Crabapple Farm looked like a Thomas Kinkade painting. A thick layer of snow caked the roof, hanging heavily from the eaves like melting meringue. The driveway and sidewalk had been shoveled but the feathery snowflakes now floating to earth had already created a thin cover over them. A lopsided snowman in the front yard offered an equally crooked grin of black coal. Smoke curled up from the chimney and in every window the warm glow of an electric candle beckoned visitors to come in.

 

Was she a visitor?

 

“Ma’am?  Is this the right address?”

 

“Yes,” Trixie Belden answered.  “I’m sorry, just feeling a little nostalgic.”

 

“Christmas will do that to you,” the cab driver said with a smile.

 

Trixie handed him a couple of bills and told him to keep the change.  She got out of the taxi, her laptop case over one shoulder, and pulled out the large duffle bag that she had politely declined to have stowed in the trunk on the short trip from the Sleepyside train station.

 

She wished the driver a Merry Christmas and turned to head up the driveway, half expecting to see Reddy come barreling toward her, barking a friendly greeting.

 

The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than a chocolate Labrador appeared from the back of the house.  His woof sounded neither warning nor welcoming so Trixie stood her ground and held her hand out, letting the somewhat portly dog come to her.  He sniffed her outstretched hand and must have decided she was a friend because he wagged his tail and ponderously trotted off toward the porch, his repeated barks announcing her arrival.

 

“Hershey, be qui—Trixie!”

 

Though she felt somewhat uncertain about being there, Trixie couldn’t help but smile ear to ear, mirroring the woman on the porch who wiped her floured hands on her apron and spread her arms in welcome.  Trixie hurried up the salted steps and set her bags down before giving her childhood best friend a warm hug.

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Honey Belden said.  “You should’ve called.  Somebody could’ve come to pick you up at the train station.”

 

“It was no problem taking a cab.  Honest.”

 

“Well, come inside. It’s freezing out here.”  She held open the door and ushered Trixie in.  “I guess the cold air probably feels good to you.  Where were you?  Cairo?”

 

“Khartoum,” Trixie answered absently as she handed Honey her coat and took in the kitchen with unbelieving eyes.  It was like she had just stepped back in time.  “Honey, the kitchen looks exactly the same.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Honey insisted with a twinkle in her eyes.  “I have a dishwasher.  Your brother calls it Trixie, just for fun.”

 

Trixie rolled her eyes.  “Well, nothing else has changed.”

 

“Trixie, we painted, replaced appliances, refurbished the table, sanded and resealed the floor, and changed the curtains.  Everything has changed, it’s just not any different.”

 

Trixie laughed.  “I sure do miss Honeyspeak when I’m away.  It’s not quite the same in an email.  So, where is everybody?”

 

“Out hunting for a Christmas tree.”

 

“The queen of holiday organization hasn’t put a tree up yet?” Trixie asked in disbelief.  “It’s the day before Christmas Eve!”

 

“We were waiting for you.  Would you like some Christmas hot chocolate with peppermint and whipped cream?” she tempted.  “Or would you like to freshen up first?”

 

“Freshening up sounds good.  It seems like I’ve been on either a train or a plane for days.”

 

“Is the guest room okay?”

 

“Of course,” Trixie replied with a semi-forced smile, hating that she felt like a guest in the house where she grew up.

 

“I’d put you in your old room but a teenage boy lives there.  Even after he cleaned it, it looks like a junkyard.”

 

“It’s fine, really.”  She returned to the door to pick up her bags and followed Honey down the hallway, feeling more and more like a stranger as her sister-in-law opened the door and gestured her in, pointing out where she could find towels and extra blankets, telling her to ask if she needed anything.

 

Honey shut the door softly behind her as she left, leaving Trixie alone with her memories.

 

They were old ones.  Sitting on the guest bed talking to Aunt Alicia who turned out to be a fun aunt once she stopped trying to teach her only niece to knit and tat.  Preparing the room for Janie who turned out to be Jim’s cousin, Juliana.  Getting up at two o’clock in the morning to feed baby Moses who turned out to be Robert Dodge.

 

Who would she turn out to be by staying here?  The prodigal sister returning to the family homestead?  The daughter her parents’ friends had forgotten they had?  The aunt her nieces and nephews barely knew?

 

With a sigh, she went into the adjoining bathroom to splash some water on her face.  It was her own fault she felt out of place here.  Her job usually kept her on the road year-round and often made communication difficult, if not downright dangerous at times.  CIA agents didn’t send postcards from Mogadishu saying, “Wish you were here”.

 

It was the life she had chosen and she was proud of all she had accomplished.  But on the all too frequent occasions she had been unable to come home for holidays or family events, she felt a strong twinge of regret.

 

“Twinge?” she grumbled as she pulled a brush through her tousled curls.  “Practically a knife in my gut.”

 

Laying the brush on the counter, she tilted her head toward the window as her sharp ears caught the muffled sounds of...?  She smiled.  Singing.  One booming voice was singing “O Tannenbaum” in German.  Four younger voices, one cracking in the unmistakable sounds of puberty, all bellowed the more familiar “O Christmas Tree”, trying to overpower their father.  She peeked out the small bathroom window to see the discordant quintet coming through the orchard toward the house, dragging a freshly cut pine tree behind them.

 

She suddenly felt like an outsider again, an outsider yearning to belong, wanting to join in the family fun yet unsure of herself in a way she never was in more than fifteen years with the CIA.

 

Returning to the bedroom, she hesitated as she heard the commotion enter the house.  Honey’s voice added to the cacophonous mix as she ordered wet boots off her clean kitchen floor and sent children upstairs to change out of snowy clothes so they could all sit down for a surprise before dinner.

 

Was she the surprise?  She sighed.  Of course, she was.  She didn’t visit often enough to be expected company, even at Christmas.

 

Before she could descend further into self-pity, the door of the guest room flew open and her brother was there.

 

“Belden!” he barked.  “Front and center!  Hug!  Stat!”

 

Trixie laughed and threw herself into his arms.  “Stat?  I’m not a doctor.  You must have me confused with another Belden, dear almost twin.”

 

“God, it’s good to see you, little sister!”

 

As she sank into the comfort of Mart’s embrace and his teasing, she reminded herself of what she had known all along.  No matter how awkward she might feel, no matter how long she’d been gone, this was still home.

 

And as he always did, Mart picked up on her melancholy and began teasing again.  “How could I confuse you with Brian?  After all, his job is to save lives, whereas your job is to...”  He crooked one sandy eyebrow up in curiosity.  “Come on, sis, tell the truth.  Have you ever had to take out a bad guy?”

 

“I could tell you,” Trixie deadpanned, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

 

Mart made a face.  “That sure would put a crimp in my holiday celebration.  How about I ask again around tax time?”

 

Trixie giggled.  Mart and Honey were both self-employed and doing taxes was one of Mart’s least favorite things to do.

 

Brian and Honey had ended their teenage romance when he went off to college.  He had done it out of consideration for her, knowing that college, med school, residency, and fellowship would put a great strain on their relationship.  But, in truth, neither of them suffered the loss for very long.  They were drawn together by mutual interests and a close friendship but love had never truly blossomed and both were thankful they were still such close friends.

 

Mart and Diana had tried the tact of “opposites attract” but found that, as they matured, Diana’s shy, retreating nature didn’t meld well with Mart’s energetic, outgoing character.  He had gone off to college and, by his own admission, gone wild.  Fraternity parties, extracurricular activities, sports, political rallies, special interest groups, and a large circle of friends occupied his early adult years.  He fit college courses into his schedule as he had time.

 

He had grown up in bread-and-butter Sleepyside, never feeling like he quite fit in.  After six years at college exploring different faiths, cultures, and ways of life, he discovered he was, “a Wonder Bread and Parkay guy all along.”  And when he finally graduated and was ready to settle down, he fell in love with the girl next door.

 

Trixie glanced up at her brother.  He had allowed his crew cut to grow and now sported the Belden sandy blond curls.  He had shot several inches in height past his younger sister long ago but that wasn’t the only reason nobody would mistake them for twins again.

 

“Nice beard.  Did Honey agree to that?”

 

Mart stroked his facial hair thoughtfully.  “We took a family vote and I was allowed to grow it out.  I just started it Thanksgiving weekend.  Honey is rather underwhelmed.  If she’s still not crazy about it when the kids go back to school after the holiday break, I’ll shave it off.”

 

Trixie shrugged.  “I like it.”

 

“I knew it was a good idea to have you here for Christmas,” Mart replied with a grin.

 

A door slammed upstairs.  Even all the way down the hallway, Trixie and Mart could hear Honey’s sigh of exasperation.

 

“Ah,” Mart said, holding his index finger in the air and feigning an exaggerated Asian accent.  “Number one son approaches.”

 

Just as he concluded his prediction, footsteps were heard pounding down the stairway.  “Where’s the surprise, Mom?”

 

Honey must have pointed him in the right direction because he was in the doorway to the guest room seconds later.

 

“Aunt Trixie!” he shouted, pushing his father aside and picking her right up off the floor.  He gave her a fierce hug and a twirl before setting her back on her feet.

 

Scott Fitzgerald Belden was 16 and a carbon copy of his father at that age, all arms and legs and boisterous personality.  He had been born precisely nine months and one week after his parents’ wedding day.

 

Mart had taken his new wife to Pirate’s Point for their honeymoon and by coincidence they once again happened to meet up with Marvin Appleton, the author of their two favorite childhood series, Cosmo McNaught and Lucy Radcliffe.  He had mentioned that he was contemplating retiring but didn’t want to let his loyal readers down.  Mart, one of those loyal readers, had spent hours trying to talk him out of it.

 

He was persuasive but Marvin Appleton was more so.  Within six months, he had convinced Mart to take over as ghostwriter of the science fiction space travel series.

 

It had taken another year to convince Honey, by then a new mother and looking for a way to earn money while staying at home to raise her son, to take over the femme fatale spy series.  As three more children followed, she declared her career to be perfectly perfect for a stay-at-home mom.

 

“This bedroom isn’t big enough for the wild bunch about to descend upon you,” Mart intoned, gesturing Trixie out into the kitchen as the herd, having heard their eldest brother’s excited announcement, came rumbling down the stairs calling her name.

 

“How long you gonna stay, Aunt Trixie?”

 

“Aunt Trixie, did you bring us anything?”

 

“Me next!  Me next!”

 

“Aunt Trixie, can you come to career day at my school?”

 

“Me first!  I got Show and Tell after Christmas!”

 

Trixie allowed herself to be engulfed in the adoration, passing out hugs and kisses while wondering how she could ever have felt like an outsider in the midst of all this love.

 

Three and a half years after Scott had surprised them with his speedy conception, John Steinbeck Belden, now 13, had arrived ... 21 hours after Honey went into labor.  Erich Remarque Belden was 11, and the youngest—like Trixie a girl burdened with three brothers—was Harper Lee Belden, seven.  The names—authors of some of their favorite novels—had been decided upon together after Honey firmly nixed the idea of naming their first son Cosmo McNaught Belden.

 

Over the tumult, Mart shouted, “You think this is bad?  Wait until tomorrow night when we triple our numbers and get the kids all jacked up on candy canes and Christmas cookies.  Whoever thought the children would be snuggled in their beds with visions of sugar plums was obviously childless.”

 

Trixie saw Honey’s silent glower of warning at Mart for his tactless comment but she pretended she hadn’t, too caught up in the excitement her niece and nephews exuded to allow the “what ifs” to tread back into her thoughts.

 

Honey handed out silverware, dishes, glasses and serving spoons and her family set the table for dinner.  Maybe not as precisely as some of the formal dinners Trixie had attended in palaces around the world but with far more gaiety.  Trixie poured milk for the children and iced tea for herself, Mart, and Honey.

 

Harper begged her Aunt Trixie to sit next to her, sparking a brief argument amongst the younger Beldens.  Mart ended the discussion by announcing that Harper had spoken up first.  Trixie had two sides available to sit next to and even she could probably manage to stick around for at least two meals so that all four of them would have a chance to sit next to her.

 

His flip comment earned him another glare from his wife, which Trixie again pretended not to notice.

 

Honey put the roast on the table and they all sat down to dinner.  As Mart offered the blessing, Trixie peeked out from underneath her lashes at her nephews and niece.  Scott was Mart’s child, no doubt.  Thinking everybody’s eyes were closed, he reached out and pulled the bowl of roasted potatoes closer to him.  John was a throwback to his grandfather.  His hair was more blond than red but his green eyes twinkled mischievously the same way Matthew Wheeler’s did.  Erich was clearly his mother’s child, not only with his honey-blond hair and hazel eyes but in his quiet and kind nature.

 

Trixie glanced out the corner of her eye at Harper.  It was like looking into an enchanted mirror and seeing herself as a little girl.  The sandy blond curls quivered with energy as if she could hardly sit still long enough for her father’s brief prayer.  When he finally said “Amen”, she immediately lifted her head up and stared with bright blue eyes at her favorite aunt.

 

“Aunt Trixie, will you read me a bedtime story tonight, please?”

 

“Harper,” her mother warned.

“I don’t mind,” Trixie replied with a grin.  “As long as it’s not Peter Rabbit.”

 

“Harper knows how to read,” Honey countered.  “Why don’t you read to your aunt?”

 

Harper nodded with enthusiasm, her mouth too full of buttered roll to answer.

 

“I was hoping Trixie would read my story,” Mart said in a mock pout.

 

“I would love to get a sneak peek at your next book,” Trixie agreed.  “And yours, too, Honey.”

 

Honey took the bowl of green beans Erich passed to her.  “Oh, I don’t have anything ready yet.  My agent knows how important my family is to me and how busy I am this time of year.”

 

“Busy?” Mart echoed with a laugh.  “You’re a Christmas junkie, darling.  You’re not happy unless you’re doing everything over the holidays and then you’re exhausted by New Year’s Eve.”

 

Honey blushed.  “Fortunately my editor knows that about me, too.  He’s very understanding.  The deadline for the draft of my next book isn’t until the end of March.”

 

“But surely you must be well into it by now?” Trixie asked.

 

“Yes, but she’s superstitious,” Mart put in.  “Nobody gets to see it until it’s ready to go to the editor.  And I do mean nobody,” he finished with a disgruntled look at his wife.

 

“Just because you need affirmation of your writing skills every time you finish a chapter,” Honey countered.

 

“A page,” Scott garbled through a mouthful of potatoes.

 

“A paragraph,” said John.

 

“A sentence,” Erich contributed.

 

“A word,” Harper finished with a giggle, nearly spilling her milk down the front of her shirt as Mart poked a finger into her side.

 

The entire meal went on like that—a lot of verbal sparring and battles of wit and plenty of laughter.  It didn’t surprise Trixie in the least.  With two writers as parents and Mart’s natural love of the English language, she figured their children would be the most well-read, well-spoken kids in school.

 

“Well,” Mart said at last, when the meal was finished, “time to get the tree ready for decorating.  Let’s get at it, men.”

 

“Can I help, too?” Harper asked, begging with her round blue eyes.

 

“Are you a man?” her father asked plainly.

 

“No.”  She thought it through carefully.  “But neither is Erich and neither is John and they get to help.”

 

“If we were Jewish, I’d be considered a man,” John put in, his voice squeaking on the last word.

 

His older brother snorted.  “A pretty girly sounding man.”  He easily blocked John’s half-hearted attempts to take a swipe at him and continued needling him.  “If we were Jewish, we wouldn’t be putting up a Christmas tree, lamebrain.”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to help your mother clear the table?” Mart asked Harper.

 

The little girl’s face fell and Trixie’s heart went out to her.  “I’m helping clear the table tonight.  Harper, you can go help with the tree.”

 

Harper’s face lit back up and she turned to her father imploringly, awaiting his consent.

 

“All right,” he agreed.  “As long as you stay out of the way and don’t cause trouble.”

 

“You get in the way and cause trouble,” Scott pointed out and quickly dodged his father’s feigned wrath as the male Beldens moved to the family room, Harper dancing behind them, clapping her hands in excitement at getting to participate.

 

Trixie grabbed a couple of plates from the table and carried them to the counter where Honey was putting the leftovers into plastic containers and storing them in the already well-packed fridge.

 

“Every year Mart insists on putting up the lights by himself,” she told Trixie.  “And every year I hear very non-Christmas words coming out of that family room.  And every year he loses his patience and turns over the job to Scott.”

 

Trixie shook her head and chuckled.  “And here I thought Scott was the spit and image of his father.”

“In everything except patience.”

 

“Which he clearly got from you,” Trixie concluded.  She rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher.  “I hope I didn’t step out of line by giving Harper permission to get out of her chores.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” Honey said.  She paused then added, “I hope Mart didn’t step out of line with his comments earlier.”

 

“What comments?” Trixie asked innocently.

 

“Trixie, I know you heard what Mart said and I know you saw me give him the evil eye.  You’re a spy.  You notice everything.”

 

“I’m not a spy,” she corrected, trying to sound serious.  “I’m a clandestine service operation officer.”

 

Honey rolled her eyes.  “Please don’t tell Mart that.”

“I would think he’d be thrilled that I know what clandestine means.”

 

“He likes ‘spy’.  He thinks it would be the most awesome thing in the world to put that on your tax forms every year.”

 

Trixie chuckled and picked up a damp sponge in order to wipe the table down.

 

“Anyway,” Honey continued.  “You know he didn’t mean anything by what he said.”

 

“He was just stating the truth.  I don’t have children and I often have to leave at a moment’s notice, but not this time.  I’ll be here for three or four meals at least,” she promised with an impish grin.  “Seriously, I’m really looking forward to Christmas Eve dinner with the whole family.  Speaking of whom, when will all the out-of-towners arrive?”

“Well, Dan works third shift and that means even when he’s not working he keeps odd hours.  Sometime in the middle of the night he’ll pack up his girls, hit the road, and drive straight through until morning.  They’ll stay with the Regans, of course, and we probably won’t see them until dinnertime.”

 

Dan and his family lived in Charlottesville, Virginia, where Dan was the head of security for his alma mater, the University of Virginia.

 

When Trixie was in the States she kept an apartment in Centreville, about thirty minutes from Langley and less than two hours from Dan’s home.  She saw him more frequently than she saw the rest of the Bob-Whites, though that wasn’t saying much.

 

“The Boston Beldens will leave early tomorrow morning,” Honey went on.  “They’ll stop somewhere along the way for breakfast and be here by lunchtime.”

 

Trixie smiled.  Mart falling in love with and marrying his brother’s high school sweetheart was unusual.  But when Brian did the same thing, it certainly made tongues wag in Sleepyside.

 

Brian had begun his pediatric residency at Mass General the same year that Diana graduated from the Boston University College of Fine Arts.  She had taken a position as an assistant curator at the Fine Arts Museum, and she and Brian spent a lot of time together over the next few years.  Although they kept their relationship low key, nobody was surprised when Brian finally asked Diana to marry him.  And nobody was happier for them than Mart and Honey.

 

Brian and Diana’s first child, Christopher, had arrived one week after John Belden’s birth, almost to the hour.  Making them more almost-twins than Mart and I, Trixie thought with amusement.  The actual twins, Kim and Karen, had arrived four years later.

 

The aplomb with which the four Beldens had handled the mate swap still amazed Trixie.  She couldn’t imagine she and Hallie being that congenial about trading boyfriends.  But then again, she reminded herself, she and Hallie didn’t have nearly as much grace and tact as Honey and Diana.

 

Hallie and Dan’s romance hadn’t lasted, if indeed it had ever truly begun.  It would have been difficult for adults to have a relationship separated by an entire continent.  For two angsty, hormone-driven teenagers, it was impossible.

 

Hallie went to college in California and was happily married to a man she met there.  They lived in Oakland and were expecting their third child in the spring.

 

And Jim…

 

“Trixie?”

 

She started and turned to face Honey with a questioning look on her face.

 

“Have you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

 

“Of course.  Brian and Di will be here by lunchtime.”

 

Honey smiled indulgently as she lit a cranberry scented candle and placed it on the kitchen counter.  “That’s what I said at least five minutes ago.  Where were you?”

 

Trixie shrugged and changed the subject.  “Should we go check on the progress of the tree?”

 

Honey suddenly seemed to realize that it had been awfully quiet in her family room.  She darted a suspicious glance that way and answered, “Yes, let’s.”

 

They had almost reached the kitchen doorway when Harper came skipping in, her eyes bright with joy, the family dog trotting beside her.  “It’s ready!  It’s ready!” she chirped.  Hershey barked his concurrence, his thick tail whipping back and forth so hard that he nearly knocked the little girl down.  “Come on, Mommy!  Come see, Aunt Trixie!”

 

Mart was sitting on the couch while his sons put the finishing touches on the multiple strings of lights wound around the seven-foot tall tree.  He pulled Honey down onto his lap and gave her a sound kiss.  “Merry Christmas!”

 

“So, this is my present?  No battles with the lights this year?” she teased.

 

“I wouldn’t even let him near the box, Mom,” Scott answered.  “He just sat there and supervised.”

 

“We have a guest,” Mart explained.  “It wouldn’t do for my sweet, innocent sister to hear my non-Christmas words.”

“Yeah,” Trixie drawled, “because I never hear bad language in my line of work.”

 

Harper stood over the box of ornaments, eager to begin the decorating process.  “Mommy, come on.  Let’s start!”

 

As Honey pulled herself out of Mart’s lap, Trixie said, “I thought it was tradition for the kids to decorate the tree?”

 

“They do.  But I always get them started by hanging the first ornament.”  She bent over the large box and pulled out a much smaller one.  Turning to Trixie, she took the lid off, pulled back the cotton batting and let her peer inside.

 

Trixie saw a small wooden bobwhite with a wreath around its neck.  Honey picked it up by the thin strand of gold thread in its back and dangled it in front of Trixie’s wide eyes.

 

“I can’t believe you still have it.”  Trixie had given Honey the hand-carved ornament their senior year in high school in the B.W.G.’s gift exchange.

 

“Of course I do.  It’s my favorite ornament and it gets the place of honor every year.”

 

Trixie glanced down into the large box of ornaments.  She saw delicate crystal angels surely passed down from the Wheelers and Harts.  She saw hand-painted glass balls that had been on Belden Christmas trees for generations.  She saw mementoes of Bob-White adventures and trips Honey and Mart had taken together before they were married.  She saw ornaments that defied description, created from construction paper and styrofoam with excesses of glue and glitter, lovingly made by their children during elementary school holiday projects.

 

But the little brown quail was her best friend’s favorite.

 

She held it out to Trixie now.  “I want you to hang it up this year.”

 

Trixie swallowed hard and took the precious bird into her hand.  This was her first Christmas at Crabapple Farm since Mart and Honey had moved in six years ago and her childhood memories were so thick she couldn’t see through the fog of them.  She turned toward the tree, hastily wiping the tears away when her back was to Honey and Mart.

 

As she reached up to put the ornament near the middle of the tree, Harper piped, “Higher!”

 

Trixie stretched her hand up a little over her head.

“Higher!” John encouraged.

 

She extended her arm to its full length and leaned toward the towering pine.

 

“Higher!” Erich and Scott shouted in unison.

 

On her tiptoes, afraid she would fall into the tree at any moment, Trixie giggled.  “I’m not as tall as your mother.”  With a desperate thrust, she pushed the bobwhite as high as she could reach and prayed the loop of gold string would hook itself around a branch.  She stepped back and by some miracle it was there, in the perfect spot right in the front, high up near the top of the tree.

 

“And a bobwhite in a pine tree!” she sang.

 

She took a bow at the appreciative round of applause and the children all dug into the box of ornaments, seeking their favorites to put on the tree.  Mart had his wife curled up close to his side and now he patted the bare cushion on his other side.  Trixie sat down next to him and his arm went around her.

 

The stockings were hung on the mantle—there was even one for her—and pine boughs surrounded the crèche on top.  A fire crackled in the fireplace and there was Christmas music on the stereo.  Hershey was already snoring on the hearth and the children were chattering merrily as they decorated the tree.

 

There was nothing like Christmas at Crabapple Farm.

A pale pink sun was just starting to creep over the horizon when Trixie tiptoed down the hallway in her running shoes.  The house was quiet.  Crabapple Farm was no longer a working farm, though Honey kept a good-sized garden out back.  But with no chickens to tend to, the Beldens could sleep in late during the winter months.

 

No sleeping in tomorrow morning, I’ll bet.

 

The children who burrowed under the covers until late morning today would be up at the crack of dawn to greet Christmas Day, she was certain.

 

She pulled her gloves out of the pockets of her coat but left it hanging by the back door.  She’d warm up soon enough on her morning run.  She knew from experience that her thermal running pants and the layers she wore on her upper body would be sufficient.

 

A whine behind her made her turn.  She leaned down and gently tugged on a velvety ear.  “I’m afraid not, Hershey.  You’re a little too chubby to be able to keep up with my pace.”

 

“So, I guess that means I can’t come either?”

 

Trixie looked up and grinned at Mart.  She straightened and patted his well-fed belly.  “If you think you can keep up, you’re welcome to join me.” 

 

He made a face at her.  He wasn’t obese but his love of food hadn’t diminished and he still liked to claim he was a growing boy.  “You do realize it’s cold out there, right?”

 

Trixie pulled her gloves on and tugged her knit cap down snuggly over her curls.  “Brother, you’ve gotten soft in your old age.  This isn’t cold.  The Himalayans in January?  That’s cold.”

 

“Showoff.”

 

She grinned.  “If I’m not back in time for breakfast, you can send the St. Bernards out to search for me.”

 

“If you’re not back for breakfast, I’m eating your cinnamon roll.”

 

She wrinkled her nose at him and closed the back door behind her.  On the porch she stretched her muscles while she took the time to determine what route she was going to take.  She was eager to talk to Dan but he had driven through the night from Virginia and had probably just gotten into Sleepyside a little while ago.  He’d still be sleeping.

 

She could see the chimney at Manor House and no smoke was coming out of it, so the Wheelers must still be asleep, too, if they were even in town.  Regan would surely be up and about tending to the horses, but she didn’t want to disturb his work.

 

After the younger generation had grown up and moved away, the need for pleasure horses at Manor House had diminished.  Spurred on by Carl Stinson, Matt Wheeler had decided to get into the Thoroughbred breeding business.  He tempted Regan to stay on as broodmare manager with the incentive of a partnership in a few of the well-bred mares he and Carl had purchased.  A different kind of partnership with Carl’s lovely daughter Joan hadn’t hurt the deal, either.  The Wheeler stable also boarded mares for outside breeders.  Approximately twenty to thirty mares now populated the vast property, most of them heavy with foal as the new year approached.

 

Trixie glanced up the hill behind Crabapple Farm.  She couldn’t see Ten Acres from here but the pictures in her mind were as sharp and crisp as the brisk morning wind that stung her cheeks.

 

Scrambling through the open window with Honey that first day she met her best friend.  Finding Jim sleeping on the ratty, old mattress on the parlor floor.  Watching the once grand mansion burn to the ground the night Jim ran away from Sleepyside.  Lying in Jim’s arms on a blanket in the ruins, where he envisioned the master bedroom would be when he rebuilt the house ... for her.  Saying good-bye to Jim the night before she left Sleepyside ... for good.

 

Taking a deep breath, she stepped off the porch and moved in the opposite direction, down the driveway to Glen Road.  She took a right at the mailbox and began her run.  Past the clubhouse, which she could just glimpse through the bare trees.  Past the Wheeler lake, certainly frozen enough that they could go skating later.  Past the driveway that led up to the Lynch mansion.  She curved to the left and ran down toward Sleepyside, keeping in the middle of the deserted road where the snow was packed down and easier to get across.

 

Growing up, the only building down this stretch was the quaint Glen Road Inn.  As she neared the intersection of Glen Road and Old Telegraph Road, however, she got her first look at the encroaching development in the once tiny hamlet.  On the right hand side of Glen Road, two dark red brick walls flanked a side road.  A large brass plaque on each read “Hudson River Estates”. 

 

Honey had warned her that their hometown was no longer so sleepy.  Two subdivisions had been built on the edges of town.  Hudson River Estates featured elegant, upper class homes with the largest of the mini-mansions offering prime views overlooking the river.  On the other side of Sleepyside was a more middle class subdivision called Westchester Hills.

 

“You can’t go home again,” Trixie mumbled to herself as she passed a green welcome sign with the population count—higher than she remembered—marking her arrival in Sleepyside proper.

 

She jogged down Main Street under the glow of the white holiday lights wound through the tree branches that canopied over the two-lane road.  It was too early for shops to be open, even on Christmas Eve and most non-retail businesses were closed for the holiday.  Trixie had the street to herself but for a couple walking their cocker spaniel through the town square.

 

As she came to the corner drug store she turned left and ran past the parking lot.  Halting her forward momentum, she jogged in place in front of a two-story apartment building—two up, two down.  She looked at the windows of the left upstairs apartment and smiled when she saw the living room lights on.

 

Her breath coming out in a white fog as she stepped into the warm hallway, she bounded up the stairs.  Taking off her cap, she leaned her head toward the door and thought she heard the low drone of a television.  She knocked on the door and waited for it to be opened for her.

 

His hair was thinning on top and wasn’t nearly as dark as it once was.  Even his mustache was liberally sprinkled with gray.  But his brown eyes were the same, still bright with a twinkle of mischief to them.

 

“Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

 

Peter Belden returned her smile and took his only daughter into his arms for a hug that warmed her through and made her forget the frigid temperature outside.

 

“Heavens, Peter, who on earth is at the door this early in the—?”

 

Trixie peered over her father’s shoulder and smiled at her mother.  Reluctantly pulling free of her father’s embrace, she hurried over and gave her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

 

“Oh, Trixie,” Helen Belden murmured into her ear.  “We’ve missed you so much.”

 

Trixie choked back the tears.  This was the hardest.  She rarely got homesick when she was away.  Her job kept her so busy that there was never time for it.  And thanks to modern technology, she didn’t have any problems staying in touch with her family, even her computer-challenged mother.  But being in her arms again and hearing the ache in her voice was almost more than she could bear.

 

Finally, her mother pulled back and held Trixie at arm’s length, studying her with sharp blue eyes.  Satisfied her daughter was in one piece, she said cheerfully, “Would you like some coffee?”

 

“Just water, please.  I’m out running.”

 

Her eyes scanned the cozy living room before she sat down at the dining room table across from her father.  He had the morning paper laid next to a steaming mug of coffee and his glasses, bifocals now, dangled from one hand.

 

“This place is nice,” she commented.

 

“Oh, it’s small compared to the farmhouse,” her father said.  “But it’s what we wanted.”

 

When their children had grown up and went out on their own, Trixie’s parents decided they wanted to travel without worrying about lawns and gardens and pets, so they had turned over the farm to Mart and Honey and taken the apartment in town.

 

“I still go over to help Honey with the canning at the end of summer,” her mother said, setting a tall glass of tap water in front of Trixie and taking the seat next to hers.  “We spend plenty of time at Crabapple Farm when we’re not on the road.”

 

Trixie took a long, slow swallow of the room temperature water.  “Funny our paths haven’t crossed with all this world traveling you’re doing,” she teased.

 

Her father snorted.  “We’re much more into tropical beaches than war-torn cities, princess.”

 

“But we are taking a cruise to Greece next summer,” her mother said.  “That’s closer to your part of the world.  Maybe you can arrange to take some time off and meet us in Athens?” she finished hopefully.

 

“Maybe,” Trixie said noncommittally.  Before they could pry any further information out of her, she took a moment to comment on the handmade candy cane vase on the table, filled with red and white carnations.  Her mother told her how she made it and what a big hit it had been at the Garden Club, and the subject of Trixie’s future plans was deftly changed.

 

The three of them chatted for a while.  Trixie couldn’t reveal much about her work so the burden of the discussion fell mostly on her parents.  They were at the age where something was happening to everybody they knew.  This friend’s father had passed away.  That co-worker was having bypass surgery.  And did Trixie remember that redheaded girl from the class behind her?  She was getting a divorce.

 

Trixie enjoyed the catching up but it made her a little sad, too.  This type of conversation was something she thought old people did, not her parents.  They weren’t old.

 

She smothered a grin as her father talked about his golfing buddy who had gallstones and a colleague who was getting a knee replacement.  They are getting old, she thought.  Face it, you’re getting old.  You’ll be forty next year.  Dad will be retiring soon.  They’ve already moved to a smaller place.  They have eight grandchildren.  Where have the years gone?

 

Glancing at her watch in hopes it would have the answer, she noticed the time and jumped up from her seat.  “Gleeps, I’d better go!  Mart and the Mini-Marts will eat all the cinnamon rolls if I’m not back soon.  You’ll be at dinner this afternoon, right?  And church after?”

 

“Of course,” her mother said, giving her a parting hug.

 

She exchanged hugs with her father, too, and waved good-bye.

 

Shaking off her fleeting melancholy, Trixie took in the gorgeous day.  The sun was a bright pink and orange now, coming over the buildings on the east side of town and burning off the morning gray into a sky of cornflower blue.  The little town was starting to come alive with last-minute shoppers.  Trixie practically flew down Main Street and back out onto Glen Road as she hurried to the farm before Mart could remember to forget that he was supposed to send out a search party for her.

 

She burst through the backdoor of the farmhouse, breathing hard, her cheeks red from the exertion and the biting wind.  She was afraid if she touched her hair she would find her curls had frozen into place.

 

“Hi, Aunt Trixie!” her nephews and niece chorused, most of them with their mouths full.  They were gathered around the kitchen table eating a hearty breakfast while Mart read them an excerpt from his latest book in progress.

 

“I fought them all off with a well-sharpened spatula and saved you a plate,” Honey joked.  “We’re not having supper until two thirty, so you should eat something now.”

 

Trixie looked longingly at the lone cinnamon roll that sat on a plate in the middle of the table, looking rather vulnerable amidst the always-hungry children of Mart Belden ... and Mart Belden himself.

 

“Can you save it a bit longer?  I’d like to hop in the shower before I eat.”

 

“Please get in the shower,” Mart begged, holding his nose.  “I promise I’ll keep my hands off the last cinnamon roll.”

 

Trixie smacked him on the back of his head as she made her way to the guestroom but she couldn’t hide the smile on her face.  Mart’s teasing, so aggravating when she was a teenager, made her feel more at home than almost anything else.

 

There was nothing like Christmas with her family. 

Taking the risk of losing her breakfast to her brother and his ravenous children, Trixie enjoyed the rare luxury of a leisurely hot shower.  Though she had always considered herself a no-fuss girl, she also took her time getting dressed and taking care of her hair and make-up.  When she was finished, she gave the pretty woman in the mirror a small smile.

 

She had once tried to grow out her blond curls, thinking Jim would like her hair longer, but it was just easier keeping them short and natural.  She’d run a brush through her hair in the mornings and be done with it.  She was thankful for their light color, though.  It made the gray hairs not nearly as noticeable.  Brian and Dan wouldn’t be so lucky.  She grinned.  Diana and her hairdresser simply would not allow it to happen to her.

 

Her thick blue sweater with the busy alpine pattern did little to hide her trim, muscular figure.  She could take down an army of ninjas single-handedly yet still appear petite and feminine enough not to blow her cover as Danish royalty at an embassy soiree.

 

She applied a touch of mascara and a light layer of lipstick this morning—beautifying herself for what, she wasn’t exactly sure—and liked the effect.  Fluffing the curls that framed her face, she took a final look and stuck her tongue out at the image in the mirror.  Laughing, she decided that she could get used to having a morning routine that didn’t involve rushing.

 

When she came back to the kitchen, she found only Honey and Mart still there, rinsing off the breakfast plates and loading the dishwasher.  The plate still sitting in the middle of the table was empty.

 

“Serves me right for dawdling in the bathroom,” Trixie grumbled, hands on her hips in feigned anger.  “I tell you, no good comes of acting like a girl.”

 

As Mart turned around, Trixie dropped her act and burst into laughter.  Her almost twin had white icing purposely coating the area around his mouth.  His blue eyes were wide in innocence, silently purporting to know nothing about the missing cinnamon roll.

 

“You gave me your word you wouldn’t lay a finger on that cinnamon roll, Martin Andrew Belden,” she scolded, stifling her laughter as best she could.

 

“I didn’t!” he insisted.  “I used a fork.”

 

Honey smacked his arm with a kitchen towel and giggled.  While Mart wiped his face with a washcloth, she said, “Trixie, there’s bacon and eggs warming in the oven for you.  If you hurry, you can have breakfast before you go.” 

 

Trixie used a reindeer hot pad to pull the plate out of the oven and grabbed a piece of crisp bacon with her other hand.  “Go where?”

 

“Mart didn’t tell you?”

 

“No, I didn’t tell her,” Mart interrupted indignantly, moving to the foot of the stairs.  “It’s supposed to be a surprise.  Come on, kids!  Hop to it!” he called up.

 

Harper jumped down the stairs, vocalizing her movements with a high-pitched, “Hop!  Hop!  Hop!  What’s a s’prise?  The sleigh ride?”

 

Trixie and Honey erupted into laughter and Mart groaned.  He grabbed Harper and dangled her upside down by her ankles as punishment for her slip.  The little girl’s hysterical giggles as her blond curls bounced dangerously close to the floor were a sure indication of just how ineffective that “punishment” was.

 

“I see the Belden tradition of see-crud keeping is alive and well,” Trixie said, pouring herself a glass of juice.

 

Setting his daughter safely on her feet again, Mart replied, “Yeah, how you’ve managed to keep your job and your life all these years is a mystery to me.  Are you sure you’re not a double agent, spilling state see-cruds to multiple countries at once?”

 

“I doubt it.  She’s better at keeping see-cruds than I ever was.”

 

Trixie spun around to see her younger brother standing in the doorway, his four-year-old daughter Patti in his arms and his very pregnant wife Jamie beside him.

 

“Bobby!”  Dropping her glass unceremoniously to the counter, she flung her arms around him.

 

He gave her a strong one-armed hug and grumbled half-heartedly, “That’s Bob.  There’s a new Bobby in town.”

 

“Not for another few weeks,” Jamie reminded him as she took off her coat and handed it to Honey.  She gave Trixie a hug and said, “Merry Christmas!”

 

Trixie hoped nobody would notice her pinking cheeks.  Surely Bobby—Bob—had emailed and told her he and Jamie were expecting a boy, right?  She couldn’t remember.  Sometimes it was just too hard to keep up with all the emails her family sent her.  She admitted to herself, with no small amount of guilt, that she often skimmed and deleted many of them in an effort to keep her inbox to manageable levels.  But that would change next year, she vowed to herself.  Aloud, she asked her sister-in-law, “How are you doing?”

 

“As well as can be expected for eight and a half months pregnant,” Jamie answered with a tired smile.

 

“And chasing a little one around the house,” Trixie added.  Turning back to Bobby—Bob, she mentally corrected herself again—she smiled at the little girl who bent her head shyly against her father’s shoulder.  “Hi, Patti.”

 

“Do you remember your Aunt Trixie?” Bobby asked her.

 

“She was just talking so I could understand her last time I saw you all, when you stopped to see me on your way to Virginia Beach.”

 

She was just feeling yet another pang of regret when Patti held out her arms and leaned toward her aunt.  Bob winked at her and handed his daughter over.  Patti threw her arms around Trixie’s neck and gave her a kiss.  “Merry Cwissmas, Aunt Twixie.”

 

Mart cleared his throat.  “The seasonal equine-drawn conveyance will be arriving forthwith, little sister, so if you wish to satiate your famished gastro-digestive system, you’d best make haste.”

 

The faint jingle of sleigh bells moments later was quickly drowned out by the ruckus of three boys hurtling down the stairs, shouting, “They’re here!”

 

Trixie set Patti down on the floor, wolfed down a few quick mouthfuls of scrambled eggs and took her plate to the sink, peeking out the kitchen window to see who had arrived.  A shock of red hair made her catch her breath but the pack of Beldens around the back door made it difficult for her to retrieve her coat.

 

Bobby and Patti, still in their coats, were out the door first.  Mart and the boys donned their jackets and hurried to follow.  Harper needed help with the zipper on her snowsuit and Trixie leaned over to assist her, getting frustrated when the zipper caught on the bright pink coat.  She jerked upward then tried to reverse the fastener to get the snagged material loose.  Dropping to one knee, she growled as she wrestled with the obstinate zipper, her task made doubly hard by Harper’s inability to hold still while her aunt tried to help.

 

Laughing, Honey knelt beside Trixie, gently taking Harper and her unruly snowsuit into her own hands.  “You’re as bad as the children, Trixie.  Go.”

 

Trixie gave her a quick hug and rose, grabbing her coat in the same fluid motion before bursting out the back door.

 

The red sleigh was polished to a high gloss with festive Christmas wreaths hanging from the panels on each side.  Gold trim shimmered in the morning sunlight and a perfectly matched pair of bays were hitched to the front, their harnesses gleaming, jingle bells dancing merrily as they tossed their heads, impatient to be on their way again.

 

Bill Regan was assisting his wife down from the driver’s seat and a young redheaded boy was already on the ground in animated conversation with the Belden boys.

 

“Regan!  Joan!” Trixie shouted, waving enthusiastically as the former groom turned around with a bright smile on his weathered face.

 

Putting his hands on his hips he declared, “Well, if it isn’t Miss Fidget herself, back in Sleepyside.  Can an old friend get a hug?”

Trixie hurried over and into his arms, pressing her nose against his coat and taking in the familiar scent of horses and hay, leather and saddlesoap.

 

“It’s good to have you here for Christmas, Trixie.”

 

“It’s good to be here.”  Trixie turned to look at the boys.  “Timmy probably doesn’t even remember me.  How long has it been since I’ve seen him?”

 

“Long enough that he’s not Timmy anymore,” Regan teased.

 

Trixie looked appalled.  “Gleeps, I’m glad I didn’t call him that in front of Mart’s boys!  He’d never hear the end of it!  I suppose I could even it out by calling them Scotty, Johnny, and ... Erich-y?”  She tilted her head quizzically and Regan had to laugh.

 

“All right, then,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the children.  “If everybody’s here now ... all aboard!  These horses are feeling frisky and are rarin’ to get going!”

 

Tim and Erich clambered onto the driver’s seat while Scott and John immediately called dibs on the rear seat.  Mart hoisted Harper into the main seating area of the sleigh before handing Trixie up and climbing up behind her.  Bob followed him and the brothers sat on the rear facing seat just behind the driver and across from Trixie and Harper.

 

“It’s going to be a tight fit,” Trixie mused before she realized that the other women weren’t getting into the sleigh.  “You’re not coming?” she asked.

 

“Patti has a cold,” Jamie said.  “I don’t want her out in this weather for long.”

 

Patti was so clearly heartbroken that Trixie almost burst into tears looking at her sad little face.

 

“Tell you what, Patti,” Regan said kindly before climbing up onto the driver’s seat.  “When you’re feeling better, I’ll take you on a sleigh ride, just you and me.  How does that sound?”

 

Her face brightened a little and then a little more when Joan added, “And you’ll be the first one to test out the cookies your mommy and I will be baking this morning.”

 

“There’s also a Christmas movie marathon on the Cartoon Network,” Jamie added.  “Rudolph, Charlie Brown, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, all your favorites.”

 

“You’re not coming either, Honey?  Joan?” Trixie asked.

 

“Oh, no.  We always use this time to get all the presents wrapped and get started on dinner,” Honey answered.

 

“Should I stay, too?” Trixie asked.  She really wanted to go on the sleigh ride but felt out of place with the other grown-up women staying behind.  “All my presents are already wrapped but ... I could help...”

 

Mart’s jaw dropped open.  “Your gifts are wrapped before Christmas Eve?”

 

Bob mirrored his brother’s stunned expression.  “Your gifts are wrapped before Christmas morning?”

 

Trixie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at them.  “I always shop and wrap early.  I have to have time to ship them in case I don’t get here for the holidays.”

 

Honey laughed.  “Trixie, go on the sleigh ride and have fun.  You can help with dinner when you get back.”

 

“That doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Mart said solemnly.  “I’m not sure the pizza places are open on Christmas Eve.”

 

Trixie kicked him and when Bob started laughing, she gave him one, too, for good measure.

 

Honey said, “Moms’ special Christmas cookbook will be in the kitchen waiting for you when you get back, Trixie.  Nobody can mess up Moms’ foolproof recipes.”

 

She stepped close to the sleigh and held out her hand.  Wrapped in a paper napkin was a cinnamon roll.  “Saved just for you,” she told her best friend with a smile.

 

Mart gasped in insult that his wife had held out on him and then again when his sister traitorously shared a piece of the gooey roll with Harper but not him.

 

Regan chirped to the team and the sleigh pulled off down the driveway.  Everybody waved good-bye while Hershey let out a few booming barks and chased the sleigh down to the road.

 

“Let’s sing,” Harper said when she had finished her cinnamon roll.  “Jingle Bells!”

 

Immediately, Scott and John broke into song.  “Jingle Bells!  Batman smells.  Robin laid an egg...”

 

“Trixie,” Mart said.  “Duck.”

 

As Trixie lowered her head, Mart and Bobby launched the snowballs they had saved for this anticipated moment, hitting the boys squarely in their chests.  Everybody, even Scott and John, burst into laughter.

 

“Looks like the horses aren’t the only ones feeling frisky,” Trixie commented.  “Keep it up and Regan will make you two clean out the sleigh when we’re finished.”

 

“I don’t have any more snowballs,” confessed her younger brother.  “But I don’t mind helping out.  I’ve got to stop by the stables anyway and retrieve my hidden gold.”

 

If Trixie had been a dog, they would’ve seen her ears prick up at that comment.  “Hidden gold?”

 

Mart chuckled.  “Yeah, I knew that would get her.  Once a detective, always a detective.”

 

Bobby—Trixie sighed, He’ll always be Bobby to me—grinned.  “Jamie’s notorious for snooping for her gifts.  I got her a mother’s necklace with the kids’ birthstones this year and hid it over at the Wheeler stable so she couldn’t find it before Christmas.”

 

“And if Bobby Jr. is born in December instead of January?” Trixie teased.

 

“He wouldn’t dare,” Bob said, aghast.  “Anyway, I’m sure the jeweler can switch out the birthstone if we need to.”

 

“Jingle Bells,” Harper persisted.  “For real this time.”

 

The Beldens and Regans all broke into “Jingle Bells”.  Trixie snuggled under the blanket with Harper and sang with enthusiasm as the sleigh slid soundlessly over the packed snow along Glen Road, the wind whistling at her ears.

There was nothing like Christmas in Sleepyside. 

The sleigh ride took almost an hour and when they had exhausted their repertoire of Christmas carols and were starting to feel slightly frostbitten, Regan swung the sleigh toward his house, which was nestled in the woods between Manor House and Crabapple Farm.

 

The jingle bells on the harness alerted the Mangans of their arrival.  Two girls came running across the yard, shouting and waving their mittened hands in cheery greeting.  Trixie was out of the sleigh almost before it came to a complete stop, earning a sharp reprimand from Regan. 

 

She took the girls into her arms, family—however surrogate they might be—that she saw on a more or less regular basis and felt at home with.

 

Rhonda, who had just turned eight that fall, was dark like her father, with his sharp, foxy features and intense eyes.  Katie, who would turn six in January, looked just like her mother, her sunset red hair in a riot of corkscrew curls her mother fought to control on a daily basis.

 

“Hey, Trixie!” Dan called from the doorway, still in his stocking feet, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.  “Merry Christmas, Belden Bunch!” he called to the rest of Trixie’s family.

 

Untangling herself from the girls’ arms, Trixie went to give Dan a hug.  “Where’s Mal?” she asked.

 

“Still getting ready.  It’s not a good hair day, apparently,” he said, ruffling Trixie’s own windblown curls.

 

“It would’ve been fine if you hadn’t interfered right after I got out of the shower,” his wife teased, coming up behind him and waving hello to the Beldens, who were engaged in a snowball fight on the Regans’ front lawn.

 

Trixie gave Mallory a warm hug, winking at Dan and commenting, “Thinking of giving up your career to become a hairdresser, Mangan?”

 

“Do you really want the details of how her hair got so rumpled?” he replied dryly.

 

A crash out front drew their attention.  One of the plastic reindeer carting the flashing neon Santa and his sleigh had been knocked over during the battle.

 

“Sorry, Regan,” Scott apologized, righting Comet back on all fours again and straightening the sign in Santa’s hands.

 

“Knock them all down for all I care,” Regan mumbled as he approached the door.  “Tacky things.”

 

“Don’t tell me Joan picked those out?” Trixie asked in surprise.

 

“No, I sort of lost a bet.”  He scowled at Dan, whose impish grin told Trixie the bet had been with him.  “At least I talked him out of the giant, inflatable snowman.”

 

“That would’ve been worse than ‘Santa comes but once a year.’?” Trixie questioned, her sandy eyebrows raised in disbelief.

 

“I didn’t take it that way.  My mind isn’t in the gutter like my nephew’s is, and apparently yours, too.”  He stated plainly and innocently, “Santa does only come once a year.”

 

“Well, thank goodness for Joan you’re not Santa,” Dan countered with a smirk.

 

Trixie giggled and Mallory smacked her husband on the arm.

 

Mart joined them then, out of breath from the snowball fight.  “Di just called the farm.  They’ll be here in about half an hour.  Honey’s calling us all home.”  He smirked and added, “Even Dan.”

 

Dan made a face and Trixie darted her eyes between them, seeking an explanation.  “What?”

 

Taking a quick peek over his shoulder to be sure the children were still occupied, Mart said, “Dan used to be our go-to guy for the annual Santa Calling.  That is, until one Christmas when John was talking to him—John who was already starting to question Santa’s existence—and heard somebody’s police scanner in the background.”

 

In defense of her husband, Mallory countered, “As I recall, it was the very next year that Chris said, ‘Gee, Mom, Santa sounds just like Uncle Mart.’”

 

“You couldn’t even disguise your voice?” Trixie asked her brother with a chuckle.

 

“At least I performed my duties for several years before messing up,” Dan added.  “One year and you got fired.”

 

Mart grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders.

 

“You want me to help you with the horses, Uncle Bill?” Dan asked.

 

“No, Bob volunteered.  He’s got some hidden gold stashed away in the stable that he has to retrieve.”

 

“Hidden gold?” Dan perked up just like Trixie had.

 

“Oh, it’s not as exciting as it sounds,” she told him in exaggerated disappointment.

Regan called to Bob and the two of them jumped into the sleigh and waved good-bye, promising to be back at Crabapple Farm within the hour.

 

Dan and Mallory got into their cold weather gear while Trixie and Mart rounded up the children for the short hike through the woods and down into the hollow.

 

Mart swung Katie up for a piggyback ride and sang out, “Hot chocolate at the farm!  Last one home has to give me all their extra marshmallows!”  He took off at a jog, with Mallory and the rest of the children tumbling after him like a rowdy pack of wolf pups.

 

Dan put his arm around Trixie’s shoulders and the two of them took their time.  They knew Honey would save some marshmallows for them.

 

“Feels good to be home?” he commented, putting just enough of a question on the end that she knew he expected an answer.

 

“Yes, a little strange but in a wonderful way.  It’s weird because I talk to all of you all the time and I see pictures and keep up with everything that’s going on but it all seems so new and different to me—Moms and Dad not being at the farm, Mart and his family living there, me staying in the guest room.  I forgot Bobby and Jamie knew they were having a boy.”  She snorted.  “I forgot Bobby was Bob now.  I guess you really can’t go home again.”

 

“But there’s no place like home.”

 

“That’s sounds pretty contradictory.”

 

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

 

Trixie poked him in the ribs.  “Stop confusing me.  I’ve got enough to sort out in my head right now.”

 

Dan chuckled.  “You’ll get up to speed pretty fast, I bet.”

 

His steps slowed and Trixie raised her eyes to discover that they had reached the turnoff on the footpath that led up to Ten Acres.

 

“Have you seen him?”

 

“No,” she said casually.  Too casually, she thought with a grimace.  Dan will see right through me.  “He’ll be at dinner.”

 

“Have you talked to him?”

 

“No,” she repeated, with a touch of irritation this time.  “I’m going to see him in an hour or two.”

 

Dan took a step back so he could look directly into her face.  “There’s going to be about two dozen people crammed into the farmhouse for dinner.  How exactly do you think you’ll manage any quality time with Jim?”

 

Trixie’s face was flushed and not from the cold, either.  “Who said anything about quality time?”

 

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

 

“Stop saying that!  Nothing’s the same.”

 

She turned away, not wanting Dan to see the tears brimming in her eyes, but in the next moment his arms were around her and he was pulling her back against his chest and resting his chin on top of her head.

 

“A lot of things have changed,” he conceded.  “Life is very different now from when we were young and naïve, living our mundane little lives here in peaceful Sleepyside.”

 

Trixie pressed her lips together, trying to contain the giggle that threatened to escape against her will.

 

“But some things never change.  We’re all still friends.  We’re all still family.  We’re all still Bob-Whites.  And Jim still cares about you very much.”

 

She pulled away and turned to face him.  “That may be true, but I’m just not ready to see him yet.  I’ve got a lot on my plate, a lot of thinking to do, and I can’t let those mixed up emotions influence my decisions.”

 

Dan nodded in understanding.  Putting his arm back around her shoulders, they headed down the path that would lead to Crabapple Farm.

 

“Well, just make sure you don’t sneak off to talk to Jim before the gift exchange.  I happen to know that he drew your name.”

 

“What?  How did I get into the gift exchange in the first place?”

 

“I told them at Thanksgiving you’d be here for sure this year.”

 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Trixie said somberly.

 

“Too bad.  It’s done, Belden.  And better than agonizing about what Jim got you ... I got to buy Mart’s exchange gift.  After last year, he had to know payback was on the way.  It took me two weeks to figure out who had drawn his name and convince them to trade with me.”

 

“What on earth did you get him?”

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Dan replied, waggling his eyebrows in a sure sign that mischief was on the way.

 

Trixie giggled and leaned her head against Dan’s shoulder as they walked through the snow toward the farm. 

 

There was nothing like Christmas with her friends. 

Dinner was a magnificent circus complete with three rings—tables in the dining room, kitchen, and living room to seat 14 adults and 11 children.  She and Jim had exchanged a friendly greeting when he arrived but she was quickly lassoed into supervising Dan’s girls as they set the tables while Jim helped bring in extra folding chairs from the garage.

 

Then there was the food to bring to the tables—platters of sliced turkey and ham, steaming bowls of mashed potatoes and Moms’ secret recipe stuffing (still a secret to her daughter and daughters-in-law), squash, carrots and corn from Honey’s garden, Joan’s special broccoli casserole, golden rolls from everybody’s favorite Sleepyside bakery, and the obligatory plate of canned cranberry sauce that only Bobby and Mart would dare to eat, even as her father promised it would help settle overstuffed stomachs.

 

As Trixie helped bring the food in, she noticed that the chair next to Jim was still vacant.  She tried to catch his eye but he was deep in conversation with Brian and by the time the last dish was on the table and her father had finished saying the blessing, Scott had taken the seat next to Jim.  Trixie ended up sitting at a table in another room, sandwiched between Kim and Karen who delightedly talked her ear off until Trixie wondered if they could possibly be the children of solemn Brian and shy Diana.

 

After everybody had had their fill, Trixie, Mallory, and Diana volunteered to clean up the kitchen and put away the leftovers since Honey, Joan, and Jamie had done most of the cooking.  Brian volunteered his help as well because ... well, because that was Brian, always responsible and thoughtful.  It also gave him a chance to talk to his sister.

 

“It’s really good to have you here, Trixie,” he commented as he handed her another pan to dry.  “We’ve missed you the last several Christmases.  Heck, the last several years.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be sorry.  It’s your job.  Heaven knows I’ve missed plenty of family get-togethers because I was on call at the hospital.”

 

“But you don’t spend months on end at the hospital.”

 

“Seems like it sometimes,” he said, grinning at her.

 

“I’m going to try not to miss so many holidays in the future,” she promised.

 

“Is that your New Year’s resolution?” Diana asked.  “Because everybody knows those will be broken by February.”

 

Brian looked properly penitent.  “I was supposed to take her on a cruise this year.  That was my New Year’s resolution.”

 

“I’m tempted to audition for a job as a cruise ship entertainer,” Diana teased.  “Anything to get to the Caribbean.”

 

Brian grabbed her around the waist with his soapy hands and gave her a lingering kiss.  “Next year, I promise.”

 

Diana’s cheeks were flushed as she pulled away and went to help Mallory gather the tablecloths and napkins from the tables.  Trixie giggled as she noticed the wet handprints on the seat of her sister-in-law’s pants and flicked Brian with the kitchen towel.

 

“So have you talked to Jim yet?” he asked.

 

“Of course I’ve talked to Jim.  He’s here, isn’t he?  Why would I ignore him?”

 

“But have you talked to him?  Somewhere private?”

 

Trixie put her hands on her hips and frowned at her big brother.  “Are you and Dan in cahoots?  Why do you think I need alone time with Jim?  We’ve been apart for more than fifteen years.  It’s not my fault he hasn’t gotten on with his life.”

 

“Semper Fidelis.”

 

“Jim is not a Marine.  Anyway,” she added, softening her tone and offering a gentle smile to her brother, “It’s Christmas, so you should be thinking Adeste Fideles, not Semper.”

 

“The faithful coming home, the faithful still waiting.  It’s all the same.”

 

“I hope you’re not trying to tell me that Jim has been waiting for me for fifteen years,” Trixie said in astonishment.

 

Brian shrugged.  “I’m just saying that it’s been a long time since you’ve seen each other and an even longer time since you’ve sat down and talked.  And I have a suspicion that you really need to have a long talk with each other.”

 

He didn’t continue, even when she stubbornly kept her silence.  Finally, she sighed noisily and muttered, “I hate that you’re always right.”

 

“I know,” he replied, bumping shoulders affectionately with her.  “That’s why I try to be right all the time, just to bug you.  After all, some things never change.”

 

Trixie narrowed her eyes.  “You and Dan have been talking, haven’t you?  What else has he told you?”

 

Brian looked genuinely surprised.  “Trixie, whatever secrets you’ve been sharing with Dan, I promise he hasn’t shared them with me.”

 

Mallory came into the kitchen with one last glass for the dishwasher.  “If you two are almost done in here, the kids are champing at the bit to get to the gift exchange.”

 

“We’ll be right out,” Brian promised.

 

By tradition, the adults conducted their gift exchange on Christmas Eve, leaving the pandemonium of Christmas morning to the children.  As a concession, the children were allowed to open one gift apiece on Christmas Eve to assuage their covetous little hearts until dawn.

 

Trixie had almost forgotten that Jim had drawn her name in the exchange and now the anxiety of what kind of gift she might receive from him returned.  She had missed so many Christmases and was so often on the road that her family usually went in together to buy her one large gift—usually some type of furniture for her apartment or electronic device she needed to stay in touch—or Visa gift cards for whatever she might need, wherever she might be.  Sentimental trinkets were few and far between.

 

Reminded of that, she hurried back to the guest room before joining the rest of her family in the large Belden family room.  Sidling next to Dan she whispered, “Since I wasn’t aware that I was in the gift exchange, I don’t really have a gift to give.”

 

“Yes, you do,” he replied.  “You got Mal’s name and I bought a gift for you.  Trust me, she’ll love it.”

 

“It better not be anything dirty,” Trixie warned but Dan only chuckled.

 

The children passed out the exchange gifts and the adults opened them without waiting for any special kind of procedure.  This gave Trixie leave to shrink back into her corner for some semblance of privacy while she opened Jim’s gift.

 

The brown leather box reminded her of the one she had found in the old Frayne mansion, the one that had held Jim’s Great-Aunt Nell’s engagement ring.  The ring was probably still in her father’s safe deposit box and she felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t given it back to Jim years ago.

 

Opening the box, she found a locket that resembled a man’s old-fashioned pocket watch in miniature.  She used one fingertip to spring the latch and the lid popped open to reveal a compass.  It was beautiful and surely cost more than a gift exchange present should.  As she picked up the box, she noticed a small scrap of paper stuck in the lid.  She pulled it out and read, “So you can always find your way home.”

 

She lifted her head and locked eyes with Jim across the room.  He grinned and it nearly took her breath away.  His green eyes sparkled just the way she always remembered.  He had a few wrinkles at the corners that deepened as he smiled, but that only served to make his smile more charming.  His hair wasn’t exactly going gray but it wasn’t the same deep red gold it was when he was younger.  It had softened and lightened from years in the sun and, combined with his rugged, outdoorsy persona, made him look like a young Robert Redford.

 

They stared silently at each other for several minutes.  It almost made her laugh as she thought about those awkward teenage years when fond glances seemed to be enough to satisfy every desire that sprang up between the two of them.  Jim’s gaze left hers only when his watch alarm went off.  He disengaged it and quietly left the family room and the moment was gone.

 

Trixie sighed in disappointment, leaning over to pick up her discarded wrapping paper.  Mallory came over and thanked Trixie for the Victoria’s Secret gift card.  Her blue eyes twinkled as she added, “And thank Dan for me, too.”

 

Trixie laughed.  “At least it wasn’t something actually from Victoria’s Secret.  That could’ve been embarrassing for both of us.”

 

“Knowing Dan’s taste it definitely would have been embarrassing,” Mallory agreed.  She took a peek over her shoulder toward the kitchen, turned back to Trixie and asked, “Could you please find Jim and give him a message for me?”

 

Trixie tried hard to control the heat creeping up in her cheeks.  Dan had recruited Mallory to badger her now, too?  She replied nonchalantly, “What’s that?”

 

“Tell him to be sure and disguise his voice.”

 

Trixie frowned for a second then grinned as the light went on.  “And turn off his police scanner?”

 

Mallory laughed.  “I don’t think Jim has a police scanner, but you might want to keep your voice down while he’s on the phone.  He won’t be long and then you two can talk.”

 

She gave Trixie a knowing look that had nothing to do with the Santa Calling.  With a resigned sigh, Trixie stood and made her way to the kitchen.  Jim wasn’t there but Trixie figured he was trying to get enough distance from the houseful of children so as not to give himself away.

 

She grabbed her jacket off the peg by the back door and slipped out onto the porch.  The sky was clear and the stars were like icicles hung in the sky just for Christmas Eve.  She wondered which one was the Christmas star but none of them looked big enough or bright enough to be leading the way to a humble stable and a newborn king.

 

A crackle of footsteps on packed snow drew her attention to the garage where she could just make out a familiar figure disappearing around the corner into the shadows, his face barely lit by the cell phone he held in his hand.

 

She jogged down the steps and across the yard.  Jim looked like he had been about to dial the house but paused as she approached.

 

She offered him a tentative smile.  “Mal says to be sure and disguise your voice.”

 

“Disguise my—?  Hey, I’m not Mart,” he replied in mock offense as he hit “Send”.

 

Pitching his voice lower than usual, he asked to speak with Patti Belden.  As the youngest child, she got to talk to Santa first, probably with her parents hovering in the background taking video and snapping pictures.

 

Trixie kept quiet, listening to Santa Jim talk to each of the Belden and Mangan girls in turn.  The boys had all grown too old for the Santa Calling but were considerate enough not to spoil it for their sisters and cousins.

 

“Well,” Santa Jim said at last, stamping his feet to keep warm, “I’d better be going.  After all, it’s already Christmas in some parts of the world.”

 

He paused as he listened to the voice on the other end.  Trixie watched as his face took on an expression of mild panic.

 

“Where?  Um...”

 

Trixie glanced at her watch, did a quick mental calculation and mouthed to Jim, “Kabul.”

 

“Kabul?” he mouthed back in disbelief.

 

Trixie shrugged and nodded.

 

“Kabul,” he said aloud.  He listened for a minute before speaking again, “Well, yes, I know Afghanistan is predominantly a Muslim country but there are people there who celebrate Christmas and Santa will find them, don’t you worry.”

 

Trixie covered her mouth to smother her laughter.

 

“Yes, I know where your Aunt Trixie is.”

 

He smiled and winked at her and her heart flipped in her chest.

 

“I’ve got it right here on my list.  Trixie Belden, Crabapple Farm, Sleepyside-on-Hudson, New York, United States of America.  I’ll make sure her gifts get to her there tomorrow morning.  Merry Christmas, Harper.”

 

He hung up and grinned at Trixie.  “That little girl is as smart as a whip.”

 

Trixie snorted.  “Mart was probably standing there feeding her lines to try and trip you up.”

 

She dug her hands into her pockets and her fingers struck on the box she had retrieved from her suitcase prior to the gift exchange.  Pulling it out, she handed it to Jim.  “This is for you.”

 

“A Christmas present now? Should I open it or wait until tomorrow morning?”

 

“Oh, open it now.  It’s not really a Christmas present.  I mean, it’s not a big deal or anything, certainly nothing as nice as what you got me.”

 

Jim pulled the lid off the small box, looked inside, and laughed.  “I’ll say it’s not a big deal.”  He pulled the item out of the box and held it up.  “You got me a rock for Christmas?  Is that the same thing as getting a lump of coal?”

 

“Of course not.  It’s from Mount Everest.”

 

Jim’s ginger eyebrows jerked up in surprise and he gave the rock a closer inspection.

 

“There’s a Tibetan legend that says you can’t climb the mountain without taking a piece of it away with you.  If the mountain conquers you then the piece you take away will be a burden to you until you conquer the greatest fears in your life.  But if you conquer the mountain the piece you take away will be your strength in times of trouble, your rock.”

 

Jim studied her thoughtfully for a moment.  He always could read her like a book so she had a quick answer when he asked, “Is that legend true?”

 

“Total crap.  I made it up just now.  But the rock is genuine.”

 

Jim’s husky laughter warmed her from her frozen toes all the way up to her thudding heart.

 

“It’s from you so I’ll treasure it, even if the story was completely fabricated.  I hope Santa brings you something special, too.”

 

“I’m here with my family.  That’s all I need for Christmas.  I just wish I had something better for you than a rock.”

 

“Like what?”

 

She frowned and gritted her teeth.  She didn’t want to bring up old hurts.  The past was the past.  But she often worried that Jim had held onto their past instead of moving on without her.  “This isn’t how I wanted things to turn out for you.”

 

“What did you want?” he prompted, taking a step closer to her.

 

“I wanted you to have a life.”

 

“I do have a life.  Did you think I’ve been pining after you for the last fifteen years?”

 

Trixie gave him a coy smile, hoping his stomach flip-flopped the way hers did when he had laughed a moment ago.  “You haven’t been pining away for me?”

 

“Well, yes, but only for ten years.  After that I said enough is enough, Frayne.  Let it go.”

 

Trixie chuckled, giving him a gentle shove as her face turned pink, not wanting him to move away but wanting to touch him.

 

“I have a life, Trixie,” he reiterated.  “I completed my Masters.  I rebuilt Ten Acres.  I established a boys’ camp that I’m very proud of.  It’s not year-round but you know as well as I do that sometimes childhood dreams need to be modified.  The Winthrop Camp is exactly what it should be.  And it turns out I have quite a knack for business, so Dad has somebody to pass Wheeler International to and I earn a more than generous salary that’s enough to keep the camp running at minimal cost to the boys.  I live in beautiful Sleepyside eight months out of the year and I get to spend all summer in the wilds of the Adirondacks with great groups of boys.”

 

“But I wanted you to have a family.”

“I do have a family.  Every summer hundreds of boys from across the country come to the Winthrop Camp.  Some of them stay all summer and come back year after year.  I’ve got boys that used to come as campers that are now counselors.  My sister has given me three incredible nephews and the most beautiful niece in the world.  I have friends that are just like family and they have kids, too.  I should know better than anyone that family doesn’t have to be blood related.”  With another irresistibly teasing grin he added, “What else you got?”

 

She stared into those emerald eyes that had first captured her heart so many years ago and whispered, “I wanted you to be happy.”

 

The pause seemed endless before his whisper carried back to her on the night air.  “You’re here.”

 

The hush that settled all around them was almost sacred, as if the winter night was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

 

Jim leaned toward her and in his eyes she could see every emotion he was feeling—the longing in his heart butting up against the cold reality that he knew he couldn’t have what he most desired.  She knew exactly what he wanted and she knew exactly what he’d never settle for.  He didn’t want one kiss.  He didn’t want one night.  He didn’t want her whenever she could manage to be around.

 

He didn’t want her unless it was for keeps.

 

So he just stood there, his head bowed toward hers, their breaths coming out in icy clouds that hung between them for a fraction of a second before the breeze carried them away.

 

“Jim…”

 

“Don’t,” he murmured.  He reached down and took her hand in his.  His ungloved fingers were cold but his touch still sent heat coursing through her body.

 

She held her tongue, though it wasn’t easy for her.  It was never easy for her, especially where Jim was concerned.

 

Somewhere behind her a door opened and she could hear soft voices singing “Silent Night” from inside the farmhouse.

 

Gradually, the voices became louder as Beldens, Mangans, and Regans came outside, still singing the peaceful carol.

 

Though she had missed the last five Christmases here, Trixie knew that Mart and Honey sent their family and friends on their way in song, back to their homes or wherever they were staying over the holidays, to get ready for the Christmas Eve services at church.  The children that weren’t old enough to stay up for midnight mass especially enjoyed this traditional family sing-along.

 

I’m telling him.

 

She wasn’t letting her mixed up emotions influence her decision.  The decision had been made weeks ago.  She had talked to Dan about the possibility last fall but even he wasn’t aware she had made her final choice.  She hadn’t told her parents or her brothers or her best friend.

 

I’m telling him.

 

“I’m leaving the CIA.”

 

He raised his eyes slightly, his brow furrowed in question.

 

“I don’t know what I think I’m going to do until summer,” she went on with a nervous chuckle.  “But I’ve given my notice and I’ll be leaving next month for good.”

 

“What’re you doing next summer?”

 

“I thought I’d go to summer camp.  I never got to when I was a girl.”  She grinned tentatively, acutely aware that he was still touching her.  “I hear there’s a really nice camp up in the Adirondacks.”

 

Jim grinned back.  The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes made her heart flutter.  “I’m afraid the Winthrop Camp is not coed.  No girls allowed, punishable by death.”

 

Her tone was impertinent as she replied, “Good thing I have extensive training in stealth tactics.  I’ll just sneak my way in.”

 

A strong Irish tenor came drifting through the night.

 

O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,

 

Mallory’s silky alto came in to harmonize with her husband and by the time they got to the refrain, the whole family was singing along.

 

O come ye, oh come ye, to Bethlehem.

Come and behold Him, born the king of angels.

 

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him,

O come, let us adore Him,

Christ the Lord.

 

“Semper fidelis,” Trixie murmured as they continued into the second verse.

 

“That’s Adeste Fideles, Trix.”

 

She grinned.  “Always faithful, o come all ye faithful.  What’s the difference?”

 

Reluctantly, she pulled her hand free of Jim’s and dug into her coat pocket.  Taking out the compass on the chain, she placed it in Jim’s open palm, curling his freckled fingers over it and letting her hand rest on his.

 

“It’s a beautiful gift, but I don’t need it,” she whispered.  “I’ve already found my way home.”

 

Jim leaned in closer and now their foreheads were touching.  He squeezed her fingers and moved still closer.  Heads, hands … hearts.

 

There was nothing like Christmas with the one you loved.

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

Author's Notes

 

Adeste Fideles (14,171 words)

 

After the lovely giftfic I got from Pat in 2009, I could only hope mine would make Pat as happy.  I still get tears in my eyes whenever I read “A Magi-cal Christmas” and I will treasure it forever.  This is my Secret Santa story for you, dear friend … from one Trixie/Dan fan to another Trixie/Dan fan ... go figure. (grin)  (And thank you for letting my muses speak freely, my friend.).

 

This story is for CWP #1.9.  The required elements are:  

• A non-traditional holiday song:  “Jingle Bells, Batman Smells”. 

• An ornament or decoration made by a character in elementary school: Belden children's ornaments.

• A cold: Patti Belden has a cold.

• A holiday drink:  Hot chocolate with peppermint.

• A holiday TV show or movie:  Rudolph, Charlie Brown, and Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.

• A reindeer, plastic or real:  Decoration in Regans' front yard.

• Creative use of a candy cane:  Moms' candy cane vase (http://www.squidoo.com/candy-cane-vase).

• A holiday scented candle:  Honey has one burning in the kitchen.

• A flashing Santa saying, "Santa comes but once a year.":  Decoration in Regans' front yard.

• Replacement item from CWP #1.5, a see-crud:  Mart's see-crud was the sleigh ride; Trixie's see-crud was that she was
  returning to Sleepyside to live.

• One carryover item from each of CWPs #1.1 through #1.8
  1.1-Mention or presence of a pet: Hershey, the Beldens' Labrador.
  1.2-A special occasion or holiday:  Christmas.
  1.3-A dairy product:  Whipped cream; milk.
  1.4-People putting up decorations:  Decorating the Belden Christmas tree.
  1.5-A broken heart: Patti is heartbroken that she can't go on the sleigh ride.
  1.6-The word "frisky" used in any context:  Regan comments that the horses are; Trixie comments that Mart and Bobby are.
  1.7-A cookbook:  Honey promises Trixie Moms' Christmas cookbook to help with dinner.
  1.8-Hidden gold:  Bobby's Christmas gift for Jamie hidden at the Wheeler stable.

Thomas Kinkade is a modern American painter whose works are often very idyllic scenes like I’d imagine Crabapple Farm looks, especially at Christmastime.

 

Aunt Alicia was never actually seen in the canon series, though she was mentioned.  The other memories Trixie had refer to books #16-Mystery of the Missing Heiress and #21-Mystery of the Castaway Children.

 

My father was always wanting to grow a beard over the holidays, or rather, to take a vacation from having to shave.  We usually took a family vote on it (he usually lost).

 

Mart and Honey’s children were named for their favorite authors, which just happen to be authors of some of Pat’s favorite books:  (F.) Scott Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby), John Steinbeck (The Grapes of Wrath), Erich Remarque (All Quiet on the Western Front) and Harper Lee (To Kill A Mockingbird).  Now you know the connection, Pat. (wink)

 

Mart and Honey returning to Pirate’s Point and running into Marvin Appleton again, refers to book #27-The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon.

 

Carl Stinson and his daughter Joan appeared in book #24-Mystery at Saratoga.

 

Bobbie and Jamie’s daughter Patti is in honor of my giftfic recipient Pat, Bobby’s greatest fan Pat (Amygirl), and my very first Trixie friend Patti (in 6th grade).

 

I have a great-aunt who used to call my dad Ericy when he was a little boy.  We still joke about the absurdity of it.

 

Dan’s girls are named in honor of two Dan fans at Jix (well, besides me and Pat, of course!).  Dan’s wife is named in honor of yet another Dan fan.  I decided his Mal was short for Mallory.  Actually naming a child Maleficient seemed cruel (grin).

 

We always have a plate of cranberry sauce at our house at Thanksgiving and Christmas and no one but my grama and my Uncle Martin eat it.  My grama claims it helps settle a full stomach but it kind of makes my stomach turn just looking at it.

 

Semper Fidelis (Latin for “always faithful”) is the motto of the U.S. Marine Corps.  Adestes Fideles (Latin for "O Come All Ye Faithful") is the alternate title (including full lyrics in Latin) of the popular Christmas carol.

 

Neither Visa nor Victoria’s Secret are mine (okay, sometimes they are) and I’m making no profit by their mention in this story.

 

Snowflake background is from Hellas Multimedia.  Christmas Ribbon divider is from Webweaver's Free Clipart. "The End" snowflakes are from Microsoft Clip Art.  Header photo is from Istock Photo (a compass *and* Christmas?  Who'd've thunk it?).  I added the softened borders at my office using Picture It!  Then I went to Photobucket to add the text since stupid Picture It! kept crashing every time I tried to add text (grr...I needed Mart's non-Christmas words).