Selections from the Vault

This page features snippets and short stories first posted on 11 May 2021, after I undertook the task of cleaning out my writing folder.

Please note that none of these have been edited and they will probably not be expanded or continued.

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Feathers

Notes: A tiny snippet without a story to belong to.

“Oh, Trixie! How could you?” There was laughter in Honey’s voice, but also dismay. “I spent hours cleaning in here and now look at it.”

“I didn’t mean it! Honest!” Trixie sighed in resignation to her fate. “But I guess that doesn’t matter and I’d better get cleaning.”

She knelt where she was and began picking up the hundreds of feathers which now littered the clubhouse floor, grasping handfuls of them and trying to stuff them back inside the pillow from which they had escaped.

“How did it even happen?” Honey wanted to know, as she went to help. “You do realise that the others will be here in about two minutes, don’t you?”

“Or less,” Mart quipped, from the doorway. “Pray tell, what disaster has befallen our usually pristine meeting place?”

“Yes, Trixie. You haven’t answered that question, yet.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to,” she snipped. “I just came down to get ready for the meeting and there was a bird in the clubhouse, so I tried to shoo it out, only it didn’t want to go.”

“So you threatened it with becoming pillow stuffing and it fled immediately,” her brother suggested, still standing in the doorway. “Clever, if messy.”

She let out a growl. “If you don’t like the mess, maybe you could help clean up.”

“What actually happened next?” Honey wanted to know.

Trixie grabbed at a group of feathers that lay against the wall before answering. “Well, I was just trying to guide it out with my hands, at first, only that wasn’t working, so I looked around for something bigger to hold up. There wasn’t all that much I could use, but I thought maybe this pillow would be a start, at least, so I tried using it to shoo the bird and it kind of worked, except that the fabric must have been rotten because it just came to pieces in my hand and feathers went everywhere.”

“Yes, we can see that part,” Mart noted.

“And then I tried to stop the feathers from going everywhere, only instead they flew up in the air. And then the bird started attacking me – or so I thought – and the next thing I know, there’s feathers everywhere.”

“So, where is this bird?” Mart wondered.

Trixie threw up her hands, inadvertently flicking a feather over her shoulder. “I don’t know. It must have flown outside sometime, while I was battling the pillow.”

The Research Project

Notes: I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea because even I find it confusing. But it’s complete, such as it is. Now, imagine that Trixie turned 13 in 1948, when Secret of the Mansion was first published…

September, 2030
Orlando, Florida

“Mom! Where are you? I need some help with my project!” Walking into the house fresh from stepping off the school bus, twelve-year-old Tara Simpson dumped all of her belongings in a heap on the kitchen floor.

Her brother Luke, five years her senior, rolled his eyes as he took a bite out of a red apple and lounged against the counter. “She’s not here. She told you this morning that she wouldn’t be. She’s helping old Mrs. Fletcher with her shopping and cleaning and stuff. You’ll have to do your project by yourself.”

Horror-struck, Tara’s jaw dropped. “But I can’t!” she wailed. “It’s a family history project and it’s due tomorrow and I don’t know anything about our family. How can I do a project on something I don’t know anything about?”

Luke shrugged and walked away. “You shouldn’t leave your projects to the last minute.”

Tara groaned and slumped into a chair. Grabbing an apple from the bowl, she took a bite and considered the problem. Research had never been her strong point, but perhaps she might be able to find out a little about her family in the limited time she had available. Ever a tactile person, she pulled out a sheaf of papers from her school bag, along with her favourite pen and began to doodle. Now, let’s see, she mused. Ms. Baker said to start with what we know, so what is it that I know?

‘Tara Elizabeth Simpson, born 23 February 2018,’ she wrote, then embellished the statement with a row of little hearts and flowers. Drawing two lines, she added her parents’ names and birthdays: ‘Aaron Simpson, born 5 December’ and ‘Julie Simpson, born 18 August.’ She did not know the years her parents were born, but decided that did not matter much. After a few moments’ thought, she crossed out Simpson after her mother’s name and replaced it with Harris.

A little more thinking and a lot more doodles later, she came to the conclusion that her father’s parents were Paul and Lynn Simpson and her mother’s parents were Adam and Peggy Harris. She had some vague memories of great-grandparents, but could not even remember which family line they belonged to, or what their names might have been. Nothing more in the way of information came to her, however, and soon the page bore a multitude of squiggles, flowers and hearts, not to mention an entire menagerie along one edge.

She was just adding a bow to the neck of a particularly cute kitten when Luke entered the room. “Is that all you’ve done?” he asked in amazement. “All this time and you’ve just got five names and a couple of dates?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he retrieved a casserole from the refrigerator and started it reheating. Pulling her page towards himself, he sat down at the table next to her and frowned at the scant information there.

“Will you get upset if I write on this?” he asked. Seeing the unspoken answer in her face, he sighed and turned to a new sheet. “It might help a little if you were a bit more accurate.”

Tara screwed up her nose as she watched her brother write. In her opinion, he had the most ugly, disgusting handwriting she had ever seen and should never be allowed to use a pen. The corrections he was making did not impress her much, either. So what if Mom is really Julia? Everyone calls her Julie. And so what if Mama Simpson’s name is really Lynda and not Lynn. Seeing the next correction, she felt the need to object: “Now, that’s just not right! Gran’s name is Peggy. I know it is. It’s not Margaret.”

Her brother smiled and continued adding information. “Peggy is an old nickname for Margaret. I’m pretty sure these other dates are right – Dad was born in 1983 and Mom in 1986; I remember that from my family history project. All the grandparents were born in the 1950s and 1960s, but I’m not sure I’ve got them exactly the right way around. That’s enough to give you an idea, though, when you go through Mom’s scans of all the old family stuff. Now, get on that computer and start researching. By the time dinner is on the table, I expect you to have found out both grandmothers’ maiden names, which state each grandparent was born in and a little bit about each of them.”

Rolling her eyes at Luke’s high-handed treatment of her, Tara summoned up the will-power to do what she had to do.

“How is the project going, sweetie?”

Tara sighed with relief to hear her mother’s voice. “It’s kind of tough,” she admitted. “Can you take a look at what I’ve got and tell me if it’s all right?”

Taking a seat next to her daughter, Julie Simpson took the sheet of paper from the outstretched hand with a soft smile. This copy was decorated with a border of stars and leaves, while each name appeared to be written on a scroll. Picking up a pencil, she made a few minor corrections to dates and names.

“That’s great, sweetheart. As far as I remember, the rest of that is right.” Patting the girl’s arm, she added, “Dinner is just about ready. After we’ve eaten, you can give each set of grandparents a call and see if they can give you any information on their parents and grandparents. If we do that, do you think you’ll have enough to write your report before breakfast tomorrow?”

A woebegone look appeared on Tara’s face. “Before breakfast? You mean, I have to get up early to finish it?”

Her mother’s expression hardened. “How long have you had this project? A week? Two? Do I have to remind you of all the things we’ve let you do over the last couple of weeks?”

There had been rather a lot of ‘just this once’ exceptions to the usual household rules lately. Later than usual bedtimes and missed chores had been allowed for a variety of reasons. Tara shook her head, and submitted to her fate.

After dinner, the two phone calls gave her more names, dates and places to add to her chart and just a little hint from her Gran that there might be some interesting stories to uncover, should she care to look. Somehow, she doubted that that would be the case. She probably just means old Senator Simpson again, she thought, with a roll of her eyes. All the old people think he was really important, but really he’s just BORING. If I never hear another word about him, it will be too soon!

All her life, Tara had lived with stories of her great-grandfather, a man who had died before she was even born. Her own grandfather had chosen not to go into politics, but his brother was, to this day, a Senator and part of an important political dynasty. That part of the family still lived in Virginia. Often, when people started talking about politics, Tara wished her own family lived further away from there still, like perhaps on the moon.

Turning to the large map of the United States which hung on her wall, Tara started looking for the towns and cities where her ancestors had lived. Let’s see, she thought, scanning the surface of the chart. Papa Simpson’s father was born somewhere in Virginia and his mother came from New York City and they lived in Virginia … Mama Simpson’s father came from New York City and no one seems to remember where her mother came from, but they lived in New York City … Gramps’ father came from Cincinnati and his mother came from a little town in New York State – what was it called again? Oh, why didn’t I write it down? Anyway, they lived in Boston, Massachusetts until he died and then she moved back home … Gran’s father came from upstate New York and her mother came from that same place I forgot to write down and they lived in upstate New York. Eyes crossing at all of this information, she began to wonder exactly how her parents and grandparents had ever met each other.

She glanced at the clock. Bedtime was fast approaching, but she wanted to get a little bit more work in before she went to sleep. Knowing her usual morning outlook, it was unlikely that she would feel motivated towards extra research first thing in the morning. She turned back to the computer and started up a few searches, using the latest information she had gathered. The first few items she found were useful as corroboration, but not particularly interesting. Soon, however an article from the archives of a newspaper by the name of The Sleepyside Sun caught her attention.

“That’s the name of the town!” she cried aloud.

Leaning forward, she quickly began to scan through the article, her mouth dropping open in surprise. The story dated from 1948 and detailed two teenagers’ narrow escape from a con-man by throwing saucepans at a police officer from the windows of a trailer. Tara giggled at the quaint way that the story was written and the mental image it brought. Reaching the end, she let out a gasp. Not only was one of the teenagers surely her mother’s mother’s mother – how many thirteen-year-old girls called Trixie Belden could there be in that one small town? – but the con-man had been posing as a man by the name of Lynch and that was her mother’s father’s mother’s maiden name. Could this be a coincidence? Tara checked out some more newspaper articles from the same paper to see if she could find out.

The 1950 Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School production of Romeo and Juliet starred a girl called Diana Lynch, and that was her ancestor’s name and approximate age. The illustrative photograph was of a very pretty girl, but Tara did not see any family resemblance to her grandfather.

Another time the group uncovered a plot to steal a valuable music box and blame it on teenagers. The paper had an outraged tone, which seemed to have resulted from the fact that they had been badly duped in the process. There were other adventures around the same time; it seemed that the group liked crime-fighting.

Next, she found an article on the engagement of Madeleine ‘Honey’ Wheeler, daughter of a New York millionaire and local resident, to Walter Simpson, son of a well-known politician. There was a photograph to go with that story as well. The young woman was pretty and slender, the man rather stuffy-looking, rather like Tara’s great-uncle the Senator.

Another engagement announcement followed for Diana Lynch, whose father was another New York millionaire, and Adrian Harris of Cincinnati. Mr. Harris, the article intimated, was an authority on new technology and would soon be taking up an appointment at a prestigious Boston university. The couple had met through Diana’s father’s business. The photograph showed the same young woman as the one-time Juliet and a slightly-built, intelligent-looking man.

The following story caused Tara’s eyes to pop open wider. In the gossipy style that seemed to be the paper’s standard, it told that two local residents were soon to be married. Jim Frayne, adopted son of the very same New York millionaire as was the father of Honey Wheeler, was to marry Trixie Belden, daughter of a long-established Sleepyside family. Tara stared at her chart and traced along the lines with her fingers. Did that mean that her mother’s mother and her father’s father were related? She screwed up her nose in disgust.

Shortly afterwards, she found that the husband of Diana Harris had died and she had married Trixie’s brother, Mart. Tara could not quite figure out what relationship that made between her relatives, but it did not seem good.

Giving up The Sleepyside Sun as a bad joke, she widened her search and found some earlier articles from newspapers in a variety of different locations. She had chosen one from Iowa and had just begun to read about an adventure connected with sheep-thieves when she was interrupted.

“Tara! Into bed, please,” her mother chided from the doorway.

“But, Mom!” Tara pleaded. “I’m in the middle of reading something really interesting. It says that they were girl detectives and they had adventures and caught sheep-thieves single-handed and what are girl detectives?”

“Detectives who were girls? Now, into bed, please.”

Tara felt tears coming to her eyes. “Just ten more minutes, please?”

Her mother shook her head. “You should have started the project earlier, you know. In the morning will be soon enough.”

Grumbling under her breath, Tara set the alarm for extra early, then settled into her bed. She felt as if she would never get to sleep. Thoughts of those long-ago adventures spun around and around in her mind and gradually blended into her dreams.

The harsh sound of the alarm came as a shock when it went off. Tara groaned and tried to remember why it was that she had wanted to be awake so early. Gradually, the room began to come into focus and she noticed the papers from her research on the desk. At once, she was wide awake and jumping out of bed. She rushed through the necessities of the morning to get back to her reading as quickly as possible. A thrill of excitement went through her as she once again saw the reproduction of that long-ago newspaper.

A few lines into the story, Tara grabbed her chart and compared it to the names in the story, letting out an excited squeal. “A club! They had a club and they had adventures and I’m not just descended from anybody, I’m descended from a club!”

From the next room, she heard a soft groan and realised that it was still very early and that she had just exclaimed aloud. Shuffling footsteps signalled the approach of her brother.

“Okay, what’s the excitement?” he demanded sleepily. “You’ve uncovered a plot to take over the world, or something?”

“Luke! It’s so exciting! Just look at this – they had a club and we’re descended from a club!”

He smiled and leaned forward to read. “Technically, we’re not descended from the whole club,” he answered. “There’s three siblings there and we’re only descended from one of them. That leaves two members not in our family tree.”

“Oh, but I found one of them.” Tara began to scrabble through her papers. “He married our great-grandmother after our great-grandfather died. That only leaves one and he’s related anyway because he’s our other great-grandmother’s brother.”

“Have it your way,” he answered with a shrug. “But don’t you think you’d better write the paper? Isn’t it due today? You can find out about their club some other time.”

Tara sighed in frustration, knowing that he was right but not liking it one bit. She read through the rest of the article, then set her mind to the actual purpose of the exercise, which was writing a paper on her family history. By the time she had to leave for school, she felt that she had done a reasonable job of it, but that she could have done a lot better. She resolved to speak to her teacher about it at the first possible moment.

That moment came when the teacher walked into class that morning. Tara was right next to her, the words just spilling out of her. “I’ve submitted my paper, Ms. Baker, but I could do better, I just know I could, if I could have a bit more time, and it’s so interesting and I don’t want to just leave it at that because I just know that’s not the whole story, but I didn’t have time to find out any more because I left the project too late,” she admitted, blushing a little.

The teacher smiled, looked up the paper and glanced through it. “I’m sure this will be fine. You seem to have found out a lot already.”

“But I know I can do better,” Tara insisted. “Please, may I put in a revised paper in a few days’ time?”

“Family history research is never finished, Tara,” the teacher explained. “No matter how long you work on it, you will never find out everything there is to find. If you understand that, however, I will give you two days’ extension to revise your paper.”

“Thank you, thank you, Ms. Baker!” Tara cried. “I can’t wait to get working on it.”

That afternoon after school, Tara sat down once again and started looking for information on her ancestors. It did not take long to find a large number of references, with lots of names, dates and places. Her head began to swim with the excess of information.

This is too much, she thought to herself, as she tried to get the details straight in her mind. I just can’t remember if this article is about my mother’s mother’s mother, or my mother’s father’s mother. Maybe if I put it in order it might make more sense.

She opened a new document and began to write the story:

In 1948, seven teenagers formed a club and had adventures. When they grew up, two of them married each other. That was Trixie Belden and Jim Frayne. ‘Honey’ Wheeler married Walter Simpson and Diana Lynch married one of her father’s business associates called Adrian Harris. When Adrian Harris died, Diana married Mart Belden who was another club member. Dan Mangan married Gina Thomas. As far as I can see, the other one (that was Brian Belden) didn’t marry anyone.

Then their children grew up. Jim and Trixie’s daughter Peggy is my Gran and she married Diana’s son (her son with Adrian Harris, not her son with Mart Belden, which would have been squicky). His name is Adam Harris and he’s my Gramps. They had a daughter called Julie, who is my Mom.

Honey and Walter’s son was Paul Simpson and he’s my Papa. He married Dan and Gina’s daughter Lynda and she’s my Mama. Their son Aaron Simpson is my Dad.

She sat back and considered what she had written. It summed up the background, along with how each of the members was related to her. She decided that the part she had written in her original report was better, but that this would do here for the moment, and continued with the narrative.

But back in 1948, they didn’t know that was going to happen. They just wanted a club and to have adventures. They travelled places and solved mysteries. Trixie and Honey were girl detectives, which is what it was called in those days.

One time they ran an antique show to raise money for poor children and they caught the burglars who tried to rob them. Another time, they had an ice carnival to get new books for a school library in Mexico, after it got destroyed in an earthquake. They helped lots of people by solving their problems for them.

Adventure after adventure unfolded on the screen in front of her, sometimes embellished a little out of Tara’s imagination. And as the list of people the club had helped grew, so did Tara’s resolve to help people, too. This was a heritage far more interesting and important than some old politician. Now that she knew about this part of her family history, she recognised those same traits in the family members she knew.

Some time later, Julie Simpson looked in on her daughter and found her hard at work. A soft smile crossed her face as she read over her daughter’s shoulder. The Bob-Whites may all be gone, but they were not forgotten and their example still inspired a new generation.

If Honey Kissed Nick

Notes: A snippet featuring a conversation between the three Bob-White girls about potential romance.

“You remember that time when we talked about what would happen if I kissed Nick Roberts right in front of Brian?” Honey asked, out of the blue, in the darkness after they had turned out the lights.

“No,” Trixie answered, while at the same time Di replied, “Yes.”

“We were talking about whether Brian would react or not. And if it would be a good reaction, or a bad reaction.”

“I don’t remember anything like that. Was I even there?”

“Yes!” the other two chorused.

“You kept rolling your eyes and making remarks about Honey’s taste in boys.”

“I did not!”

“Oh, yes, you did,” Honey and Di replied together. They burst into laughter.

“Well, maybe I might have,” Trixie answered, “but I don’t remember anything about it. And even if I did, what was your point in bringing it up? Did you really kiss Nick?”

Honey hesitated for long enough that the other two gasped.

“You didn’t!” Di’s voice sounded breathy. “Nick! I can’t believe it.”

“Well, actually, no, I didn’t kiss Nick,” Honey admitted. “I didn’t ever really want to kiss Nick and, as far as I know, Nick didn’t ever really want to kiss me, but I thought, at the time, that he was a useful example of someone I might possibly be able to kiss, whether in front of Brian or not was kind of beside the point, but I didn’t actually want to kiss Nick, even if I kind of suggested that I might have wanted to, even–”

“Honey, you’re rambling,” Trixie cut in. “You kissed someone, didn’t you? Someone other than Nick or Brian.”

“You know that Brian and I talked about it and decided that we weren’t going to kiss each other, even if we might have once thought that we might like to. And I just told you that I didn’t kiss Nick, even if I might have suggested that I might want to, when – as I also just told you – I never actually did.”

Trixie let out a grunt. “Yes, Honey, you did just tell us all that. And we did know about your conversation with Brian. We analysed it to death right after it happened.”

“Well, I did need to work through what that meant for me,” Honey explained. “It was a complete change in what I thought I wanted, or at least, from what I used to think I wanted to what I now knew I wanted, which was different from the things I wanted when I didn’t want what I want now.”

“I’m going to pretend I understood that and just move on,” Di decided. “Who. Did. You. Kiss?”

“Well, before I tell you that, I need to explain that what I wanted when I thought I wanted what I wanted before wasn’t the same as what I wanted–”

“Honey!” Di’s voice was loud enough that the other two shushed her. “Get to the point!”

“But, you know that I like that Brian is responsible and older and I need to explain that–”

“Someone older?” Trixie squeaked. “How much older? And who? How many older guys do you even know? Unless it’s Regan, or–”

“No! Of course it’s not Regan,” Honey objected. “I couldn’t – I mean, he’s very, um, attractive, in a completely off-limits kind of way. Almost like Tom, only Tom’s married and Regan isn’t, which is a completely different kind of off-limits.”

“Honey!” Di repeated.

“You think Regan is attractive?” Trixie asked, intrigued.

“Don’t you?” Di replied. “But forget that! I want to know who Honey really kissed. Was it really someone older?”

“When I said older, I didn’t really mean older older, but more like more grown-up kind of older, the way that Brian is older than some of his class-mates, even though they’re actually the same age, which is one of the things I like about him.”

“Which you just said,” Trixie put in, through gritted teeth. “Just stop explaining and give us a name already!”

“Marvin.” Honey blurted. “There. I said it. I kissed Marvin. On the lips. In the back of the Cameo. On our first date.”

“Who on earth is Marvin?” Trixie demanded. “I don’t know anyone called Marvin!”

Di made a choking noise. “Do you mean that short new guy, with the glasses? And braces on his teeth? And he wears really strange, baggy clothes all the time? And he leans in close to you for no reason at all and his breath always smells of garlic?”

“No, that’s Melvin,” Trixie answered. “Melvin Shapowitz, or something like that. Is Marvin that geeky guy in Honey’s history class? The one who keeps his calculator in his shirt pocket?”

“You mean Derek?” Honey asked.

“Marvin. Derek. It’s all the same.” Trixie let out a frustrated sound. “So, who is this Marvin? And why didn’t we hear that you were going on a date with him?”

Honey answered with a nervous laugh. “Well, it was kind of a last-minute date. I wasn’t expecting that there was going to be a date, so I didn’t tell you in advance, because I didn’t know until I knew, at which point it was too late.”

“You went on a last-minute date with some guy we’ve never seen or heard of? Honey! This makes no sense!” Trixie sat up and switched on a lamp. “I need to see your face, so I can tell whether you’re really telling the truth.”

“Oh.” Honey’s face tinted pink and she looked away. “Well, maybe it wasn’t actually Marvin that I went on a last-minute date with, only I was going to admit who it really was and then I chickened out at the last moment and that was the first name I thought of that sounds just a little like the name that I actually should have said, which is rather like it, only it doesn’t have any Vs in it.”

Trixie thumped onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. “You didn’t.”

Di suddenly burst into giggles. “You did, didn’t you? You actually kissed Mart!”

“I’m so sorry!” Honey wailed. “I didn’t mean to and it kind of just happened and it wasn’t actually a date at all, but more like accidentally bumping into a friend and just happening to decide to go to the movies together, only then it was dark and the movie was boring and it just happened and we didn’t plan it and I’m so sorry!”

“You know that I had one of those conversations with Mart,” Di told her. “We analysed mine every bit as much as we analysed yours.”

“I know! But it’s different when something actually happens and I never expected what happened would happen, at least not like that, without any warning–”

“Honey, please,” Di interrupted. “It’s okay. Really.”

“It is?” She turned to Trixie. “With you, too?”

Trixie screwed up her nose. “Kiss my brother if you must. I don’t suppose it matters which one. Except Bobby, of course. That’s just gross.” A thought occurred to her. “But what was all that about someone older? Mart’s not more grown-up than other guys!”

“He’s more grown up than a lot of guys at school,” Di disagreed. “You might not have noticed, but we have.”

Honey grinned. “And you know what this means, don’t you? Nick is potentially still free and there’s no reason why one of you might not make some moves in that direction.”

Trixie frowned. “I’m not interested in Nick.”

“No?” Honey’s voice dripped innocence. “Maybe I didn’t mean you.”

A Different Drummer

Notes: I think this was written during the Jix Author Half-Marathon challenge in 2019 and draws its inspiration from one of the pictures from CWE#3 (picture 27, which is on page 3).

“Is that where you wanted it, Mrs. Austen?” Trixie asked, as she plonked a vase of fresh flowers onto a table.

“Just a little to the left, dear,” the elderly lady replied, “and turn them around a little. Perfect.”

“What would you like us to do next?” Honey added.

Mrs. Austen glanced around the room. “You’ve done so much already. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Diana smiled. “It’s no trouble at all. We’ve enjoyed helping you.”

Years ago, when Helen Belden first came to Sleepyside, Mrs. Austen had been president of the garden club. Too frail to manage more than a pot-plant or two, she now lived with her husband in a retirement village. After damage from a water leak destroyed her carpets, and a series of long and messy repairs had been made, Helen had sent the three high school seniors over to help get their home back into order.

“The least I can do is offer you some refreshments. Arthur?”

“Coming, dear.”

“No, no. I just meant…” She shook her head, as he shuffled into the room carrying a tray. “Oh, but that’s what I was going to ask for.”

“Maybe I know you by now,” he answered with a hint of a smile.

He set the tray, which held some small plates and a platter piled high with numerous kinds of cookies, down on the table and turned back towards the small kitchen.

“Let me help you,” Trixie offered, following him.

They returned a short time later, carrying drinks – coffee for the elderly couple and hot chocolate for the girls. Diana, who would have much preferred a coffee, shared a glance with Trixie as she handed it over. As Mr. Austen settled into his chair, Honey handed around the plates and then offered the platter, starting with their hosts.

“Oh, thank you, dear. Perhaps just one… or maybe two or three.” The old lady laughed. “My children and grandchildren know that I love home-made cookies, but don’t make them myself any more. I always have more in the house than I could possibly eat, but I can’t bring myself to tell them to stop.”

“You can tell them they’re delicious,” Trixie put in, between mouthfuls.

Honey nodded agreement. “How many grandchildren do you have?”

The old lady beamed. “Twelve. And seven great-grandchildren so far, with two more on the way.”

Her husband smiled at her. “You’re more excited about it than the grandparents.”

“I didn’t set out to live this long, but I’m going to enjoy it since I’m still here.”

“I suppose you’ve been married for a very long time, then?” Honey asked. “Were you high school sweethearts?”

Mrs. Austen laughed. “Heavens, no! If you’d told me when I was sixteen that I would spend over sixty-three years married to Arthur here, why I’d have thought you were mad. No. When I was a girl, everyone expected me to marry Bill Nevins.”

“Pah!” Arthur Austen spat. “That no-good, dirty little–”

“He was a very handsome young man,” his wife cut in, her eyes shining with amusement. “And a good dancer. Smart, too.”

“A bit too smart!”

She sipped her coffee and did not directly comment. “I have no complaints about the way things worked out. I was surprised that things with Bill fizzled out the way they did, but that left me free for when my true love came along.”

Arthur reached over and squeezed her hand.

“Then, everything worked out for the best,” Honey commented. “There was nothing to stand in your way. I love stories with a happy ending.”

“Gracious, child! You make it sound like I waltzed out of one man’s arms and into another’s. Meeting Arthur was just the beginning of my troubles.”

“What do you mean?” cried Trixie. “You’d found your true love. Didn’t everything else just kind of get brushed aside?”

“Oh, it’s easy to say now that it was true love,” Mr. Austen answered with a chuckle. “At the time, Amelia’s father thought she could do better and he wasn’t afraid to say so, to my face.”

Di looked down into her cup. “My parents have those sorts of expectations for me, I think. And then there’s all the people who think that just because I go to all the dances with the same boy…”

“We all have to live with those sorts of expectations,” Honey added. “Even Trixie, whose parents wouldn’t ever dream of saying something like that to someone.”

“But all of our parents just want us to be happy,” Trixie argued. “And it’s not any of those people’s business who are on the outside, judging us. Their opinions don’t even matter.”

“What about our opinions?” Di wondered. “Are we pushing each other into relationships, just because it’s what we expect us to do?”

Mrs. Austen gazed away, perhaps into the past. “I wonder, sometimes, what my life might have been like if I had done the things that were expected of me. There were so many expectations and so few of them appealed to me.”

“Yes, that’s the trouble.” Trixie swirled the last of her hot chocolate around the bottom of the cup. “There are so many things I’d like to do and places I’d like to go and I don’t know how I’ll ever do all of them, or even if that’s a good idea. And then there’s the person that people expect me to be and the things they expect me to do and they don’t completely match – though there are some things they expect that I’m totally on board with.”

Diana turned a teasing glance her way. “Anything in particular?”

“Yes.” Trixie grinned. “I’m perfectly happy with the expectation that I wear clothes. Especially in this weather.”

Di laughed. “That’s more of a societal expectation, not one that’s specific to you. I was thinking of something – or someone – else.”

Trixie shrugged. “So far, the time hasn’t ever been right. And I don’t know whether it ever will. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t need to know right now. Maybe none of us do.”

“And maybe there are some unexpected turns in our roads,” Honey added. “Just think of all the different things we might do one day.”

“And all the unexpected people we might marry?” Di asked, smiling. “You never know; Trixie might marry… I don’t know, maybe Nick Roberts!”

Honey laughed. “I don’t think that one’s going to happen.”

“I know it doesn’t seem that way now, but there’s no need to rush,” Mrs. Austen told them. “The future is waiting for you, in all its glorious mysteriousness.”

“Now that’s a concept I can get on board with,” Trixie quipped. “I like that: our future is a mystery, and I can’t wait to solve it.”

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