*all ages (a very slight adult reference)

Usual disclaimers - don’t own the characters, not making any money, etc, etc.

The First Weekend

 

"Trixie Belden, out!" Her teacher’s sharp tone finally pierced Trixie’s musings, and she jumped, turning back towards the front of the room. "Trixie, you have been staring out that window for the last fifteen minutes. You obviously want to be out there, so, go! But you can just pass by Mr Stratton’s office on the way, and explain to him exactly where your mind is."

Trixie sat stock still, not quite sure of what Mrs Morpeth was saying.

"Trixie, I mean it. Leave this class."

As it finally dawned on Trixie that she was being thrown out of class, her blue eyes filled with tears, and she knocked her textbook to the floor as she scrambled to pull herself together.

Mrs Morpeth, seeing the tears in Trixie’s eyes, and knowing how unusual it was for her, followed her out into the hall. "Trixie," she asked gently. "Is there something wrong?"

Trixie bit her lip, struggling for words. "My - my - Jim’s coming home today!" she finally blurted out.

Mrs Morpeth’s concern evaporated. "Trixie Belden crying over a boy?" she asked, one eyebrow raised sarcastically. "Pull the other one, Trixie, it’s got bells on! Maybe you can come up with the truth between here and Mr Stratton’s office. On your way!"

Head down, Trixie stumbled down the hallway towards the principal’s office. As she approached his secretary, Mr Stratton opened his office door, and his eyes fell on Trixie’s dishevelled curls. "Miss Belden, I hope it is some earth-shattering event that brings you to my door - one that doesn’t involve you, a teacher, and discipline." Trixie’s silence answered his unspoken question. With a sigh, he motioned her into his office. "Well?" he asked.

"Mrs Morpeth told me to get out," Trixie mumbled. "Why?" asked Mr Stratton. "I - I don’t exactly know," confessed Trixie. "I sort of missed what she said."

"Maybe that has something to do with her sending you out. What were you doing to miss what Mrs Morpeth was saying?"

"Thinking," Trixie replied.

"Hmmm, that in itself is a little out of character. Trixie Belden is impulsive. Trixie Belden doesn’t think! What ever could be so important as to cause Trixie Belden to think?" Mr Stratton was not generally given to sarcasm, but Trixie was to be the final straw in a very tedious day.

Trixie, her face the colour of beetroot, and her eyes again tear-filled, said, "It’s Jim. He’s coming home today."

"Trixie, you have come up with some unusual excuses in your time, but that one takes the cake. It’s so far out of character, I don’t know whether to consider it a blatant lie, or wonder whether we should send for a doctor. I hope Brian is coming home as well - maybe he can give you a check up!" Mr Stratton shook his head, and wondered what was really captivating Trixie’s thoughts - probably some new mystery, although she had seemed rather settled when she first returned to school at the start of the semester. Lately though, he had heard a number of exasperated cries of "Trixie Belden!" in the staffroom, and he decided that it was time to bring Trixie back to earth. "It seems that you have rather too much time on your hands to think, Miss Belden. I think I can remedy that. After attending detention after school tonight, you will come to my office and I will find you some extra homework to keep you well and truly occupied this weekend. I will ring your mother and tell her you’ll be late. I’m sure she won’t be pleased either at having to come and pick you up."

*     *      *

"And if there is one mistake in there, you will have to do it all again next weekend!" With that Mr Stratton let Trixie go, carrying a well worn copy of Romeo and Juliet which he had obviously used in the past to curtail some other poor student’s weekend freedom.

Trixie walked slowly to the school gate where her mother awaited her. Helen Belden knew that her daughter had been on edge the last couple of weeks, and said nothing as Trixie climbed into the car. Dusk was falling as they turned into the driveway of Crabapple Farm, and Trixie smiled a little as she saw Brian come out onto the porch to meet them. "Hi, Trix," called Brian, giving her a hug as she climbed the porch. "How are you?" he asked, carefully noting her bright eyes and pale face.

"Good. Great. Couldn’t be better," she lied as she went inside, her eyes searching for any sign of Jim.

Brian raised his eyebrows questioningly at his mother, who shook her head quietly. "Moms," said Brian. "Jim’s gone up to the Manor House to see his parents, but he and Honey will be down after dinner."

Trixie, for whose benefit the last piece of information had been, heavily climbed the stairs to her room. Too exhausted to change from her school clothes, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space, until she heard her mother call "Dinner’s ready." Dinner was usually a noisy affair in the Belden household, and tonight was no exception, apart from Trixie making little contribution to the conversation. Everyone was of course interested in Brian’s first experience of living away from the family fold, and the discussion centred on his college life.

"Knock, knock," called Honey, flying through the kitchen door. Brian jumped up from his place at the table to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly.

"I hope we’re in time for some apple pie," added Jim from the doorway. His words were for everyone, but his gaze was fixed on Trixie, as he waited for her to rise and greet him. But Trixie, looking down at her plate, said, "It’s alright, you can have mine, I’m not really hungry and I’ve got lots of work to do." And still without meeting Jim’s eye, she rose from her place, and went upstairs to her bedroom.

Jim’s face coloured with anger. He had missed her so much, and she just walked out on him without so much as looking at him! A deep breath helped him control his temper - as did the warning glance from Helen Belden. "Trixie has spent the afternoon in detention, and has been given a heavy load of homework for the weekend," Mrs Belden explained. "From what Mr Stratton told me, it appears her mind has been somewhere else lately - so he’s given her something to occupy it."

Jim looked down at his hands, and swallowed his anger. "Since I probably have a part to play in her - distraction - I think it’s only fair that I help her with her study. Is it OK if I skip dessert and go on up?" he asked, wondering how her parents would feel about him going to her bedroom. But Helen’s nod and smile reassured him, and he mounted the stairs two at a time. At Trixie’s closed door he stopped, took yet another deep breath, and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again, and this time he heard a muffled response. Unable to make out the words, he decided to take it as "come in". He entered to find Trixie seated at her desk, her head buried in her hands and the copy of Romeo and Juliet lying in the middle of the floor where she had flung it in desperation. "Trixie, sweetheart!" cried Jim, crossing the room to her side. "Sweetheart, what’s wrong?"

"Just leave me alone, Jim Frayne!" Trixie cried. "I hate you! And Mrs Morpeth! And Mr Stratton! And Shakespeare! Especially Shakespeare!" Jim, unsure what had caused this outburst, stood helplessly at her side, his hand resting on her shoulder. She shook it off, again crying, "Leave me alone! After all, it’s what you do best!"

"Trixie, I don’t understand! I know you like mysteries, but I have absolutely no clue as to what’s going on here. I can see you’re upset - doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure that one out - but please, don’t go all typically female on me and expect me to know what I’ve done to upset you, and then get angry with me because I can’t figure it out!"

"Typical male!" Trixie spat back at him. "You don’t know what’s wrong, so nothing can be wrong!"

"Trixie, please, whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry. But please, at least, tell me what I’ve done," Jim pleaded.

"Brian rang Honey at least twice a week. And he wrote to her - I know she had at least four letters from him. And you? You’ve been gone six weeks, and you rang me twice. The last time was four weeks ago. I’ve spent the last couple of weeks trying to decide if you were trying to tell me something, that there was someone else, or just that you’d changed your mind about us. And you wonder why I’m upset?" Trixie, her anger spent, turned away from Jim, and ran her fingers through her untamed curls. She felt his hands rest on her shoulders, then start to massage the tense knots in her body. His fingers moved through her hair, massaging her scalp, then worked down the taut muscles in her neck, to return to rub her shoulders.

They both felt the tension in her body ease, and Jim gently turned her to face him. His deep green eyes reflected a mixture of sorrow and fear, as he scanned her face. "Trixie, I’m a selfish pig, and I am so sorry. The reason I didn’t ring you? It hurt so much to say goodbye each time. I could hear you, but I couldn’t hold you, and it was just so painful. It physically hurt! And both times I did ring you, I spent most of the next week thinking about nothing but you. I got to the stage where I was too scared to ring you - I just couldn’t deal with the pain. But I never even thought of how you would feel. I can’t believe I was so thoughtless. Trixie, I am really, truly sorry. I love you so much. I never meant to hurt you - I guess I’m a lousy communicator. Please, will you let me make it up to you?" Jim took her chin in his hand, compelling her to look at him.

The anguish in his eyes comforted her a little. "Jim, I just wish you’d told me. My imagination was running wild - I even started to wonder if you’d eloped with some stunning redhead!" Trixie managed a weak smile.

"A redhead? Never! I like my women - or should I say my woman - blond. Don’t you dare ever dye it!"

"Jim, if you ever do this to me again, I swear I’ll dye it pitch black! Maybe I will anyway, then Mr Stratton won’t know who I am and I might manage to stay out of trouble for a week or so!"

"Oh, Trix, I really am sorry. I promise, I’ve learnt a lesson - I will make sure I talk to you about how I feel in future. I promise I won’t shut you out again. In fact I promise I will ring you every five minutes. And I promise I will do anything you want this weekend, just to make it up to you."

"Anything?" Trixie queried, with a twinkle returning to her eye.

"I’m probably going to regret this, but, yes, anything," Jim promised. "Cross my heart, hope to die."

"Well, since I’m going to be sooooo busy with my punishment, I think you will have to be my slave for the weekend. Tomorrow morning, early, there’s the eggs to collect. And then there’s the dusting!" Trixie just couldn’t keep a straight face any longer as she pictured Jim in an apron, dustcloth in hand. "And I’m sure I’ll be able to think of plenty of other things," she laughed.

Jim grinned ruefully. "I deserve it. Your wish is my command, mistress."

"OK, you can start by kissing me - just there." Trixie pointed to a sensitive spot behind her right ear. "And here," she pointed to a spot on the other side. "And," her further instructions were muffled as Jim spun her round on her chair and claimed her mouth for a very passionate kiss.

Eventually releasing her and flinging himself across her bed, Jim asked, "So what was your punishment?"

"Well for starters, I have to write out Act II Scene Two from Romeo and Juliet - in my best handwriting!" She stopped as Jim tried to stifle a laugh. "What’s so funny!" she demanded.

"Since your best handwriting isn’t easily distinguished from your worst handwriting - even on the best of days…" Jim, laughing, couldn’t finish his sentence because Trixie had thrown a pillow at his face, and was now heavily lying on it. He worked his hands free, and grabbed her round the waist, rolling her over so that he was lying on top of her, the pillow wedged between them. His face became serious as he looked down at her, and very tenderly kissed her lips. He rolled away from her just enough to free the pillow, then rolled back, to hold her close again. "Oh Trixie, I love you so much. I don’t ever want to let you go. I wish I could take you back to college with me…"

"Oh Jim, it sounds wonderful, but I think Mr Stratton would give me more than Romeo and Juliet to think about if I didn’t turn up at all!" With that Trixie jumped up, and returned to her desk. She heaved a big sigh, and turned to Jim and added, "As well as writing out all these lines, I then have to explain, in my own words, the balcony scene. Goodness knows why English teachers think so much of Shakespeare - it’s all just a load of gobbledegook! Why couldn’t he write proper English! Give me Lucy Radcliffe any day!"

"The balcony scene, huh?" Jim asked with a quiet smile. "I might be able to help you there! But first, how about I dictate this to you, might speed things up a bit."

A little later there was a knock at the door, and Trixie called out, "Come in."

Her mother was pleased to hear the cheerful note in Trixie’s voice, and she smiled to see Jim sprawled on the floor, his nose buried in a book. "Dan and Di are here. Maybe you can give that a rest for tonight and come downstairs. I’ve saved you both a piece of apple pie," she added.

Jim rolled over and onto his knees. "Please, mistress slave-driver, may we stop for some apple pie?"

Trixie pretended to consider his request. "Well," she said slowly, "I guess you might need some food to keep you going through all your chores tomorrow - especially the dusting," she added with a giggle. "OK, slave, up you get. Piggy back me downstairs," she commanded.

Jim obediently bent over to let her climb on, while Mrs Belden’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. "My punishment," he explained as Trixie clipped him with her heels, crying "Giddy-up!" "Trix," Jim asked, as he tipped her onto the sofa beside Honey, "Do you really think you should have any more apple pie?"

Sniffing loudly, Trixie turned to Honey and complained, "I have to write out half of Romeo and Juliet, in my best handwriting."

"Maybe you should ask Bobby to help," Mart suggested. "But then again, maybe not. Mr Stratton would be suspicious if he was actually able to read the writing!"

"Mart, why is it that you only use normal English when you want to be sure I can understand your insults?"

"Children, children!" Honey interrupted the burgeoning argument with a laugh. "What’s the plan for tomorrow? How about a cook out at the lake?" Her idea was met with enthusiasm by the other Bob-Whites, even Trixie, who thought surely she’d have finished her homework by then. The rest of the evening was spent playing Trivial Pursuit, with Trixie almost pulling her hair out when confronted with what Shakespeare play does Birnham Wood play a part in. She then spent the rest of the evening grumbling about Shakespeare and his works and what exactly should be done with them, while the game was eventually won by Mart and Di, with Di securing the last wedge by answering what much-read author had 59 children’s stories published in 1959.

*     *      *

The loud cackling from the chicken run awoke Trixie early the next morning, and she dragged herself to the window to see the cause of the commotion. The sight of Jim’s buttocks sticking out of the coop made her grin and a sharp cry of pain and the thud of skull hitting wood as a chicken took exception to his searching hands made her laugh aloud. Jim, cautiously backing out of the henhouse with the egg basket full, heard the muffled laughter and turned to glare at Trixie’s bedroom window. But the sight that greeted him, of Trixie wearing only a t-shirt and knickers, made him instantly forget the pain of the pecking beak and piece of wood that had both drawn blood. The broad smile on his face made Trixie conscious of her clothing - or lack of it - and blushing, she quickly disappeared from the window, returning in her robe to call out to him, "Scrambled, thank you James, and I like my bacon crispy!"

Fifteen minutes saw Trixie showered and dressed, sitting in the kitchen, ordering breakfast from Jim, who was meekly playing waiter, while Helen cooked the eggs he had collected. Brian laughed as he sat down at the kitchen table. "Jim, you’ve had it now. Give a woman a taste of power and -"

"And what Brian?" asked Honey sweetly, having arrived from Manor House just in time to hear his words.

"Uh, hi Honey, you uh look nice this morning," Brian stuttered, as Honey seated herself with a smile and wink at Trixie.

"I am woman, hear me roar," Trixie murmured to Honey, as both girls dissolved into giggles, and the boys rolled their eyes at each other.

Trixie finished her last mouthful of toast, and reached over to the kitchen drawer, pulling out something floral and frilly. "Here, Jim," she said, tying the apron around his waist, and handing him a duster. "Do a good job of the dusting - no cat’s lick and a promise in this household!" And she giggled as she skipped up the stairs, followed by Honey who had promised to dictate the rest of the scene to her. Ten minutes later they crept down the stairs, having borrowed Mart’s camera, and peered around the living room door, only just suppressing their laughter at the sight of Jim in the pretty apron, busily dusting the paintings on the wall. The click of the shutter caught his attention, but the two girls had scampered back up the stairs before he could do more than splutter.

Lunchtime saw Trixie finished with the copying side of her punishment, and she came to the kitchen table grumbling about how she was going to write about this play when she didn’t even understand the first word.

Jim, having finished the dusting and vacuuming, groaned. "I guess I’m going to have to tutor you again, aren’t I, Trix? Let’s get on with it. Then maybe I can have a holiday tomorrow before I go back to my own grind!"

 *      *     *    

Making the most of the late autumn weather, Trixie and Jim settled under one of the crabapple trees in the orchard, complete with notebook and the play. "Did you realise that Juliet was only thirteen, and married?" commented Jim, as he opened the book. "That’s how old you were when we met. Could you imagine being in love and being married at thirteen?"

Trixie just raised an eyebrow at him, and smiled. Jim caught his breath at her implication.

"Really?" he asked quietly.

Trixie just smiled again, and demanded, "Tutor me!"

"Kiss me!" Jim demanded in return.

"Okay, let’s look at Romeo’s first soliloquy -" Jim started.

"You’re sounding like Mart - what’s a solil- whatever?" Trixie interrupted.

"Soliloquy. It’s basically a solo speech to himself," Jim replied.

"Isn’t that the first sign of madness, talking to yourself," Trixie inquired sweetly. "He talks to himself, he kills himself. A few sandwiches short of a picnic, wouldn’t you say?"

Jim couldn’t contain his laughter, as he wrestled Trixie to the ground. "Minx! You are determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?" he murmured in her ear, before kissing it. "Now shut up and listen," he said rolling away from her, starting to read the part of Romeo.

His husky voice made music of Shakespeare’s poetry, and hearing it spoken made Trixie start to understand some of the imagery. "So he’s saying that she shines like the sun, and she’s so beautiful she makes the moon jealous!" she exclaimed, furiously scribbling notes.

"And what about the stars?" Jim prompted.

"Let me see again," she said, leaning over his shoulder to read the words. "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes, To twinkle in their spheres till they return - so her eyes are as bright as stars?"

"No, read further - they’re brighter - The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp," Jim instructed.

"And the birds would think it was daylight because her eyes were lighting up the sky!" Trixie paraphrased triumphantly. "And he wants to be her glove so he can touch her cheek - sounds a little kinky to me. Still not as bad as Prince Charles wanting to be a tampon - I wonder what Mr Stratton would think of that comparison - think he’d be impressed Jim? Jim?"

Jim, by this stage, was rolling on the ground laughing uncontrollably. "Trixie Belden, you are priceless," he gasped. "Shakespeare wouldn’t be just turning in his grave - he’d be spinning like a rotisserie on speed!"

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo," Trixie squeaked in a falsetto, looking, in her baggy sweat pants and t-shirt, the total opposite of the traditional Juliet, that Jim again burst into laughter. "Keep going," he ordered. "This next part of Juliet’s is important."

"What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet," Trixie read aloud. Her nose wrinkled as she frowned. "I know this is a famous line, but I’m not sure I get it," she admitted.

Jim jumped up, and grabbing her hand, pulled her to her feet, and let her to the rose garden beside the house. "Smell this," he said, choosing a particularly aromatic bloom call Fragrant Cloud.

"Mmmm," breathed Trixie, "It’s gorgeous."

"What is it?" asked Jim. "It’s a rose," replied Trixie.

"But what if I told you it was called a widget?" Jim asked.

"I’d have you committed," replied Trixie sweetly. "Behave!" Jim said sternly. "It is now a widget. Does it smell any different?"

"I get it!" Trixie yelled. "It doesn’t matter what it’s called, it still smells the same. It’s still the same thing."

"Exactly, Beatrix! Okay, take it a step further, apply it to Romeo. Remember, she’s not allowed to love him because he’s a Montague."

Trixie thought for a moment. "What Juliet’s saying, is that Montague is just his name - it doesn’t make him who he is or what he is. He is who he is and he’ll be who he is whether he’s Romeo or Bob!"

Jim blew on his fingernails and polished them on his shirt. "Gee, I’m a great teacher," he crowed. "Though I think Shakespeare’s language is easier to understand than Trixie-speak!"

Trixie poked her tongue at him before running back to the orchard to scribble more notes. Her headlong rush to write the words before she lost her train of thought meant that the exposed tree root was not foremost in her mind until her toe caught it, and she prostrated herself in front of the copy of Romeo and Juliet. Unperturbed, she grabbed her pen and scribbled furiously, Jim joining her at a more leisurely pace.

The shadows in the orchard were lengthening when they finished working through the scene, and Trixie had three pages of notes to be worked into an essay. "Thanks Jim," Trixie said softly, closing the book. "You are a great teacher - I think your boys will be very lucky." Jim’s face flushed to the tip of his ears, but his eyes shone at her compliment. She leaned over to lightly kiss his lips, but he returned her kiss with interest. Five minutes later, Trixie caught the time on her watch, and jumped up. "We’re going to be late. I’d better go and get organised, and you’d better too. I’ll see you up at the lake." And she ran through the garden to the house before he could steal another kiss.

As Trixie sat at the lake’s edge that evening, watching the boys cook, she contemplated how good it felt to have all the Bob-Whites together again - the six weeks apart had felt like six years. But the minute they were all in the one place, it was like they’d never been separated. She smiled to herself - all was well in her universe. At least till tomorrow, when she’d have to say goodbye to Jim - again. "What was that line," she thought to herself, "Parting is such sweet sorrow? What did Shakespeare know about it?"

The End

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