Chapter 9 : This Old House

Trixie was furious. Madder than she'd ever been before. It wasn't the quick-temper kind of mad, either, but the kind that simmered deep in the bones before boiling over in short bursts of movement and snarling words and spiteful phrases.

She stood in the doorway to her bedroom, staring hard at the federal agent currently rummaging through the dresser drawers. "You sure you know what you're doing?" she barked. "You might have overlooked some socks."

The agent, a woman Trixie judged to be about twenty-five or so, did not respond. She simply continued with her methodical search of the underwear drawer before shutting it and moving on to the next. She briefly picked up a pale green T-shirt before pushing it back into place.

"Oh, that's right," Trixie said again. "Who knows what kind of mischief a person could make with a shirt from the Westchester County Fair!"

The agent continued to work, shoving her hands under and through the clothes, checking the drawers for false bottoms and hidden compartments and items taped underneath. Finally finished with the dresser, she opened the jewelry box that sat on top of the antique maple dresser. She lifted out a stack of folded papers, a stray lipstick, several batteries and one silver bracelet.

"Leave that alone!" Trixie darted forward and snatched the piece of jewelry from the agent's grasp. She stared up at the woman, daring her to say something.

The agent dared. "James your boyfriend?" she asked with the faintest trace of condescension in her voice and her posture.

Trixie's rage burned even hotter. She felt the flush of it infuse her shoulders and neck. She was strangely conscious of every part of her body as it prepared itself for a physical confrontation. Her thoughts were completely focused on the moment and it seemed like her muscles were making sure they'd be ready to do their part as well. She wanted to snap back with a sharp retort. She wanted to slap the woman. She wanted more than anything else to stop the insanity of being forced to allow strangers to paw through her private things while they searched for evidence to keep her father behind bars. What she said was, "He's no concern of yours."

The agent actually chuckled. "Like I'm interested in some teenager." Shaking her head, she returned to her search, moving now to the bookshelf.

Trixie stuffed the bracelet into her pocket. "What?" she asked, hearing her own voice drip with sarcasm. "You're not going to check the mirror for hidden objects? Look here. You missed this." She pulled several photographs from the frame, pictures of past BWG events, picnics, her cousins and an all-Belden family portrait, taken in Idaho last year.

The agent paid her no attention. One by one, she took each book from the shelf and opened it, apparently to make sure each was a real book and to see what might fall out from inside. After a moment, she said, "We already know what the defendant looks like."

Trixie bit back an uncomplimentary remark. She saw the agent grab a particular title. "Hey! Be careful with those, okay? Those are collector's items, you know."

The agent looked critically at the spines. "'Lucy Radcliffe and the Purple Persimmon'? This is worth money?" She sank slowly to her knees on the plush green carpet, making herself more comfortable.

"In hardcover and with the author's signature, yes," Trixie replied pertly. "I saw it go on eBay for forty-five dollars."

"American?" She seemed dubious that anyone would pay so much for a children's book. "Wow. I used to read these as a kid."

Trixie didn't want to be nice, but finding another fan of Lucy Radcliffe was so rare. She managed a polite, "Oh?"

The agent nodded, but continued her search, albeit more carefully with the Radcliffes. "I had the whole set, all ten of them."

"They've made more since then."

"I can see that," the agent said. "Makes me wish I'd kept up. Or at least hadn't given my books to charity when I left for college." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "I was beyond childish things, you see."

Trixie nodded. "So you left home to become a Gestapo?"

"Whoa!" the agent protested with a laughing glare. "I've known what I wanted to be since I was eight years old and read my very first Lucy Radcliffe. I was going to be a spy." She made a grandiose gesture with one hand and then shrugged. "Nowadays, that means the FBI or CIA. I chose the FBI because I don't really care to travel the world so much." She had not found anything suspicious in the books so far, but she resolutely continued to the next shelf anyway.

"I see." Trixie didn't want to understand this woman. She tried her best not to identify in any way with her.

"Why?" the agent asked. "What about you? What do you see yourself doing with your life? Surely you must have some dreams."

By way of reply, Trixie shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know." Usually she was the first to spell out her ambition for whoever would listen, but something prevented her from speaking now.

The agent sat back on her heels. "Come on, you can tell me. What do you see yourself as in five years? An actress? A model, maybe?"

Trixie burst out laughing. "A model! Me? You can't be serious!"

But the woman did look serious. "Why not? You're certainly pretty enough to be one."

Self-consciously, Trixie ran a hand along her stomach. "I'm no waif."

The agent eyed her critically. "So what? That hunger-strike, heroin chic look is all over now anyway. One of those ultra-thins is going to die of a heart attack before she's thirty, you mark my words." She wagged a finger at Trixie before replacing the Radcliffes on the shelf. "So, if not a model, then what?"

Feeling shy, she replied, "I'm going to be a detective." Before the agent could say or do anything, she continued. "My best friend Honey and I are going to open our own agency after college. We've already solved lots of cases for the local cops as well as other cities and even in England!"

"I'm impressed!" The older woman finished putting away the books. Still on the floor, she bent over and checked underneath the beds, pulling out a small flashlight to peer up at the bedframe. "So you're going to do this kind of thing," she said with a grin. "Maybe we'll work together on a case some day."

"Yeah, maybe," Trixie agreed. She leaned back against her dresser and thought about it. Joining the FBI was certainly a possibility. She should look into it. She'd always thought she'd prefer to be her own boss, but the way Scully and Mulder made it appear, a Special Agent kind of always was. At least there'd be a regular paycheck, which was a drawback to self-employment that her father had pointed out to her more than once.

They chatted a bit more about Lucy Radcliffe and the general ins and outs of law enforcement while the agent rummaged through Hallie's suitcase, the bedside tables and then the closet. "Careful in there," Trixie cautioned. "Moms is always telling me one day I'm going to open that door and get beaned senseless."

The agent laughed. "My mom used to say the same thing." Still, she managed to do a fairly good job of keeping herself from harm while doing a thorough inspection of the closet. She even went so far as to tap the walls and ceilings.

"This house is almost a hundred and seventy-five years old," Trixie said. "I don't think the people building it considered they'd need a hiding space for my dad."

The agent snickered. "I guess not. But you have to look everywhere." She gave Trixie a significant look. "You learn that when you're on the job."

Trixie flushed inwardly with pleasure. It was rare enough to find an adult who appreciated her ambitions without hurtful comment, rarer still to find that adult in law enforcement herself. The way the woman spoke to her now, using terms like 'on the job', made her feel as if she were already part of some ancient brotherhood or, in this case, sisterhood.

"I think I'm all done in here," the agent finally said. "I'll tell the boss." She smiled at Trixie and turned to go.

"Wait!" Trixie called out. The woman turned, surprised. "What's your name?"

She smiled. "I'm Agent Chadwick, but you can call me Gloria."

"It's nice to meet you, Gloria," she said. The woman nodded and left. Trixie surveyed the damage to her room. Despite her fears, there really wasn’t much out of place. Gloria had been remarkably kind to her belongings, unlike the agent searching the dining room who had dropped a china sugar bowl, breaking off the handle. Fear of a clumsy agent breaking something of hers had prompted her demand to oversee the inspection of her own room. Now there wasn't much left but a small clean-up job.

Eh. She could leave that for later.

*     *     *

The FBI stayed another two hours. Trixie discovered they had been searching the farmhouse for three hours before that. Special Agent Hoffman had even dispatched an investigator into the hen house, the barn and the work shed. "You'd be surprised where people will hide things," she explained.

By then, Mart and Cap had returned home from their excursions as well. The Beldens sat together in the family room, sipping coffee and warm tea, not speaking beyond necessity. Mr. Davis kept the agents from bothering them with pesky questions. He also provided calm rationalism to combat Trixie and Bobby's complaints.

"Well, I don't understand why we have to just sit here," Bobby grumbled. "You let Trixie watch them search her room!"

"I did not," Mr. Davis replied. "She went up there on her own. Against my advice."

"What's the big deal?" Trixie asked. "I didn't interfere and I didn't cause any problems. Gloria and I actually got on quite well."

Brian's eyes opened wide. "Gloria? Now you're calling them by their first names?"

"So what?"

"Geez, Trix," Knut groaned. "Did you ever think just maybe she was pumping you for information?"

"Like what?" Trixie started to laugh. What could she have told them? Her father was innocent. She'd never say or do anything that would suggest otherwise. Would she?

"Trixie," Mr. Davis began patiently, "you should not say anything to anyone without me present. Promise me you'll try and remember that."

She slumped against the couch and folded her arms. "Fine. I won't say a word."

Helen, already cradling Bobby against her side, reached over to her daughter and patted her hand comfortingly where it lay on the sofa cushion. Trixie looked over at her mother and smiled her thanks. They lapsed into silence once more.

After her second glass of tea, Trixie excused herself to use the bathroom. A burly agent permitted her entrance to the downstairs bathroom and waited for her outside. Washing her hands afterward, she saw something cross in front of the window, casting a shadow on the sink. She wiped her hands hurriedly on a towel and went to look.

The downstairs bathroom overlooked the side yard. Since privacy in a bathroom is important, the lower window pane was frosted. All Trixie could see were shadows and shapes of two people in dark clothes. They were moving and pacing. More than that, they were talking.

Trixie released the hasp on the window and slowly pushed the lower pane up one inch, hoping against hope the agents outside would neither hear nor see the moving glass. They continued to talk. She bent her ear to the opening and listened hard.

"…worked her up just as you said, but she didn't bite. So I tried a different tack."

"Yeah? What?"

"She's got these kids books. You know, like 'Nancy Drew'. I yanked it off the shelf and she jumped. Told me it was worth bucks. So I played it up."

Trixie gasped audibly, then covered her mouth. Her mind screamed uncomplimentary remarks even as she tried her best to pay attention to the rest of the conversation.

"… weak spot and used it. I'm impressed, Agent Chadwick. Good job."

"What's more, I found out the kid really does want to be a detective. So I figure… leave her alone and she could prove our case for us."

Trixie peeked through the inch-wide crack but could only manage to see the agents' legs. She was unable to determine precisely to whom Chadwick was speaking, but she was reasonably sure it was Special Agent Hoffman.

"Or you could talk her into helping her country."

"I don't know about that. I'd rate her loyalty to her father pretty high on the scale."

You just bet my loyalty's high! Especially now, Trixie thought. And to think that I was almost suckered in by that snake in the grass's pitch. How naïve is that?

A third person walked up. "Agent Hoffman? We're done with the house and I think Stills is done with the chickens. Ha-ha. One of them flew at him and scratched through his pants."

Good for you, Queenie! Trixie thought with a victorious grin. The original Queenie had died a year ago, a victim of a fox attack. The Beldens had trapped and integrated the wild hen's chicks with their own flock. One of the chicks showed definite signs of 'queenie-dom', so they kept her alive and happy. It was obviously this new hen who had defended her home against the federal invaders.

"He need any help?"

"Nah. He's fine."

Trixie moved closer to the window. The breeze picked up and all she could hear was the rustling of leaves in the crabapple grove beyond and Reddy's occasional lonesome barking and a polite knock on the bathroom door. "Hey! You in there. You come out or I'm coming in!" It was the burly agent in the hallway.

She stood, flustered. "I'm coming out!" She glanced mournfully at the window, certain the other agents were discussing details and plans and all kinds of insider information. The door knob rattled. Trixie jumped to open the door before the agent barged in on her. "Give a girl a second, will you?" she said, casually sauntering past him.

When she returned to the living room, she resumed her seat on the couch beside her mother, but she took no part in any further conversation. She had a great deal to think about after all.

*     *     *

The federal agents finally packed up the last box and left the farmhouse just before eight p.m. Helen wearily suggested either calling for pizza delivery or going out to Wimpy's for burgers. A shell-shocked Belden clan voted to abandon the farm for Wimpy's.

They piled into the minivan and headed into town. Wimpy's was crowded that night with couples on dates and in single-sex groups. Still, the eight Beldens only had to wait ten minutes before a booth became available. Luckily for them, it was in the back of the restaurant and away from prying eyes. News of Peter Belden's arrest had been fodder for the gossip mills since the first night. The only thing that had spared the family the constant scrutiny and theoretically well-meaning neighborly intrusions into their daily lives was the two miles they lived from town.

As they settled into place, Brian said, "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. We can still just order in."

"No," Helen said with a surprising sternness. "We have done nothing wrong and neither has your father. We have nothing to be ashamed of. We have every right to be here. I know you're all hungry. Lunch was a long time ago. Let's order." She looked up expectantly for the waitress, but she was waiting on another table.

Brian let his mother's words remain unchallenged, but he seemed reluctant to do so. He had never looked more like their father. Trixie wondered if he were taking his role as 'man of the house' too seriously. But then, Brian always took things seriously. Too seriously, in Trixie's opinion, but perhaps that was just the way he was born.

The waitress did come to their table and they did end up having a rather enjoyable meal, if a rather stilted conversation. Trixie wasn't sure if it were her imagination or not, but it seemed as if no one in the restaurant was willing to make any sort of eye contact with her, nor anyone else at the table. Even when the Van Dycks came in with their kids, ostensibly after seeing a movie at the Cameo across the street, there was not even any acknowledgement of any sort between the two families. This surprised Trixie, since Jamie Van Dyck was in Bobby's third grade class last year and the older daughter Marlene had P. E. with Trixie. She did her best not to let on that she was hurt by their snub, however intentional or not.

She sighed inwardly. The way things were going, she wouldn't have a chance to talk to Honey, a real friend, until tomorrow. And all that was left for her at home was a major clean-up job. Her inward sigh became an outward groan. Could things get any worse?

*     *     *

That weekend passed in a hazy, unfocused rush. The Beldens spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning putting things to rights inside the cozy farmhouse. Cap and Knut joked that they had finally come to think of the farm as 'home' when they returned to the kitchen with Brian and Mart, all four males covered in dirt, mud, feathers and scratches from trying to re-corral the chickens inside the coop. "At the very least, you've been building real sweat equity in it!" Mart laughed.

In the afternoon, Trixie, dressed in shorts and carrying a pair of smooth-soled dancing shoes, hurried up the hill to Manor House early for her practice session with Jim. She wanted plenty of time to discuss things with Honey beforehand. Hallie joined her, deciding that she wanted a visit as well. "Maybe Regan will let me take one of the horses out by myself," she said. She left Trixie at the back door to Manor House and went to the stables.

As it happened, Ben Riker was on duty in the stables. Regan, he told Hallie, was in town picking up a delivery of feed. "I would hate to say just go ahead and take your pick," he said, indicating the horses with a sweep of his arm. "Because even without Regan here, I'm still not the guy in charge."

"Well, phooey!" Hallie stuck out her tongue. "I was hoping for something fun to do this afternoon. The boys are all taking Bobby into White Plains to see some Japanese cartoon or something, except Brian who's doing something dull with Aunt Helen."

Ben stared. "The animé festival? That's this weekend?"

She shrugged. "What's animé?"

"Japanese animation," he explained. "It's fantastic stuff. You've never seen it, I take it."

"Nope. If it ain't Disney, why bother?"

He nodded slowly, drawing out his dubious, "Riiiight." He returned to his task which was, on his fourth day of Regan-inspired punishment, cleaning out the feed room in preparation for the new delivery. He had to use a fine whisk brush to get every last stray grain out of the bins. It was a seemingly impossible task, but Ben felt he was actually making progress. At least, Regan had finally left him alone to work in peace.

Ben hadn't enjoyed his servitude, but he decided that, if he had to do it, he may as well do it the best he could and get it over with. The last thing he wanted or needed was for Regan to tell Matt Wheeler that the society prince slacked off on his duties. Ben felt sure that would only earn him a harsher sentence.

The more Ben worked and the more he thought about why he was being so punished, the more he realized what a horrible thing he had done and what a terrible risk he had taken. Why did he find making trouble preferable to making friends? Why did he find it easier? And was there some psychological reason he was choosing to enter law? A profession notorious for the unlikability of its members? Known for dirty tricks and barely legal maneuverings?

It bore thinking about. Lucky for Ben, his work allowed his brain to consider these things while his hands and knees and arms and back took care of the rest. Now his whole body hurt inside and out. Lucky for Ben.

Hallie watched Ben as he worked, then turned and strolled through the stables. She smiled as Strawberry poked his head out of his stall to peer at her. She walked up to him and rubbed his silky nose. "How'd you like to go for a run today, big fella?"

The horse, of course, did not reply. Hallie patted his neck and then continued to the next stall. She was almost able to convince Whistler to approach when she heard a step behind her. She turned to find Ben, a question on his face.

"Hey, Hallie," he said. "What punishment did you get, anyway?"

She flushed guiltily. "They never got a chance to tell me. Uncle Peter got called into the bank and, well… we never got around to talking any more about it."

"I see."

They looked at each other for a long moment, Ben's blue eyes silently reprimanding hers. "What?" she finally blurted. "It's not like I'm the one who actually handed her the drink. It was just my idea. You were the adult. You were supposed to know better."

"You've got to be kidding me!" Ben stared at her, clearly amazed she could stand there and blithely deny any blame. "You're such a witch. All I did was hand Anne her own can of soda. How was I supposed to know you'd doctored it?" He laid a hand on his heart in an innocent gesture, but still smiled cruelly, daring her to contradict him.

"You gave me the alcohol!"

"Maybe you're a drunk!"

"Jerk!"

"Brat!"

They stared at each other, anger and fury highlighting their features. Hallie felt the unmistakable stir of adrenaline rush through her, the 'fight or flight' impulse inherent in all human beings coming out squarely in overwhelming favor of 'fight'. She stepped closer to him and glared, her arms crossed and her jaw set. "You're just jealous because my uncle didn't sentence me to five days of mucking."

"No," Ben agreed, folding his arms and matching her glare. "Your uncle just got himself arrested for embezzlement. Gee. I'm real jealous of that!"

Hallie's fury doubled. "You take that back! My uncle has done nothing wrong. He's completely innocent of all charges --"

"Oh, right! As if!" Ben laughed harshly. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means, genius?"

She glared at him. "I think it means he's being set up."

"Well I think it means he must have done something wrong or the feds wouldn't be searching his house."

"Shows what you know, big shot!" She smirked. "Some lawyer you'll be. Ever hear of 'innocent before proven guilty'?" She felt a real surge of pleasure at the uncomfortable look on his face. "Got you there, didn't I!"

Ben worked his jaw in frustration. "I still don't think the government makes mistakes like that. They wouldn't have proceeded as far as they did without solid evidence and facts to support their case. Look at Leona Helmsley, sent up for tax evasion and fraud. Everyone said she was innocent, but there was so much smoke because there was so much fire. She was guilty, all right!"

Hallie frowned. "Who's Leona Helmsley?"

His shook his head in frustration. "I guess it was before your time. She headed up a hotel chain. My mother knew her. Leona made Adele Lang look like 'woman of the year'."

She blinked in further confusion. "Now who's Adele Lang?"

He stared. "Margaret's mother."

She sighed patiently. "And who is Margaret?"

"Margaret? Who is Margaret?" In complete frustration, Ben turned away from her. "I don't believe this, Strawberry," he said to the horse, who was seemingly following the entire conversation from his stall. "She practically kills the girl and she doesn't know she used to be Margaret."

Swiftly, Hallie put it all together. "Oh! Anne Maypenny used to be Margaret Lang! That explains a lot…" She chewed on her thumbnail, deep in thought.

Ben turned back around. He really didn't want to ask, but the words were out of his mouth before he knew it. "What does it explain?"

"Oh," Hallie flashed a grin. "Why Anne told the paramedics that her name was Margaret when it wasn't."

"She did? Wow. That's strange."

"Why should that be strange?"

"Because she practically flipped out at me for calling her Margaret a few days ago." Ben shrugged. "I guess I thought she was over it, but if she still thinks of herself as Margaret, then… well… that's strange."

"Yeah, I guess so." Hallie and Ben, having reached the end of their conversation, shrugged their shoulders, then excused themselves to go on about their own business. Ben returned to the feed room and Hallie decided to take a walk through the woods. At least that way, she could be reasonably assured she would be left alone.

*     *     *

"Okay, so we'll look for something jumping and quick? We're agreed on that much, as least?" Dan asked.

Anne grinned. "Jumping and quick. Right. So you can throw me around the dance floor."

They laughed together. To their mutual delight, when they first swing-danced together, they quickly saw that the two of them could make an excellent team. Dan had style that balanced Anne's precision. Her precision, in turn, insured she would always be in the right place for the next move and that she'd follow Dan's lead immediately. In partner dancing, and in particular competitive dancing, that was important.

Dan also realized that not only had he finally grown into his adult body, but that he had become much stronger since moving to Sleepyside and working for Mr. Maypenny. This strength and height, coupled with Anne's naturally petite build and general fearlessness, led them to a wonderful discovery. Dan could not only easily lift Anne over his head, he could hold her there in place.

Swing dancing and, in particular, Lindy Hop, is a fast-paced partner activity. The lead (usually the male) must control the entire dance. He sets the tempo, the style and determines what moves get made when. The follower (usually the female) must follow the lead precisely and without hesitation. Thus, the dance should appear seamless. The couple should ideally move as if one being. If the male could lead the female into a lift or other fancy move, that would make the dance flashy, flirty and fun to watch.

They had spent the afternoon in Dan's half of the garage apartment he shared with his uncle watching a videotape he'd rented in town. Hellzapoppin was not the greatest movie musical ever made, but it had incredible dance sequences and featured moves by the man who invented aerials. After watching a particularly breathtakingly vigorous and explosive sequence, Anne shook her head. "No way am I going to be able to do that for very long!"

"Relax, dollface," Dan grinned. "We'll work up to it."

"Uh-uh," she said. "Do you have any idea how much sugar and carbs I 'd have to ingest just to sustain half that level of activity?"

"So you load up first. Pasta and bread and stuff like that. You'll be fine."

"So you say."

When the movie was finally over, Dan rewound the tape and they watched some of the dance sequences again. "I think there's one or two moves we could do," he finally decided. "And there are some I'd like to do. We just need to practice."

"I think the stable is a good place to do that," Anne said. "It's got a hardwood floor and the ceiling is really high so I won't chance slamming my feet into a beam or something."

Dan laughed. "Or in case I toss you up too high?"

She playfully slapped his shoulder. "Silly!"

He responded by drawing her into a hug. "We'll be great together," he promised.

Anne held onto him, allowing his warmth and strength to infuse her. She smiled, her cheek pressed into his solid chest. She felt him kiss the top of her head and she re-wrapped her arms around him more comfortably. "Yeah," she said. "I think it'll be fun."

He drew back to look at her, still keeping his arms around her. "What say you and me go into town tonight, grab dinner and catch a movie?"

Several replies sprang to mind. "You mean it?"

"Of course I do." He frowned, but his mouth still curved in a smile. "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged, feeling shy. "I don't know. I guess I wonder if you're only asking me as a favor to my dad or something."

"No way!" She didn't look at him, so he lifted her chin with one hand. "Anne, I like spending time with you. You have an interesting view of the world. You're not like everyone else. And you're really pretty."

She blushed. "I am? You think so?" Was he really being nice to her because he wanted to be and not because someone told him to be?

He nodded. "I do." To punctuate and emphasize his statement, he kissed her.

Several moments passed before Anne broke the kiss and asked, "What if we did a black and white theme?"

"Huh?"

"You know," she smiled. "We dress up strictly in black and white. Like it looks in those old movies. With your black hair and my white, it'd work out perfectly!"

He lifted a thick lock of her snow-white tresses and contemplated it. "But even in those movies, white isn't this white."

"Then what is it?" she asked, her voice soft and whispery. Her eyes were riveted to the sight of his fingers holding her hair, the curling ends wrapping themselves around him. When he stroked the strands with his thumb, she almost shivered.

"It's kind of gray."

She nodded. "Then I'll just dye my hair gray. That shouldn't be a problem."

He smiled. She smiled. He tugged her hair, drawing her closer to him again.

*     *     *

A short while later, Anne left the garage apartment. She wanted to change clothes if she and Dan were actually going to go on their first date. She skipped down the wooden stairs, her heart flying. She was going on a date! A real date with a real boy! Jim's birthday party scarcely counted. This was a real date with him picking her up at her house and taking her home afterward. She couldn't believe it.

Always before, when she had ever mentioned boys or dating or even marriage, her ex-parents the Langs would tell her, 'when you're older, perhaps'. The implication was that their daughter Margaret was meant for bigger things than mere romance and marriage. Their daughter Margaret had an intelligence that comes along once in a generation. There was absolutely nothing that was going to jeopardize their daughter Margaret's career, not even boys.

Especially not boys from the 'wrong side of the tracks', boys who had gotten involved with gangs, boys who had rap sheets and probation officers. Boys like Dan Mangan. No, Anne thought as she jumped off the second step to the ground, the Langs would not approve of her dating Dan. Well, too bad! Nothing but nothing was going to stand in the way of her burgeoning romance!

She laughed. She could imagine the disapproving looks on Victor and Adele Lang's faces if they knew, if they only knew, the boy she had just spent several blissful minutes kissing. The sun was shining and the sky was blue and the birds were singing in the trees and later on there was going to be dinner and a movie and he was taking her because he liked spending time with her and he thought she was pretty.

She could almost fly.

She heard a voice calling to her from the direction of the stables. "Hey, Margaret! Wait up!" She stopped, turned, a smile on her face, and opened her mouth to reply when she realized with horrified embarrassment that she had, once again, responded to the name 'Margaret'. It was a habit she had been struggling to break for months.

She felt her spirits crash to the ground. Not only had she responded to someone calling her 'Margaret', but that someone was Hallie, the girl who had no problem letting everyone know how much she did not like her. She closed her mouth to a stubborn line. She faced Hallie Belden, who was walking toward her from the stables, a cheery smile on her face and a wave in her hand.

"Why the rush?" Hallie asked when she had gotten with speaking distance.

"My name's not Margaret." Anne folded her arms. "So don't call me that."

Hallie stopped her forward progress. "Oops," she said, then giggled. "Sorry. Ben was just telling me about your name change and I guess I got it all mixed up in my head."

"So? What do you want?"

She shrugged. "I was just taking a walk and saw you and thought maybe you'd like to take a walk with me."

Anne thought carefully before replying. "Why? So you can pepper me with questions about my life? I don't think so."

Hallie looked away. "That wasn't really my plan."

"Then why? What could we possibly spend time talking about?" Anne made a scoffing noise. "You hate me and frankly, I don't think too much of you."

Hallie had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry about that, really. I don't know why I said I didn't like you. It just came out before I knew it."

Anne shrugged as if to say 'whatever'.

"Trixie pointed out to me the other day that I just don't know you." She smiled hopefully. "Maybe I could get to know you."

Anne stared levelly, clearly unimpressed.

Hallie tried again. "I could walk with you, wherever you're going, and maybe we could talk."

"Fine," Anne said, turning away. "Walk."

She had to hurry to catch up to Anne, but as she was taller than the other girl, she soon matched her stride. She asked, "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Why?"

"To change."

"For what?"

"A date."

"With Dan?"

"Who else?"

"Oh."

They reached the tree line and Anne found the path to her father's cabin. She trudged across the ground, carefully avoiding exposed roots and tiny, unprotected plants. Hallie did her best to keep up on the relatively unfamiliar territory.

"Where are you guys going?"

"Dinner and a movie."

"What movie?"

"Why? So you can get a ticket and sit behind us? Forget it."

Hallie fell back a bit, allowing Anne to gain some distance. She needed the excuse of distance to not try another conversational sally. Still, she asked, "So how'd you guys meet, anyway?"

"He saved my life."

"Did he know who you were?"

"No."

"Was that before or after you were Anne?"

"Excuse me?" Anne stopped short and whirled to face Hallie. They were somewhere in the middle of the preserve about halfway between the cabin and Manor House.

"What?" Hallie asked. "What'd I say?"

"Before or after I was Anne?" she repeated. "What the hell kind of stupid thing to say is that?"

"Um… well… I just meant, you know," Hallie stuttered. "You were Margaret, right? I mean, like, last year, right? It's only since this year that you've, you know, become Anne." She smiled, hoping the other girl would understand her natural mistake.

Anne took a step toward Hallie. "Let's just get one thing straight, shall we? I was born Anneka Maypenny. I will die Anneka Maypenny. I will always be Anneka Maypenny. That's my name. Margaret Lang died fourteen years ago. Died and was buried. She's dead and will always be dead. I am not Margaret and I will never be Margaret. When people call me Margaret they're telling me they wish I were the one that died that day, not her! To those people I say, too freaking bad!"

Hallie stood for a long moment able only to breathe. "I… I'm sorry," she started to say, but Anne turned swiftly on her heels and stalked away up the path toward her own home. Stunned for a moment, torn between fleeing homeward and chasing after her, Hallie chose to chase. "Hey! Mar-Anne! Wait up a second! Geez…"

*     *     *

When Trixie found her best friend on the phone in the study, surrounded by fundraiser plans. Honey covered up the mouthpiece long enough to say, "I'm on with Brian. Can we talk later?" Trixie nodded, telling herself she was glad he was able to open up to someone.

Rather than go through the notes and papers, Trixie left, shutting the door to insure her friend's, and therefore her brother's, privacy. She thought a moment. What should she do now? She was a good half hour early for her meeting with Jim. Should she chance that he'd be happy to see her early?

"Well, if not," she said softly aloud, "I suppose I could find something to entertain myself with." She found Celia in the kitchen and asked where Jim was.

"He's in the rec room, Trixie," the pretty maid replied. "While I've been sitting here having some coffee, I've been hearing him going through some of those CDs his parents and Miss Trask turned up." She was sitting at the kitchen island, sipping from an oversized yellow ceramic cup.

"Thanks!" Trixie headed out the door, then stopped, a crafty smile on her face. "Do you think I could snatch a couple of cookies?"

Celia smiled benevolently. "I don't think Cook would mind too much. Help yourself." She watched, amused, as Trixie opened the fat, round cookie jar that sat on the counter and withdrew a stack of oatmeal raisins. Celia leaned forward. "Let me have one of those."

Trixie winked and dropped the bottom cookie into Celia's hand. "I'll catch you later, Cel'," she said, and pushed out the door to the rec room.

There were three steps that led down to the rec room. Trixie stopped on the last, a smile forming on her face at the sight that met her eyes. It was Jim, dressed in shorts, an old T-shirt and dress shoes, standing on the wooden dance floor. Only half the lights in the room were on, but she could see that his eyes were closed and that he clearly was unaware of her presence. Brian Setzer's screaming guitar echoed through the room, drowning out the sound of Trixie's footsteps, even the sound of Jim's panting breath as he moved through the steps of east coast swing. She sat on the lower step to change her shoes, all the while watching him dance.

She covered her grin with her hand, unwilling to let him hear her laugh at him. He held his hands up in the air as if he danced with a partner and as the tempo increased, and the music intensified, Jim's expression turned more and more unselfconscious and natural. He added a few head jerks, a few arm flourishes, a few extra spins. When the song finished, Trixie could not help but applaud.

Jim froze. His face immediately flushed red with embarrassment. He hurried to the stereo and turned down the volume. He focused intently on the controls, but Trixie doubted so much concentration was necessary. She got up and joined him on the hardwood floor. "That was really good," she smiled. "I'm beginning to wonder what you'll need me for."

He shot her a sour look over his shoulder. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"What?" She tugged at his shoulder, but he did not turn around. "What's so terrible? So I caught you practicing. You were good. A lot better than I was last night in my room." She felt her dimples deepen as she grinned.

"Yeah?" he asked unconvinced.

"Yeah!" She pulled harder at his arm and he reluctantly turned to face her. "Come on, Jim. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Do you want me to go?"

He sighed and shook his head. "No," he said finally. "I don't. Come on. Let's dance."

She had to laugh again at his beleaguered tone. "Not if you're going to sound that way about it."

"Huh?" he frowned in confusion.

"Yeah," she said. "I want a real invitation to dance." She folded her arms stubbornly.

Jim stared at her. On the stereo, the song changed and Sleepwalk drifted lazily across the floor. "Okay," he relented. "May I please have this dance?"

"You may," she said in her best upper-crust manner.

He held out his hand, she laid her fingers on his, he put his right hand on her waist and she put her left on his shoulder. They began to move in a slow rhythm, elegantly circling the floor. Jim easily twirled her first in one direction, than the other. She smiled in sheer delight at the way her feet seemed to glide over the floor.

Then the song ended. The next song played. Jim grinned. He loved this song. Brian Setzer sang, Baby, baby, it looks like it's gonna hail! Immediately, Jim tripled their tempo. He led Trixie into an arch turn, twirling her under his arm, but instead of guiding her back into place, he held up his left hand like a policeman stopping traffic and pushed her next into an American spin.

The sudden shift of tempo threw her off-guard, but she recovered enough to accomplish the arch turn. She was unprepared for the American spin, however. Jim's forceful push was too forceful. She was not balanced enough to completely spin on one foot, but she gave it her best.

She pushed off with her left, spun on her right, then fell apart. Her left foot caught her right ankle and she lost her balance. She was unable to bring her left foot out to stop herself from plummeting to the floor. She hit the wood with a smack!

"Oh, my gosh, Trixie! Are you okay?" Jim swiftly knelt by her side, helping her sit up.

"I think so," she said. "I don't know what happened."

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I guess I'm a lot more warmed up than you are. Can you stand? Did you hurt yourself? What did you do, anyway?" He stood and helped her stand.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I think I kicked myself in the ankle."

He chuckled ruefully. "That sounds painful. Do you think you're injured? Should we wrap it or something?"

"No, no," she told him. "I’m fine." She held onto his arm while she bent over, examining her ankle. "It'll only bruise, if anything. Let's just keep going."

"Okay," he said. "You're the boss." He waited for her to stand straight once more. He got them into position and they started again.

**

Within sight of Maypenny's cabin, Hallie finally got her thoughts in order enough to say them straight out to Anne. She pulled on the other girl's arm, forcing her to stop and listen. "Just hear me out and then we don't ever have to mention this again." She waited, but Anne merely folded her arms and kept her mouth closed.

"Okay," Hallie said. "This is all I'm going to say. I'm sorry I spiked your drink. It was a mean thing to do and I have no good reason for doing it." She waited, but Anne still kept her mouth shut and her arms folded. "Well?" Hallie asked. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

Anne's eyes narrowed. "Like what?"

Hallie held out her hands. "I don't know. Like, maybe, 'oh, that's okay, Hallie, I won't hold it against you'. Or maybe, 'let's just let bygones be bygones'?"

"Excuse me?" Anne's voice dripped acid. "You have got to be joking. You can not be such an idiot that you think I'd forgive someone who purposely screwed with my health just because she didn't like me very much. I have a bit more sense than that. I suppose my problem is that I assumed you had more sense than that, too. It would take a heckuva lot more from you for me to forget what you tried to do and what you almost accomplished. I suggest you give it up and call it a day. Leave me alone."

Hallie stared as Anne, for the second time that day, turned on her heel and walked away from her. For the first time that day, Hallie let her. She watched the other girl stride furiously across the yard and enter the cozy log cabin. She flinched as the door slammed shut, startling several birds from a nearby bush. "I am not a moron," Hallie muttered fiercely. "And I have tried my best to apologize, but if you aren't going to meet me halfway, then to heck with you." Feeling a bit better, she turned and went back down the path toward Manor House.

Inside the cabin, Anne hurried upstairs to her room. She shut the door and leaned against it, shaking from rage. She angrily kicked off her shoes and sent them flying across her room to bang into the opposite wall. She glanced at her clock and calculated how much time she had to get ready before Dan was due to show up. She still had some time.

She grabbed her brush and yanked it through her milky-white hair. She felt a familiar trembling in her wrists and knew her blood sugar was dropping. She cursed softly. Since her experimental operation, she had been so careful to adhere to the program's restrictions. She hadn't wavered a single gram from her prescribed diet. Then this backwoods beauty with a hankering for her boyfriend showed up and boom - there went all her carefully laid plans, and there went her perfectly balanced blood sugar.

She had an appointment with her specialist on Monday, but she knew what the irascible doctor would say. He'd say she was out of the program. She was back where she started, doomed to dialysis, kidney transplants and an early death. All because of Hallie Belden.

Anne threw her hairbrush onto her dresser. There was a large mirror her father had given her. It hung on a hook and reflected her self-pitying and angry look. Unwilling to see also the depth of hatred in her own brown eyes, she turned and stared at the poster of Albert Einstein that hung over the bed. "I bet you never had these problems," she accused. "I bet your life was always sweet wine and roses."

Feeling time slip away from her, she headed for the bathroom to take her shower.

*     *     *

By the time Trixie was ready to call it a day, she sported three bruises on her right leg, five on her left and felt a distinct aching in her wrists. Jim apologized time and again for all the falls, the collisions and the missed cues, but Trixie knew it was her own innate clumsiness that was to blame.

Her brother Brian had eventually come over to practice with Honey. The two of them had taken one giggling look at Jim and Trixie's example before deciding to do something 'elegant' and 'refined'. They found a slow song and practiced several sweeping moves across the small floor. Honey, more relaxed than Trixie suspected she'd been for days, laughed and beamed at the attention Brian showered on her. Brian, Trixie noticed, seemed to relish thinking only of Honey's welfare for a change, instead of his entire family's. She decided the two of them would benefit from spending even more time together. She suggested to Jim that they go to Wimpy's for dinner and leave the other two alone to rehearse.

"That sounds like a good idea," Jim agreed. When Brian asked if they wanted company, he smiled, "No, thanks. I think we're a bit too old for chaperones."

Wimpy's was crowded, he didn't really want to share a booth with Dan and Anne who were already there, so Jim asked if Trixie minded eating someplace else. They ended up going to the T. G. I. Friday's in White Plains. Surprisingly, they found a good table in a relatively short period of time. They ordered their food, it arrived hot, tasted delicious and they shared a chocolate dessert. They had a wonderful time.

As Jim drove Trixie home, she fell silent while staring at the night sky. For the first time, she and Jim had gone on a real date. She tried to remember if their date had gone at all as she had ever planned it. Of course, it hadn't. It wasn't a moonlight cruise up the Hudson. It wasn't a Broadway show and dinner at Sardi's, or wherever the elite met to eat in Manhattan these days. But it was Jim and her alone, just the two of them, just like regular people.

When Jim pulled into the driveway at Crabapple Farm, he parked his car a bit away from the farmhouse. He shut the engine and let the sounds of the night and the woods creep into their consciousness. He turned slightly, the well-made seat discouraging him from completely facing her.

Trixie glanced uncertainly at Jim. She unhooked her seatbelt. "Are you coming in?"

"Um, no," he said. "I just thought you might want to talk a bit before going in yourself." He waited a moment before asking, "Do you?"

She shook her head. "I’m just worried about my dad, of course."

"Of course."

"I want to help him, but I don't know where to start." That wasn't exactly true, however. She had a fairly good idea of one thing she could check out, she just wasn't sure how she could go about it.

He peered at her in the darkness. "Do you think that's a good idea, though? To investigate all this yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, doesn't your dad's attorney have an investigator working on this already?"

"Yeah? So?" She didn't see what that had to do with anything.

"So, wouldn’t you be duplicating his efforts if you tried to investigate yourself?"

She sighed. "I guess so, but-"

"And aren't the Feds involved?"

"You know they are!"

"Then won't they get angry if you start trying to question them or interfere with their business? This is a government investigation, you know."

"Yeah? So?" She stared at him, thinking she knew where he was going, hoping he wasn't.

"So, Trixie, these people you're dealing with," he sighed. "They aren't regular cops. They aren't even criminals. They're the government. They're the good guys."

She stiffened. "They are not the good guys! They are misguided cretins is what they are. They are wrong and someone is leading them down a wronger path to make wronger conclusions. If they can't see that they're being stupid about this whole thing, then it's up to me to make things right."

"Trixie, it is not your job to investigate this." He shoved his hand through his red hair. "It's probably not even safe for you to investigate this."

"Well, I don't care!" She opened the car door and grabbed her purse. "My dad's in trouble and I'm not going to sit around one more day and not do something to help him. If you can't understand that, Jim Frayne, then that's just too sad for you!"

Jim watched helplessly as she got out of the car and slammed the door shut. "Trixie, wait! Don't go now," he pleaded, but she resolutely turned and walked toward her house. "Trixie! Come back here, will you?" She didn't turn her head or even lift a hand to show she heard him.

Angrily, Jim slammed his palm on the steering wheel. He stared at the dashboard displays and realized he was low on gas. He cursed, surprising himself, then twisted the key to start the engine. In seconds, he was on Glen Road and heading for the nearest filling station. Needing something to chase away his thoughts, he jammed in a CD and turned the volume up high.

Brian Setzer sang:

This old house once knew its children, this old house once knew its wife. This old house was home and comfort as they fought the storms of life. This old house once rang with laughter, this old house heard many shouts, now it trembles in the darkness when the lightning walks about…

To Be Continued

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