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?"