened once more and Dan and Regan entered.

"See?" Anne smiled slowly. "I was right. But don’t fret too much about it," she continued. "I’m usually always right."

"Well, sweetheart," Regan said softly. "Looks like you’re wrong about this one."

Anne froze, then whirled to face him. "What?!?" She took a moment to collect herself, then she repeated, "What did you say?"

"I said you’re wrong about this. This is not the same thing at all as what happened to you." Regan lifted a hand to indicate Ruth. "She’s not telling Steven he’s anyone but Lester Mundy’s son. Legally, I’ll wager, she can call herself his mother. His step-mother, anyway, seeing as how she was married to his dad. Your situation was completely different."

Her spine straightening with indignation, Anne ground out, "But do you think it’s right that Steven’s real mother be denied the opportunity to raise her own child? She’s obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to track Ruth down to Sleepyside. She must want him back!"

Ruth jumped to her feet, still clutching the glass of ice water. "But not because she loves him! Not because she’s got any feelings for him at all! It’s got to be for some other reason. In fact, I’m sure of it!"

Trixie and Jim stood up beside Ruth, their arms about her shoulders. "What makes you say that?" Trixie asked, her Mystery Radar setting off klaxons in her head.

"There just has to be!" Ruth turned teary eyes to Trixie. "Otherwise, why come back now? If she heard Lester had died, why didn’t she go to Savannah back in January? Why come here now? What does she really want?"

"Wait a minute," Anne broke in, turning away from Regan and Dan, still standing in the doorway. "Why couldn’t she just have heard about Lester now? Why did she have to make her decision then? What, did her 30 day warranty expire?"

"We tried to contact her while Lester was alive. Mostly about Steven’s medical condition," Ruth explained. "Several times, in fact. But she just kept sending our letters back. Finally, she wrote us one. She said she didn’t care what we did with Steven so long as we didn’t bother her any more about it."

"Did you keep that letter?" Trixie asked.

Ruth looked disconsolate. "No. We didn’t want Steven to accidentally come across it and start asking questions before he was ready to understand the answers."

"You mean," Anne interpreted, "you wanted to keep Steven in the dark about his true parentage." She turned back to Regan. "And you say the situations aren’t the same."

"They aren’t," Regan insisted. "Clearly, Ruth’s the better mother. Steven belongs with her."

"I beg your pardon?" Anne asked, incredulous. "The ‘better’ mother? He ‘belongs’ with her?" She laughed harshly. "Next you’ll be telling me that Lil forfeited her rights when Lester and Ruth took over his care!"

"Well," Regan replied, "I wouldn’t put it like that exactly, but…" He nodded. "Ruth’s who he’s used to, anyway."

"Great. That’s just great." Anne lifted her hands and let them drop to her sides with a loud slap. "My own boyfriend thinks that kids should be raised by so-called ‘better’ parents when their real parents are kept out of their lives, wondering and hoping their own kids are okay!"

"That’s not what I meant--" Regan almost shouted.

"Isn’t it?" Anne pressed. "Aren’t you really just saying that you think it’s a good thing I stayed with the Langs as long as I did? Because they were better able to take care of me and my illness? Because they were who I called Mom and Dad? Even though my real parents were told I was dead?" She stared at him. "Maybe I should have been content and never questioned if I ever even belonged there."

Dan looked uncomfortable. "Anne," he said, "I don’t think that’s what Bill’s saying. Is it?" He glanced at his uncle.

Regan just grit his teeth and refused to answer.

"Fine!" Anne raged. "Just stand there and pretend you don’t really feel that way!"

Ruth sank wearily back onto the sofa, her face buried in her hands, her hair falling forward to shield her. "This is all my fault," she moaned. "They’re fighting and it’s all my fault."

"Don’t give it a second thought," Jim said, pulling her hair back behind her ear. "Anne’s just upset. She’ll get over it."

But Trixie wasn’t so sure. While patting Ruth gently on the back, she kept an eye and ear on Regan and Anne’s argument. Anne stood inches from Regan and shouted into his face. Regan, just as angry, replied to each of her accusations with stern force. Trixie wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him quite so provoked. Ever.

Regan’s face had flushed red and his blue eyes snapped sparks. "Just because I agree with Ruth does not mean I think you should have stayed with the Langs. One situation has nothing to do with the other! Frankly, if you’re so irrational you can’t see that, then I have to wonder about that Ph.D. after your name!"

"Oh, guys, don’t!" Dan tried to intervene. He held a hand up to them in supplication, but they each ignored him.

Anne reacted as if Regan had slapped her with his last remark. She folded her arms and stared at the floor. Quietly, she replied. "I guess I’ve been irrational about a lot of things, haven’t I?" She looked straight into Regan’s eyes. "Yeah. I guess I have." She glanced at Dan, then turned to face the threesome on the sofa. "Sorry, everyone, but I’ve got to go now. Apparently, staying here will only prove how completely irrational I can be." She picked up her purse and her insulin kit, slung them easily over her shoulder and pushed past Regan, saying, "I won’t make that mistake again!"

The next sound was the front door slamming shut.

Regan’s lower jaw worked in mute frustration. Dan hesitated, then gestured to the front door. "You’re going after her, aren’t you?"

"Why?" Regan’s head whipped about to face Dan. "Because that’s what you would do?"

Oh, boy! Trixie thought. This is not going well at all…

*     *     *

The phone rang, so Bobby answered, thankful for a distraction. "Belden-Wheeler," he announced. "How can I direct your call?" He’d been practicing different ways to answer the phone, aiming for that elusive corporate feel.

"Hi, sweetie!"

Bobby smiled. "Hey, Miss Lynch. What’s up?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about you."

"Oh, yeah?" He leaned back in the adjustable chair and swung his long legs onto the desk. "What a coincidence." He laughed, then asked, "You ready for tomorrow?"

"The picnic? You bet!"

"Think we can manage?"

There was a pause. "Sure. I mean, we’ve even fooled my sister, right?"

Something wasn’t quite right. Something was ‘off’. "Yeah. And Diana’s usually so sharp about things like that."

She laughed. "That’s not who I meant and you know it!"

"Who did you mean, then?" He asked, deceptively casual.

"Are you testing me?"

"Maybe," he admitted.

"Ask me who I am, then. Ask me something only I would know."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Am I a good kisser?"

She laughed again, but the sound was muffled. "You know it! The best!"

His heart stopped. They’d been found out. What should he do? What should he say? Thinking quickly, he said, "So, you’ve taken care of the equipment, right?"

She stopped laughing. "Excuse me?"

"You know," he said, controlling his urge to laugh at catching her out. "The equipment. For us. For later on. Tonight."

"Oh! Oh, that! Yeah, it’s all taken care of. I’m looking forward to it!"

He thought quickly over the entire conversation. Could he still salvage things? He thought so. "Great. Then I’ll meet you at seven? I want to practice before tomorrow."

"Practice?" she repeated. "Before tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he laughed silently. She was falling for it! "Before we show everyone how good we are together!"

"Bobby Belden! That’s sick!"

"What?" he started to laugh. "What’s so sick about practicing a little tennis with my doubles partner before we win the mini-tournament tomorrow afternoon?"

Silence. Then, "Nothing, I guess."

She sounded lost. Good. He wanted her lost. "I’ll see you tonight?"

"Sure. I’ll have Harrison get out the racquets for us."

"Just one thing," Bobby couldn’t resist adding. "When have I ever kissed you?"

The sound of the line going dead was the only reply.

*     *     *

For a moment, everyone was absolutely silent. Trixie, Ruth and Jim froze on the sofa. Dan stared levelly at his uncle, his jaw tight with anger. Regan just stared as if shocked he could say such a thing to his own nephew.

"No," Dan replied finally. "That’s not why you should do anything. Anne was never more than a girlfriend to me. To you, though, she’s your whole life. If you don’t go after her, you’ll lose her. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to go back to living with that lonely jerk who used to be my uncle before he wised up and told that woman he loved her! Got that?"

Regan looked down at his boots, collecting his thoughts. After a brief moment, he glanced up at the trio on the sofa. "I’m sorry, Ruth, for your situation," he said quietly. "Please, feel free to stay here as long as you need. Marcia’s got Steven in the other corral. The one you can’t see from here. I had her take over once I saw the discussion heat up on the porch, so don’t worry about that."

"Thank you, Regan," Ruth said softly.

Regan nodded stiffly, then turned to Dan, said something almost inaudible, turned again and walked out the front door.

Dan’s expression relaxed when the door shut. He moved closer to the group on the sofa. "What does Ruth need to do now, Trixie?"

Ruth and Jim both looked at her. Trixie smiled reassuringly. "Well, my best guess is that you need to establish legal claim to Steven and pursue formal custody."

"A custody battle?" Ruth fretted. "I don’t know if I can put Steven through that."

"I know some excellent lawyers," Jim said comfortingly. "It’ll be all right."

"But I can barely afford Legal Aid and they’re free!" Ruth grinned through her tears. "I’m not even sure I have a moral right to do this. Maybe Anne’s right. Maybe Steven would be better off with his real mother--"

"Stop it right there," Trixie said firmly. "You are Steven’s real mother. Lil’s just his biological one."

"But, Trixie," Ruth replied. "Isn’t that Anne’s point? The only reason you make that distinction is because I’ve had custody of him for most of his life. Who’s to say Lil wouldn’t make a better parent? Or at least, a more appropriate one?" She looked up at Dan, then to Jim, still at her side. "Don’t people have the right to raise their own biological children regardless of the fitness of other people? Otherwise, why don’t we have tests or something, so that the people society determines are better fit for parenthood can have the children and those deemed unfit are prevented from even conceiving?"

Trixie felt uncomfortable seeing the logical progression of her simple feeling. "I’m not sure about that," she admitted. She glanced up at Dan and read compassion and sympathy in his eyes. "But these things are settled on a case-by-case basis. Surely, in this case, Steven belongs with you."

"From your lips, as my mother would say," Ruth smiled wryly.

*     *     *

Anne stormed across the porch, her legs taking the distance in equal strides. Then she reached the first step and her legs refused to cooperate. She stood on the edge of the masonry and stared down. She tried to force her foot to move off the porch. She glared at it, willing it to move.

After several anguished moments, Anne gave up trying. She gazed almost blindly across the patchy lawn to her cherry red Mustang convertible and let her purse and insulin kit fall onto the flagstones.

She felt numb.

When the door finally opened behind her, she didn’t even flinch.

The door shut and she heard Regan say, "You didn’t leave."

"Disappointed?" she retorted quickly.

She heard him sigh heavily. "No," he said. "Actually, I’m relieved I don’t have to chase after you. You’d have taken your car and you know how I hate to drive."

"Glad I could do you a favor," she snapped sourly.

"Anne," he began, supplication in his voice.

"Don’t!" she ordered him. "Don’t say it. Don’t say anything, all right?"

"But I--"

"Forget it! I’m irrational. You don’t need to tell me twice." She hated the quaver in her voice, the awful feeling swirling around her gut, the tears in the back of her throat.

He sighed again. "You’re not being irrational. I’m sorry I said that. I was angry."

"Duh." She folded her arms and continued to stare at the parked cars. She rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache form. "I’m sorry, too."

"No," Regan said. "You don’t need to apologize. To me, anyway. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like I did. I should have been more understanding about how you see this whole thing."

"You’re discussing it!" she accused. "I told you not to!"

"What are you talking about?" Regan seemed genuinely puzzled. "Why can’t we discuss this?"

"Because!" she practically wailed. "I am being irrational. I must be!" The tears in her throat spilled out from her eyes, freeing her legs to move down to the first step. She sat heavily on the porch and buried her face in her knees.

Immediately, Regan moved to sit next to her, his arm comfortingly about her shoulders, his voice tender and compassionate. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he said softly. "Why do you think you’re irrational?"

Brushing tears from her eyes, she told him.

*     *     *

Trixie smiled encouragingly at Ruth. "You think about what you want to do," she suggested. Standing, she said, "Dan and I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Dan?" She turned to him and held out her hand, beckoning him to follow her.

"It’ll all work out," Dan said to Ruth. "You’ll see."

"With me or with them?" Ruth asked.

"With everyone." Dan nodded firmly, then followed Trixie into the kitchen.

Ruth sighed and sank back into the sofa. "Whoosh!" she breathed.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" Jim asked, twisting on the cushion to look at her straight-on.

"I think so. I really didn’t expect things to all blow up like this." She gestured toward the porch. "I can’t imagine how I’m going to fix it with Anne now, if she thinks of me like this."

Jim frowned. "Why are you so worried about what Anne thinks or even how she feels? That’s her problem. Hers and Regan’s, anyway," he said. "Frankly, I don’t envy him one bit, having to go out there and diffuse her temper."

"I suppose I shouldn’t be," Ruth said slowly. "At least, that’s what Lester used to tell me way back when."

Jim’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Then that’s another thing I’ve got in common with Lester."

"What?" She glanced up, curious.

He took her hands in his and looked her straight in the eye. "Besides agreeing about Anne’s temper? I think you’re pretty special, too."

Ruth wavered between smiling at his compliment and weeping at the unexpected tender moment. The distress of the past several minutes caught up with her, however, making weeping her only viable alternative.

*     *     *

In the kitchen, Dan opened the icebox and pulled out a can of soda. "Want one?" he offered Trixie.

"No thanks," she said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sinking into wearily.

Dan poured his soda into a glass. "I think there's some cookies left. Want one of those?"

"No," she sighed. "I’m not hungry, either."

"Okay." Dan sat in the chair across the corner from her. He laid a hand on hers and squeezed it gently. "How about otherwise? Are you okay?"

She shrugged and ran her hand through her hair. She got her fingers caught in several tangles and it took her a moment to pull her hand all the way through. She had to resort to force to do it. "Gross," she muttered as she saw the five or six strands of curly blonde hair that clung to her hand. Irritated, she got up and dumped the strands into the kitchen garbage.

Dan just chuckled at her expression as she turned and leaned against the kitchen counter and stared at the tiled floor. "You still haven’t answered my question," he reminded her.

"I’m worried." She folded her arms in frustration. "About Anne, about Jim, about Ruth, about Steven, about Regan. I’m even worried about Honey, though I couldn’t tell you just why."

"Aren’t you worried about me?" Dan asked playfully.

Her answer was swift. "No. Should I be?"

He chuckled again and shook his head. "No." He got up and then sat backward on the chair, resting his long arms over the seatback. "Don’t worry about Regan or Anne. I think they’ll work things out. This is just their first fight."

Trixie frowned. "They’ve fought before. Don’t you remember? All those arguments in the stables years ago?"

Dan dismissed those with a wave. "Forget 'em. I’ve come to the conclusion it was all just sexual tension."

"Well, it’s not sexual tension anymore!"

He laughed. "You got that right." He reached behind him and grabbed his glass of soda. "No," he said, taking a sip, "this is their first fight since they’ve been seeing each other. Up till now, they’ve been so sweet it’s disgusting."

"So this has been a long time coming?" Trixie asked.

"Oh, yeah," Dan agreed whole-heartedly.

"It still caught them by surprise, though. Didn’t it," she said. It was not a question.

"Big surprise." He took another long swallow.

*     *     *

"Why am I irrational? I’ll tell you," Anne said, brushing tears from her eyes. "Because I disagreed with you. That’s irrational."

Regan waited a moment and tried to sort that one out. "That doesn’t make sense. Lots of people disagree with me. I’m not always right."

She nodded her head emphatically. "Oh, yes, you are! Believe me! You are."

"Impossible."

"Nothing’s impossible. Trust me on that. I’m a physicist. I know."

"See? You just disagreed with me. I wasn’t right."

She put her face on her knees and groaned. "That’s not what I mean! I mean about important stuff! Life-stuff!"

Regan laid his hand on the back of her head and slowly stroked her hair, knowing how that soothed her. "I’m listening. Go on. Tell me."

She shuddered, then sat up straight and wiped her face tear-free once more. "Fine, I will. Three years ago, when I asked you if I should stay home and help take care of my dad after his stroke, you said ‘don’t do it’. My dad would get better faster with just the nurse and you and the others checking up on him. ‘Go back and finish your Ph.D.’, you said. ‘It means a great deal to him to have you graduate’. So I did. And you were right. He was so determined to attend my final graduation that it gave him the push he needed to get well as fast as he could.

"Before that," she continued, "when you told me how I’d never have closure if I didn’t attend Adele’s funeral, because that would make it all seem real to me, well, you were right then, too. It was a horrible experience, but with my dad’s, and your, support, I was able to put most of my past behind me."

She took a deep breath and looked him directly in the eye. "When you told me to wait until I was in love before making love, that it would be better and worth it, well… You were right about that, too. It was better and extremely worth-- everything."

His eyes turned soft and liquid. He murmured her name, lightly caressed her face and kissed her. "It was for me, too," he said softly against her lips.

She pulled away from him. "That’s why you have to be right when you say that children belong with the person who spends more time raising them. That’s why I should never have left the Langs and gone off in search of my real dad. I should never have come here or lived here or gotten to know any of the people here like Diana and Dan and Trixie and-and-and you. We should never have met because I belonged with them. They were the better parents."

Regan found himself at a loss. Anne was on the verge of tears once more and growing increasingly hysterical by the moment. "No, sweetheart," he said, "that’s not what I meant and it’s not what I said! Your mother did not abandon you! She wanted you to stay with her. So did your dad. They went through hell trying to cope with your loss." He gestured toward the house. "Steven’s mother, this ‘Lil’ person, did abandon him. She did give up her rights, as far as I’m concerned, the moment she showed up on their doorstep and delivered her ultimatum."

Anne hiccuped. "You know, that’s one of the stories Victor suggested at the trial. That my mother must have offered me in exchange for money or something."

"Don’t get me started on that guy," Regan warned.

She turned wry. "I’m jus’ saying. We have no proof. Ruth did destroy that letter, you know."

He sighed. "Can’t you just take her word for it?"

Anne regarded him for a long moment. "Take Ruthie Kettner’s word on anything? I’m not sure I can."

"Try."

She sighed and rubbed her face. She looked down at her hands. Regan laid his large, freckled hand on top of hers. "For me?" he asked.

"I’ll try," she agreed. Her eyelids fluttered and her head drooped toward his shoulder. "I feel like shleeping."

"Uh-oh," Regan said, putting his arms around her. "Aren’t you about overdue for something to eat?"

"Well-l," she drawled, "I did have that samwich you dropped off for me yesterday. I had half of it for breaffest this morning."

"But you took your insulin, right?" he pressed, pushing her upright to better visually check her condition. Her anger had disappeared, but her skin still had a sheen of perspiration. He laid two fingers on her neck and felt her rapid pulse.

"May-y-y-be," she said slowly, almost slurring the word. "I think I ‘member taking it a while ago."

"You’re definitely overdue!" He helped her to stand, then guided her gently into the house. "First, I’ll feed you," he said firmly, "Then I’m checking your sugar and putting you to bed."

She giggled. "Promise?"

*     *     *

Calmly, Jim listed each of Ruth’s options. "You can give Steven to Lil to raise. You can fight for custody. You can take Steven and flee the country."

Then, he outlined the positives and negatives of each option. "Giving up Steven puts him in the hands of a woman who told you she didn’t want him. He didn’t ‘fit into her plans’, you said. But, you satisfy the moral obligation of allowing people to raise their own kids, regardless of circumstance, wealth or mental or emotional fitness for the job."

Ruth nodded, agreeing with his assessment.

He continued. "You could fight. I’m willing to bet you’ve got a strong case for sole custody. If it’s lawyers you’re worried about, I can provide you with the names of some top attorneys, who do a lot of pro bono work, especially regarding child custody cases. But then, you risk a protracted legal battle and Steven’s well-being and sense of security. Plus, there’s the chance that you might lose."

Ruth let her shoulders droop. But she let him continue.

"Or, you could take him and run. Lots of people do." He spread his hands in a sympathetic gesture. "That way, you get to raise Steven as your own son, but also, you never really have a safe place to call your own." He took a deep breath. "If you decide to do that," he said, "I could help you. Give you some money. Get you on the first flight out I could find to anywhere in the world." He smiled. "I hear Australia’s nice."

Ruth smiled sadly in return. "Thanks. I know you want to help me. I just keep feeling that I’m putting myself more and more in debt to you, and I’m not sure that’s a position I want to be in."

"Friends don’t count debts," he told her.

"Perhaps not," she allowed, "but I can’t help feeling it anyway." She sat in silence for another moment, then said, "You told me the other night about your step-father. Let me ask you this. Assume he were your real father, and your real father was just the guy married to your mom. She dies and you’re living with this really great guy you love completely. He’s your whole world. But then Jonesey comes along and demands custody. What would your dad do?"

"You don’t ask easy questions, do you!" Jim tugged at his hair. He thought about it, and was about to speak, when the front door opened and he heard Regan say,

"That’s a good girl, Anne, one foot in front of the other."

Jim and Ruth looked up to see Regan, half-carry and half-drag a droopy-eyed Anne into the main hallway. Regan glanced over at them apologetically. "I’m going to feed her then put her down for a few hours."

"Sounds like you’re talking about a baby," Ruth commented.

"Well," Regan allowed, "when she doesn’t take care of herself like she should, someone has to be the adult."

"I’m not a baby!" Anne growled. "And I can get to the kishen on my own!"

"Sure you can, darlin’," Regan drawled. "You could crawl, but that’s not so dignified, is it? Maybe next time you decide to pull an all-nighter and only eat half what you should," he said, continuing down the hallway to the kitchen, "you’ll be smarter and come home instead."

Ruth turned a surprised expression to Jim. "Does she often get like that?"

He chuckled ruefully. "She used to, until we started harassing her about her sugar levels. But I guess this has happened before, because Regan seems to be taking this in stride."

Ruth nodded. "He’s a really nice guy. What’s he doing with Anne?"

Jim turned toward Ruth again. "She’s a really nice person, too. You just haven’t met the real Anne Maypenny yet."

"I’m not sure I want to," she said, a bit rebellious.

"Now, now," Jim chided her. "Turn the other cheek."

"I did that once and they both got bruised!" After a moment, Ruth’s laughter joined Jim’s to echo across the wood floor.

*     *     *

Trixie frowned thoughtfully. "What do you think our first fight is going to be about?"

Dan frowned, too. "That’s funny. I wasn’t planning on fighting with you."

"But what about when we have a difference of opinion about something?"

He shrugged. "I just figured I’d agree with you."

"That’s ridiculous!" Trixie almost yelled. Calming herself, she said, "What if it’s something you feel strongly about? Or it’s something I’m completely wrong about?"

Dan hid a grin behind the glass of soda. "Simple. Admit I’m wrong. Presto. End of argument."

"You mean, just give up? Just like that?"

"Sure."

She blinked. It was all she seemed able to do, so stunned was she by his apparent readiness to concede all future discursive victories to her. "That’s just dumb." It was all she could think of to say.

"Okay." Dan shrugged. "I’m wrong." He flashed a grin. "Are we done arguing now?"

Her jaw fell open in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "You-!" she laughed. "You set me up!"

He raised one slender black eyebrow and grinned slyly, "So, now that that’s over with, can we make up?"

Still chuckling, she nodded, "Fine. I win. Let’s make up."

Dan got up from the chair and moved to stand inches in front of her. Laying his hands on either side of her on the counter, very close to her ribs, he leaned in close and began to kiss her. By the time the kitchen door swung open and Regan entered, practically dragging Anne along with him, Trixie and Dan were wrapped tight in each other’s arms.

"Excuse me," Regan said brusquely, "I hate to intrude at a time like this, but if I don’t, I’ll have one very sick woman on my hands."

Dan sighed heavily, but stepped back from Trixie. "No problem," he said. "Need any help with her?"

Anne groaned. "Will you two ssstop it? I’m fine. I’m just feeling a bit-um… under my-um… par." She frowned as Regan easily hoisted her onto the counter.

"Stay there," he told her firmly, then began rooting through the icebox.

Dan joined him in his search. "There’s some oatmeal cookies left," he said. "Or are you going for the rest of that juice?"

Regan appeared with a large, almost-empty jug of orange juice. He held it up in example, and Dan fetched a glass from the cabinet. In moments, Regan had Anne slurping the tangy liquid, happily content.

Trixie, watching the entire scene without comment, grinned. "You two should take your show on the road."

Dan shrugged. "It’s something you get used to," he allowed. "Especially the last couple of months." In a stage-whispered aside to Trixie, he said, "She stays here a lot."

"You still crashing, sweetheart?" Regan asked Anne softly.

She blinked slowly at him. "No," she said. "I’m just really, really tired. Is it okay if I don’t go riding with you tonight?"

"Of course, it’s okay!" Regan took the empty glass from her and set it on the counter. "You want to just go upstairs to bed?"

She nodded her head twice. "Uh-huh." Regan stepped close and pulled her into his arms, intending to set her gently down on the floor. Instead, Anne wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders and tucked her face into his neck, barely stifling a huge yawn. In a smooth movement, Regan shifted her weight in his arms, then carried her out through the swinging kitchen door.

"Alone again at last!" Dan grinned at Trixie.

She smiled in turn, then sighed. "Unfortunately, I’m due at the house to help prep for the picnic tomorrow."

"I thought you were just bringing the paper plates and stuff," he said. "When did you volunteer to cook?"

"I’m not cooking," she explained. "I’m in charge of making sure my Aunt Alicia and my mother don’t cut each other up along with the potato salad!"

"Why don’t they get along?" Dan asked. "I thought sisters always got along."

Trixie allowed herself a quiet laugh. "Yeah, right. Tell me another one." She shook her head. "Apparently, Alicia thinks it was a waste of time and money for Moms to go to college to study art, especially considering she dropped out when she got married and she hasn’t done a thing to further her career since."

"Alicia never went to college?"

"No," Trixie replied. "She got a job in a dressmaker’s instead and worked for most of Moms’ tuition. You know, she makes really beautiful wedding gowns. They are her specialty. She would have made Honey’s, I think, if Honey hadn’t already promised Ella she could have the honors."

"I see. So Alicia’s feeling like she’s sacrificed her own education so that Helen could get married?"

"Basically," Trixie frowned. "I guess. When you put it like that, though, I feel bad for Alicia. Usually I side with Moms. Except when they’re actually sniping at each other." She grinned. "Then I play referee!"

*     *     *

Meanwhile, at the Lynch Lodge

Diana strolled onto the patio and breathed in the warm summer air. It was such a nice change from England, she thought, to be in a place that actually made a person perspire just by being outside. She wore only her bikini and her sandals, intending to catch a few late afternoon moments stretched out in the sunlight.

The pool beckoned her, but she knew it was likely to be cooler than she preferred. Thinking more about it, she casually dipped a toe in the velvety water, splashing a few drops onto the cool-deck. Thinking twice, she proceeded to her favorite lounge, laid out her towel and stretched herself onto the wooden chair.

After several moments, she let her eyes close and her mind drift…

The last days on the set were such fun! Everyone joking and laughing, happy… The shoot went so well! I can’t believe how much energy I was able to put into playing ‘Celia’. I hope the movie gets good reviews… it really deserves to be seen by a wide audience. Of course, nothing will ever compare with ‘Avalon’. Meeting Thomas was… it was…

‘Excuse me, but aren’t you in this next scene?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, but I was told to wait here for my cue,’ she replied. He was gorgeous. Blond hair, blue eyes, classic British good looks.

‘I thought so,’ he said, smiling at her and offering his hand, ‘You’re Guenevere, aren’t you? Diana Lynch.’

‘That’s right,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘You’re Mordred? Thomas Thorne?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘We share the next bit, don’t we. Would you like to rehearse with me?’

‘That would be fine,’ she smiled…

-- they rehearsed, laughed together, rehearsed and improvised. They even read each other’s parts, then read the scene backwards, giggling delightedly at the new non-sense they created. He asked her to share dinner with him and she said yes. Every day after that they shared at least one meal together. They became inseparable and soon, Thomas was talking about a lifetime contract.

They would have been married sooner, Diana knew, except that she wanted to marry in Sleepyside, and he desired US citizenship. For him to marry and then live in America required contacting US Immigration, which in turn required a waiting period, proof of their relationship and other documentation.

Diana sighed, remembering how upset Thomas had been to learn of all the details required for him to marry ‘outside his nationality’, as he termed it. She had tried making a joke of it, but he said something to stifle her natural sense of fun. What had he said? Oh yes, she remembered. He said, "The hoops I have to jump through just to get a lousy piece of paper."

She wondered why he sounded so beleaguered, but put it all down to his anxiousness to get married to her. He loved her, right? He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, right? And that’s what she wanted too, right?

Wasn’t it? And wasn’t this foretold long ago? ‘Oh, Diana,’ she had said, ‘You’ll be such a beautiful bride! I see a handsome, blond man with blue eyes giving you a bouquet of vividly purple flowers, a small room, just a few people… no, I don’t know who they are… but you both are very happy. That’s funny… I can’t see his face exactly, but he’s your perfect match. Your soul mate. Your twin.’

And Diana believed her. After all, her other predictions had all come true, why wouldn’t this one? And wasn’t Thomas blond? Didn’t he have the most gorgeous blue eyes? And didn’t their lives parallel so completely? They both had been born into poverty. They both struggled to prove themselves to their families. They had both discovered that acting and the theater filled some desperate emptiness in their lives. By becoming other people, even for a few hours, they could forget themselves, they could imagine new worlds where anything was possible and dreams could come true.

Besides, Anne, her practical, brilliant and forthright best friend told her so. ‘You love him, right? And he loves you, right? Then what are you so worried about?’ she had said a few days ago.

Truth was, Diana wasn’t sure what bothered her, exactly. But ever since the Concorde touched down at JFK, it seemed like Thomas didn’t have much use for her. Much use for her romantically. True, Thomas preferred to express his love in gestures and words, not actions so much. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in sex, he told her, just that it wasn’t enough to build a lifetime upon.

That just seemed so sensible.

Of course, Diana was never known for being a sensible woman. But she was learning how. Thomas was giving her a Master’s Class.

*     *      *

"So, what would your dad have done?" Ruth asked, returning the conversation to its original path. "Would he just let you go or would he have fought for you or what?"

Jim looked puzzled. "I was about to tell you that I’ve never really thought about it before. This may take me awhile to figure it out."

Ruth waited while he thought, her own mind racing along possible paths of action and inaction. She loved Steven. He was all she had left of her husband, but more than that, he was all that mattered to her anymore. He was the reason she didn’t collapse after Lester’s death. He was the reason she started her own business. He was the reason she still knew how to love.

She needed to make the right choice. Steven deserved no less than the best she could do for him. If that meant allowing him to get to know his natural mother, she could live with that. If it meant allowing that woman to take care of him, raise him, even, well… she could probably find a way to live with that, too.

Idly, Ruth wondered how Jim was going to behave toward her now. He certainly seemed sincere when he said he wanted to help, and so far he hadn’t gone screaming off toward the Catskills, but this certainly wasn’t what he signed on for when he asked her out to dinner barely last Monday night. He already had so much stress in his life, what with the school and the restoration of Ten Acres, his sister’s wedding and all the hoopla that entailed. How could she add to it with her own set of problems? I probably shouldn’t involve him any more with this, she thought suddenly.

She was about to suggest as much when the kitchen door into the main hallway opened and they heard Regan speaking softly. "That’s my sleepy Annie. Let’s get you upstairs and put you to bed, all right?"

Once he appeared in front of the entrance to the great room, Ruth and Jim saw that Regan carried Anne like a father carries a small child, his strong arms wrapped around her, her head on his shoulder. They said nothing while Regan paused and turned so he could see them. "Stay as long as you need to," he told them. "I’m sure Anne wants to talk with you, Ruth, except she’s half asleep already and--"

"No," Anne said suddenly, "Turn around so I can tell her." She nudged Regan’s back until he turned, allowing her clear view of the room over his shoulder. A bit bleary-eyed, Anne said, "I’m sorry for yelling at you before, Ruth. I jumped to some awful conclusions and I’m sorry. I honestly meant to put our past problems behind us. I guess I still have some work to do on that. If there’s anything I can do to help you, or Steven, please don’t hesitate to ask, okay?"

Ruth forced a smile. "Apology accepted." Her smile turned genuine as Anne yawned and rubbed her eyes, shifting her weight in Regan’s arms once more.

"What’s so funny?" Anne asked.

"Nothing, really," Ruth said. "You just look so innocent when you’re exhausted. Usually you look so threatening."

Anne blinked in reply. "I look threatening? Me? Wow."

"Come on," Regan interrupted, heading for the staircase, "I’m putting you to bed." He easily climbed the stairs and disappeared from view.

"You feel threatened by Anne?" Jim asked.

"I used to. I guess I don’t really anymore." Ruth frowned. "Old habits die hard, I suppose." She looked at him. "Did you have time enough to think?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, I did." He rubbed his hands over his knees in a decisive gesture. "My dad would have fought for me. He would have fought for me to be happy and if that meant living with my natural father, well, he would have supported that decision." He shrugged. "I don’t see how that helps you, though."

"I’m not sure I do, either." She met his gaze searchingly for a moment, then abruptly stood. "I’m going to watch the rest of Steven’s riding lesson, then take him home. I have to figure out some way to tell him what’s going on. I expect I’ll have to inform the authorities, as well."

Jim stood, too. "What are you going to tell them?"

"I’m not sure," she admitted. "Probably I’ll just tell them what’s been going on and see what they do with that information."

"You know," Jim began, "Trixie could tell us for sure, but I don’t think anything will happen until Lil swears out a complaint against you. From some of what Trixie said, I don’t think the police are tops on her list of people to see. I’d say you have at least a day or two until you really have to decide."

Ruth smiled at him. "Thanks, Jim. I hope you’re right."

*     *     *

Over an hour later, Jim escorted an over-stimulated Steven and a patient Ruth to the battered Toyota that served as their sole mode of transportation. Once Ruth convinced Steven to finally sit still long enough for her to buckle him up, Jim pulled her aside for a brief word.

Jim laid his hands on her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. "I just want you to know, if I can do anything for you- anything at all--don’t hesitate to call me, okay?"

"I understand," she replied. "And I thank you."

"One last thing," he said. "You haven’t exactly said ‘yes’ yet, but I hope you and Steven are coming to the picnic tomorrow."

"I got the impression that was strictly a family thing," she said dubiously.

"Our families are so extended," Jim grinned, "that it would seem odd if you weren’t there. Please say you’ll come. You don’t have to bring anything but Steven and your swimsuits, but if you want to bake something, those coconut cookies you had the other day were delicious."

"Reading you loud and clear," Ruth laughed. "Okay. We’ll be there. Noon, right? By the lake?"

"Right. Be at the lake around noon prepared to spend the entire day." Suddenly, the family picnic seemed less like an interruption of his time and a drain on his energy – time and energy better spent on his school – and more like a wonderful, mini-vacation, all due to Ruth’s planned attendance. Grateful for the change in his mood and outlook, he pulled Ruth into a brief hug. As he stepped aside to allow her access to her car, he remembered his ‘note to himself’ and swiftly kissed her.

Once inside the car, Ruth braced herself for a storm of questions from Steven about Jim’s kiss, but there were none. Instead, it was ‘Regan said this’ and ‘Regan says that’. Ruth grinned, absurdly pleased her son had found a positive adult role model, one she could endorse.

She allowed Steven to chatter on and on about Frodo, the stables, Marcia and the other horses and riders who had been at the stables that day, supplying an occasional ‘uh-huh’ and ‘oh, really?’ as the conversation warranted. As she turned off Glen into Mrs. Hartman’s driveway, her heart stopped.

Lt. Molinson of the Sleepyside Police Department was standing on the sundeck outside her apartment, busy writing something in a small black notebook.

With a heavy sense of dread, Ruth parked her car and got out of it. As she opened Steven’s door to permit him to exit the car as well, she heard the detective call out, "Ruth Kettner-Mundy?"

She affirmed her identity.

Molinson looked grim. "I have some questions I’d like to ask you."

Ruth took her purse and sent Steven to go play in his room. "We can talk out here, Lieutenant," she replied. "I think I know what this is about."

*     *     *

Meanwhile…

Honey sat in the reception area of Westchester County Hospital tapping her toes and skimming through the same outdated issue of Time she’d skimmed last week. Brian, as usual, was running behind on his schedule and had asked her to meet him in the hospital lobby, so as to save time and still make their dinner reservations in White Plains.

The lot of the doctor’s wife, she told herself. Missed appointments, late dinners, broken engagements. Maybe I should just get used to it already, like he told me. If I’m going to be his wife, I’d better just grow up. This is what wives do, I guess. They wait for their husbands.

Honey sat in the corner of the waiting room, well out of the way of the other visitors and the general hubbub, but close enough to the reception desk that she would know when Brian showed up. She could easily hear the conversations of the nurses as they went about their duties and gossiped. She smiled to herself, amused as one nurse, Betty, she recalled, told Linda, the other nurse, about an incident in the cafeteria earlier that week.

"I tell you, Linda! It was so funny! Doctor Rickart--" Honey knew that Rickart was the director of Pediatrics, and one of Brian’s bosses. "--just stood there with the juice soaking into his lab coat, staining his tie, while that poor candy striper, who can’t be more than fifteen, just stood there, trying to blot with this tiny little napkin!"

Honey heard Linda begin to giggle. "Not that cute little Asian girl, I hope? She’s so easily embarrassed!"

"That’s the one! Soon-Yi or something like that. I don’t remember her name off the top of my head. Anyway, she tried so hard to apologize and all Rickart could do was huff and puff about the ‘clumsiness’ and ‘ineptitude’ of teenagers!" Betty laughed harder. "And she kept wiping his coat, apologizing the entire time. But when she started wiping… wiping his…" She kept laughing.

"She didn’t!"

"She did!" Betty shrieked as quietly as she could. It was a hospital, after all. "Then Dr. Belden walked up to have a consult with Rickart about something or other, but when he saw what the candy striper was doing – and where – he just said he’d ‘talk about it later, when he wasn’t previously engaged’."

Honey smiled to herself. That was kind of clever, she thought, if a bit risqué.

"What’d Rickart say to that?" Linda asked.

"This is the best part. Rickart said, ‘If that were the criteria for conducting a consult, then perhaps Dr. Belden would be so kind as to either get married already or lose the fiancée. Either way, it was disrupting hospital routine.’ He then proceeded to ream out Dr. Belden entirely on the subject of his late lab reports, his mistaken diagnosis that Dr. Law caught and his leave time. And his planned honeymoon in the middle of the intern rotation."

"Wow! What’d Dr. Belden do?"

"He just stood there, yes-Dr. Rickart and no-Dr. Rickart the entire time. You know how he is. He doesn’t get angry. That’s what makes him so good with the kids."

"Yeah, but he’s got to take it out somewhere. I feel sorry for the Pediatrics nurses."

"Oh, forget about it. He’s too professional to take it out on the staff. He’s the type that’ll run his wife ragged with demands and perfectionism. She’s who I feel sorry for."

"But still, to sleep with that body!" Linda whistled. Honey shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Everything comes with a price tag, and don’t you forget it."

A third voice spoke up then, one Honey didn’t recognize. "Are you two talking about Dr. Belden?"

"Excuse us, Doctor," Betty replied. "We didn’t see you there. Can we help you with something?"

"It’s all right. I couldn’t help overhearing. Dr. Belden is engaged?" The nurses must have nodded, for the woman continued. "I hadn’t realized. He didn’t tell me about it. Huh." There was a pause.

Betty said, "We were just discussing the trade-offs of his married life. You know, the demands of a doctor’s wife versus the fun of sleeping with him."

The doctor laughed. "Oh, my! Well, let me tell you, but just between us, okay? Sleeping with him is a lot of fun and well worth anything a girl has to go through to get there!"

Honey froze. She couldn’t have heard what she just heard. Did that female doctor just tell those nurses she had slept with Brian? Her Brian?

Honey debated whether or not she should turn around to get a good look at the doctor. Keeping perfectly still, she glanced around the reception area for a reflective surface. She found one in a particularly large and rather ugly mixed media collage she assumed was to represent the many facets of the Hudson River Valley but only managed to make her ill. The reflection took her a moment to sort out. As she tried to get a better impression of the female doctor, she heard the conversation continue.

"I’m here to deliver a message for Dr. Belden, by the way. When a pizza delivery comes through here, be so kind as to send the guy on up to Pediatrics? He’ll have a stack of pizzas and some garlic bread for some of the children up there who are sick with chicken pox. It’s their reward for not scratching."

"And what are you having for dinner? A pizza or a pediatrician?" Betty asked slyly.

The doctor just laughed. "Both, if I play my cards right!" The trio laughed, then the doctor said, moving away down the hall, "And I always manage to win!"

Honey sank as far into the vinyl couch as she could. The magazine layout began to swim before her eyes. She brushed hair from her face and felt her knuckles get wet. The pain in her midsection threatened to bust her open inside out

What do I do now? she wondered. Is this why he’s been working late and breaking dates? He’s been spending all his free time with her?

She sat still for a moment longer, listening as the reception desk phone rang and Betty answered it. She mumbled a few words, then hung up. A moment later, Honey heard her name being paged over the intercom.

Oh, no! Now they’ll know I was here and could hear everything! Honey stood, feeling her hands tremble. Stop that, Honey Wheeler! Remember your dignity! She straightened her spine and headed for the reception desk, a polite smile plastered on her face.

"Someone paged me? I’m Honey Wheeler."

One of the nurses glanced up at her, a pleasant smile on her face. Her name tag indicated she was Betty. "Yes, Miss," she said. "I’m to give you a message. Dr. Belden can’t make your appointment this evening. He’s staying late to watch over some of the children in the Pediatrics Ward. I was just about to write it down. Do you want a written copy?"

"No," Honey said softly. "Thank you, though. Good night." She turned and headed for the exit. She paid no attention to the whispered ‘Linda! That’s her! That’s Dr. Belden’s fiancée!’ but kept walking straight until she reached her car, opened the door and slid inside.

Breathing as calmly as she could, Honey concentrated on driving home as safely as possible. By the time she arrived at the apartment she shared with Trixie, however, the automatic security gates had closed for the evening. She had to root through her purse for the access card. In so doing, her engagement ring flashed in her eyes and she found her ‘brag book’ of Brian photos. The card had wedged between the album pages.

She parked her car as quickly as she could, avoided her neighbors and hurried to open her door. As she closed the door behind her, she called out, but the only sound was the gentle meow of Watson, Trixie’s odd little cat.

Good. Trixie’s been and gone on a date. That means she won’t be home for hours and hours and hours and oh, God! What am I going to do? Was he going to tell me? Maybe he’s planning to tell me. Maybe he doesn’t know she’s there. Don’t be an idiot, Madeleine! He knows! He’s probably happy she’s there and able to give him what he wants without having to marry her for it! Typical! But Brian says he loves me. He says he’s always loved me. Surely that counts for more than a mere sexual relationship? You’re so naïve! Men are just after one thing. Sex and money. You don’t give him sex, but you do have plenty of money.

Thoroughly distraught at the direction her thoughts had taken her, Honey dropped her purse and threw herself on the sofa. She picked up the remote and turned on the TV, determined to lose herself in some mindless movie or other.

She found Washington Square.

Honey had never before identified with a fictional character so much as she did that night. Doctor Sloper reminded her of her father, gruff and demanding. At least, she often felt his disapproval of her lack of interest in the family business. But he had Jim for that, now, right? Of course, Jim was obsessed with opening his school…

Catherine reminded her of herself. Young, not incredibly beautiful, wealthy and alone.

Morris, Catherine’s suitor, reminded her strongly of Brian. Dark hair and eyes, handsome, charming.

Morris wants Catherine’s fortune, so he tries to seduce her. When Dr. Sloper threatens to cut Catherine off without a dime if she marries without his consent, Morris makes arrangements to elope with her, but then stands her up when she reveals her lack of inheritance if she does marry him. Morris skips town. Years later, he returns. Dr. Sloper is dead, Catherine has control of her fortune, Morris tries to elope with her again, but this time, she stands him up.

Catherine ends up alone. Childless. Husband-less. Loveless.

Honey had to confront Brian. She knew he would never miss the family picnic tomorrow at the lake. Everyone was going to be there and she knew for a fact his mother expected his attendance. Brian would never disappoint ‘Moms’.

Tomorrow, she would have her showdown.

For the next hour, she practiced her speech, ending each time with the question: ‘Do you love me, Brian Andrew Belden, or are you just going through the motions, doing what’s expected and ignoring what you really want with your life?’

She practiced until she heard familiar laughter outside the door. She heard Trixie’s key in the lock and Dan’s voice, gentle and questioning. Honey snapped off the living room light and hurried into her room. The last thing she wanted was for her disastrous evening to ruin Trixie’s date.

Honey couldn’t help but hear Trixie’s surprised ‘Honey’s home!’ and then Dan’s unconvincing ‘Oh, how nice’. She felt worse. She had ruined their evening!

As she slowly got herself ready for bed, surprising Trixie’s cat, Watson, from his lair inside her laundry hamper, she didn’t hear anything further from the living room. By the time she climbed into bed and switched off her bedside table, she heard Trixie wish Dan a good night, and Dan’s soft reply, and then the front door opening and closing, and the bolt sliding shut.

Honey squeezed her eyes shut as Watson began to meow pitiably, scratching at her bedroom door. She heard the door squeak open and Trixie urge the overgrown kitten out from her bedroom. The door closed once more. Ten minutes later, the apartment fell silent.

Honey began to cry.

Chapter 6

Saturday, May 27^th
20 days to go

When Trixie woke the next morning, she rolled straight out of bed and headed for Honey’s room. Knocking softly on the door, she gently opened it and peeked inside. "Honey?" she called. "You ready to go soon?"

Honey lay flat on her back, snoring gently. Her alarm clock-radio had gone off, but had failed to waken her. Trixie frowned, then entered the room. "Honey?" she called again. "Time to wake up."

When Trixie actually sat on the edge of the bed and nudged her friend, Honey jerked awake. "What? What’s going on? What time is it?" she asked. She glanced at the clock, then fell back against the pillows.

"Come on, Honey," Trixie urged. "We’ve got to get a move on if we’re going to get any decent practice in before class."

On Saturdays, the partners of Belden-Wheeler headed to a dojo in Sleepyside and took lessons in martial arts. It was something Trixie had always thought she’d be good at, but that hadn’t proven to be the case. Instead, sweet, demure Honey Wheeler had demonstrated a knack for focusing her energy and power. Her knack for it had saved her and Trixie’s life more than once.

What Trixie discovered she was good at was follow-through. She didn’t just drop a victim and let him recover. She dropped him, then kicked or hit him again until he gave up. Their instructor called it Trixie’s ‘Revenge Therapy’, explaining that Trixie was seeking vengeance on everyone who had ever teased her or made fun of her. That was why she continued to pummel them after they had fallen.

"I don’t want to go anywhere today. Do I have to?" Honey whined.

"Come on!" Trixie insisted. "We’ll get breakfast after at the Brunchery and then we’ll head back here, get showered and changed and head on out to the lake. It’ll be fun. Besides, I kind of have to fill you in on some things."

Honey sighed. "All right. Give me a minute to wash my face, okay? I’m still not awake."

Trixie got off the bed and started back toward her room. "I don’t understand. You were asleep when I came home last night at 10:30. What gives?"

Honey didn’t reply. There were things she didn’t want to fill Trixie in on. Just yet, anyway.

*     *     *

They made it to the dojo in plenty of time to warm up and practice a bit before class. The dojo shared space with Leo’s Gym, a rather popular location in town for the fitness-minded of Sleeypside. As Trixie and Honey stored their things in a locker, they greeted a few other regulars and made general inquiries into their health and frames of mind.

As Trixie led Honey onto the practice mats, spread out before a huge mirrored wall, she asked her friend, "Why so glum, chum?"

"Huh?" Honey asked, barely paying attention. They started a few warm-up exercises, stretched and lightly jogged in place.

Finally, Trixie asked again, "What’s up with you? Did Brian get called in to work again? Is that why you were home so early?"

"Oh! No," Honey explained. "No, Brian cancelled our plans."

"Again?" At Honey’s stricken look, Trixie dropped the subject. "Never mind. Let’s practice some of those throws we learned last week, okay? I’m still not sure about the handholds on that last one Sensei Mike showed us." Honey agreed, and the two women began grappling with each other until Honey managed to toss Trixie over her back.

"Ha! Now there’s something I’d like to learn one day!"

Honey looked up, startled, but pleased, to recognize Mart Belden, standing just off the mat. He had obviously been working out that morning as well. His shorts were soaked with perspiration and his well-defined chest glistened with sweat. He had slung his T-shirt around his neck and was using the ends of it to wipe off his face.

Trixie sprang up from the mat. "First thing you gotta learn, dearest brother," she said gleefully, "is how to fall. Here. Let me demonstrate." She held out her arms in invitation.

"No way!" Mart laughed. "I know better than that. I’ll have Honey teach me. She won’t intentionally try to hurt me."

Honey smirked. "Want to bet?"

Mart just laughed. "Okay! Guess my brother’s made a bad name for us Belden Boys today. I’m just going to have to stay out of your way."

More karate students had arrived by this time, crowding Trixie and Honey off the mat as they began to warm up. The threesome formed a small circle and were about to continue their banter, when two very adult-looking teenage girls in hot pink spandex and full makeup sauntered right up to Mart, said "Hi, Mr. Belden!" and giggled.

Mart smiled at them both. "Hi, Kelly. Hi, Maria. Looking forward to summer vacation?"

Trixie wasn’t sure which girl was which, but she could easily tell that both had a major crush on her brother. The taller girl simpered and said, "Oh, sure. But what I’m really looking forward to is working out a lot." She threw her shoulders back and looked directly into Mart’s eyes.

The shorter one pointed to one of the Nautilus machines and said, "Do you think you could demonstrate how to use that thing?" Her face turned petulant. "It’s too confusing for us."

Mart continued to smile, but shook his head. "Sorry, girls, but I’m about to cool-down then hit the showers. Why don’t you ask Beth over at the front desk? She’s the one who taught me." As the girls shared a disappointed look, he continued, "She’s very nice."

"That’s okay," the taller one said. "We’ll figure it out, I guess."

"Have a great day, Mr. Belden," the shorter one giggled. "I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you later on."

Mart bowed his head slightly as they left. He turned to Trixie, "Don’t say it."

"Say what?" Trixie said innocently.

"You know what I mean," he threatened.

"They’ve got a harmless high school crush on their Science teacher," Trixie shrugged. "Who wouldn’t?"

"Are they any good?" Honey asked. At Mart’s hesitant look, she continued, "At Science, I mean?"

Mart started to laugh. "God, no. Not in the slightest." As he continued to chuckle, he told them briefly about the field trip he’d planned for his classes to Martin’s Marsh. "Kelly and Maria were the only two to show up in skirts and heels. I sent them home to change, of course, but then they showed up in shorts and pantyhose. Whatever for, I couldn’t guess!"

The karate class was about to start, so Trixie and Honey made quick plans to join Mart for breakfast, then hastened onto the mat and got into position.

*     *     *

The Brunchery served the best omelets and hash browns in Westchester County, according to the BWGs and most of the population of Sleepyside. Finding a table for three at 9 a.m. on a Saturday wasn’t an easy task. Unless Trixie Belden was in the party.

The hostess immediately recognized Trixie, her brother and Honey. "I’ll have a table ready in a jiffy," she promised. As she turned to enter the large dining room, an older couple sitting in the hostess area grumbled.

"Why do we have to wait when they get to sit right down?" the man asked.

The hostess turned. "When you stop an arson attempt on the building and save the owner’s life in the process, then you get preferred seating!" With a firm nod of her head, she grabbed three menus and announced to the trio, "Follow me!"

Soon, Trixie, Mart and Honey had ordered breakfast. While they waited on their omelets, Trixie turned to Mart and asked, "Didn’t you and Ruth Kettner have some classes together in high school?"

Mart frowned. "Sure. I think we were in the same Phys Ed class in 9^th. We had English and Geography in 10^th. In 11^th, I think we shared American History and Trig. Senior year, we were in Physics together. And Chemistry."

"Ruth took Physics and Chemistry?" Honey asked.

Trixie glanced at her friend, surprised to find Honey taking part in the conversation. She’d been unusually quiet all morning so far. Trixie wondered if the cause were a lover’s quarrel.

"Ruth’s a smart girl," Mart replied. "She’s got a real head for numbers and an aptitude for studying. She used to get the top grades in class." He shrugged, stirring more cream into his coffee. "Until Anne showed up, and screwed up the curve."

Their breakfasts arrived then, and Trixie became distracted by her rumbling stomach and the taste of her Western Omelet. Munching on his Eggs Benedict, Mart asked, "Why?"

"Why do I want to know about Ruth?" Trixie confirmed. Mart nodded his head while adding Tobasco sauce to his eggs. She sighed and told her brother and her partner about Lil’s visit to the agency, Ruth’s confirmation of Lil’s claims and her choices for future action. "I don’t want to gossip, but Anne was there. She found out, too."

"So?" Mart asked. "You sound so serious. What happened when Anne found out?"

"Nothing much," Trixie explained. "She just went ballistic. She yelled at Dan, at Jim, at Ruth. She even yelled at Regan."

"That’s not so unusual," Honey replied. "They were always fighting in the stables, when she worked for him."

"That was different," Trixie said. "Regan told Anne she was being irrational –"

"He didn’t." Mart dropped his fork onto his plate.

"What’s so bad about that?" Honey asked, getting more involved with the conversation.

"Think about it," Mart explained. "What’s the one thing Anne prides herself on most? Her mind. Her rational, logical, reasonable mind. Saying she’s irrational would be like calling Baryshnikov clumsy. Or like saying Placido Domingo sings off-key. It’s a tremendous insult."

"Well," Trixie said, "it sure made Anne mad. She got all quiet and stormed out of there. I’ve never seen Regan so furious, either."

"Did he go after her?" Honey asked.

Trixie nodded. "But not until Dan told him he had to or else."

Mart chuckled. "I’ll just bet he did."

"What do you mean?" Trixie asked. "What do you know that I don’t?"

Mart held up his hands defensively. "Don’t get me wrong, Trix, but there are things guys tell each other that they just won’t tell their girlfriends. Dan and I talk. That’s all I’m saying."

Trixie narrowed her eyes and stared at her brother. "You’re going to tell me."

"No, I’m not." He checked his watch. "I’ve got to go. I’ve still got to pack up my culinary contribution to this afternoon’s repast."

"What are you bringing?" Honey asked politely.

"Watermelon punch," he replied.

"Oh! Yummy-yum!" Trixie gushed. "Which kind?"

"Both," he stated promptly. "I’m just going to leave my share here and be off. See you ladies at the picnic!" Mart stood, dug out several bills and some change, deposited it all on the table and left.

"Both?" Honey asked, bewildered.

"Over and Under 21," Trixie smiled. "I hope he’s been letting it marinate for days!"

Honey was still puzzled, but since the bill arrived, she had no opportunity for further questions.

*     *     *

"Come on, guys! Let’s go!" Elayne Lynch called to her five children, future son-in-law and current husband. "We’ll be late if we don’t all get a move on!"

The sound of elephants thundering down the main staircase of her home alerted her to the imminent arrival of her family. Calmly, Elayne adjusted her sun hat, checked the amount of sunscreen in her shoulder bag and held out her hand. Edward, her husband of twenty-seven years, took her hand in his. "Ready, dear?" he asked.

"Ready," she replied firmly.

Harrison, their faithful family butler, opened the front door and the entire Lynch mob filed outside toward two waiting automobiles already stuffed with picnic gear.

"Diana, dear," Elayne called to her eldest, "will you be all right driving?"

"Yes, Mother!" Diana replied. "I still remember how."

"Don’t be cute," Elayne reprimanded. "You’ve been in Europe for three years now. Remember which side of the road to drive on, okay?"

"Yes, Mother," Diana replied again, resigned to her fate. Her mother would always be her mother. That was that. "Who’s coming with me?" she called out.

"I am!" "I am!" shouted two voices in perfect stereo. Terry and Larry scrambled into the back seat of the Lynch’s Lincoln while Thomas, Diana’s fiancée, easily slipped into the front passenger. The girls followed their parents into the limo, each clutching their lucky tennis racquet.

Diana got into the Lincoln, adjusted the mirrors and the seat, then started the car. "Everyone buckled up? Ready to go? Then let’s have some fun!"

The twins howled with excitement. This was their first day off in two weeks and they were looking forward to having some fun while sweating, for a change. Even Thomas grinned. "A real American picnic. My first." He smiled and laid a hand on Diana’s arm. "First of many, I hope. You remembered the camera, I trust?"

"It’s in my purse," she assured him, easily maneuvering the laden luxury car down the winding driveway to Glen. "This time, let’s not forget to take those pictures, okay?" The Department of Immigration demanded proof that Diana and Thomas were serious about committing to a long-term relationship. They demanded photographic evidence of Thomas interacting with his future in-laws and his fiancée, thus the camera.

"Did you load it with film?"

Diana frowned. "I think so."

*     *     *

At Manor House, Jim Frayne had cause to remember just why he was so happy to live there alone: peace and quiet.

With his parents there for the holiday weekend, there just wasn’t any.

Madeleine Wheeler had the servants pack and then repack the estate’s SUV for the trip to the lake. Matthew Wheeler wondered what was so difficult about forwarding the satellite signal from the House to his laptop so that he could watch his stock rates. Madeleine worried about the sun. Matthew worried about the rain. They continued their worried complaints even when Mr. Maypenny showed up for a lift to the lake.

Jim wondered if he could get Brian to prescribe him some anti-parent medication. His only consolation was that at least, he’d never have Madeleine for a mother-in-law.

Finally, they got all their things packed, the food stored appropriately and transported to the lake, the phones forwarded, the PCs online. Tom helped the Wheelers into the SUV, then got behind the wheel. Celia, his wife, sat in the passenger seat. TJ, their seven-year-old son, sat happily between them. "You riding or walking?" Tom asked Jim.

"Walking!" Jim assured him. Definitely walking! This is going to be a very long day…

*     *     *

Bobby Belden woke with the chickens that day. After hurrying through his morning chores around the farm, he ran two miles through the Preserve to Regan’s stables, exercised his favorite horse, Pirate King, groomed Pirate and ran the two miles back home.

His Aunt Alicia greeted him as he arrived in the farmhouse kitchen, sweaty and stinking of horses. "Robert Belden!" she said. "You get right on upstairs and you clean yourself up! If your mother should see you in her kitchen looking like a field hand, well-"

"Morning, Moms," Bobby said cheerfully, ignoring Alicia’s diatribe.

"Morning, Bobby," she replied sleepily. "You want eggs or pancakes this morning?"

"Both, if you can swing it," he smiled. "I’ve got that tennis tournament today."

"That’s right," Helen grinned. "I’ll have both ready for you in a flash. Now get on upstairs, okay?" Bobby bent his head to drop a swift kiss on his mother’s cheek, then pushed through the swinging door.

Helen heard Bobby’s feet pound up the stairs. "That boy will never learn to step quietly," she said, smiling softly.

"That boy will never learn manners if you keep coddling him!" Alicia remarked.

Helen sighed. She’d heard this all before. "Bobby’s fine, Alicia. He’s just excited about the picnic. We all are." Ignoring her sister’s fuming glare, Helen proceeded to fix her youngest son’s favorite breakfast: poached eggs and banana pancakes.

Peter entered the kitchen next. He grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a kiss from his wife before heading out to the garage. "I’ve got to get that grass cut. It’ll be on my mind all day if I don’t. I’ll be back in fifteen," he promised.

By the time Bobby had syruped his pancakes and wolfed down his first poached egg, Peter returned to wash up for his breakfast.

"Are we all set for the picnic?" Peter asked, helping himself to a short stack.

"I believe so, thanks to Trixie and Dan’s help last night peeling all those potatoes," Helen answered, seating herself at the table. "I was able to make five kinds of potato salad, when all was said and done."

"Why you let your daughter date that boy, Peter, I’m sure I don’t know," Alicia remarked. She had already had her breakfast of plain wheat toast and marmalade, 3 ounces of juice, and coffee.

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked. "What’s wrong with Dan?"

"He’s trouble," Alicia stated flatly. "Plain and simple. You can see it on his face. That boy’s trouble."

"That man," Helen contradicted, "is not trouble. He’s responsible, loyal and kind. He’s done more for Trixie and this family that I could tell you about in a month."

"He’s been good for Trixie," Peter agreed. "I haven’t heard her laugh so much in years. And he’s good to her, which is just as important to me."

Bobby swallowed half his pancake and nodded vigorously. "Dan’s a great guy! He’s the best! If he wants to shack up with my sister, I think that’s just great!"

Faced with a table full of opposition, Alicia merely sipped at her coffee and said mildly, "I stand corrected. He’s a saint."

*     *     *

Brian yawned. He stretched. He struggled to sit upright without banging his head on the overhead bunk in the on-call room at County Hospital. He barely succeeded.

Checking his watch, he was alarmed to discover it was already 10:30 a.m. For a moment, he panicked. Did I oversleep and miss rounds? Then he relaxed. No. It’s Saturday. I think. Yeah. Saturday. SATURDAY! He stood up and switched on the overhead light. He checked the clock on the wall. It was Saturday. PICNIC Saturday. He was late.

Brian debated the efficiency of showering at the hospital and then going home to change, or just going home. He was about to lean toward just going home when the on-call door opened and Amy popped in.

"Morning, Brian!" she said cheerily. "I brought you some coffee and the last onion bagel in the cafeteria. I guarded it with my life to bring it to you in one piece."

"Um, thanks," Brian replied. He opened his locker and began packing his small duffel bag.

"What’s going on?" Amy asked, moving to stand very near him.

"I’ve got this big family thing going on today. I’m running late." He shoved his last bit of laundry into the bag and slammed the door shut.

"Aren’t you still on call?"

"No. I got Pedersen to switch with me for Memorial Day. I’ve actually been off since six." He sat on a nearby chair and began hunting through his just-packed bag for his car keys.

"How neat," Amy said. "I’m off, too. I thought maybe we could grab some brunch or something."

"No, thanks," he replied, finding his keys and then repacking his bag. "I’ll grab something at home and there’ll be plenty to eat at the picnic. -!" He snapped his fingers in a sudden flash of memory. "Darn! I was supposed to bring something to eat."

"You’ve got a bagel." Amy smiled, waving the crunchy-soft baked good in Brian’s face.

"It’s really nice of you," he said, "but I don’t have time. I’ll be late as it is."

"You can be late once in a while, you know," she reminded him. "It isn’t a crime. Not in civilian life, anyway."

He stood, clasping her shoulder warmly. "I know that. But try explaining that to my future mother-in-law!"

She blinked at him. "You’re getting married? Since when?"

"What do you mean, since when?" He frowned. "I told you about Honey!"

"You told me you were seeing someone."

"I told you it was serious."

She nodded in agreement. "That could mean anything."

"Well, we’re engaged." He shrugged, uncertain what more she wanted from him. He tried to decipher the look in her eyes. Disappointment? Disbelief? Dismay?

"I… see," she said, pulling away from his hand on her shoulder. "When’s the big day?"

"The seventeenth."

"Of June?"

"Yeah. Why?" He really needed to go.

"I just thought you’d want to be here when that Swedish doctor comes through here for that Pediatrics tour." Amy shrugged. "That’s all."

He sighed. He did want to be there for that, but it couldn’t be helped. "I guess you’ll have to do us all proud, Doctor Law," he smiled gamely.

"It would be easier if you were there," she replied.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. "Tell that to Rickart."

"You know he’s only hard on you because he respects your skills. That one little mix-up was really a clerical error on the part of one of the Interns. You know that, I know that and Rickart knows that," she maintained. "Scuttlebutt is Rickart’s grooming you for Chief of Pediatrics in a few years."

Pausing at the door, he turned and grinned, "On the whole," he told her, "I’d rather be in Provence. I’ll see you later, Amy." He pushed out the door and let it swing shut behind him. Checking the huge clock over the Nurses’ Station, he suddenly realized he was very, very late. Bypassing the elevators, he headed for the stairs.

*     *     *

"Mom! Mommy! I’m ready to go!"

"Just a minute, Steven!" Ruth called. "I’ve got to make sure these lids are down tight or the cookies will spill out in the car."

"Then I’ll eat them," Steven assured her. "Crumbs and all!"

Ruth smiled at him. "Thanks," she said, "but I’ll secure the lids all the same. Did you remember to pack your bathing suit?"

"Yes," came the bored reply.

"And your beach towel?"

"Yes."

"And your medication?"

"Yes!" he finally sighed, exasperation coloring his tone. "I remembered everything!"

"You’re sure? Because it’s a long way back to get it if you don’t have it and you have an attack-"

"Come on, Mom!" Steven complained. "I’m not a little kid anymore! I can be responsible for my own medication. Doctor Ferris says so!"

Her eyebrows raised, Ruth said, "is that right? Well, all right-y then! Let’s go!" She grabbed the large hamper of supplies, the extra-large Tupperware container of coconut cookies and a huge Thermos of lemonade. Giving Steven the door key, she watched as he carefully turned the lock in the front door and checked it. She glanced around for a moment, soaking up the fresh outside air and the sunshine.

It was going to be a beautiful day.

*     *     *

Dan opened the front door to Anne’s house and shouted into the cheerful interior, "Come on, Anne! We don’t have all day!"

"I’ll be there in a minute! Jeez!" she called back. "Give me a second, will you?"

Dan stepped inside the front hallway and fought the urge to hurry her again. He heard her giving orders to Regan, telling him which box and which cooler to fill up with just how much ice and just how much diet soda, and Regan’s calm ‘yes, Anne’s in reply.

Dan grinned, allowing himself the momentary glow of ‘justice served’. Finally, someone can give him orders, just like he used to give to me! He leaned against the entrance into the living room and waited. He’d been to this house so often in the past he had long since memorized the overstuffed sofa and comfortable arm chairs, the heavy Dutch antique furniture on the wooden floor, the silk and fresh floral arrangements on each flat surface, the Victorian-style prints and the few modestly valuable original pictures on the walls.

He remembered the first time he visited this house. Mrs. Vanderpoel had taken one look at him, pulled him into a huge hug, sat him down at her kitchen table and proceeded to feed him for forty-five minutes straight. He ‘needed some fattening up’, she claimed. What could he do? She was a fabulous cook. He agreed with her.

Which was another reason he didn’t press Anne about taking so long with her picnic supplies. She had inherited Mrs. Vanderpoel’s recipes along with her house and land and had long since learned to duplicate the woman’s way with a wooden spoon. Mrs. V’s famous windmill cookie recipe was the first to be conquered – and it was on the menu for today’s repast.

Regan had gotten Anne up early. She shared breakfast with both men, then drove her car back to her place so that she could spend the morning baking. Smelling the aftermath of Anne’s efforts, Dan knew that no matter how long he had to wait, it would be worth it. If there was anything Anne could do well, following a recipe was definitely one of them.

Just as he was about to call out again, Regan came through the kitchen door into the living room. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" he asked, lifting a huge wicker hamper.

"Is that full?" Dan asked, indicating the bulging basket.

"Yup," Regan replied.

"Then it wasn’t so bad." Dan lifted the lid of the hamper, pulled out a cookie and nearly swallowed it whole. He sighed in delight. "Thank you, Mrs. V, wherever you are! You really taught Anne a thing or two!"

Regan just chuckled and headed out the door to the company truck. Anne bustled out of the kitchen next, carrying a medium-sized cooler, her insulin kit slung over one shoulder and her purse over the other. "A thing or two about what?" she asked as Dan held open the front door.

"Baking," he replied, closing the door after them.

Anne laughed. "You’re as bad as Mart," she chided. "Come on. We should be there already." She stepped off the front porch and handed her cooler and kit to Regan, who loaded them onto the flatbed. Anne opened the driver’s side door and climbed into the cab. She scooted into the middle of the bench seat as Dan climbed up after her and Regan entered on the passenger side. In moments, the trio were on their way to the picnic, too.

*     *     *

The first twenty minutes of the picnic rushed by in a blur of shouted greetings, exclaimed compliments and general cacophony. The drivers of the various vehicles jockeyed for position along the winding Wheeler driveway. Those who drove trucks dropped their tailgates and those who drove more expensive cars shut their doors up tight. Miss Trask efficiently oversaw the food distribution. Celia oversaw the table and chair set up. TJ and Steven decided each was their new best friend and ran off to play. Tom decided to allow Mr. Wheeler the dubious privilege of overseeing the barbecue itself. Tom was spied containing a fierce grin as Matthew was instantly besieged with at least six contradictory suggestions for making the best barbecue fire. Matthew was overheard moaning, "Why didn’t we just go with propane?"

The older generation of kids, the Bob-White generation plus Ruth and Regan, quickly organized the day’s sporting events. Swimming races would be held before the food was ready. The tennis tournament would be held after dessert was served. The Beldens brought their archery set. The Wheelers brought croquet. The Lynches sent the twins to set up for badminton. Jim quickly arranged the young people into four teams for those events, as the tennis tournament was strictly a mixed doubles match among Bobby, the female Lynch twins and Terry. (Larry hated tennis.) It was decided that everyone would play baseball afterward, even the older adults. Thomas was heard to mutter, "Dear God. Do they play that insufferable game every time they get together?"

The last to arrive was Brian, freshly showered and ready for anything. His lack of food offering was quickly excused by his mother. "This is why you need a wife," Helen said. "Good thing you’re getting married soon, isn’t it!"

The crowd quickly stripped down to their bathing suits and soon most of them ended up wet. During the ‘warm-up’ period for the swimming races, the twins competed to see who could pull or push which twin into the water more often. On the floating dock, Mart easily lifted a screaming Trixie over his head and tossed her into the deepest part of the lake. Shouting, "For Trixie!", Dan ran across the dock at full speed and tackled the blond bodybuilder, forcing them both into the water.

The races began soon afterward. Honey was favored for, and easily won, the freestyle. Jim surprised everyone and lost the butterfly to Brian. Bobby dominated the backstroke. In the four-by-four team event, Honey, Mart, Diana and Larry barely managed to keep pace with Jim, Brian, Trixie and Julie, while Anne, Kathy, Terry and Bobby edged out to win. "The fix was in from the start!" Larry grumbled. "What do you expect with Regan judging the winner?" One scowl from Trixie, however, and soon he was congratulating the winning team.

The older ladies laughed through a game of badminton, but failed to keep an accurate track of the score. The archery contest, as expected, went to Mr. Maypenny. Madeleine Wheeler easily triumphed at the first round of croquet. Her squeal of laughter as she sent her husband’s yellow ball into the scrub brush could be heard for a thousand yards. The Bob-Whites took over the croquet set, then. Since only six play a round at a time, Mart and Brian bowed out and joined Thomas and Regan on the long dock that jutted into the lake. While the others played cut-throat croquet, the four men sampled some of the appetizing food and searched for something they had in common with their foreign guest.

Regan asked Thomas about any special training horses went through in order to be considered for film work. "Because I saw Mists of Avalon, and it looked like the horses knew exactly what needed to be done when, despite what any of the, uh, actors did. Or did you have a lot of training with the horse beforehand?"

"I have no idea," Thomas replied. "We just got introduced that morning when the horrible animal urinated all over my costume! I asked to have it shot, but the production crew balked."

That ended the conversation about horses.

"I’ve been curious about the British system of socialized medicine," Brian tried next.

"I don’t follow politics at all," Thomas interrupted. "I’m hardly ever sick, so I will say I don’t appreciate having to pay higher taxes just to support malingerers and the chronically ill."

Since Regan knew what Anne paid each month in insurance, and on top of that for her medicines and regular doctor’s visits, he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to start an argument. Brian was likewise dissuaded from further conversation.

Mart didn’t even try. He just dangled his feet in the water and lay back onto the dock. They remained silent for several moments until Thomas said, "Tell me, Martin. You work out in a gym here in town or do you have your own setup at home?"

"It’s ‘Mart’," Mart replied easily, "and I have a membership at the gym in town."

"Sorry, Mart. I’ve often considered taking up weightlifting," Thomas continued. "Do you think it’s worth the time and effort?"

"Excuse me?" Mart asked, clearly wondering if he were being insulted.

"Don’t get me wrong," Thomas hastened to assure him. "I don’t mean you don’t admirably demonstrate the positive effects of a regular physical workout. I meant for me."

"Ask Brian. He’s the physician."

Startled, Brian returned to the conversation. "Huh? Oh, um, yeah. Weightlifting is actually a pretty good way to focus on particular muscle groups," he said. "But you shouldn’t start any program until being thoroughly checked out first by your own doctor."

"Thanks all the same," Thomas smiled thinly, "but I’d rather ask someone who actually works out for their opinion first."

Mart sat up, clearly bewildered now by the entire conversation. "Do what you want," he said, easily getting to his feet. "I’m going to check out the canoes. Maybe we could challenge the youngsters to a canoe race later on."

Across the lawn, Anne, never known for being less than cut-throat competition, easily won the second round of croquet. Her joyous ‘whooping’ brought a chuckle to Regan, still sitting on the dock.

"She’ll never be a good winner, will she," Brian laughed.

"I hope not," Regan declared. "She always looks in such pain when she’s trying to be gracious!"

Thomas got to his feet. "I think I’ll see if I can be of service anywhere." When he left, Regan and Brian shared a relieved look.

"So? He can’t ride a horse?" Brian asked.

"Do you think Socialized Medicine would ever really work here?" Regan asked at the same time.

They held each other’s gaze a moment, then in unison said, "No!"

Thomas caught up with Mart as he exited the boathouse. "I understand you brought those two watermelons?"

"Yeah," Mart said. "Inside there’s a fruit punch. The melon with the skull and crossbones design is spiked."

"Spiked?"

"Has alcohol," Mart explained. "The other is just fruit and juice."

"I’ve come to the conclusion that most men know how to make just one dish well," Thomas remarked. "Is this one yours?"

Mart laughed. "When I finally moved into my own place, I realized I had to learn to cook or I’d starve. Anyone who knows me knows that starving is not an option!" He patted his rock-hard stomach. "So I took a few cooking classes at the community center, a few lessons from my mom and the Wheelers’ cook and became a pretty fair gourmet, if I do say so myself!"

Thomas smiled and nodded his head. "I do appreciate a good meal now and again!"

"Well," Mart shrugged, "one night why don’t I have you over for dinner? I’ve been wondering about the authenticity of my Yorkshire Pudding."

Thomas looked surprised at the offer. "Thank you, Mart! I’d be pleased to take a taste-test."

"Great!" Mart grinned. He was about to call to Diana and arrange the details, when the announcement came that the fire was ready for the meat. Steaks, burgers, chicken and hot dogs were soon grilled to order and the huge mob of picnickers found either seats around the fold-out tables, in the grass or along the docks. Seating preferences generally went by age. The parents took over the tables, the younger kids the grass and the twenty-somethings the dock.

Regan settled in next to Anne and handed her a bowl of fruit from Mart’s watermelon punch. She carefully sniffed it and handed it back. "You gave me the wrong one," she said. "This is the Adult version."

"How can you tell?" Regan asked, honestly curious. "I tasted it first. Celia was serving up bowls and I thought I grabbed the right one."

She shot him a wry glance. "Trust a person who hasn’t even sipped alcohol in almost eight years. It’s spiked. But that’s okay," she assured him. "I’ll get some of the Kids version later on. I’ve got plenty other stuff to eat right here."

Trixie handed her plate to Dan and sat down on the dock. Then she arranged her drink and her napkin before reaching for her food. She smiled her thanks as Mart, sitting at the far end of the dock, commented dryly, "She’s sure got you trained, hasn’t she!"

Dan just grinned and handed his plate to Trixie to hold so he could sit down next. She smiled sweetly enough to Dan, but then stuck her tongue out at Mart.

"Ooh!" Mart laughed. "A rapier wit!" He bit into the first of his three burgers and sighed happily. "Hey, Anne! Those were windmill cookies I saw in that basket, right?"

"Only the best for you, Mart Belden!" Anne called back.

"With all that you can put away," Honey remarked, staring at her almost-empty plate, "how can you not get fat?"

"I work out at least a half hour every day for every bit of junk food I consume," Mart grinned. He set his plate down and rose up on his knees and flexed his muscles. "See?" He pointed to each biceps. "These are due to Anne’s and Mrs. V’s windmill cookies." He pointed to his extremely well-defined pectorals. "These are thanks to Wimpy’s. And these little beauties," he laughed, pointing to his abdominals, "are all thanks to milkshakes, fries and those wonderful baby-back ribs at the Roadhouse."

"Roadhouse, eh?" Thomas piped up. "Diana, why haven’t you taken me there, yet?"

Startled, Diana blinked at him. "I thought you hated American cuisine," she told him.

"But if it has such excellent side effects…" He winked at her and everyone laughed.

"What’s the plan for your birthday next week, Mart?" Jim asked.

"Oh. Is it your birthday?" Ruth asked. She’d been quiet most of the day and didn’t join in much of the conversation. It had been noticed by more than one person that she didn’t let Steven out of her sight. By now, the story of Steven’s true maternity had been shared, discreetly remarked upon and hashed through by the entire assembly.

"It’s the first," Mart replied. "And I don’t really have any plans."

"How old are you going to be?" she asked.

"Twenty-seven," he told her easily.

"We’re currently twins," Trixie grinned. "I’m twenty-six, too."

"That’s right," Diana said suddenly. "You guys are twins."

"So?" Mart replied, looking at her strangely. "You’ve known that."

She shrugged and returned to thoughtfully examine her burger and potato salad.

"How’re the wedding plans coming, Honey?" Ruth asked next.

"Oh, fine," Honey replied absently. She glanced at Brian. He hadn’t said much that day, either. Honey cleared her throat. "Brian? I need to talk with you about some wedding things, okay?"

With a groan, Brian set his empty plate next to him on the dock. "Really, Honey. Just tell me when to show up and I’ll be there. I don’t care what color anything is or where the guests sit. I have no preference on the food, the music or the decorations. I leave it all up to you and your excellent taste."

But Honey was not easily mollified. "I need to talk with you," she said firmly. Glancing around the suddenly quiet group, she smiled and said, "Please. It’s important and it won’t take long."

Brian nodded his agreement. "After dessert, okay?" Honey nodded, too.

The conversation began to lag, but no one wanted to leave the suddenly peaceful lake. Anne moved to sit between Regan’s legs and leaned back against his chest. Dan slipped his arm around Trixie and she leaned against him, eventually laying her head on his shoulder. Brian moved to sit behind and to one side of Honey, putting his arms around her and resting his head against hers. Jim took Ruth’s hand in his while Steven sat between them and stared at the fish just below the water’s surface. Diana smiled hopefully at Thomas, but he laid his elbows on his knees and just stared toward the end of the dock where Mart leaned against a support and closed his eyes to the sunshine.

It was decided that canoe races were in order. Bobby and Anne, with Steven to add ballast, raced against Larry and Mart, who used TJ for the same purpose. With the young boys’ shrieks of laughter and excitement echoing as the canoes streaked across the lake and back, the spectators ran up and down the shoreline, screaming encouragement and praise.

Bobby’s team won. Anne wouldn’t have had it any other way.

When they finally beached the canoe, Anne lifted Steven into a huge, celebratory hug. "You did great, kid!" she whooped. When she sat him back on the ground, he started coughing.

Instantly, Ruth pushed Anne aside and knelt before him. "Are you okay?" she asked, ripping open his medicine kit and grabbing his inhaler. Steven continued to cough.

Anne knelt beside Steven and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Stevie," she said cheerfully concerned, "what’s wrong?"

"Just go away, Anne," Ruth said evenly. She didn’t look away from Steven, who started shaking his head ‘no’.

Clearly wounded, Anne stood. "You’re right. I’m sorry, Ruth." She allowed Regan to take her arm and gently lead her a few feet away.

As Ruth searched Steven’s eyes for a clue to his problem, he stopped coughing. "I’m okay," he said, his voice raspy. "I think I just caught some dust or something." He smiled. "Can we get a canoe, Mom? Please?"

Relief flooding through her, Ruth hugged Steven, then told him, "We’ll discuss it later."

Jim knelt beside them both. "You gave your mother quite a scare."

Steven nodded. "I’m sorry."

"That’s okay," Ruth replied. "Just try not to do it again, all right?"

Meanwhile, Mart began hoisting the canoes out of the water and sliding them along the grass toward the side of the boathouse. The canoes were kept inside the building, upturned to prevent them from filling with dust or debris. Mart opened the oversized door and picked up the first canoe, intending to flip it over his head and take it inside by himself.

A sudden lightening of the load alerted him to Thomas’s presence. "Oh, thanks," Mart said. Together they maneuvered the canoe inside the boathouse. Mart lead them to the long racks against the wall, well away from the open water, and they stored the first canoe. A few minutes later, they stacked the second canoe on the second row of hooks.

"Thanks again," Mart repeated. He watched as the strong hinge pulled the outer door shut. The boathouse interior was now lit solely by the warm afternoon sun through the high open windows near the roof.

Thomas just smiled in reply. He glanced around. "This is interesting," he said. "I’ve never been inside a building quite like this before."

Mart looked around, too. "It’s like most boathouses, I guess." He gestured at the open floor and then the tall ceiling. "Built over one edge of the lake. Tall roof to accommodate any sails. Skylights and vents to keep it airy and bright." He shrugged. "Nothing really special about it."

"Quite on the contrary," Thomas said quietly, his eyes on Mart. "There’s something rather extremely out of the ordinary about this place."

Mart frowned in puzzlement. There was something distinctly odd about the way Thomas was speaking. It was almost as if he meant something else. As if he meant to say… Suddenly self-conscious, Mart crossed his arms and half-turned away. "Oh?" he asked neutrally.

Thomas stood very close to him. "Something here is quite extraordinary indeed."

Mart still strove for normalcy. Warning bells rang in his head even as adrenaline began pumping through his system, urging him to flee. Aiming for ‘cool reserve’, he turned his head to look at Thomas straight on. "I can’t see it," he said.

"It’s you," Thomas stated simply. "Your body. It’s, well… You’re magnificent." He shrugged as if it were obvious.

Mart, conscious of his defensive posture, dropped his arms to his sides. He faced the other man. Slowly nodding in an attempt to stall for time, he opened his mouth to speak, but he got interrupted…

*     *     *

"Brian? About that talk?" Honey tugged at Brian’s shirtsleeve. Due to the lateness of the afternoon and the slightly increased breeze, he had put on his shirt and shorts over his suit.

Still picking through his brother’s watermelon punch ‘bowl’, he sighed. "Sure, Honey. Go ahead."

"No," she said, glancing subtly at the surrounding people. "Put that down and we’ll go for a walk."

Nearby, Alicia stared thoughtfully at her nephew and his fiancée. A pleasant baritone asked, "Something wrong?" She turned to see her brother-in-law lean over the table to get a fork.

"I don’t think so," she replied. "How well do you know this girl ‘Honey’?" she asked him.

Peter straightened and frowned. "Ever since she moved in some thirteen years ago or so. Why?" He stuck his fork into a slice of chocolate cake and began devouring the confection.

"She seems… odd, somehow."

"She’s a wonderful girl," Peter told her. "Helen and I think she’s perfect for him."

"They’re fighting," Alicia said sharply. "She’s upset about something."

Peter frowned. "How can you tell?" As he watched, Brian finished his bowl of fruit, then set it on the table. He turned to say something to Honey and they both strode away from the group. Nearby, Regan and Anne stared after them, puzzled, then approached the watermelons.

"Body language. That and they’re getting married," Alicia announced. "They’re on schedule for a fight."

Peter laughed. "You’re a cynic." He finished his cake and walked away toward the garbage cans to recycle his plate and fork.

"I am not," Alicia muttered after him.

"Not what?"

Alicia turned to see Micah Maypenny standing directly behind her, rocking back on his heels, his hands casually in his pockets. "You startled me," she said.

"Didn’t mean to," Micah replied. "Heard you speaking. Thought it might have been to me."

"It wasn’t," she informed him archly. "It was a private conversation."

He looked surprised. "There wasn’t anyone else here. Who were you having a private conversation with?" His dark eyes twinkled merrily.

"No one," she said, then groaned. "I mean Peter. But then he walked away, so…" She huffed a little.

"We’ve been introduced," he began, "but not properly." He held out his hand. "I’m Micah Maypenny."

"Alicia Johnson," she answered, taking his hand. They held hands for a moment, then a thought clicked in her mind. "You’re that girl Anne’s grandfather, right?"

If anything, his amusement increased. He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued rocking back on his heels. "Actually, I’m her father."

She reevaluated his white hair and weather-beaten skin. "I’m so sorry," she apologized. "I didn’t remember correctly--"

"That’s perfectly all right," Micah chuckled. "I could have been her grandfather. I was almost forty when she was born!"

"Really!"

"Needn’t look so surprised," he chided gently. "My wife was young enough."

Alicia frowned. "She’s not here, is she? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember meeting her."

"No," he said quietly. "My wife died twenty-five years ago."

"And you’ve not remarried since?" After he shook his head, she pressed on. "But surely your daughter needed a mother? A woman’s touch?"

Micah regarded her for a moment, a speculative look in his eye. He seemed to come to a decision, for he took his hands from his pockets and stood tall. "Take a walk with me and I’ll tell you a story."

Madeleine, Helen and Elayne, never far from each other during family events such as these, descended upon the watermelon punch as soon as Regan and Anne left.

"I adore this stuff!" Elayne giggled, her blue eyes twinkling.

"It is addictive," Helen agreed. "Though where Mart ever learned how to mix alcohol I don’t want to know!" She lifted the lid off the melon, allowing Elayne to begin scooping out the marinated fruit into bowls which Madeleine held up.

"All those college parties, no doubt," Madeleine laughed. "Jim told Matthew about some of them and, of course, he told me. I understand they were quite the party animals!" She set the first bowl down and then held up the next.

"Did I ever tell you two about the magazine I found once under Brian’s bed?" Helen whispered.

Two sets of extremely interested eyes met Helen’s china blue ones.

"No!" Elayne whispered in reply.

"But do tell us everything!" Madeleine insisted.

"Well, it was several years ago…"

*     *     *

"I don’t understand! He looked scared, not sick. I just thought I could help him!"

Anne’s frustration brought a gentle smile to Regan’s face. They sat quietly side by side on the edge of the dock, eating their bowls of Mart’s Famous Watermelon Punch. "I know you did, sweetheart," he finally said. "But Ruth doesn’t know you like I do. She just hasn’t gotten a good chance to. Give her that chance and I’m sure she’ll give you one, too."

Anne set her empty bowl beside her and leaned her head onto Regan’s shoulder. "I guess so," she said, not convincingly.

Regan grinned and put his arm around her. "Trust me. Have I ever given you bad advice?"

Anne peered up through narrowed eyes at Regan’s laughing expression. "Ugh!" she said mildly, pushing away from him. "I knew it was a mistake to tell you all that! Now you’ll never let me live it down."

He slipped his arm around her once more and pulled her closer to him. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then an odd sight across the lake caught his eye. His lips still close to her hair, he said, "Isn’t that your father and Helen Belden’s sister?"

"What? Where?" Anne sat up straight, her head bumping sharply into Regan’s mouth, ignored his startled ow! and searched the lakeside. Her eyes widened disbelievingly. "It is! And she’s got her hand on his arm!" She turned to Regan. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

Regan shrugged. "Beats me."

Beyond Micah and Alicia and in full view of the picnickers, strolling determinedly up the wide expanse of rolling lawn that characterized the Manor House estate, Brian and Honey had their talk.

"I was early to the hospital yesterday to pick you up," she began.

"I thought so. I had tried your cell phone, but it was off."

"I was waiting for you in the lobby."

"You didn’t have me paged…"

"No. I knew you’d come when you were ready."

He nodded. "I’m sorry about canceling dinner so late on you, but the kids--"

"I know," she broke in. "The kids come first."

He stopped walking. "That’s not exactly true."

She stopped walking. "Isn’t it?" When he didn’t reply immediately, she continued. "Isn’t that the point you’ve been trying to make for the past three years? Your patients come first?"

"The only ‘point’ I’ve been making for the past three years is that I’m in love with you!" He stared at her. "You seem angry all of a sudden. What’s wrong? Is it the dinner? We’re together now. Doesn’t that count?"

"I wanted some time alone with you," she told him. "We need to talk about some things and the middle of a family function is not the best place."

"What do we need to talk about? Not more wedding stuff. Frankly, I’ve had more than my fill of all that nonsense."

"Nonsense!?" she repeated. "It’s important! It’s incredibly difficult to blend two families’ traditions and expectations into one wedding. I’ve had to make so many compromises and settle for less than what I’ve always dreamed of just to accommodate everyone else’s plans and dreams for my wedding day!" Her voice rising, Honey consciously calmed herself with several deep breaths.

As she breathed, Brian said, "It sounds like you’re stressed out, but compromises are what marriage is all about, so why not a wedding? Look," he smiled, "all I want is you and me and a man of the cloth. A few words, ‘I do’, sign the paper and get to the honeymoon. All this other frou-frou is just for show."

"Frou-frou? Show? Compromise?" Honey turned away from him, took a few steps, then turned back to face him. "That frou-frou is my dream wedding dress! That show is just as much to please your parents as mine and the compromising has all been on my side! What have you done or contributed to this whole thing, anyway? Nothing except a few missed appointments and a ‘do what you want’ or two!"

"Honey!" Brian’s calm voice turned sharp. "Weddings are all about what the bride wants – not the groom! What do I care if you carry red roses or fresh ragweed? What does it matter if Trixie’s the Maid of Honor and Jim’s my Best Man? So what? Who cares? All anyone’ll remember is the party afterward and if there’s plenty of alcohol."

Honey’s hazel eyes, usually golden and warm, turned muddy with tears. "Well, not me! I want a beautiful memory! All my friends and family, everyone smiling and happy and telling me I look beautiful and that I’m radiant and that we make a perfect couple and lots of romantic music and doves and – and choirs of angels and all that FROU-FROU!!" She nearly shouted the words.

Brian wisely kept his mouth shut. He unwisely allowed his eyes to roll at her words and his arms to fold forbiddingly.

"Is that so much to ask?" she continued. "I guess it is! I guess asking to share the happiest day of my life with you is too much to expect. I can picture the whole thing!" She walked away from him in a circle, her arms gesturing emphatically. "There I’ll be, dressed up and nervous and there you’ll be. You’ll have forgotten to get the tux, so you’ll be wearing scrubs. You’ll have worked all night so you won’t have shaven. In the middle of the ceremony, your beeper will go off and you’ll have to leave. You say it won’t be but an hour, but it takes all day and turns out it wasn’t anything that couldn’t have waited, but while you were at the hospital you thought ‘why not go on a few rounds and see a few patients?’"

She turned to face him once more. "After all, all this ‘frou-frou’ and ‘show’ isn’t for you. It’s just for me. And the other women. It’s all some sort of pre-feminist conspiracy to make fools of men. Make them jump through hoops so they can get to the good stuff. The wedding night!"

"Hold on!" Brian finally said, his anger beginning to surface. "Are you trying to tell me that you’d rather I ignore my duties at the hospital and to my patients, who are, must I remind you, little kids, just so I can spend time with you? Are you really all that upset about me breaking our date last night? Is that where all this is coming from?"

"Of course not!" Honey replied hotly. "And I know perfectly well who your patients are! Reminding me of that is nothing more than some arrogant attempt to put me in my place!"

He shook his head as if to clear it. "I’m not trying to put you anywhere! It just seems like you want me to choose between my patients and you. I can’t do that. If I don’t do my job, people could die. Little kids could die. Do you want that?"

"Of course not!" Honey repeated loudly. "Only a complete self-centered socialite princess wanna-be would or even could THINK that, much less say it! I’m surprised and amazed you could think such a thing of me!"

"Then what do you want?" Brian shouted, his arms spread wide in utter angry confusion. "Cause I sure as hell don’t know!"

"I just want to know I’m important to you!" she shouted back. "I just want to come first in your life! I’ll ask again or is that too much to ask?" Angry tears spilled from her eyes, but she ignored them.

"I’m going to marry you! Isn’t that proof enough?"

"No!" The force of her denial shook her to her core. She felt almost as if the spirit of some warrior queen had invaded her, for she continued speaking. "It isn’t proof of anything except that you want legal claim to our children and half of everything I own. But that’s it, isn’t it! That’s all that’s important to you. My genes and my money."

"Frankly, Madeleine," Brian shot back, "your genes aren’t anything to brag about and money has never meant a thing to any of us Beldens!"

She seethed for a moment before replying. "How un-Belden of you to bring that up! And how self-righteous you always sound when you mention my money! What’s so terrible about having money, anyway? I’ve always felt, ever since I moved here, that having money was something to be ashamed of. All those times I saw you Beldens working around the farm, fixing your own cars and growing your own food, I was embarrassed to know that I could buy Crabapple Farm with my quarterly allowance and still have money left over for a significant down payment on a small country!"

Honey laughed harshly, and turned in a complete circle before continuing with, "Yet whenever it came down to all us guys going somewhere or doing something fun together, nine times out of ten, either my family or Diana’s paid for everything! No one has ever made mention of paying us back or reciprocating in any way. I suppose we’re so rich it doesn’t matter how our money gets spent, does it!"

"Well, if you’re so ashamed of your money," Brian retorted, "why don’t you do something useful with it? Give it away or something!"

"Like Jim?" Honey scoffed. "How noble. How perfect he is. He inherits a small fortune and he starts a foundation to help troubled kids. Let’s all praise Saint Jim of Sleepyside!"

"What’s wrong with Jim now?" Brian demanded.

"Nothing!" she replied. "How can there be? He’s a paragon of virtue. Look at him! All that money and all he does is work on that school of his, all just to honor his dead father. He’s even got a perfectly sweet new girlfriend. She’s poor, a widow and she’s got a precious, sickly little boy. It gets even better, cause he can help her. She needs him to save her and rescue her from her husband’s ex-lover! Well, let me ask you this!" Honey leaned forward and shoved each word into Brian’s face. "Who’s going to save me from yours?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved a hand angrily to stop him. "Don’t even, Brian Belden! I don’t want to know! You got married a long time ago – to that hospital! You’ve made your choice. I’m just in the way." Honey turned and stormed down the hill.

Halfway down, she paused, suddenly noticing the avid audience she and Brian had collected. Furious embarrassment rushed through her as her parents, his parents, all their brothers and sisters and friends and relations just stared, jaws dropped identically in horror, eyes widened with amazement and shock. Trixie, holding tight to Dan’s hand, stepped forward. So did her own mother. And so did Helen Belden.

Honey walked stiff-legged straight to Helen. Yanking off her heirloom engagement ring, the same ring that Helen’s mother wore on her wedding day, she handed it to the older woman. "I believe this belongs with you." She forced a smile. "Give it to Mart’s fiancée, when he gets one. Or wait for Bobby. I don’t care. You’d have to melt it down into a surgical instrument to get Brian’s attention and frankly, I still don’t think that would work."

Honey glanced at the other guests, all there to celebrate the joining of two families, and shrugged through her tears. "Sorry, everyone," she said loudly. "But thanks for your time. Forgive me if I leave a little early, won’t you?"

Just then, a loud BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! sounded from the picnic table. "Isn’t that just perfectly perfect?" Honey asked. "Brian’s beeper goes off, literally, in the middle of the picnic!"

She began to laugh. A moment later, she began to cry.

Chapter 7

Immediately following

Mart shoved open the boathouse door, gaining extreme satisfaction from the way it banged against the outer wall. Grinding his teeth and fighting the urge to spit, he stomped to the first person he saw and growled, "Seen Diana?"

Startled by Mart’s sudden appearance, Celia Delanoy just shook her head.

Mart glanced around the picnic. "What’s going on?" he muttered. He saw Brian getting into his tiny Honda, reverse sharply and peel out, tires shooting gravel, and turn onto Glen. He next saw Trixie leading Honey away from the crowd. Honey’s hair covered her face and her hunched shoulders shook rhythmically. Everyone else seemed to be looking at everyone else – and at no one. Mart nudged Celia. "What’d I miss?"

"Oh, Mart!" Celia turned teary eyes to him. "I think the wedding’s off!"

The twin shock of his recent experience coupled with the more recent news left Mart speechless. Then he started throwing out questions, one after the other. Celia shook her head and shrugged. "I don’t know exactly why," she explained. "We were all just milling around, enjoying dessert. Tom and I were helping Steve and TJ with their watermelon when we all started hearing Brian and Honey argue up there on the hill."

Celia pointed to the sloping lawn that led straight up the hill toward Manor House. "We could see them gesturing at each other. Then we could hear bits and phrases. Brian told Honey he didn’t know what she wanted from him and Honey said something back. They started arguing about Jim, but I don’t know why. Then she said something to him and turned away. She started walking down here and I guess she saw us, cause she stopped a moment, then headed straight for your mother."

"Moms?" Mart frowned. "Then what?"

Celia shrugged again. "I’m not sure. She took off her engagement ring and handed it to your mother and said Brian wouldn’t need it so she’d be better off saving it for you or Bobby. Then Brian’s beeper went off and that’s when Honey started laughing."

"Laughing?" Mart repeated. "Why?"

"I’m not sure," Celia said again. "I guess Brian heard the beeper because he came down the hill to get it. Your father and Mr. Wheeler tried to stop him, to talk to him, but he just told them he had to go. He grabbed the beeper, turned it off, got in his car and left." She looked up at him once more. "That’s it. I really don’t know any more about it than that. Looks like Trixie’s taking Honey somewhere, though."

Mart followed Celia’s gaze to where Trixie stood, helping Honey into her Mazda. Her brow knit in worry, Trixie hurried to the driver side. Dan intercepted her for a moment and, as Mart watched, Dan hugged her. They spoke quickly, then Trixie got in the car and drove away.

"Thanks, Celia," Mart said. "You’ve been a big help."

"Where were you?" Celia finally asked. "I mean, I just realized you weren’t here when all this was going on."

Mart closed his eyes and held up a hand. "Don’t ask me and I won’t have to tell you, okay?" He turned and walked straight to his best friend.

Dan looked up as Mart approached. "Hey, man," Dan said. "What do you think’s going on?"

"Haven’t a clue," Mart replied. "Celia just filled me in. Did Trixie say anything?"

"No." Dan shook his head. "Honey’s just babbling, apparently. Getting pretty hysterical. Trixie figured it would be better just to take her home. I’m dropping by there later on, to see what’s up and offer support. Where have you been?"

"Oh. Nowhere. Don’t worry about it." Mart ran his right hand over the top of his head, barely ruffling the close-cropped curls.

"Hey!" Dan exclaimed, grabbing Mart’s wrist. "What happened to you?"

As Dan pulled his hand out in front of him, Mart saw a row of four bruised knuckles. He thought quickly. "I must’ve scraped my hand putting the canoes away. Have you seen Diana?"

Dan frowned, but he let the matter drop. "Yeah, I think so." He glanced around. "I think I saw her and her sisters on the floating dock – oh! There she is." Dan pointed toward the elder Lynches. "She’s talking to her parents."

Mart took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Thanks, Dan." He nodded to his friend, then resolutely headed toward Diana.

"I tell you, it’s all that Belden boy’s fault!" Elayne Lynch’s strident assertion assaulted Mart’s ears as he approached the family. Edward’s back was to him, and the rest of the family had gathered around, obviously seeking some meaning to the drama each had witnessed.

"Excuse me," he broke in. "Diana? I need to speak to you for a moment. It’s important," he added, seeing her hesitation.

Edward turned as Mart drew near to the family. He was about to say something when clipped, British tones rang out instead. "I sincerely doubt you have anything to say that my fiancée would care to hear."

Mart felt his skin bristle as Thomas Thorne stepped forward, blocking his path. "I’m not so sure," Mart replied. He allowed himself a moment to gloat over the large red mark now decorating the left half of the actor’s face.

"Well, I am," Diana said, moving to stand next to Thomas. She stared at Mart with pure dismay. "How could you?" she scolded him.

"How could I what?" Mart asked, incredulous. He looked at Thomas. "What did you tell her?"

"Merely the truth," the bruised man replied easily. "I helped you with the canoes, we discussed the boathouse and for no apparent reason, you struck me!"

"For no apparent reason!?" Mart repeated. His stare moved from Thomas’s blithe to Diana’s hurt and betrayed to Edward and Elayne’s accusatory expressions. "And you believe him?"

"Unfortunately," Edward’s voice was low and deep, "your word doesn’t carry much weight with me, my household or especially my family. Now, if there’s nothing else?"

What could he do? Mart shook his head. "I don’t believe it. Are you so taken in by this guy that you don’t know what he is?" He looked for support among the Lynches, but not even the twins were buying. He threw up his hands at them. "Forget it! You’re so blind you can’t see it, you deserve what you’re getting!" He glared straight into Diana’s violet eyes. "You deserve each other!"

Mart turned his back on the family and walked away.

"Mart! Wait!" Diana moved to hurry after him, but Thomas pulled her back, turning her to face him. He stared lovingly into her eyes.

"Darling," Thomas said, "let him go. Why don’t we do as your father suggests? Clean up our things and go on home. Besides, I’ll require the services of a surgeon if I don’t get this bruise looked to fairly soon."

Diana nodded and lightly touched Thomas’ cheek. "I’m so sorry he hit you! I don’t know why he should be jealous of you! He and I broke up years ago."

Thomas turned sorrowful. "Dearest, did he break your heart?"

Diana nodded. "Yes, but I got over it a long time ago. I love you, now."

He smiled. "And I love you. But he has broken my heart, too, by breaking yours. I shall endeavor not to see nor speak of him again, thus sparing us both pain. How will that do?"

She smiled and held him close to her. "Thank you, Thomas! You’re so sweet to me!"

"You deserve sweetness," he replied, hugging her fiercely. "Now. Let’s get you home and away from this emotional distress, all right?"

As Thomas lead Diana toward the picnic tables, where a subdued Belden-Wheeler conglomeration alternately picked at the leavings and packed up the leftovers, Kathy turned to Julie and said, "I don’t buy it for a minute."

"What?" Julie asked.

"Them two," Kathy replied. "Those two, I mean." She gestured at their sister. "What possible reason would Mart Belden have for punching out Thomas? It’s not like he’s interested in Diana or anything."

"They did date, remember?"

"Of course, I remember!" Kathy turned to face her twin. "All those ‘study dates’ we spied on. Those movies we got taken to and had to sit in the row ahead of them. The bribes Mart used to come up with to get us to leave them alone. I remember!" She pulled her sister farther away from their family, deep in discussion.

"What’s wrong, Kathy?"

"Just this." She looked around, checking to be sure they were alone. "What happened between them? I mean, really? All Di’ll say is that things ‘didn’t work out’. The guys don’t know and Mom and Dad sure aren’t talking." Kathy shook her head. "I even tried to get someone on the staff to tell me, but they’re either really good actors or they don’t know, either!"

Julie worried her lower lip. "So? It’s personal."

"Yeah, it’s personal," Kathy agreed. "So personal we’ve been practically ordered to never have anything to do with the Beldens, especially the male Beldens, yet we’ve never been told why!"

"But that doesn’t mean Bobby, right?" Julie asked. "I mean, he still comes around and he and the guys are still friends, so…"

"I think that’s just cause it’s Bobby." She paused a moment, then started leading her sister farther along the lakefront, away from the crowd. "I think that, because Bobby and the guys have been friends so long, that he’s safe enough for them. I don’t think that’s what Ed and Elly are so worried about."

"Katharina!" Julie scolded. "Stop calling Mom and Dad by their first names! It’s so pretentious!"

"Well! Our whole family is pretentious!" Kathy defended herself. "We come from nothing, yet we’ve got this huge house and acres of land and – and – British butlers and tennis courts and indoor swimming pools and horses and trust funds and – and – everything!" She spread her hands in a gesture of defeat. "How can you not say we’re pretentious?"

Julie laughed. "I guess you’ve got a point!"

"Anyway," Kathy grimaced. "I suppose the tennis match is off…"

"Yeah." Julie’s face mirrored her sister’s. "And I was looking forward to whipping your butt, too!"

Several yards away, Anne hurried to her best friend’s side. "Hey, Diana!" she said, pulling her away from her fiancé, who had been drafted into carrying several hampers to the Lynch’s limo. "What’s up with Thomas’ face? It looks like he got kicked by a mule!"

Diana groaned. "Well, he did. By a jackass, anyway!" She checked to be sure they weren’t being overheard in the middle of the picnic wrap-up, then told Anne exactly what Thomas had told her. "Mart just hit him for no reason. He just said something about how he didn’t like his looks or something, and hit him!"

"Gosh!" Anne breathed. "I mean, Thomas isn’t exactly the easiest guy to get to know, but still--!" She shook her head. "I’m so sorry, Di!"

"I don’t know what to do," Diana confessed. "I feel terrible about what just happened with Honey and Brian, yet I’m so focused on what just happened between my ex and my fiancé and now…"

"Now what?"

Diana shuddered a sigh. "Now I’m worried that my sisters are facing fallout from my break-up with Mart."

Anne’s eyes widened. "You mean your parents are still upset about that?"

Diana nodded. "The girls are under strict orders to avoid the Beldens like the plague!"

"I don’t know what to tell you, Di," Anne confessed. "I just wish you didn’t still hurt."

"Thanks, Anne," Diana smiled sadly. "So do I."

Mart stood in the center of a swirling mass of conversation. He wanted to join in, he wanted to commiserate, he wanted to know just what happened and he wanted to grouse to someone sympathetic about what just happened to him.

But to whom could he complain?

His parents stood deep in conversation with the Wheelers. Apparently, Matthew wanted to know just what right Brian had to make ‘his little girl cry’. Mart’s dad responded saying that Honey was not a little girl and she should have learned long ago how not to blow up at the slightest provocation. Mart’s mother and Mrs. Wheeler worked hard to soothe their husbands’ egos and tempers, saying their children were clearly both upset and it wouldn’t help matters if they got upset, too.

Mart watched as his father and Mr. Wheeler, both clearly angry, nodded their heads in obedience to their wives. His mother suggested they all clean up and meet later on to discuss the situation further and more calmly. Mrs. Wheeler suggested they meet at Manor House, as they’d be more comfortable there.

Mart turned and saw Jim and Dan deep in conversation. He moved closer to join them and overheard Jim say, "No, I don’t have a clue what’s up with Honey. I didn’t know she was so stressed out."

Dan sighed, shaking his head. "I don’t think Trixie did, either. That’s what really bothers me. Usually those two are so in sync. I can’t believe she gave the ring back." He nodded to Mart.

"Shocked me, too," Jim agreed. "What about you, Mart? You have any idea this was brewing?"

"I’m not even sure just what was said!" Mart replied.

Dan asked Jim, "Do you know what that last bit was about? Brian’s ex-girlfriend? I didn’t know he ever dated anyone except Honey!"

"His what?" Mart blurted. "Brian had a girlfriend besides Honey?"

Jim looked uncomfortable. "Well…