Trixie re-fastened her belt as the flight attendant made her announcement. In a few minutes they would be landing at Des Moines airport. She glanced at her watch, nearly seven. It had been a long day and she was tired. Was it really only that morning they received the telephone call from Mary Gorman? It still hadn’t quite sunk in that Uncle Andrew was dead. It been a total shock because it had been something they were expecting - just not this soon. They had seen him only a few weeks ago when he came out for Christmas. He’d looked tired, but otherwise well.

Uncle Andrew had been diagnosed with lung cancer early last year. He’d remained optimistic, even during surgery and radiotherapy. The prognosis seemed favourable because they seemed to have diagnosed it early enough. Then a follow-up scan the month before showed that the cancer had spread to his brain. He had been referred to a neurosurgeon who told him that it was possible to operate, and would be followed by a further course of radiotherapy. It wouldn’t cure him, but simply gain him a little more time.

Trixie had been stunned when her parents informed them that Uncle Andrew had decided against any further treatment. She couldn’t understand why he had given up. He’d gone through all the previous treatment, why not continue? She had felt angry toward him for not fighting. She hadn’t wanted to think about him dying, didn’t want to think about a future without her favourite uncle. She had been about to leave for work that morning when Mart rang her with the news that Uncle Andrew had died in his sleep. She couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. It was only when she spoke to her mother, and knew from her voice that Helen had been crying, that she too began to cry. She threw some clothes into a bag and drove home to Sleepyside, needing to be with her family.

It was decided that Helen and Trixie would fly to Iowa a few days earlier than the others to sort through Andrew’s personal belongings. They thought that as women they’d know what things should be kept, and what could be disposed of. Trixie had shaken her head at the rationale from the male members of her family. Her Uncle Harold had given his blessing for them to do whatever was necessary. He and Andrew had never been especially close.

They would hold the funeral in three days. He would then be cremated and his ashes returned to Sleepyside to be placed in the family plot. Trixie was dreading it. She’d never been to a funeral before. She’d never had to. Honey and Di would be coming out with her father and brothers, along with Ben. Her cousins were expected as well. It had been too long since she had last caught up with them, and was looking forward to it. It was a shame that it took a sad event to bring everyone together.

A drawn Hank Gorman picked them up at the airport. After exchanging pleasantries and condolences they headed for Happy Valley Farm. It was a silent journey. Trixie didn’t mind the quietness. She let her thoughts drift back to a much happier visit, one where she had come out with Brian, Mart, Jim, Honey and Di. So many things had happened since then. Finally they arrived at the farm. Two collies, Sam and Sid, greeted them. Trixie patted them absentmindedly, as they walked to where Mary Gorman was waiting in the doorway. She welcomed the two women with a hug.

"I’m so sorry," she whispered.

"Thank you," Helen replied. "Thank you for the care that you gave him. I know I speak for the entire family when I say that we have very much appreciated it."

"It was no trouble at all. I’ve put a pot of coffee on. Did you get any supper?"

"We’ve had a bite to eat, thank you. But I know I certainly would appreciate a hot drink. It’s been a long day," Helen replied.

"You poor things must be exhausted. Go and make yourselves comfortable in the living room, there’s a fire on and I’ll bring the coffee in there. I assume you both drink coffee?" Helen and Trixie both nodded. "Hank will take your bags up to your rooms," Mary continued.

The aroma of fresh brewed coffee revived Trixie. She gratefully accepted a mug and sipped it happily. Airplane coffee was no substitute for the real thing. Mary asked after the other Bob-Whites and Trixie and Helen filled them in. Mary brought out photos of her latest grandchild, and even Trixie had to admit the baby was pretty darn cute. Despite the coffee she had drunk, Trixie couldn’t prevent the yawn from escaping. Mary looked at her and clicked her tongue.

"You look all done in. Off to bed with you. Take you time getting up in the morning. There’s no need for you to be up too early," she said. "I’ve made up your usual room."

Trixie allowed herself to be ordered off to bed. She was exhausted, but didn’t know if she’d be able to sleep. Her fears were unfounded because she was asleep nearly as soon as her head touched the pillow. When she awoke the following morning, she was a little disorientated. Then she remembered where she was and why. She dressed quickly before heading downstairs. She found her mother and Mary preparing breakfast. She smiled knowing that her mother was happiest when she was busy with something.

"Something smells good," Trixie said, sniffing appreciatively.

"Good morning! How did you sleep?" Mary asked.

"Like a log. Is there any thing I can do?"

Mary shook her head. "Just take a seat. We’ve nearly finished anyway."

Trixie’s stomach rumbled as she waited for breakfast. Hank came inside rubbing his hands.

"It’s cold out there," he said as he washed his hands in the sink. "Wouldn’t surprise me if we got a little more snow."

At last the food was brought to the table. Trixie helped herself to eggs, bacon, tomatoes and toast. She hadn’t had a breakfast like this in a long time. Her usual breakfast was at most, a piece of toast eaten on the way to work. Often, she didn’t even have that. Honey was forever remonstrating with her about her eating habits. She’d simply gotten used to eating on the run, because there was always something that needed to be done.

After the breakfast dishes had been done, Hank took them in to Rivervale to see Andrew. Trixie felt uneasy at going - she’d never seen a dead body before. When they entered the funeral home, Trixie’s first impression was of how quiet and serene it felt. She’d expected it to be creepier. It was bright and filled with flowers. A smartly dressed woman in her fifties greeted them. She expressed her condolences and led them through to a small room. From the doorway Trixie could see the coffin and her instinct was to turn and run. I can’t do this! As if sensing Trixie’s trepidation, Helen gave her hand a squeeze. Trixie took a shuddering breath and allowed her mother to lead her into the room. They stood side by side. At first, Trixie stared across at the opposite wall, she was too afraid to look down. Drawing every last bit of courage she had, she glanced down. It still kind of looked like Uncle Andrew, albeit paler and stiller. Her fear left her and she was able to really look. She noted that he seemed more peaceful than when she had last seen him. The tiredness and pain had left him.

"He looks so peaceful," Trixie whispered.

"He does, doesn’t he?" Helen touched Andrew’s face and bent down to kiss his forehead. "Goodbye, Andy."

Trixie reached out a trembling hand and lightly touched Andrew’s hand. She shivered at how cold it felt and her eyes filled with tears.

"Goodbye, Uncle Andrew," she sniffed. A sob escaped and Helen pulled her into her arms. Together the two women wept.

Trixie felt emotionally drained as they left the funeral home. There was silence on the drive home, and Trixie was grateful for this. She didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment. Back at the farm, Mary had a hot drink and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies waiting. Trixie sat at the kitchen table with her mug of coffee between her hands. She appreciated the warmth it gave her. Helen, Mary and Hank were talking quietly, but Trixie was only half listening to the conversation.

After they had finished morning tea, the Gorman’s had left them to it, wanting to give them some space. They would take the opportunity to go and visit with some friends, who had been urging them to visit. They would return later that afternoon. Mary said there was soup in the refrigerator and she had baked yesterday. Helen thanked her for her kindness. Hank said that they didn’t need to worry about the sheep; the farm hand Joe would have everything under control.

After waving off the Gormans and returning to the warmth of the kitchen, Trixie asked, "So where do we start?"

Helen frowned. She had no idea. They would have to work through things methodically. She didn’t believe there would be much to sort through. It was only the personal items that they were interested in right now. It was probably easier to start downstairs.

"Shall we start in the study?" she suggested. "I don’t imagine that it will take long to go through. We’ll just gather up anything that’s personal and leave the business related things for your father to go through with Hank." Peter had said that he would look through the farm accounts when he came out. They were unsure of what would become of the farm yet. Andrew’s assets were to be divided equally amongst his nieces and nephews. He had made that clear once he became sick, and had noted it in his will. There were too many things to worry about just now, and it was not the time to be making hasty decisions. Not when the grief was still too fresh. The Gormans would continue to run the farm until a decision was made.

Trixie nodded and followed her mother into Uncle Andrew’s study. The large wooden desk was tidy. Only a blotter and penholder lay on the scarred surface. Trixie thought ruefully of her own untidy desk. Honey always told her that it was a miracle she could even find anything. There were three drawers on either side. Trixie and Helen took a side each. Sitting on the floor, they each pulled out a drawer to go through the contents.

It seemed strange to be going through his things. She felt guilty; it was if she was prying. Not that there seemed to be anything personal in here. Everything that Trixie looked at seemed to be either farm or fishing lodge related.

"Moms, did someone contact the Moores?" she asked. She’d suddenly thought of the caretakers of her uncle’s fishing lodge in the Ozarks.

Helen frowned. "I’m not sure. Remind me to ask your father. I told him I would ring him tonight."

"You’d better remind me to remind you. You know what my memory’s like," Trixie grinned. With some things, her memory was good, especially if it had been something, or someone unusual or mysterious. Other things she clean forgot, especially if it involved housework.

"Hopefully, one of us will remember."

"Have you found anything interesting?" Trixie asked, looking up from the pile of vet bills she’d picked up.

Helen shook her head. "No, it’s just business correspondence really. Invoices, receipts, that kind of thing. One or two personal letters. Why? Do you think your uncle had some deep dark secret?"

Trixie laughed. "Of course not! But you know me, I’m never happy unless I’m trying to unravel some mystery." She didn’t know what it was she was hoping to find. It was difficult to explain, but she was looking for something more personal. Something that would give her more insight into her uncle. Surely he must have keepsakes of some kind. There were no piles of letters or mementos. Maybe it was a male thing. She thought of all the bits and pieces she had collected over the years. She was a terrible hoarder; there were things from elementary school, and souvenirs from trips that she had taken with her friends. Her desk was covered in all sorts of bits and pieces. She swore that everything was useful. They hadn’t had to sort out too much. The study was very organised with folders for farm accounts. Every thing was labelled. They left them where they were. They didn’t want anything muddled up or misplaced.

Helen stood, placing her hands on her lower back; she stretched out her stiff muscles.

"What do you say to having some lunch, then we can tackle the bedroom?" she asked. Trixie was quick to agree, jumping to her feet. Helen heated the chunky vegetable soup while Trixie sliced thick slices of Mary’s homemade bread. The farmhand Joe joined them for lunch. Trixie guessed him to be in his late twenties. He’d been working at the farm for the past three years. He was saving up to go overseas. He wanted to work on a sheep station in Australia. He couldn’t wait to travel, having never been to another country before.

After lunch they went upstairs to begin the task of going through the bedroom. Trixie felt a little hesitant at entering the room. This was after all, the room in which he had died. She gave an involuntary shiver. Helen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It’s okay," she said softly. "He’s at peace now."

"I know." Trixie was thankful that her mother was here, and that she understood her nervousness. The double bed had been stripped, and the mattress left to air. It was almost as if Andrew was simply away. Trixie decided to pretend to herself that this was the case. It made doing this just a little easier to bear. The room was sparsely furnished. The only pieces of furniture were the bed, a chest of drawers, and a nightstand. Indicating the wardrobe, Helen suggested that they donate the clothing. Trixie nodded her agreement.

While her mother began to remove hangers of clothing, Trixie was about to head for the nightstand when she hesitated. As much as she might be hoping to find something interesting, there just may be things in there that she didn’t want to find. Her uncle was a man after all - not that that meant all men had those kinds of things in drawers and under beds or wherever they kept them. She remembered catching Dan and Mart with a magazine once. She had assumed that it wasn’t a sports or music magazine by their guilty looks and red faces. That and the fact that the magazine disappeared quickly from sight. It hadn’t been something she’d been particularly eager to pursue further. Some things were better left unknown.

Helen noticed her hesitation and turned to look at her. "Is something wrong?" she asked. She had expected Trixie to dive right in to the nightstand‘s drawers.

"I was just thinking about what might be in there," she said pointing at the nightstand.

Helen frowned. "I don’t understand." What could possibly have Trixie so worried?

Trixie sighed. "You know. I have three brothers, what have they had hidden?" She couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation with her mother. There were just some things you don’t discuss with your mother.

"Do you mean porn?" Helen asked. It had finally dawned on her what Trixie was trying to say, in her usual roundabout way.

"Moms!" Trixie shrieked, her face flaming. Helen laughed at the shock on Trixie’s face. What did she expect her to say - girlie magazines? Weren’t mothers supposed to use the word ‘porn’?

"Shall I check to see if there’s anything that might offend your delicate sensibilities?" Helen asked, attempting to hide a smile.

Trixie nodded. "Yes, please. There are some things I’d really rather not know about my uncle, thank you very much!" She closed her eyes as Helen quickly checked the drawers. She knew that she was probably over-reacting, but it was better to be safe than sorry in her opinion.

"You can look now," she laughed. Trixie opened her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for that, Moms," she said. Now she could safely examine the contents of the drawers. To her disappointment, she unearthed nothing of great interest. The top drawer contained his reading glasses, watch, a transistor radio, some tissues, pens, a few loose pages of notebook paper and a book. The book was an old hardcover copy of Frederick Forsyth’s The Day of the Jackal. Trixie put it aside to read when she went to bed. She hadn’t thought to bring a book with her, and she’d gotten into the habit of reading a chapter or two before turning off the light. The bottom drawer contained farming magazines. She closed the drawer with a sigh, and leaned against the side of the bed.

Helen looked at Trixie and smiled. She could sense Trixie’s disappointment. She glanced down at her watch. "What to you say to taking a break?" she asked. "I’ll go and put the coffee pot on."

"I could do with a break," Trixie said stretching. "This has been pretty boring, really."

Helen laughed as she left the room. With hands on hips, Trixie surveyed the room. She found it hard to believe that her uncle had nothing of interest for her to find. She chastised herself for being so nosy, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t her fault she was curious about other people’s lives. Whenever she visited someone, she took great interest in checking out his or her bookshelves and music collections.

She looked at the wardrobe. Helen had removed all the clothing and shoes, putting them in tidy piles on the bed. Maybe there was something on the shelf. She stood on tiptoe, but still couldn’t see to the very back. She tried jumping up and down, but to no avail. She just couldn’t stay up in the air long enough. This was one of the many times she wished she was taller. She went through to the guest bedroom and picked up a chair, taking it back to Andrew’s room. There’s probably nothing in here, she thought. But, she had to be certain. She peered into the dark recess of the wardrobe. She thought she saw something in the far right corner. She stretched out her arm, her fingers encountering a cardboard box. Trixie smiled triumphantly as she pulled it toward her. It was a dust-covered shoebox. She blew some of the dust away and promptly sneezed.

She jumped down from the chair and sat on the side of the bed. By the musty smell that emanated from the box as she lifted the lid, Trixie surmised that no one had been in it for some time. Maybe it had been there for longer than Uncle Andrew had owned this place. Trixie felt a sense of anticipation growing. She took out a bundle of letters held together by a rubber band and put them aside. She would look through them later. There were photos, a couple of postcards, and a small glass paperweight with a cable car inside and a newspaper clipping. Trixie glanced briefly at the clipping, which had something to do with basketball. She picked up the photos, and flicked through them. Trixie recognised her uncle, but there was another boy she didn’t recognise. He was lighter in colouring than Andrew, and slightly shorter. The photos had been taken over a period of years, from small boys to young men. Trixie wondered who he was, and hoped that Helen might know.

She moved then to the letters. The envelopes were yellowed with age. Trixie had a momentary thought that maybe she shouldn’t be prying like this, but brushed it aside. She wasn’t hurting anyone, after all. She pulled the first letter from the top of the pile, and removed it from the envelope. What began as snippets of news soon became more personal.

"Oh," she breathed as she suddenly realised what it all meant. These were love letters! She felt embarrassed now as she returned the letter to the envelope. She didn’t need to read the others to guess what they contained. She wondered then what to do with this discovery. Should she show them to her mother, or put them back and forget she ever saw them? The choice was made for her as Helen entered the room.

"What have you found now?" she teased pointing at the box beside Trixie.

"I found this at the back of the shelf in the wardrobe," Trixie explained, putting the bundle of letters on her other side, out of Helen’s sight. "It must have been Uncle Andrew’s."

"Anything interesting in it?" Helen never failed to be amazed at what Trixie was able to uncover. She hadn’t noticed the box at all. But then, she hadn’t been looking for it either. Trixie seemed to have a knack for stumbling onto things. She thought back to when Trixie had discovered the crawl space in the attic.

"Some old letters and photos and other bits and pieces," she said casually. She thought that if she made it sound boring her mother wouldn’t ask anything more, or want to look for herself. She wanted to find out what her mother knew before telling her about what she had read in the letter. But, right now she was more interested in finding out the identity of the boy in the photos. She picked up the photos and handed them to Helen.

"Do you know who this boy with Uncle Andrew is?" she asked. Helen sat next to Trixie on the bed, with the photos in her lap. She gasped when she saw the photos.

"I always wondered what happened to these!" she exclaimed. "I’d forgotten how young he was," she said softly, reaching out a finger to touch one of the photos. Trixie waited while her mother seemed lost in a memory. Helen shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. She looked up at Trixie and smiled.

"Sorry, I was miles away, or should I say, years away. This is Justin Fleming." Trixie was startled to hear the name, but Helen didn’t appear to notice. "He and Andrew were friends for a long time, right from first grade."

"So you knew him too?" Trixie asked. She sometimes forgot that her uncle and mother had gone to school together. Helen had moved to Sleepyside with her parents when she was twelve. Her older sister Alicia had been a college freshman at the time.

"Yes. We were in the same grade. We didn’t live that far from each other, so sometimes my friend Beverley and I would walk home with him." Helen smiled as she remembered that Beverley had had a crush on Justin when they were thirteen. It seemed nearly a lifetime ago. How things had changed since those innocent days. It reminded her that she needed to get in touch with Beverley. She doubted that she would be able to get out for the funeral, but knew that she would want to know about Andrew’s passing.

"So, how come we’ve never heard about him?" Trixie asked. She would have thought that they would have heard stories of Andrew’s childhood friend over the years. Her own father had often mentioned his friend Paul, and the scrapes they would get themselves into.

"Do we have to let him know that Uncle Andrew’s dead?" She didn’t know if they still kept in contact. Maybe they’d had a falling out years ago. Even so, she was sure that he’d appreciate being notified of Uncle Andrew’s death.

Helen shook her head. "No, we don’t have to notify him, because he died before you were born. Your father and I had only been married a few months." Was it really that long ago? Helen thought. Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday.

"Oh." Trixie was surprised by this last piece of information. "What happened?" She expected to hear that it had been a car accident, illness or something else common.

"He was gored by a bull." Helen closed her eyes; reliving the moment she had heard the news. At college, Justin had worked part-time for a vet, and had gone with him to check on an injured bull. Helen couldn’t remember all the details but knew that the animal had become agitated and charged. Justin had been unable to evade the rampaging bull in time.

"Ewww, gross!" Trixie was shocked. "Poor Uncle Andrew!" She felt sorry for her uncle. It must have been hard enough to lose a lifelong friend, but when that friend meant so much more, how could he have borne it? Until now, Trixie had not had to deal with grief over losing a loved one.

Her paternal grandparents had died before she had been born. She would have liked to have known them, but she didn’t feel the sense of loss that goes with the death of someone you have had a relationship with. Helen’s mother was still alive, although Trixie had only met her a couple of times. She had Alzheimer’s and didn’t recognise anyone except Aunt Alicia. Helen’s father had died when Trixie was four. Trixie had a vague memory of him being around, but again didn’t feel the sense of loss. It was more of a sadness of not having a grandparent around.

Trixie looked at Helen. Helen was still staring at the photo, a sad expression on her face. She must have sensed she was being watched because she looked up. Trixie was distressed to see tears in her mother’s eyes.

"Are you okay, Moms?" she asked, placing an arm around her mother’s shoulders. Helen nodded and gave her a weak smile.

"I’m sorry," she said as she dashed the tears away. "I’m fine, really. It’s just bringing back memories. It was a dreadful time. It was the first time I experienced the death of someone my own age. Someone I was friends with. I’d lost my grandparents, but this was different. When you’re young you don’t always think too far ahead. It seems as if you’re invincible. After all, we had decades of living to be done. It was hard being suddenly faced with one’s own mortality. Which is strange when you consider that the Vietnam War was in progress when I was a teenager, and some Sleepyside boys lost their lives there. Sometimes things have more impact when you have a personal stake in them."

Now that she had had one question answered, Trixie wanted to know what her mother knew about what she had read in the letters. She felt certain now that her mother must know something. How could she not have?

"Moms, I found some letters that Justin wrote to Uncle Andrew," she said. She watched Helen’s face for any reaction.

"Oh?" Helen looked at Trixie and her heart sank. She could tell by the pensive expression on her daughter’s face that she had discovered something. She didn’t need to guess just what that something was. "So you know then?" she sighed.

Trixie nodded. "So you already know what they contain?"

Helen nodded. "I think I can guess. It’s has something to do with their friendship, doesn’t it?"

"Yes. I probably shouldn’t have read the letter - I only read one, but I couldn’t help my curiosity. You know what I’m like." Trixie was relieved that her mother already knew. If she hadn’t of known, Trixie wouldn’t have wanted to break it to her, neither would she have wanted to bear the secret alone. She wouldn’t have been able to conceal that something was bothering her - Helen knew her too well for that.

"Are you okay?" Helen asked. She was worried about how Trixie may feel about this sudden revelation. She hoped it wouldn’t cloud the feelings she had for her beloved uncle. She knew that Trixie was very open hearted, and while she may form snap judgements about people, she wasn’t prejudiced as such.

"I don’t know," Trixie said honestly. "It’s a shock because I never had any inkling, never even considered it. But, it does explain a few things, like why he never married. I always thought he’d simply never found the right woman, which of course is true. But, now I’m assuming that he did find the right person, only it wasn’t to be. That’s just so sad. Poor Uncle Andrew must have been devastated."

"He was. Naturally, he took it very hard," Helen agreed. There was more to the story, but she would keep that to herself. Trixie didn’t need to know the depth of despair her uncle had gone through. Helen could still remember the locked doors and antiseptic smell of the corridors and gave an involuntary shiver.

"You know," Trixie continued. "I’d never have suspected it. Uncle Andrew always seemed so… manly."

Helen burst into laughter. "Not everyone fits into stereotypes," she reminded.

"I know, I know," Trixie grinned. Her thoughts then turned to her brothers. Should she share this information with them?v "Should the others know?" she asked.

"What do you think?" Helen wanted to know what Trixie would do, before voicing her own opinion.

Trixie shook her head. "I’m not sure. Part of me says ‘no’ because it’s not something that everyone needs to know. I don’t think Uncle Andrew would want it to be common knowledge, otherwise he would have told us himself. But the other part of me says ‘yes’ because I’d hate Brian, Mart and Bobby to find out from some other source."

"Do you think that is likely?"

Trixie shook her head. "If I hadn’t been snooping around, I would be none the wiser. What do you think, Moms?"

"Personally, I’d prefer not to tell them, but we can discuss it with your father to get his thoughts. This was one area of his life that Andrew was intensely private about. If the boys ask a direct question about this, then I won’t lie to them. But for now, I would rather they didn’t know. Are you okay with this?"

Trixie nodded. "Yes. I do think that it’s the best way. I hate keeping things from Brian and Mart, but it’s not my secret to tell. We don’t have any other skeletons in the family closets do we, Moms?"

Helen laughed. "I don’t think so. All in all, we’re a pretty boring family. There is one thing I need to ask you though," Helen said, growing serious.

"What is it, Moms?"

"Has this changed how you felt about Andrew?" Helen asked. Trixie pondered this question. She was still getting over the surprise, but she felt okay about her discovery. Right now, she seemed to have a hundred questions she wanted answers to.

"No. He’s still the same Uncle Andrew. I just feel I know him a little better. It’s just a pity that it had to be now, when he’s gone." Helen was relieved to hear this. When she had realised what Trixie had discovered she’d been worried about her reaction. The last thing she’d wanted was for anything to change in how she remembered Andrew. Andrew himself wanted to be remembered as the healthy man he had been. He and Helen had spoken about that at Christmas. Was it really only a few weeks ago?

The night before he was due to leave, Helen sat with Andrew in the kitchen. They were preparing supper and were just waiting for the kettle to boil. She noted how tired and drawn he was looking despite all his efforts not to appear so.

"Helen," he said. "I’ve decided not to go ahead with the surgery."

Helen didn’t know what to say. She was surprised by his decision because he’d always been so positive, so determined not to let this beat him. How could he give up now?

"Oh," she said finally. Andrew smiled softly and reached across for her hand.

"I’m ready to go. My intention had been to fight this every way. I thought that I had so many things left to do, but this week I’ve realised that I’ve done everything I ever wanted. I’ve achieved the goals I set myself. I’ve enjoyed watching my nieces and nephews grow into the wonderful adults they are, and I’m fairly sure that Bobby’s heading in the right direction."

Helen smiled weakly. "Are you sure about this?"

Andrew nodded. "I am. It would only have given me a few more months. In some ways, I’m looking forward to it. Oh Helen, I’ve spent too many years missing him."

Helen burst into tears then, burying her face on her arms. The kettle began to whistle then and she heard Andrew move to take it off the stove. She struggled to get her emotions under control. She knew there would be questioning looks when they went back into the sitting room. She had to put a brave face on for the sake of her family. She rubbed at her face and took a shuddering breath before pushing her chair back.

She hugged Andrew tightly. "I’ll miss you, you know that?" she asked, her voice muffled against his chest. Andrew squeezed her back.

"You’ve been the perfect friend to me all these years," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Anyway, enough of this maudlin talk, people will be wondering if we’ve eaten all the food."

Helen laughed and disentangled herself. "You know," she said thoughtfully. "You could stay here with us, instead of going back to Iowa. We have plenty of room. You could have the guest room down here, so there aren’t any stairs to climb."

Andrew smiled and shook his head. "No. I want the kids to remember me as I am now. I don’t want them to remember me as a sick old man, who couldn’t look after himself in the end. I want to keep what dignity I have."

"I understand," Helen said as she picked up the tray. She understood perfectly, but all she wanted was to spend as much of the time with Andrew that he had left. She could see his point of view, and didn’t blame him one bit, but she couldn’t help feeling as if she was being cheated.

During the farewells the following day, Helen knew that they would never see him alive again. That night, Peter showed Helen an envelope that Andrew had given him before leaving. It was his will. Peter broke down then, as the realisation sank in. Helen lay awake long after her husband had fallen asleep. Helen prayed for the strength to get herself and her family through all that was to come.

Helen was simply thankful that he didn’t suffer. She was surprised by how quickly the end had come. She was going to miss him. She glanced at the box beside Trixie. Andrew had rarely spoken about Justin over the years. She hadn’t brought him up either, thinking that it would reopen old wounds.

As if reading her mother’s mind, Trixie picked up the box.

"He must have put away everything that reminded him of Justin, yet he kept them. I was thinking that Uncle Andrew wasn’t a sentimental person."

"No. He wasn’t. Your father’s the same. The only things he’s kept are some baseball cards that he’s always maintained that he was saving for your brothers and a cup for athletics. That’s all. Though your grandmother kept a lot more. There’s a box of stuff up in the attic."

"He didn’t even keep anything you sent him?"

Helen shook her head. "Nothing. I however, still have every letter and card he’s sent me."

"It must be a male thing," Trixie said. "Ben doesn’t seem to have saved anything. Actually, Ben doesn’t have much of anything. I think he’s into the minimalist look."

Trixie returned the photos to the box and replaced the lid. All that remained now of a long ago relationship was reduced to the contents of this single box, and the memories of those who knew. It was a sobering thought. Hadn’t there been anyone else for her uncle?

"Did Uncle Andrew ever find anyone else?" Trixie asked.

Helen shook her head. "I don’t believe he did. Or if there had been he never mentioned it."

"So, he spent all those years alone. It would have been - how long?"

"Nearly thirty years. Justin was twenty-three when he died," Helen said. She herself had hoped that Andrew would find someone else to share his life with. She’d always worried about him spending too much time by himself. She’d said this to him often enough, but he’d laughed her off. He told her that he enjoyed his own company, but it wasn’t as if he was a hermit either. He socialised with his friends and neighbours.

"That’s only two years younger than me," Trixie mused. "What was he like?"

"Justin? Quite different to your uncle. He was a lot quieter for one thing. Your uncle was very much like Mart."

"How do you mean?" Trixie couldn’t see any similarities between her uncle and brother. Neither in looks or temperament.

"Your uncle was far more outgoing when he was younger. He didn’t have Mart’s vocabulary, but he sure liked to talk a lot. He was a bit of a clown as well. If there was something going on, he was bound to be in the middle of it. He became quieter when Justin died; he seemed to lose some of his spark. The happiest I’ve ever seen him has been when he’s been with you and your brothers. Anyway, back to Justin. I wouldn’t say that they were complete opposites, just different. Andrew was very outgoing. Justin played basketball; your uncle was on the football team. Andrew had plenty of girls interested in him. He was very handsome. Looking back, I guess you could have seen signs. For all the girls your uncle was surrounded with, there was never one you would have called a girlfriend. Not that that necessarily means anything. But I’ve always wondered if on some level your uncle was aware of his sexuality then.

"Justin too had his share of interested girls, including my friend Beverley. He had a couple of girlfriends over the years. Mothers adored him because he was so polite. Honey reminds me of him sometimes. He could give the uncanniest imitations of some teachers - used to have us in hysterics. Where your uncle was loud and boisterous, Justin was far quieter. He was gentle too, the kind of boy who would bring home injured animals and nurse them back to health. For as long as I knew him, he’d always had his heart set on becoming a veterinarian.

"Despite their differences, they had been friends since the first grade, virtually inseparable. Oh, they had other friends as well, but most of the time you’d find them together. They’d always planned on going to the same college, so both went to Cornell. Justin for the veterinary medicine degree, Andrew for the animal science degree. I’m guessing that it must have been during their time together at college, that their relationship changed. I can’t give you any details because I honestly don’t know."

"Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint when things change, look at Ben and me. Who’d ever have thought we would be dating." Trixie could scarcely believe it herself.

"Yes," Helen agreed. "I’m still getting used to it. Not that I have anything against Ben," she said quickly. "It’s just that I still have a hard time seeing you with anyone other than Jim. I’m just content to see you happy, and I must say that I am very impressed with how Ben has turned out." Helen had been shocked when Trixie had told her that Jim had broken up with her. She had been even more stunned when Trixie had announced she was dating her teenage nemesis, Ben Riker. But, Trixie was happy, and Helen had been pleased to see the sparkle come back into her eyes.

"I can’t imagine what it would feel like to lose someone you loved like that," Trixie said. She had thought the pain of breaking up with Jim was bad enough, but death was forever. "How did he cope?"

"As best he could. I know that it was very hard for him, and I think that it was made harder by the fact that very few people knew of their relationship. Everyone knew that they were friends of course, but there were only a few of us who knew the truth about their relationship. Justin’s parents only found out when they picked up his belongings from college. They found letters that Andrew had sent Justin, and to put it bluntly, they were disgusted. They really turned on Andrew. There were some nasty things said. They wanted to keep him away from the funeral, but your father talked them out of it. He explained that people would question his absence, so they reluctantly agreed. I suspect your father informed them that he would tell the true reason behind Andrew not attending. It was better than having the truth come out. As devout Christians, they just couldn’t handle this revelation about their son. In their opinion, Andrew had damned their son’s immortal soul."

"How awful! What ever happened to them?" Trixie asked. "They moved away not long after that. I’ve never seen them back in Sleepyside. I guess it was too hard for them; he was their only child. After the funeral, your uncle buried himself away on this farm. It was much smaller back then, and still owned by the previous owner. Andrew had come out here to work as a farm hand during college; he spent his summers working here. If I remember correctly, the owner was a relative of one of the college lecturers. The owner was finding it difficult to manage some of the heavier work, and didn’t want to keep pestering his neighbours. Andrew began full time work after graduation. They’d decided to move out here where there were fewer people who knew them. It did mean that they would be separated while Justin finished his vet training. Once he graduated, Justin would move out here. Looking back, I think that would have raised more than a few eyebrows back home, although I recall there was some mention of a relative somewhere. I think Justin had an aunt or uncle in Cedar Rapids."

"So, how did you find out? Trixie asked. "Did Uncle Andrew tell you?"

Helen shook her head."I only found out by accident, catching them at an inopportune moment. That brought things out into the open. But even then, we never really talked about it. I knew their feelings for one another, but that was it. There were never any in depth discussions, just an awareness of how things stood. Andrew told your father not long after this, and I always felt it was so I didn’t have to keep a secret from your father. So, even amongst the family it wasn’t common knowledge. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that your grandmother suspected, although she never said anything. I don’t think your grandfather would have been terribly accepting. He had very firm ideas about some things, and I don’t believe that Andrew ever told your Uncle Harold. They were never very close, too much of an age difference. They very rarely spent any time together."

"Is that why Hallie and the others haven’t had as much to do with Uncle Andrew as the rest of us have?" Trixie had wondered why. Uncle Andrew had often come out to Crabapple Farm, but only once or twice had he ever mentioned about going to Idaho. She knew that Hallie had visited his lodge in the Ozarks, because she’d gone too. But didn’t remember anything about Knut or Cap visiting.

Helen nodded. "That’s what I’ve always thought. Andrew loved all of you, but he spent more time with the four of you. You were always his favourite. You certainly knew how to wrap him around your little finger, right from when you were tiny."

"Well, he was my very favourite uncle. I’m going to miss him." Tears filled Trixie’s eyes.

"I know, sweetheart. I miss him too." Helen embraced her daughter, allowing her own tears to flow.

By the end of the day, they were fairly certain that they had gathered all of Andrew’s personal belongings. There were still the books and records, but they would leave them here for now. Trixie put the book and shoebox on the dresser in her room. She didn’t know what they were going to do with it yet. She looked out at the darkening sky, and wondered if it would snow that night. The wind seemed to be picking up a little. She hoped the Gormans would be safe out there, and laughed at herself. They were more familiar with the area than she was. She remembered one time when she was visiting, Hank had looked up at the sky and predicted that it would rain. Trixie had laughed at him because there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Four hours later she was proved wrong, and she never doubted Hank again.

She heard the telephone ring and bounded down the stairs to answer it, but Helen got there first. By her mother’s replies she guessed that she was speaking with Mary Gorman.

"That was Mary," Helen said as she hung up the telephone. "They’re not willing to risk the weather so they will stay overnight. They could have come home earlier, but they’ve been having too much fun catching up with their friends."

Trixie nodded. "Sounds sensible. I’m starving! All that work’s given me an appetite. What shall we have for supper?"

"Mary said there’s plenty of meat in the freezer. We can throw together a casserole."

"Yum! It’s definitely the weather for something warm," Trixie said. "I’ll let Joe know that they won’t be back tonight so that he can do whatever needs to be done." Trixie was pleased to be out in the fresh air. She hated being cooped up inside for to long. She walked quickly over to the barn, where she found Joe measuring out feed.

"Mary and Hank won’t be home tonight," she informed him. "Moms and I’ll make dinner. It should be ready about six."

"Thanks. Is there anything I can do to help? I don’t mind cooking, but Mary won’t let me anywhere near her kitchen. I don’t think she trusts me."

Trixie giggled at this. Tall and broad, Joe didn’t look as if he’d be too comfortable in a kitchen. He gave off an air of an accident waiting to happen. She could see why Mary didn’t want him under her feet.

"Thanks, but Moms and I have everything under control. We’ll call you if we need you," she promised before running back inside. There had been an obvious drop in temperature. She would be more surprised if it didn’t snow.

Despite the sadness of going through Uncle Andrew’s things, Trixie valued the time that she was spending with her mother. There had been very few opportunities lately for them to be together without any distractions. Trixie vowed to herself to make more of an effort to spend time with Helen. She realised now that all time was precious. She didn’t want to be facing regrets later on. She wished now that she had spent more time with her uncle.

"You’re looking very serious," Helen said lightly. She was cubing pieces of meat while Trixie chopped up vegetables.

Trixie looked up at her mother’s voice, and smiled. "I was just thinking how nice it’s been just the two of us. We don’t get enough time to ourselves. "

"I’ve thought the same thing. You’re always so busy. I know that you have your own life to lead and things to do, but I miss having you around." Helen missed the bustle of her busy family. There was only Bobby at home now, and soon he too would be gone. She didn’t know what she would do then.

"Even when I was getting into trouble?" Trixie teased. Her mother blamed her for giving her grey hairs.

Helen laughed. "Even then. It’s so quiet now. I suppose I just have to wait for grandchildren." Although she was enjoying only having one child at home, she couldn’t wait to have children in the house again.

"Don’t look at me!" Trixie said waving her knife in horror. "I’m not even thinking about children right now. You’ll have to wait for those brother’s of mine. Honey or Di are more likely choices to bear your first grandchildren than me, right now." Helen sighed dramatically, making Trixie giggle.

"So, tell me more about Uncle Andrew. What was he like at school?" Trixie asked to change the subject.

"As I said before, he was a bit of a clown. He’d play practical jokes on people. I remember one morning one girl was late to class. She was frequently late, which is why I’m sure Andrew picked her. The rest of the class was sitting, when she came rushing in the door, apologizing to the teacher. Our teacher just frowned and told her to hurry up and sit down. When the girl went to sit down she couldn’t pull out her seat. The teacher told her to sit down, and the girl said she couldn’t because she couldn’t move the seat. It turned out that someone had glued it to the floor. Of course the class was in hysterics by this time. I’m sure the teacher knew that Andrew did it, but couldn’t prove anything."

Trixie laughed. "What a neat trick! Wish I’d thought of doing something like that to Mart."

"You two have pulled plenty of pranks over the years, thank you!" Helen said with a smile. Trixie and Mart had teased each other mercilessly growing up, though every so often they would band together to torment someone else. This was usually their older brother. For all Brian’s intelligence, he never once picked up on what his siblings were plotting.

"What else did he do?"

"Your grandmother said she used to dread the first of April because she never knew what your uncle would be up to next. One year he swapped all the cupboard contents around, heaven knows how he managed it! One year he put salt on everybody’s toothbrush."

"Ick! So that’s where Mart got the idea!" Trixie shuddered at the memory of the salty tooth-brushing incident several years earlier.

"Very likely!" Helen laughed. "It was Andrew that gave Mart the idea of sewing all Brian’s underpants together that year."

"That was one of the best," Trixie grinned, as she remembered the look on Brian’s face as he chased Mart throughout the house trailing underwear behind him. She had helped Mart with the sewing. That was the only time she’d derived any pleasure from such a hated task.

"Did he always want to be a farmer? It must be a Belden thing." Mart was saving toward buying a small farm. While he enjoyed teaching at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School, his real passion was to own his own small farm. Trixie couldn’t imagine Di being content with being a farmer’s wife, even with her own career, but it wasn’t any of her business. She hadn’t expressed her doubts to anyone, not even Honey. She truly hoped that she was mistaken.

"Well, your grandmother told me how he used to pester your grandparents into starting a sheep farm."

"What, at Crabapple Farm?" Trixie asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes. But your grandparents weren’t as enthusiastic as your uncle and quashed that plan fairly quickly. Andrew had these brilliant plans for the farm as a young boy. He thought they could buy surrounding land and plant fields of crops, and have lots of different animals. I think your grandparents were relieved when the option of purchasing this farm came up. They loaned Andrew some of the money, and the rest came from his share of Crabapple Farm. I think they thought it would get him out of their hair, before he started making improvements."

"So, is that why we have the farm?" Trixie asked. She added the chopped vegetables to the meat in the dish.

Helen nodded. "Your Uncle Harold wasn’t interested in it, and everyone wanted to keep it in the family. I don’t think that Andrew would have moved back to Sleepyside anyway. There were too many memories. I was happy to move in to the farm. I’d always love spending time there." Helen added some herbs and a sprinkling of salt before putting the cover on.

"So was Dad your first boyfriend?" Trixie asked. Helen looked at her in surprise. She could hardly keep up with the jumps Trixie’s mind made from subject to subject.

"What makes you ask that?"

"Just curious. It’s just with all this talking about Uncle Andrew, I realised that I don’t know much about when you were growing up. I don’t even know where you and Dad met. I’m sure there’s things that you don’t want us to know about and that’s okay. Heck, there are things I sure hope you never find out!"

Helen raised an eyebrow at this last statement, but chose not to ask Trixie to elaborate. Some things were better left unsaid.

"What do you want to know exactly?" Helen asked. She slid the casserole dish into the waiting oven and took a seat at the table. Trixie sat opposite her mother. She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands.

"What ever you want to tell me," Trixie replied. "Who was your first crush?"

"Davy Edwards. I was seven and he was eight. He had black hair and freckles. At recess I used to hang upside down showing my knickers off in an attempt to get him to notice me." Trixie giggled at this. "Alas, he only had eyes for Peggy Wilson." Helen laughed. "You know, I haven’t thought about that in years!"

"Was Dad your first boyfriend?" Trixie asked again. Helen nodded.

"My first real one. Until I met your father, we’d tend to go out together in groups. I wasn’t really interested in having a serious boyfriend at the time. In my senior year, my focus was on working toward a scholarship to art school, and my part-time job at the bookshop."

"So, where did you and Dad first meet?"

"At a party. It was at your uncle’s friend George’s house. I don’t know if you’ve ever met him. His older brother Paul is a friend of your father’s. Andrew and George played football together. I remember not really wanting to go, but my friend Beverley nagged me in to going. I’m sure you don’t want to know all the boring details."

"Oh yes I do! I want to know everything. Well, as much as you want to tell me of course." Trixie waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Helen burst out laughing.

"Alright then, but don’t blame me if you fall asleep through boredom," Helen warned before beginning her story. It was the summer before her senior year at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School.

Her friend Beverley invited her to a party the following night. Helen tried to decline, but Beverley wouldn’t take no for an answer.

"You need to get out more," she said.

"I do get out," Helen protested. "I have school and work."

Beverley rolled her eyes. "That’s not what I mean and you know it. You need some other fun. You hardly spend anytime with us anymore. It will be fun. Plus you’ll get to meet some nice boys."

Helen sighed. Why did her friends think it was so bad not to have a boyfriend? It wasn’t that she didn’t like boys, and she’d been invited out many times, but she had things all planned out and didn’t need any complications right now. She had enough on her plate as it was. She was working as hard as she could to save for her art school fees just in case she didn’t get the scholarship.

"Beverley, I know most of the boys here. The school’s not that big, you know."

"Yes, yes, I know. But at least you can spend time with them. George Hilton fancies you. It’s at his place by the way. Please say you’ll come?" Beverley begged.

Helen sighed. "Oh, all right." She knew she could always leave early. That was one of the advantages with living in town; it was easy enough to make an escape.

Beverley squealed and jumped up and down. "You won’t regret it. It will do you good to get out. I know George will be pleased to see you."

Helen shook her head as she watched Beverley hurry away. She had no interest in George Hilton. He played on the football team and his interests lay solely on girls, football and cars, and not necessarily in that order. It was not a great basis for thought-provoking conversation. He was pleasant enough, but really kind of dull.

The party was in full swing by the time Helen and Beverley arrived. Andrew Belden opened the door and welcomed them in. Andrew had been friends with George for as long as Helen had known them. Andrew lived at Crabapple Farm out on Glen Road along with his parents. His family had lived in Sleepyside for generations. He had two brothers who she couldn’t place faces to names off the top of her head. They were older than she was and she hadn’t had anything to do with them. She recalled seeing them around with Andrew or their parents from time to time. Andrew had said that one - Peter, was in college, and the eldest one Harold was working somewhere. She couldn’t remember where and Andrew didn’t speak much about him. She hadn’t had a lot to do with Andrew. She had had more to do with his best friend Justin Fleming. She and Andrew were in some of the same classes, but didn’t socialise together very often, though she had always found him likeable. He had a quick sense of humour and was usually the instigator of pranks. He had a large group of friends, but never seemed to have a girlfriend. This was not from any lack of interests on the part of the girls in school. Several would give their right arm to be the one, but Andrew was simply content to be friends with them.

She glanced around to see who else was here. George noticed her and made his way through the crowd. Helen pasted a welcoming smile upon her face.

"Hi, Helen. I’m glad that you came," he said. Helen was aware of Beverley discreetly disappearing and mentally cursed her. Just wait until she caught up to her later on!

"Thanks for the invitation. Your parents didn’t mind you having so many people?"

George shook his head. "They’ve gone out of town for the weekend and left my brother Paul in charge. They trust him to keep everything under control. Paul doesn’t mind the noise as much as my parents. Want something to drink?"

"Sure," Helen said as she followed him. She was soon standing against a wall sipping a Coke while George talked about the modifications he was making to his car, which was what he had done over summer vacation. She listened politely, but inwardly was wishing he would hurry up. She was relieved when he was called over to another group. She tried to avoid him after that. She danced with several other boys, and wondered how she could make an excuse to leave. It wasn’t that she didn’t like parties - she did. It was just that it was hard to talk over the music. Often she found that she left with a headache.

Bored with the party, she wandered around. She looked at the titles on the bookshelves. A mixture of classics and recent bestsellers. She was always interested to know what other people read. She noticed that the Hilton’s had some nice pieces of art. She was looking at a painting in the hallway when she sensed someone beside her.

"It’s one of my favourites," a deep male voice said from behind her.

Helen turned to see a dark haired young man. She didn’t recognise him, but thought he looked vaguely familiar. She must have seen him around town at some stage. He appeared older that the other boys here.

He stuck out his hand. "Peter Belden. I’m Andrew’s older brother. I’m here with George’s brother Paul to make sure things don’t get too out of hand." Of course, she could see the resemblance between the brothers now.

Helen took the offered hand with a smile. "Helen Johnson. I’m here because my friend dragged me."

Peter laughed. "I’m glad that you came. So," he said indicating the painting. "What do you think?"

Helen studied the painting. It was of a deer drinking from a stream. It seemed to be poised to flee at the slightest danger. It made her feel as if she had to be quiet herself as not to startle it. Peter nodded as she told him this.

"I’ve always thought the same. I’m not really into art. I either like something or I don’t. I really don’t understand some of the rubbish that people put together and proclaim to be art."

Helen smiled. She’d heard this argument before. "Art is very subjective. It’s hard to look past what you think to see what the artist is trying to say. To be able to appreciate the technique and meaning behind what’s on the canvas. Two artists can paint the same subject but the finished work will be the result of each artist’s interpretation."

"You sound like you know what you’re talking about," Peter said.

"I have an interest. So what do you do? I gather you’re not an artist," she teased.

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Definitely not! I’m doing a finance degree." He laughed at the expression on Helen’s face. "I’m wanting to go into banking. It’s a nice stable job as you’ll always need a bank."

"True," Helen agreed. "But isn’t it boring? Dealing with all those figures?"

Peter shook his head. "No. Some of the courses I’m taking are rather dry, but I’m concentrating on the bigger picture. I’ll be graduating this year. What about you? Are you a senior like Andrew? Have you decided on a college major yet?"

Helen nodded. "I’ve applied for a scholarship to art school."

"Wow, you must be good if you’ve applied for a scholarship. I hope you weren’t offended by my earlier comments," Peter said.

Helen laughed. "Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. My parents are still trying to convince themselves that it’s just a hobby and I’ll change my mind soon enough. But I won’t. I’m under no illusion that it’s going to be easy. I’m prepared for the hardships."

"Do you really believe that you can make a success?"

"Yes, I do. It’s finding the right outlet for me. I can do things such as illustrating children’s books, or other freelance work. Painting is my first love. I have a dream of having at least one of my paintings in a gallery, maybe even my own show someday."

"Good for you. I hope things go well. Look, I don’t know about you, but I could do with some fresh air. Do you want to sit outside for a bit?"

Helen nodded and followed Peter through the glass doors onto the patio. The air was a little cool and Helen shivered at the change in temperature. It was a lot quieter out here. She never understood why at parties the music had to be so loud that it was hard to hold a conversation.

"It’s not too cold for you is it?" Peter asked.

Helen shook her head. "No, I’m fine," she replied. There was a slight breeze, but it was pleasant enough. They sat on a small bench. It was still quite light, and the breeze carried the scent of flowers.

"So, Helen Johnson, tell me about yourself," Peter said.

Helen shrugged. "I don’t know. What do you want to know?" She didn’t think she was a worthy topic of conversation. She wasn’t that interesting, but Peter encouraged her, asking questions about her family, what music and books she liked. She found that they had several interests in common. Both enjoyed the music of The Mamas and the Papas, and both had enjoyed James A. Michener’s latest book. She learned that he was the middle child with an older brother Harold. He shared that he had always been closer to Andrew than Harold despite there was an equal number of years separating Harold and himself as there were between he and Andrew. Helen asked Peter about college and he spoke about some of the more interesting courses he’d taken - he wouldn’t bore her with facts and figures. He talked about college life and how different it was to living at home. There was a lot more freedom. Some students struggled with the extra freedom when away from home and got into trouble. Helen could hardly wait to experience it for herself.

They had been so engrossed in conversation that they hadn’t realised how dark it had become. Peter led her back inside to the party, a few people had left. Peter excused himself and Helen helped herself to some potato chips. Beverley came up beside her.

"Where did you sneak off to? I saw you go outside with Andrew’s brother. He is absolutely gorgeous! I want you to tell me everything!" she ordered excitedly, clutching at Helen’s arm.

Helen shrugged. "There isn’t anything to tell, all we did was talk."

"That’s all? He didn’t kiss you?" Beverley asked. From her tone of voice Helen knew that she was disappointed that she didn’t have anything juicy to tell her.

Helen shook her head furiously. She nearly choked on a chip. "No, he didn’t," she managed to get out.

"Bet you wanted him to, though?" Beverley teased.

Helen didn’t reply. The thought had never occurred to her. What would she have done if he had? She knew she wouldn’t have minded but he had given no indication that he was even considering it. He probably had a girlfriend at college. He wouldn’t be interested in a mere high school girl.

"Earth to Helen," Beverley’s voice broke into her thoughts.

"Sorry, I was miles away," Helen said.

"And I think I know where," Beverley said. "I was just saying that we probably should be going. It’s nearly my curfew. Dad said if I were late, I would be grounded for the entire year and I don’t want to take the chance. Not with it being our last year and so much happening!"

"Sure, I‘m about ready to leave, myself." Helen looked around for Peter because she wanted to say goodbye. She was a little disappointed when she couldn’t see him. She walked Beverley to her door and then continued around the corner to her own home. Her mother was making cocoa in the kitchen; she could never sleep until everyone was home.

"How was the party?" her mother asked.

"It was good. I had a good time." She accepted a warm mug. "It’s kind of scary thinking that after this last school year, everyone will be scattered."

Her mother smiled. "I know. It’s hard watching everyone move away. But there’s always someone who knows how everyone is. Few people disappear entirely even when they are out of contact. Your real friends are the ones who when you do see them, it feels as if you’ve never been apart." Helen thought that she and Beverley would be like this. They both had very different dreams, but Helen knew they would always remain friends.

Helen finished her cocoa and rinsed out her mug. "Thanks, Mom," she said kissing her mother’s cheek. As she undressed she looked at a photo of Beverley and herself. They had been friends since they were very young. She hoped that they would never drift apart. She made a vow that she would maintain contact with her friend no matter what. That night she dreamed of a certain dark haired young man.

"Did you know then that he was the one for you?" Trixie asked. She loved getting this insight into how her parents met.

Helen shook her head. "I liked him immensely, but I never thought that he could feel the same way about me."

"But obviously he did," Trixie pressed.

"I didn’t know that at the time. I left the party never expecting to see him again except maybe to greet in the street. I figured he probably had a girlfriend at college. Why would he be interested in a small town high school girl like me?"

"He must have been struck by your beauty and intelligence," Trixie said loyally.

"You are sweet," Helen said with a smile. "You can imagine my surprise when he turned up on my doorstep a few days later!"

The following afternoon Helen was sketching on the back patio when the doorbell rang. She put down her pencil and went to answer it. She was surprised to see Peter at the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Peter laughed. "That’s a great welcome."

Helen blushed. "Sorry. I just didn’t expect to see you on my doorstep." She wished she were wearing something prettier than the faded blue skirt and cream blouse she had on. She was certain that her hair was a mess and lifted a hand to smooth it down.

"I enjoyed talking with you at the party, and I wanted to see you again. You don’t mind do you?"

Helen bit her lip and shook her head. She had enjoyed spending time with him as well. She hadn’t thought that he would want to see her again, after all, she was still just a high-school kid really and he was a nearly graduated college student.

"I’m glad you came over," she said shyly.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked.

"Sure, that would be nice. Just let me leave a note for my mother and to lock up."

They strolled down the street, and into town. Peter bought her a milkshake at Wimpy’s. Sitting in a booth across from Peter, Helen could scarcely believe she was sipping a milkshake with the most handsome boy she’d ever met. She nearly pinched herself to be certain that she wasn’t dreaming. She was surprised at how comfortable she was with him. She felt as if she’d known him longer than just a few days. She was disappointed when she finished the last mouthful of shake. She’d wanted to prolong this moment for as long as possible. Reluctantly, she followed Peter outside, her heart leaping when he took her hand. She wished she lived further away, because all too soon, they were at her gate. They stood there for a few minutes, wanting to make the moment last a little longer. Helen could see her mother through the kitchen curtain.

"My mother is watching us," she said.

"Well, I’d better not kiss you goodbye then," he grinned. Helen blushed at the thought of being kissed. Not that she hadn’t been kissed before. "Can I see you again?" he asked.

Helen nodded without even needing to think about it. There was nothing she wanted more than to see him again. She hadn’t felt interested in anyone the way she felt about Peter. She was surprised at how quickly she had fallen for him.

"Great," he smiled. "Maybe a movie on Saturday night?"

"That should be fine. I’ll have to ask my parents first. I’m sure they’ll agree."

"I’ll speak to your father tomorrow and get his permission. Andrew said something about him working at Burton’s Bakery. Is that right?" Helen nodded. "Okay, then. See you Saturday."

"Bye," she said. She watched him leave before walking inside.

"Who was that that walked you home?" her mother asked, looking up from the vegetables she was chopping. Helen went over and leaned against the bench.

"Peter Belden. His younger brother Andrew is at school with me."

"The Belden’s live along Glen Road, don’t they?" Anne asked.

Helen nodded, as she fished a piece of carrot out of the pan and popped it into her mouth.

"A good family, the Beldens," her mother said. "How long have you known him? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention him."

"That’s because I only met him last night, Mom. He was helping to chaperone the party. How were the Stevens?" she asked.

Anne laughed at the change in subject. "They are just fine. They asked what your plans were for after this year. Have you decided yet? You’ll need to start thinking, because before you know it, the end of the year will come and you won’t have a clue. You have two options, college or find a job."

Helen sighed. She didn’t know what she wanted to do. College was appealing in that she could leave home, but it would cost her money. She would have to work to support herself as well as study. If she got a job, she could stay home and save towards a trip to Europe. If she went to college, she could get a better paying job and have more money to save. It probably would still take her the same length of time to save what she needed. Too many decisions!

"I know, Mom," she said.

Helen thought that Saturday would never arrive. She had gone through several complete outfits before deciding on a simple blue dress. Her heart jumped when she heard the chime of the doorbell. She took a deep breath, smoothing down the sides of her dress. Peter was standing just inside the door, talking with her father. He looked at her and smiled.

"You look lovely," he said warmly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"What time do you plan of having Helen back?" her father asked.

"Is eleven okay? I thought we might stop in at Wimpy’s afterwards."

"Hmm," her father said rubbing his chin. Helen held her breath, and crossed her fingers. She hoped that he would say yes. "I guess that would be fine."

Peter grinned. "Thank you, sir. I promise to have her home at eleven on the dot."

"Just see that you do. Have a good time," Mr Johnson said gruffly. Helen kissed his cheek as she walked past him.

"We will, Daddy," she said.

The Sound of Music was playing and Helen had been looking forward to seeing it. Peter bought popcorn and they settled into their seats. They both enjoyed the movie. Helen couldn’t help singing as they left The Cameo.

He took her hand as they walked along to the diner. It was nearly filled with laughing, joking young people. Helen waved to several people she knew. Others gave her a curious look and she was certain she would be a topic of gossip at school on Monday. Not that she cared a bit. They ordered a burger each and some fries to share. They managed to find an empty booth.

All too soon Peter looked at his watch and pulled a face. "We’d better leave now if I’m to get you home in time. I don’t want you’re dad to be angry with me, or he won’t let me take you out again." This last statement delighted Helen. He wanted to see her again! As they walked hand in hand, Helen felt as if she was walking on air. She was certain there must be a dopey grin on her face, but she couldn’t help it. She was just so happy right now. When they arrived at her home, Peter walked her up to the door.

"I’ve enjoyed this evening," he said.

"So have I," she replied.

He bent his head and brushed her lips with his. "Goodnight," he whispered.

Helen closed the door and leaned against it. She touched her lips with her fingertips, and smiled.

"I’m home!" she called.

"So that’s it," Helen said smiling tenderly. "Your father would come home most weekends and we’d spend as much time together as we could, and often went out to Crabapple Farm. I got to know your grandmother very well. She’s the one who gave me my interest in gardening. She had the garden pretty well established, and I helped her plant the trees along the drive. It really became my second home. I’d still go out there at the weekend even if your father wasn’t home. That’s how I got to know Andrew better as well."

"I’m glad you’ve told me all this, Moms," Trixie said. She felt that she knew her mother so much better. She’d always felt blessed in that her relationship with Helen was a close one, but realised now just how many things she didn’t know about her. She vowed that that was going to change.

That night Trixie snuggled under the covers with The Day of the Jackal. As she held it in her hands she realised that this would have been the last book he read. Tears prickled but she blinked them away. She accepted that little things would get her all emotional. As she opened the cover a photo fell out. She picked it up. It was of Uncle Andrew and Justin standing in front of a railing. She recognised Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz in the background. She flipped it over to see if there was a date on it. Scrawled on the back was SF July 1972. It struck her that this was very likely the last photo taken of the two of them. How happy they looked, not knowing the tragedy that would come in the following months. She noticed then that the book was inscribed on the flyleaf. To Andy, from Justin. She ran her fingers over the faded letters.

No wonder he had been ready to go, she thought. Her previous anger at Andrew for giving up vanished.

After reading a chapter, her eyes became weary. She slipped the photo in to mark her place. She had decided to claim this book. Whatever may happen with the other things from the box, she wanted to keep these. As she turned off the light and closed her eyes, her mind went over the day’s discoveries. She wondered if it was possible to ever really know someone. She wasn’t sure you could, but was determined to make the effort with those she loved. She didn’t want to leave it until it was too late.

Sleepyside
One Week Later

Trixie and Helen stood at the side of the grave. The headstone was small with spots of lichen covering it. The grave itself looked a little neglected. Trixie vowed to herself to come back and tidy it up. Helen held a small wooden box. With tears running down her cheeks she knelt on the slightly damp grass. She took a trowel out of the bag she had brought with her. She used it to cut a small square of turf from in front of the headstone, and put it aside. She bowed her head, long-forgotten memories running through her mind. She took a shaky breath, running her fingertips over the polished surface of the box. She turned her head to look at Trixie. Trixie knelt down beside her mother. She too touched the box, before Helen placed the box into the hole, and replaced the turf. After pressing the grass back into place, one could hardly see that anything had altered.

"Goodbye, Andy," Helen whispered.

"At least they’ll be together now," Trixie said softly.

A second wooden box had been placed in the Belden family plot. Trixie had expressed the thought that it was a pity that Andrew and Justin couldn’t have been buried together. Peter mentioned that one of tellers at the bank had placed half the ashes of a relative in their family plot and had scattered the other half in a favourite spot. Trixie said that they could do that, only bury the other half in Justin’s plot. Helen readily agreed, much to Trixie’s surprise. She hadn’t really expected her mother to embrace the idea. Peter was a little more reluctant stating that Justin’s parents wouldn’t like it, and they’d never get permission. Helen had responded by saying that they would never have to know. All they needed to do was remove a small piece of turf, put in the ashes and replace the turf. No one would be any wiser. Peter had thrown up his hands and said for them to do whatever they thought was best. He could tell when he was outnumbered.

As they left the cemetery Trixie felt a sense of peace. She believed that they had done the right thing, although there would be others that would disapprove of their choice. She had kept the shoebox and all it’s contents. She wasn’t sure what should be done with them, but she couldn’t bring herself to dispose of them. She’d considered asking her father about a safety deposit box. She wanted to keep them safe from other prying eyes. That final photo still remained in The Day of the Jackal, which was now in the top drawer of Trixie’s nightstand.

As they reached the car Trixie looked across the roof to her mother. "Moms, do you have any plans for next Thursday?"

Author’s Notes

This ended up quite a lot longer than I originally intended. It’s probably the most difficult story I’ve written, and have to confess to shedding many tears during it’s writing. Part of it was inspired by my own experience of going through my grandmother’s things after her death. What got to me, was the loss of the stories behind some of the things that she had kept. I couldn’t write the funeral - that was too hard. I think we’ve all been to enough of them to fill in how it may have gone.

To the Desperate Housewives fans, the names were a complete accident. Obviously I couldn’t change Andrew and I’d had Justin in my head since November. It wasn’t until I was reading some DH spoilers that the names clicked. By then it was too late - I just couldn’t change Justin’s name. It really was just a coincidence!

Helen’s flashbacks to her meeting Peter and their first date were mostly written during NaNoWriMo last year. I just altered and added a few things.

Thank Yous

Thank you as always to Robin and MaryF for editing, especially since it was a little longer than usual. Thanks to all those who left replies to my strange questions dealing with family secrets, scattering of ashes, what things men keep and what people keep in their nightstands. See, there was a method to my madness! LOL!
Thank you Carol for the links to the bestsellers and hits of the 60s as they came in very handy. Also thanks to those who made suggestions for the music and books.
Thank you to Aleta for putting me onto Cornell for the vet training, it worked out perfectly.
Thank you, Mark for the idea of the newspaper clipping.
Thank you to Meggie for suggesting burying the ashes, and thank you, Kaye for the idea of half and half.
Thank you, Ronda for what you shared.

Even my notes are long and wordy!

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Whisper in the Wind