December 20th – Go Caroling Day

“How about ‘Good King Wenceslas’?” Jim Frayne suggested.

Honey Wheeler made a face, her pen hovering over her notebook.  She clearly didn’t want to ridicule her adopted brother’s suggestion but she wasn’t exactly hurrying to write it down, either.

“I don’t think children are big fans of that song,” she said tactfully.

“I don’t think anybody under the age of 80 is a fan of that song,” Mart Belden added, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

“It just so happens that Dad loves that song and so does Tom Delanoy.  And so do I!” Jim huffed indignantly.

“Well, I always knew you were an old man at heart, Frayne,” Mart teased.

“My friend Cheryl will be pleased to hear that you think she’s an old lady just because she has all five verses memorized,” Jim countered.  His redheaded temper was well known but his green eyes were sparkling now as he enjoyed the snappy banter with his friend.

“I think we should stick to songs we know the kids will be familiar with,” raven-haired Diana Lynch said, soothing ruffled feathers before an argument—however good-natured it might be—could start.  “Rudolph and Frosty and Jingle Bells and all that.”

“Some of the children would probably appreciate some quieter songs, too,” Mart’s older brother Brian said wisely.  He had arranged the caroling event at the Sleepyside Hospital, where he did volunteer work whenever he was on break from medical school.  “And so might their parents after the kids have consumed sleigh loads of candy canes and sugar cookies.”

Dan Mangan chuckled.  “It’s amazing how being hospitalized, even at the holidays, doesn’t seem to get kids down.  We could all learn from them.”

Honey nodded, lowering her head and allowing her honey-gold hair to mask her watery eyes as she thought about the sick children the Bob-Whites were going to visit that afternoon at the hospital.  Her voice steady, she said, “Songs like ‘Silent Night’ and ‘Away in the Manger’ will be good for near the end of the night when they’re ready to quiet down.”

Not ready to quiet down at all, Trixie Belden came bursting through the door of the snug clubhouse, slamming it closed behind her.  Her sandy blond curls were in disarray, her cheeks and nose bright pink from the cold or perhaps from running all the way from Crabapple Farm.

“Thou art dilatory as usual, fair Beatrix,” Mart stated pompously.

“Don’t start with the vocabulary, Mart,” Trixie begged as she unzipped her coat and pulled off her hat and gloves.

“Where have you been, Trix?” Jim asked.

Trixie sighed loudly and flopped down into a free chair around the table.  “I fell asleep while I was studying.  I was up way too late last night working on my English Lit paper and up way too early getting back at it.”

Dan reached over and gently massaged her tense neck muscles.  “It’s one paper for a 101 class that has nothing to do with your major in your freshman year of college.  If you start stressing this much now, your head will snap right off your neck before Easter break.”

“You don’t have to stress.  You’re as good as accepted to the Police Academy,” she grumbled.  “I have to get good grades this term so I can apply for some scholarships and get out of that yahoo community college and join Honey and Diana in New York next year.”

Her two girlfriends exchanged guilty looks.  Their grades were on the same average plane as Trixie’s but their family’s wealth made it possible for them to attend the college of their choice.  Even Trixie’s in-state status hadn’t helped her afford NYU’s tuition this year.  Her older brothers were smart enough to get partial scholarships that helped supplement the college funds to which their one-income family struggled to contribute for all four of the Belden children, three at the same time. 

Even Dan didn’t truly understand.  He was content to get his degree at the community college before heading to the State Police Academy, partially because it kept him closer to home and the aging Mr. Maypenny, partially because it kept him farther from New York City and bad memories.

Jim reached across the table and put one freckled hand over hers.  “You know any of us will help you with that paper over break.  It’s Christmas.  Just try to relax and enjoy the holiday.”

“Easy for you to say,” Trixie snapped.  “You have the brains and the money.  You’ll never have to sweat college.”

Jim jerked back, his face flushing slightly.  He hated being reminded of the wealth coming at him from two fronts, the Fraynes and the Wheelers.  He was a down-to-earth young man and didn’t flaunt or squander his money, but the fact was he didn’t have to worry about tuition, books, dorm fees, or anything else he needed while attending Columbia University in New York City.

Knowing his friend’s temper was as volatile as Trixie’s, Dan shot Jim a gently warning glance.  She’s having a bad day.  She didn’t mean to be snippy.  Let it go.

Jim nodded, unclenching his jaw and smiling easily.  Teasing his curly-headed friend was definitely not the way to go at the moment but his crooked smile and emerald green eyes rarely went wrong.

Unable to resist them now, Trixie smiled sheepishly back at him.  “Sorry.  Like I said, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Jim winked but said nothing, giving her hand a quick squeeze before sitting back in his seat and turning his attention to his sister.

“Trixie, I know you’ll know every single Christmas song we choose,” Honey said sweetly.  “You listen to Christmas music non-stop from the day after Thanksgiving until New Year’s Eve.”

“Sometimes before that,” Mart added with a grin.

“No, I don’t!” his sister said adamantly.  “Christmas music is not allowed until after Thanksgiving Day.”

“Then why did I hear you singing ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ at my Halloween party?” Diana teased, her violet eyes glinting.

Trixie’s cheeks pinked up but not from the cold this time.  With an expression that was half joking, half grim, she said, “I was delirious from lack of sleep, I think.  I’d been studying so long and so hard that week I was afraid I’d fall asleep and drown while bobbing for Halloween apples.  I was so tired I couldn’t think of any Halloween songs.”

Anxious to keep the topic of conversation from returning to his sister’s scholastic struggles, Brian said, “We’re not going to the hospital until after dinner, so why don’t you go on home and take a nap, Trix?”

“Yes,” Honey agreed with an emphatic nod of her head.  “That’s what I was going to suggest before Mart interrupted.  You love every Christmas song and you know every Christmas song.  You don’t need to be here while we decide what we’ll sing and when.  Go get some sleep.”

“Are you sure?” Trixie asked, the idea sounding so good she thought she might just curl up on the threadbare sofa in the corner of the clubhouse’s small main room.

“Sure, we’re sure,” Dan said.  “If nothing else, it’ll keep Mart from baiting you when you’re in a weakened condition.”  He reached his hand behind his best friend and whacked him upside the head to emphasize his point.

She smiled faintly back before reassuming her frazzled expression.  “I feel like I’m slacking off on the Bob-Whites’ annual holiday charity program.”

“You’re not slacking off!” Diana exclaimed.  “Haven’t you been helping your mother make those yummy mini-loaves of pumpkin bread for us to hand out to the doctors and nurses?”

“Won’t you be caroling with us tonight?” Jim put in.

“Won’t you bring joy and laughter to the children in your cute little elf costume?” Dan teased.

Trixie scowled at him.  “How exactly did I get roped into that one?”

“Hey, I was Santa a couple of years ago,” he reminded her.  “If I remember correctly, your only encouragement to me was, ‘Suit up, boy!’  Turnabout is fair play.  Besides, I know you’re going to look very ... sweet in that get-up.”

His intensely dark eyes clearly said that “sweet” wasn’t the word he had been thinking of.  Trixie flushed and turned away, only to find Jim staring at her in the same way.  Her face was burning up and she was more then ready to escape into the arctic gale outside where she could cool down.

“Fine,” she huffed.  “I’ll be a stupid elf, I’ll make the stupid bread, I’ll try to forget about the stupid paper, and I’ll go home and take a stupid nap.”

Somewhere in her muddled brain she knew she sounded like a spoiled little girl having a tantrum.  But between her lack of sleep and her stress levels over school and now the two most attractive, caring ... sweet men she knew staring intensely at her—no doubt imagining her in the skimpy elf costume—she was on emotional overload.

Brian put his arm around her shoulders and walked her to the door, speaking in a quiet undertone.  “Look, here’s the deal.  Go home, get a hot lunch, and take a long nap.  I’ll get Mart to help Moms finish putting together those gift baskets before dinner.”

Trixie smiled gratefully at her eldest brother.  “I think I’m getting the better deal.”

Brian winked at her.  “I agree.  Don’t tell Mart.”  Always the most responsible and punctual member of the group, he added in a louder voice, “Don’t forget to ask Moms to wake you in plenty of time to get ready before dinner.  We’re leaving for the hospital right after we eat.”

Trixie sighed as she zipped her coat back up.  “I know I’m not the brain you are, Brian, but I’m pretty sure I’m capable of setting an alarm clock.”

Unable to resist one last jab at his almost twin, despite his incredibly bad timing, Mart snickered and said, “Except for Daylight Savings Time, when you set your alarm for six, but turned the clock forward instead of back before you went to bed, leaving you arising at four a.m.”

Gritting her teeth to hold back her tears of frustration, Trixie growled, “Shut up, Mart!” and fled from the clubhouse.

She hurried down the hill into the hollow, rushing toward the comfort of home.  The icy wind bit against her tear-streaked cheeks, frosting her anguished expression.

She had intended to slow down before reaching home and take time to compose herself but she was so blinded by her irrational emotions that before she knew it she was bursting through the kitchen door of the farmhouse.  The wind snatched the door from her hands, slamming it against the back wall.  Her mother jumped and yelped out a startled, “Trixie!”

“I’m sorry, Moms,” Trixie wailed.  She wrestled the door back under her control and got it shut, leaning her head against it briefly and swiping a gloved hand across her watery eyes.  “I can’t do anything right today,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

“What’s wrong, Trix?” asked Bobby, with all the forced nonchalance of a preteen boy too cool to let on how much he cared about his big sister.  He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his lunch while he watched Back to the Future on his new portable DVD player, a combination birthday/early Christmas present he had received last week from Uncle Andrew.

“Nothing’s wrong except that all my friends think I’m the Grinch.”

Bobby shrugged.  “Oh.  Well, that’s not important.”

Spoiled, bratty little brother, Trixie grumbled to herself as she glared at Bobby.

Her mother gave him a chastising look as she spoke gently to her daughter.  “I’m sure that’s not true, sweetie.  You were up late last night working on your paper.  You were up early this morning studying again.  You didn’t have any breakfast and didn’t you fall asleep mid-morning?”

Trixie nodded as she wearily removed her outer garments and hung them on the peg by the back door.  “It isn’t easy to stay awake reading Dickens but I have to finish this paper before Christmas break is over.”

“What you need is a hot lunch and a nice, long nap,” her mother suggested.  “You slept in fits and spurts last night.  No wonder you’re cranky—though I highly doubt any of the Bob-Whites would call you a Grinch.”

“No, more like Ebenezer Scrooge.”  Her mother’s kindness in the face of her daughter’s foul mood made Trixie feel even worse.  “I hate Christmas,” she stated grumpily.  “I wish I could sleep right through it this year.”

She stomped up the steps, spurning the idea of Moms’ homemade vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.  Upstairs, she firmly shut her bedroom door, flung herself onto her bed, and let the tears come.  She didn’t think it was possible to feel worse but her declared hatred of her favourite holiday did the trick.

She didn’t hate Christmas.  She loved Christmas.  She always had.  She loved everything about Christmas.

She loved the insanity of the shopping malls the day after Thanksgiving and the week before Christmas.  She loved pulling out her vast collection of Christmas music—from the classical “Carol of the Bells”, to modern pop renditions of timeless favourites, to her cherished Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters CD.

She loved the Belden tradition of sneaking little bagatelles and trinkets into each other’s stockings in the days leading up to Christmas and then trying to guess who gave which gift.

She loved the Bob-White Christmas party and their annual holiday charity project.  She loved baking with her mother.  She loved breakfast on Christmas morning when her father did his best to clog all their arteries with bottomless plates of bacon, sausage links, and biscuits and gravy, despite his future doctor son’s mocking dismay.

She loved driving through the countryside to look at the holiday lights on the sprawling mansions, the cozy farmhouses, and the streets of picturesque downtown Sleepyside.  She loved Christmas lights so much that she had taken to buying at least one strand for the Belden Christmas tree every year.  Mart, who was in charge of untangling and stringing up the lights, finally had to cut her off when he feared the massive eight-foot pine would collapse under the weight of the “multitudinous exhibition of electric gaiety”.

But even these light-hearted remembrances couldn’t shake the blues from Trixie today.

“Bah, humbug,” she said with a pout as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, carrying her off to much-needed sleep...  

           

“Beatrix!  Oh, fair Beatrix!”

“Shut up, Mart.”

Though she still had her eyes closed and her face buried in her pillow, she was alert enough to recognize that her tone was far less irritable than the last time she had uttered those words.  She must have gotten several hours of undisturbed sleep.  However, she still didn’t like to be called by her hated given name, especially by her almost twin who usually did it for the sole purpose of annoying her.

“Arouse thyself, Beatrix.  You are needed anon.”

With a noisy sigh, Trixie sat up in bed and raked her fingers through her tangled curls.  Eyeing her brother suspiciously, she asked, “What are you wearing?  I thought I was the one going in costume this year.”

“Whatever do you mean?  ‘Tis mine everyday suit, Beatrix.”

Trixie arched one sandy eyebrow.  “Every day of which century?”

Mart looked like he had stepped right out of her dreary Dickens novel.  His burgundy frock coat looked somewhat threadbare and slightly dated, even by Victorian standards, but was dressed up by the presence of a vest of pale gold brocade over a classic white tuxedo shirt, a black silk puff tie with pearl tie tack, and a gold watch chain draped neatly between the two vest pockets.  A stylish nut-coloured top hat with a swath of darker brown ribbon just above the brim and an elegant walking stick with a brass handle completed his gentleman’s outfit.

“I am here to show thee thy Christmas past,” he solemnly intoned.

“Oh, I get it,” Trixie sneered.  “I knew you guys thought I was Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Whom?”

“Ha-ha, Mart.  Give it a rest.  I’m feeling better already and I’m sorry I was such a pill before.”

“I know nothing about ‘before’.  I only know that I’m here to show thee thy Christmas past.”

Skimming her eyes up and down his costume again, Trixie said, “My Christmas past?  I’m 18.  My Christmas past isn’t going to take us out of the last half of the 20th century.”

Mart’s shoulders drooped.  His pompous oratory disappeared as he grumbled, “I told them this get-up would be anachronistic, but nooooo!  This is what the Ghost of Christmas Past always wears.  It’s tradition.”  He rolled his eyes and spread his hands in exasperation.

Trixie’s right eyebrow shot up again.  “The Ghost of Christmas Past?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, the mood lost.  “I’m here to show you your past, blah, blah, blah.”

Trixie sagged back against her padded headboard.  “Knock it off, Mart.  If it’s not dinnertime yet then I’m going to try and get a little more sleep.  I already feel tons better and a little more shut-eye will have me back to my bright, cheery self,” she concluded, with a broadly exaggerated grin plastered across her face.

Mart snorted.  “I think you’ll need some Rip Van Winkle sleep for that.”

Trixie threw a pillow his way, gasping when it appeared to go right through him, thumping against the bedroom door and falling harmlessly to the floor.

“What on earth?” she exclaimed in bewilderment.

Now it was Mart’s turn to cock a contemptuous eyebrow.  “Come on, Trix.  You’re smart.  I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past,” he stressed.  “You can’t throw things at me.  For that matter, you can’t pinch me, shove me or hit me, either—all of which I’m deeply grateful for.”

“How did you do that?” Trixie asked, her sharp eyes scanning the room for a hidden camera or projector.

Mart shrugged.  “It’s part of the package deal.”

“What deal?”

“Ghost of Christmas Past,” Mart replied patiently, sweeping his hands from head to toe as he presented “the package” to her.  “Transparency, cool period costuming, and the ability to travel through time to present life-changing lessons.”

“Okay,” Trixie responded cautiously.  She had seen a ghost witch, a ghost Indian, and a ghost horse and rider.  She was tentatively willing to accept that her brother was now a ghost as well—temporarily, she hoped.

“Shall we depart?” Mart asked, taking off his top hat and bowing elegantly before her.  The bedroom door magically opened and Trixie slowly followed her brother—er, the Ghost of Christmas Past—out into the hallway and down the stairs of the century-old farmhouse.

When they first came into the familiar kitchen, nothing seemed different to her.  It was the same hooked rug on the same polished wood floor, the same sturdy pine table handed down from Grandma and Grandpa Belden.  Then she noticed that the curtains hanging in the window over the sink looked different and so did the refrigerator, which wasn’t the extra wide side-by-side with icemaker and dispenser that her mother had received for her birthday a few years back.  But there was her mother at the stove, her back to Trixie and Mart, her blond curls pulled back in a haphazard ponytail.

Before Trixie could utter a word, Mart reminded her, “You know the drill, right?  No one can see you or hear you.  You’re only here to observe.”

And then, in what seemed to be a direct contradiction to his words, Moms called out, “Trixie?  Where are you?”

Despite Mart’s warning, Trixie was all ready to call out a reply when a small, high-pitched voice said, “I’m right here, Mommy.”

Trixie gasped.  Under the table, peering out from behind the linen tablecloth was a face she had seen only in photographs.  Three-year-old Trixie, her freckled cheeks rosy, her blue eyes bright and curious, was playing with her plastic ponies in the sanctuary under the table.

“Your brothers will be home from school soon and then we’ll make Christmas cookies.  Would you like that?”

“Oh, yes, Mommy!” Trixie exclaimed, scrambling out from under the table but standing up before clearing it.  She banged her head on the edge and immediately burst into tears.

“Oh, Trixie,” Moms sighed wearily.  Clearly, this wasn’t the first time her daughter had done this.  She wiped her hands on her apron and came to tend to little Trixie.  “That’s why I told you not to play under there.”

“I jus’ forgotted,” Trixie whimpered, holding her chubby hand to the top of her head.  “It hurts badly, Mommy.  What if I gots a cunshun?”

“A what?”

“A cunshun.  Brian says you gets one if you hit your head, an’ I hit mine hard!”

“The word is concussion, sweetie, and I’m sure you don’t have one.  And where did Brian learn that word?”

“It’s official,” 18-year-old Trixie said in mild disgust.  “He was born a brain.”

“Yes, clearly Brian and I took an unfair portion of the intelligence in the family, leaving you to wade in the shallow end of the gene pool.”

Forgetting the Ghost of Christmas Past deal, Trixie took a whack at the back of Mart’s head, swiping harmlessly through the top of his semi-transparent crew cut.

“That is so weird,” she muttered.

“I think it’s pretty cool, myself,” Mart said smugly.

“So what life lesson am I here to learn?  That I hit my head on the table one too many times, which explains why I’m now struggling through my Mickey Mouse classes at college?”

“The lesson hasn’t been revealed yet,” Mart said pretentiously.  “We have to set the scene, oh non-theatrical one.”

As the almost twins watched, three-year-old Trixie’s tears quickly disappeared and she was soon situated on a high stool next to the kitchen counter, cheerfully singing “Jingle Bells” with her mother as they rolled out the dough and cut out cookies in the shapes of stars and Christmas trees, angels and Santas, while they waited for her brothers to come home from preschool and first grade.

The chaotic scene that ensued when four-year-old Mart and six-year-old Brian arrived was not unlike many others Trixie had been a part of over the years as Beldens and Bob-Whites had gathered in the homey kitchen of Crabapple Farm.  Brian told his mother what had happened in school that day, Mart and Trixie argued over the ownership of the plastic ponies, and Moms patiently hung up coats and set up the table for cookie decorating.

When the cookies had baked and cooled, the three young Beldens decorated them (and the table and the floor and themselves) with red, green, and white icing and colourful sprinkles.  Moms was just about to declare the kitchen a federal disaster area and send them all to the bathroom to wash up when there came a knock at the door.

“Come in!” chorused three small voices as their mother winced at the image her kitchen would be presenting to the unexpected visitors.

The man who came in was tall and lanky.  His ruddy face and sage green eyes hinted that his thick head of hair may have once been red, but now it was snowy white.  The petite woman he ushered in ahead of him was blue-eyed, her greying blond hair pulled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.

Brian and Mart scrambled down from their chairs and rushed toward the man.  Oblivious to their frosting-coated fingers, he lifted a Belden boy in each arm, tucked them under his arms like footballs and spun around until they giggled uncontrollably.

“Who’s that?” 18-year-old Trixie asked her brother.

“James and Nell Frayne.”

Trixie looked on in astonishment.  The only memories she had of Jim’s eccentric great-uncle were of a crotchety old man, emotionally broken by the tragic death of his wife.  She had a hard time connecting those unpleasant memories to the elderly but spry man in front of her, tossing her brothers into the air in turn.

Little Trixie had come to greet Nell Frayne and now took her hand and dragged her over to the kitchen table, chattering away.  Nell admired the cookies Trixie had decorated with suitably awed oohs and ahs for the little girl’s artistic abilities.

Trixie had a wistful smile on her face as she watched the cozy scene.  She wished she remembered the Fraynes.  She would have enjoyed sharing those memories with Jim.

“Nell Frayne will die very unexpectedly next summer,” Mart said somberly.  “Her husband will never be the same.”

The smile slid off Trixie’s face as the scene seemed to darken before her eyes.

“The lesson, fair Beatrix, is not to squander your happiness.  I know you’re working hard for the career you want.  Striving for a better life is to be commended.  But don’t let the happiness pass you by.  Moments like these can disappear in the blink of an eye.  You have family and friends who love you and a holiday you love to celebrate.  Take the time to enjoy it.”

Trixie smiled softly at her almost twin.  “I will.  Thank you, Mart.” Her eyes brightened playfully as she added, “I’d give you a hug and a kiss but … well, you know what the deal is, Mr. Ghost of Christmas Past.”

Mart rolled his eyes affectionately.  “Hasten thee to the present, fair Beatrix.”

“Mart, you were born in the wrong century.”

“Do not I knoweth it?”

Trixie turned and, not knowing exactly why she did so, instinctively headed out the back door of the farmhouse into an oddly temperate storm of wind and snow.

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she took in the cherry red sports car in the driveway.  “Where did that come from?” she asked the tall, dark and handsome man who was leaning against the passenger door.

“It’s part of the deal,” Brian answered.

“What deal?”

“Mart gets transparency, the ability to travel through time to give life-changing lessons, and a moth-eaten, out-of-date costume.  I get transparency, the ability to travel through time to give life-changing lessons, and an extremely cool car.”

“I think you got the better deal,” Trixie remarked.

Brian flashed her an easy grin.  “I agree.  Don’t tell Mart.”

“So … you’re the Ghost of Christmas Present?”

Brian nodded, then opened the door and gallantly held out his hand.  “Your chariot, Miss Belden.”

Trixie slid comfortably into the luxurious leather seat and Brian shut the door and came around to the driver’s side while she buckled herself in.

“Wait a minute,” she said.  “How can you drive if you’re transparent?”

“Well, the car is transparent, too.”

“Then how can I be sitting in it?”

“To you, the car is real.  To the Ghost of Christmas Present, it’s an illusion.”

“So, as we’re driving down the road, it’ll appear that no one is driving?”

“No,” Brian said patiently.  “No one will see us.”

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s complicated, Trix.  How about a little suspension of disbelief, please?”

Trixie chuckled and nodded and leaned back in her seat to enjoy the ride.

It didn’t last long, for mere minutes later they were pulling up in front of the Sleepyside Hospital.

“Aren’t we going to be here tonight?” Trixie asked.

“You are.  I’m not.”

“What?  Brian, you’re the one who suggested that the Bob-Whites go caroling in the pediatrics ward on Go Caroling Day.  Why would you miss it?”

“Brian won’t miss it,” he replied enigmatically.  “But I’m not Brian.  I’m the—”

“Yeah, yeah, the Ghost of Christmas Present.  I forgot.  So, do we have to get out in the middle of this snowstorm and pull out our ice skates to get across that frozen parking lot?  Or do any other powers come with the deal?”

In answer, Brian winked, grabbed her hand, and the two Beldens were instantly transported to the pediatrics ward.

“Pretty cool,” Trixie stated.

“And we didn’t have to listen to that awful Muzak in the elevators,” Brian added.

It was a hospital and there were sick children here but for some reason, Trixie expected there to be more happiness.  The normally bright lights in the hallways were muted.  The gold and silver tinsel draped on the nurses’ desk seemed to sag a little.  And it was so quiet that Trixie half wished for some of that dreadful Muzak to be piping through the intercom.

She swallowed hard, her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“What’re you thinking, little sister?”

“When we’re here, the kids are always so happy to see us.  I think maybe we—or I, anyway—forget that they’re sick.  Some of them are seriously ill, maybe dying.”

The unmistakable cry of an anguished mother drifted out of the privacy of the Family Room to their right.  Trixie’s heart clenched in her chest and she stifled a cry of her own as she choked out, “Maybe even—”

“Trixie,” Brian interrupted gently.  “We bring joy and happiness to these kids.  They want to forget they’re sick, at least for a little while.  They just want to have a regular Christmas like regular kids.  Things like gifts and games and carols help them feel like they’re normal again.”

Trixie nodded, certain he was right but still feeling the pain of the weeping mother in the next room.  “So, the lesson is to stop feeling sorry for myself because there are people in worse places than I am.”

“No, the lesson is one that you’ve already learned many times over.  You’re just not remembering it right now.  The lesson is that when you bring happiness to others and help them forget their troubles, you can forget your own troubles, too.  Look.”

He whisked her into the large recreation room where children were happily playing with new toys, opening presents, and partaking of holiday goodies.  One little boy—bald from chemo, face pallid but cheerful—eagerly opened a brightly wrapped package, only to find a doll in a lacy pink dress.  The little girl on the floor beside him was content to play with the new Matchbox cars she had opened but willingly switched gifts when a middle-aged nurse with greying brown hair and soft hazel eyes noticed the mix-up and laughingly asked them to exchange.

“That nurse hasn’t had the brightest of holidays,” Brian said quietly.  “She’s recently been through a divorce and her mother passed away a few months ago.  But she set aside her troubles to help out at this party and make the children happy.  And now she’s forgetting some of her own worries.  You can’t give out happiness without receiving it back tenfold.”

Trixie grinned.  “Tenfold?  I thought you were the Ghost of Christmas Present?  You sure sounded like Mart for a minute there.”

Brian grinned back.  “Hasten thee to the future, fair Beatrix.”

Trixie turned to the elevators then stopped, wondering how the Ghost of Christmas Present intended to spirit her into the future.  Turning back, she saw that he was gone and she was alone in the hospital hallway.

“Stranded!” she grumbled.  “I can’t believe the straight arrow, responsible, doctor-to-be Brian Belden left me on my own!”

She turned back to the elevator and irritably jabbed her thumb on the down button.  The doors opened immediately and she got on, alone but for a tall, broad-shouldered man with blond hair and blue eyes.

They rode in silence for a few floors, listening to a slightly disco version of “The Little Drummer Boy”, until the stranger spoke.  “You don’t know me?”

Trixie turned to him, smiling politely.  “I’m sorry?”

“It’s me, Trix, the Ghost of Christmas Future.”

Trixie stared at him with a puzzled expression on her face.  “But who are—?  Bobby!”

Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her grown-up, handsome brother.  He was taller than she was, which wasn’t a surprise, but he also looked like he had grown taller than Mart and maybe even taller than their oldest brother.  She wanted so badly to hug him but she remembered the “Ghost of Christmas” rules.  Instead, she widened her already bright smile and said, “You clean up real nice, little brother.”

“Little brother?” he ribbed, staring down nearly a foot to meet his sister’s eyes.

“You’ll always be my bratty little brother,” she replied pertly as she wrinkled her nose.  “So, you’re here to show me my Christmas Future, right?”

He nodded and as the elevator doors opened they were back at Crabapple Farm.  The homey family room was filled with people, laughter, and music.  Trixie’s heart began thumping in anticipation.  “My future,” she murmured under her breath.

“Trixie,” Bobby warned, “To quote the wise Dr. Emmett Brown, ‘No man should know too much about their own destiny’.”

“Well,” she countered slyly, “I’m not Michael J. Fox.  And we didn’t get here in a DeLorean.”

“Knowing too much about your future could be dangerous,” Bobby insisted.  “And besides, we’re not here to view your future.  This is the future of all of the Bob-Whites.  Whatever will be, will be.”

“I thought the future was not ours to see,” Trixie said in a sing-song voice, blue eyes twinkling playfully.

“Quando, quando, quando,” Bobby sang back.

Trixie’s brow crinkled momentarily before she laughed out loud.  “‘Que sera, sera’, little brother.”

“Whatever.”

He directed her attention to the family room and Trixie’s curiosity took over. 

The first thing she noticed was that there were stacks of cardboard boxes pushed up against the wall and spilling into the hallway.

“What’s up with that?” she asked, waving her hand in that direction.

“Moms and Dad decided to move to a smaller house, closer to town.”

Trixie’s jaw dropped.  “Moms and Dad gave up the farm?”

“Well, they wouldn’t have if one of their children wasn’t more than happy to move in and keep Crabapple Farm in the family.  The timing was a little chaotic but on the other hand, there was plenty of slave labor to help the dual move go smoothly.”

“Which one of us moved here?” Trixie asked eagerly.

Bobby shrugged.  “It’s not important.  Keep watching.”

Trixie stifled her questions, certain her detective skills could figure out this riddle.  Her eyes sparkled at the sight of the massive Christmas tree near the back window.  It was in the process of being decorated by three people, two of whom she recognized immediately.

Honey was meticulously hanging tinsel strand by strand.  Her face had a serene glow about it and a quick glance downward showed Trixie the reason why.  Her normally slender friend had a small but noticeable bulge at her waistline.

On the other side of the tree, Brian had a little boy up on his shoulders, helping him reach to the top of the tree to get the star in place.  The boy was dark-haired and dark-eyed and looked to be about three or four years old.

“Is that Brian’s son” Trixie asked, her voice pitched with excitement.  “Is it Brian and Honey’s son?”

“It’s not important,” was Bobby’s only response.

With a heavy sigh, Trixie continued to observe the scene.  Diana was seated on the couch facing the tree, contentedly directing Honey and Brian as they decorated.  Trixie took a step forward and saw that she was about as pregnant as she could be.

“She looks like she’s going to pop any minute now!” she exclaimed.  “Did she and Mart get married?”  She scanned the room and asked, “Do they have any more children?  They’d both want a big family, I’d think.”

“It’s not important.”

Trixie gave him an annoyed look but quickly turned back to the cozy scene in front of her.  Her father was dozing in an armchair, his glasses sliding down his nose.  His hair was liberally sprinkled with grey but, otherwise, he looked the same.

Jim was seated on the hearth with a bundle in his arms.  Trixie felt a shiver run down her back as she tried to get a closer look at the focus of his attention.  “Is that Jim’s child?  Is it a boy or a girl?”

“It’s a girl,” Bobby murmured.

Trixie didn’t fail to notice, with no small amount of frustration, that he didn’t answer her first question.

“Where’s everybody else?” she asked.

“Oh, they’re around.  You and Moms are in the kitchen cooking Christmas dinner—”

“I’m cooking Christmas dinner?”

“With the help of Moms and a few other people, yes.”

“Who?”

“It’s not important.  I’m in the dining room with a very beautiful young lady and the two of us are setting the tables.”

“Your girlfriend?  Fiancee?  Wife?”

Bobby shrugged again and Trixie smothered a giggle as his face turned red.

“So, what’s the lesson here?  Everything seems, as my esteemed partner would say, perfectly perfect.”

Bobby exhaled slowly before answering.  “Life’s rarely perfect, even in fairy tales.  People find themselves on roads they didn’t expect and somehow way leads on to way and you don’t always end up where you thought you would.”

Trixie felt an ache in her heart that somehow managed to push its way up to her throat where it lodged for what seemed an interminable time before she could force it down to speak.  “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Bobby replied reluctantly, “like I said, you really shouldn’t know too much about the future.  But without getting into specifics I can tell you that one of the Bob-Whites gave up his or her childhood dream.  One of the Bob-Whites went for his or her dream but failed.  One of the Bob-Whites went through something nobody should ever have to go through.  And two of the Bob-Whites suffered a great loss.”

“Two?  Do you mean married Bob-Whites?  Or Jim and Honey?  Or—”  She didn’t even want to consider this alternative.  “Did one of the Belden Bob-Whites...?”  She swallowed hard, feeling the tears threatening to let loose at the mere possibility.

“That’s why I said you shouldn’t know too much about the future.  Try not to worry about it.  The lesson is right in front of you.”

He pointed back to the family room as Mart and Dan came in from the kitchen.  Trixie unconsciously let out a sigh of relief when she saw her almost twin.  He and Dan each held the hand of a little girl with blond ringlets, swinging her between them as she giggled madly.  She could have belonged to Mart, or maybe she got her fair looks from Dan’s blond wife.  Or perhaps she didn’t belong to either of them.  Perhaps she was a beloved niece.

After one last swing, they set her down. She grabbed a book off a nearby shelf and crawled into Peter’s lap, waking him with a startled grunt.  He smiled broadly as the little girl held up Where the Wild Things Are and begged for a story before dinner.

Mart and Dan were each wearing a ridiculous contraption that held a sprig of mistletoe over their heads.  As she watched, the best friends moved to the couch and dangled their mistletoe headdresses over Diana.  She looked up, giggled and allowed each of them to give her a kiss.  Trixie couldn’t tell if one of the handsome men might have gotten a more intimate kiss than the other.

Next, Mart and Dan made their way to Honey.  She kissed both of them, leaving lipstick smudges on their reddened cheeks.  They turned toward Brian, and Trixie got her first real answer about the future.  As the mistletoe monsters approached, the little boy on Brian’s shoulders squealed, “Run, Daddy, run!”  Brian widened his eyes in mock horror and, holding the little boy’s hands firmly, let out a girlish shriek and ran in terror.

Diana and Honey both laughed gaily as they watched the chase disappear into the kitchen.  There were some shouts of protest from the chefs and a clatter of something dropped.  Mart and Dan mumbled an apology and somebody—Trixie wasn’t sure if it was her future self or her mother—told them in a gently scolding voice, clearly trying not to laugh, to settle down or take it outside.

The three Beldens and Dan—was he officially part of the Belden family now?—returned to the family room.  Trixie cracked a grin but the exaggerated expressions of gloom on their faces made her think back to what her grown-up younger brother had told her.

“They all seem so happy,” she said in wistful wonderment.

“That’s the lesson,” Bobby replied.  “Life isn’t perfectly perfect.  But you can weather any storm when you’re surrounded by people who love you.  That’s what the Bob-Whites are all about—selflessness, generosity, loyalty, and most importantly, perseverance.”

Trixie nodded thoughtfully, but a corner of her ever-curious mind was still trying to untangle the connections she saw.  And, as always with her brothers, Bobby knew it.

“The ties that bind the Bob-Whites aren’t about romance, Trix.  They’re about love.”

“All right, everybody, come in and see the tree!” Brian called.

Jim handed over the baby girl in his arms to Honey and gave his sister a kiss on the cheek.  Trixie watched her future self come in from the kitchen with her mother, wiping her hands on a towel.  Mart put his arm around her shoulders and she teasingly snatched the mistletoe cap off his head and tossed it into a corner.  Dan helped extract Brian’s son from his shoulders, holding him upside down by the ankles for a moment before setting him safely on his feet again.  The little girl in Peter’s lap scrambled down and came to sit by Diana, presenting her book for a second read and Helen Belden took her place on her husband’s lap.

Trixie heard voices growing louder as other members of the extended family approached the room but before they could come into Trixie’s view, Brian turned out the lights and turned on the Christmas tree.

Its glow lit up the room with an ethereal beauty that everybody, including Trixie and the Ghost of Christmas Future, enjoyed in a reverential silence.

“Bobby?” Trixie whispered.  “I mean, Mr. Ghost of Christmas Future?”

“Yes?”

“Is it Jim or Dan?”

“Trixie,” Bobby warned.

Trixie stomped her foot, her curls bristling with impatience.  “If you say, ‘It’s not important’ one more time, I’m going to scream!  If you can’t tell me, you can’t tell me, but don’t say it’s not important ... because it is.”

Bobby’s understanding blue eyes stared steadily into hers.

“I don’t mean is it Jim or is it Dan,” she said with a sigh of concession.  “I mean, is it one of them?  Or is it someone I haven’t met yet?  Or is it someone I have met and just don’t know it yet?”

With a grin on his face that whisked him back to the impish six-year-old he used to be, Bobby replied, “Let’s just say ... it’ll be a Valentine’s Day to remember.”

Trixie sucked in her breath.  Her first thought was of Jim and their date at Diana’s Valentine’s Day dance.  Well, it wasn’t really a date.  They didn’t even go together.  She went with her brothers.  But he had sent her that orchid and it was the first flower she had ever gotten from a boy.

But ... Valentine’s Day was Dan’s birthday.  After Jim and Brian had gone off to New York for college, she and Dan had spent more than one Valentine’s Day together.  They had both claimed it was just as friends, but they had shared an unexpected kiss last year in Dan’s dorm room before he had leapt to his feet, his face redder than Trixie had ever seen it, and declared a pressing need for a “birthday emergency pizza run”.

Trixie blushed at the memory.  They were just friends, but for the moment so were she and Jim.  And neither of them kissed her in what could fairly be described as a “just friends” manner.

Her blush deepened as she inwardly chastised herself.  Valentine’s Day was romantic.  Anybody could make her Valentine’s Day one to remember.  Bobby’s hint was no hint at all.

She looked at him with imploring eyes, those same Belden blues that had wheedled her into dozens of readings of Peter Rabbit night after night. 

As the happy scene in the family room of Crabapple Farm began to grow dark and murky, Bobby leaned toward her and whispered, “It’s...”  

           

“Trixie?  Hey, Trix, you awake?”

“NO!” she shrieked, jerking up from her pillow and shooting daggers at her almost twin.

“Sheesh!  Some thanks I get for helping Moms finish those gift baskets while you napped!  If you’re gonna be this grouchy, maybe you’d better not go to the hospital tonight.”

Trixie blinked rapidly, trying to will her heart to stop racing after her sudden jolt back into the present.  Mart was turning to go, clearly piqued by his sister’s behavior.

“Mart!  Don’t go.  I’m sorry.  You just ... I was having a really, really nice dream and you just interrupted it at the most important part, that’s all.”

Mart’s expression softened and he teasingly waggled his eyebrows and asked, “Nice dream about who?”

“Bobby.”

The disgusted face returned.  “That’s sick, Trix!  Sick, sick, sick!”

Trixie giggled and threw a pillow at him, relieved to see it hit him squarely in the stomach instead of passing right through him.  “Not that kind of dream, you jerk.  It was a dream about my future.”

As she swung her legs off the bed, her foot struck something at the foot of the bed and knocked it to the floor.  She and Mart both reached for it at the same time—Trixie curiously, Mart with a touch of hasty embarrassment.   Trixie was the winner.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding the gaily-wrapped package up.

Mart flushed and mumbled, “It’s a Christmas present for you.”

“But Christmas isn’t for five more days.”

“I know, but you seemed like you were having a rough day and I thought you could use some cheering up.”

No matter how many times he showed his soft side to her—the side that bound them together as something more than mere siblings, the side that acknowledged that it was for more than 31 days in May that they were twins—Mart still managed to surprise Trixie with his non-teasing behavior.

As she stared at him with a bewildered expression, he reverted to his jester side.  “But if you don’t want it...”

He reached out for the gift but Trixie held it close to her chest.  “No, no!  I want it!”

Eagerly, she tore off the wrapping and tossed it carelessly to the floor.  A dark blue scrapbook lay in her hands and she stared at the cover for a moment before opening it.  The slot in the middle had a photograph of her and Diana and Honey in their high school graduation caps and gowns.  The four Bob-White boys were standing behind them.  Curiously, she opened the book and began flipping through the pages.  They were all blank.

With a frown that drew her sandy eyebrows toward her wrinkled nose, she said, “I don’t get it.  How come there’s nothing in it?”

“It’s for when you come to New York next year to go to college,” Mart answered.  “You’ll have lots of things to put in it then.”

Trixie smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.  “You think I’ll get there?”

Mart scoffed audibly.  “Of course, I do!”

“Thanks, Mart.  It’s good to know somebody believes in me.”

“We all believe in you, Trix.  You can do whatever you set your mind to do.  To quote the wise Dr. Emmett Brown, ‘Your future is whatever you make it. So make it a good one.’”

Trixie put a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter.  She and Mart might be “almost twins” but Mart and Bobby were the most twin-like in the Belden family.

“What’s so funny?” Mart huffed in mock insult.  “I think Back to the Future is very deep.”

“Oh, it is,” Trixie agreed, her voice fervently serious but her eyes twinkling wickedly.  “I was just laughing because—”

“Trixie?  Mart?  Dinner’s ready,” came their mother’s voice from downstairs.

Mart was still staring curiously at her.

“Never mind.”  Trixie waved her hand dismissively and with a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin added, “It’s not important.”

She stood, putting her new scrapbook safely on the dresser and imagining all the things she might put in it over the next few years.  Was a Valentine’s Day to remember in her near future?  Would she find something she wanted to do more than pursue a career as a detective?  Or would she try for that dream and fail?  Did the baby girl in Jim’s arms or the little girl swinging in Dan’s protective grip belong to her?

She thought again about Christmas future and the family room filled with love and she realized that Bobby was right.  It wasn’t important how they would all come to be together that Christmas.  What was important was that the Bob-Whites were together and knowing her family and friends were a part of her future, she was confident she could handle whatever challenges life might throw at her.

“Ahem.”  Mart cleared his throat dramatically.  “I can tell by the gleam in your eyes, fair Beatrix, that it is important.”  When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Tell me later?”

“Sure,” Trixie agreed.

As he turned to go, dinner now the most important thing on his mind, she murmured, “Much, much later.”

 

      THE END      

 

 

 

 

Author's Notes

A Christmas Caroling (8,267 words)

Writing for Ryl on my very first Secret Santa adventure?  (thud)  What a challenge!  Ryl is definitely, in my humble opinion, one of the very best authors out there in Trixie fanfic.  Merry Christmas, Ryl!  And thank you for your wonderful stories!

Thanks also to the lovely Cathyoma, who is not only a gracious hostess and chauffeur, willing to treat a near stranger to Chik-Fil-A, but is also a superb organizer of the Jix Secret Santa giftfic event!

And thanks, as always, to my lovely editors, Annette, Heather, and Ruth!

In addition to Ryl’s Q&A that Cathyoma asked us all to fill out to help us come up with the most perfectly perfect stories for our Secret Santa recipients, I also tried to glean information from Ryl’s site and from her stories.

December 20th is not only Ryl’s birthday but also happens to be (same day every year) Go Caroling Day.  That tidbit, helping a friend write a program for a local holiday ice show, and Ryl’s stories themselves (with her wonderful “dream” stories and how friendship amongst the Bob-Whites is the tie that truly binds them) inspired this A Christmas Carol themed story.

This story was written for CWP #2.3 with the following elements:

1. Pumpkin bread (Moms and Trixie are making it for the caroling event)
2. Muzak (hospital intercom/elevator music)
3. Mislabeled gifts (at the hospital Christmas party)
4. Daylight Savings Time (Mart teases Trixie about it)
5. People discussing when it's appropriate to start listening to Christmas music (BWGs at the clubhouse)
6. Scrapbook (Mart’s gift for Trixie)
7. Lipstick smudges (Honey gives them to Dan and Mart)
8. A blizzard or snowstorm (on the ride to the hospital)
9. Ice skates (Trixie asks Brian if they need them to get across the hospital parking lot)
10. Trying to organize something big (a move, a wedding, an anniversary party) coming into the holiday season, when everyone is super busy (one of the Belden children just moved to Crabapple Farm right before the holidays)
11. Book: Where the Wild Things Are (a little girl asks Peter Belden to read it to her)
12.  Carryover from #2.1 - Any Holiday between November 1 and February 1 (Dec. 20-Go Caroling Day)

In addition, faithful readers of Ryl’s wonderful stories just might have noticed that I used all of her story titles in this fanfic.  (And yes, Quando, Quando, Quando was very difficult to work in! *g*).

In the Blink of an Eye (uni)
Good King Wenceslas
Way Leads on to Way
You Don’t Know Me
Halloween Apples
A Valentine’s Day to Remember
The Straight Arrow
Quando, Quando, Quando
Suit Up, Boy!
Bagatelles (uni)
Birthday Emergency
Soothing Ruffled Feathers
Stranded!
Bright Lights
Ties That Bind

This fashion senseless person had help with Mart’s costume, relying on this link and hoping I was describing the outfit properly.  Mart’s costume is Horace Woodman, Gentleman Merchant.

I waited too long to write my Author’s Notes *g* and the discussion on when Nell Frayne died and how old each Belden child was at that time had disappeared from the Jix discussion board.  There’s a lot of ambiguity in canon that can be read into in a variety of ways (and I can talk myself into or out of almost anything *g*) so this is my version of it.

And speaking of talking myself into or out of anything *g*, I know it is believed Dan’s birthday falls between February 27th (the day of the ice carnival in Black Jacket) and July 23rd (when the birthday gift Honey gave him is mentioned in Uninvited Guest) but in this story, it’s Valentine’s Day.  My reasoning? (Besides a convenient way to work in one of Ryl’s story titles...lol)  Dan came to Sleepyside a few weeks before the ice carnival and I can totally imagine Honey, finding out his birthday had just passed before he became a Bob-White, giving a gift retroactively and not wanting to wait a whole year while everybody else’s birthdays passed by.  I think that’s absolutely the compassionate heart she would have.  (Dan’s birthday is April 20th in my main uni, however *g*).

There was another good discussion regarding what circumstances, if any, Peter and Helen would give up the farm.  As they got older and their children moved out, I really couldn’t imagine them wanting to keep up with a farm and a big house, and maybe even worrying about the state of disrepair it could get into, as Ten Acres did.  But I also couldn’t imagine them ever wanting to give it up, unless it was to one of their children.  I definitely don’t think they’d retire to Florida.  They’d want to stay in Sleepyside, close to their family.

Snowflake background is from Absolute Background Textures Archive.  Title header is Kingthings Christmas font from Dafont.com with assistance from Mary (Dianafan) and Google to get it up on my page.  The snowflake dividers are from Microsoft Clip Art.