"You must be Miss Belden!" a soft voice exclaimed as she followed the stiff figure of Mrs. Riker into a beautifully appointed drawing room where two women were seated before a crackling fire. The younger lady, who had greeted her, reclined on a settee working on a piece of needlepoint, and a slightly older woman was busy at a writing table pulled up to her chair. Nothing had been said about Mrs. Wheeler having a sister, but this other woman looked exactly like the speaker. They had to be related.

"Yes," Trixie said, smiling politely at the younger lady. "My brother was here this morning to bring you news of Mr. Frayne."

"You look just like your brother," the young lady said, placing her needlepoint to the side. "I'm Honey Wheeler, and this is my mother, Mrs. Wheeler." She indicated the elegantly dressed woman who scarcely looked old enough or even strong enough to have borne a child Miss Wheeler's age.

Mrs. Wheeler nodded in greeting. "We must thank your family for rescuing Mr. Frayne and caring for him," she said before turning back to her writing.

"Won't you please sit down?" Miss Wheeler invited, patting the space beside her on the settee.

Trixie did as she was bidden, handing Miss Wheeler Mr. Frayne's letter as she did so. Miss Wheeler seized it eagerly, her hands trembling as she ripped open the envelope and quickly read the brief note. When she was finished, she closed her eyes in relief and sank back against the cushions.

"He's well," she murmured, clutching the letter. "I was so worried…" Blushing, she opened her eyes and refolded the letter. "You must think me quite silly," she said, slipping the letter back into the envelope. "But I was so very worried, and young Mr. Belden didn't seem to know the details of his condition…" Her voice trailed off. "Mother, would you like to read the letter from Jim?"

Mrs. Wheeler looked up from where she was seated at her writing desk. "I'm afraid I really must finish this letter to Mrs. Vandermeulen," she said. "If you say Jim is well, that's all that matters."

Trixie blinked at the callous dismissal of concern and tried to imagine her own mother acting in a similar manner, but couldn't even begin to picture a situation where the health of her children would not take priority over any other obligation she held.

Although, she reminded herself, Mr. Frayne wasn't really Mrs. Wheeler's son, even if her daughter did seem to regard him as a much-loved brother.

Trixie looked back at Miss Wheeler, who seemed unperturbed by her mother's attitude. "You must call me Honey," she said, ignoring the sniff that came from Mrs. Riker. "All my friends do, and I'm sure that we'll be very good friends while my family is at the Manor," she said, smiling.

Trixie smiled back, intrigued by the girl's friendly demeanor in the face of her less than welcoming family. "And you must call me Trixie," she said, returning the favour. "Since I was five years old, I've hoped that a family with a daughter my age would move into the Manor."

Honey smiled, appearing delighted at Trixie's easy acceptance of her offer of friendship. "Jim says that he's still running a fever," she said, fingering the envelope containing the letter. "He is healing, though, isn't he?" she asked anxiously.

"Yes," Trixie said, impulsively reaching to hold the obviously worried girl's hand. "He is. In fact, when I left to come here, he was arguing with Mrs. Vanderpoel about when and for how long he should be allowed to sit up."

Honey laughed, but her features retained the pinched expression of a very worried person.

"You should come and see for yourself," Trixie decided, making a snap decision. "It will set your mind at ease to see him, and to know that he's being cared for."

Honey's eyes lit up, but almost as quickly, she shook her head. "Oh, I couldn't," she said. "It's so very cold, and I couldn't possibly walk so far in my boots."

"Nonsense," a booming voice called from the doorway. "I was planning to walk that way myself. There's no reason you shouldn't come along."

Trixie looked up to see an older version of Mr. Frayne in the doorway. She blinked in confusion, wondering if the history she'd heard had been wrong and Mr. Frayne really was Mr. Wheeler's biological son.

"Matthew," Mrs. Wheeler protested. "You know she can't go so far in this dreadful weather. She'd be certain to catch pleurisy!"

"Nonsense," he repeated firmly. "Honey could do with some fresh air. Right, Honey?" he asked.

Honey nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes! I'd love to see how Jim is getting on!"

"She's welcome to stay for as long as she likes," Trixie said, addressing Mr. Wheeler even though they hadn't been formally introduced. "Especially if it would ease her mind."

Honey clasped her hands together and looked at her father, her hazel eyes wide in a silent plea.

"Matthew!" Mrs. Wheeler protested again. "Honestly! We don't even know these people!"

"Nonsense," he said for the third time, and Trixie wondered if the word was his natural response to dealing with his wife and daughter. "I met Mr. Belden today when I was walking over the property, and I'm certain that our Honey will be perfectly safe with them."

One of Mrs. Wheeler's hands fluttered in a weak gesture and then fell back to the table. "If you say so," she said doubtfully.

"I do. Run along and have Celia pack a bag for you, Honey," he instructed. "Mr. Belden suggested that you could stay as long as you like."

Trixie couldn't help but smile at the expression of delight on Honey's face.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "How exciting! But are you sure I won't be imposing?" she said, nibbling her bottom lip and searching Trixie's face for any sign that she would not be welcome at Crabapple Farm.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Trixie chided, as if they'd been friends for years. "Moms always says that Crabapple Farm has stretchy walls, and I've never known her to be wrong. You'll most likely have to share a room with me, but I don't mind that at all. Besides, I'm always happy to have another woman in the house!" she said, wondering if Honey's presence would spur Mart, Tad, and Bobby to display of better manners than they were wont to practice. It wasn’t likely, of course, but it was nice to dream…

Mrs. Riker, who had remained blissfully silent for so long that Trixie had almost forgotten she was in the room, sniffed loudly. "Most inappropriate," she huffed. "Madeleine, I cannot think this a good idea."

Mrs. Wheeler waved her hand negligently. "I'm certain she'll be fine," she said, sounding as if she'd already dismissed the situation from her mind and moved on to other, more important matters.

"But the cold!" Mrs. Riker protested. "Surely you can't think it wise—"

"I found a sled in the boat house," Mr. Wheeler interjected. "While Honey packs a bag, I'll hitch the sled to a horse, and the girls can have a ride all the way there. How does that sound?" he asked, his tone indicating that the decision had been made, and that other opinions would carry no weight with him.

"A sleigh ride!" Honey exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Yes," her father agreed. "But not until you pack that bag." He checked his pocket watch. "Quickly now, please," he instructed.

Honey leapt from the couch, tugging Trixie along with her. "You must help me to decide what to bring," she said, and Trixie found that she had to hurry to keep up with the sickly-looking girl as they hurried up the ornate staircase leading to the second floor.

"Do you dress formally for dinner?" Honey asked as she threw open a door leading to a bedroom larger than all the bedrooms in Crabapple Farm combined.

Trixie stared in awe at the opulent room. An ornate, curtained bed dominated one section of the room, but did not eclipse the two couches, writing table, and— She frowned at a door that stood ajar. Was that a dressing room? Leading off an already huge room?

"Trixie?" Honey repeated, her head cocked to the side. "Does your family dress formally for dinner?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed, shaking her head and resolving not to behave as though she'd never seen such opulence before. Even though she hadn't. "No, we don't dress formally for dinner, though Moms does insist that the men clean up properly before coming to the table." She watched her newest friend carefully, curious to see whether this news would make her less eager to join them.

Honey's response of, "Lovely!" was therefore most welcome, and a little disconcerting. "Fancy dresses are amusing, but you've no idea how tiresome it can be to work myself into one every night," she confided, opening the door to her dressing chamber and running a finger along several dresses.

"Just two, I think," she said to herself, and plucked a surprisingly simple navy dress, and then a similar brown one, from their places.

A knock on the door signalled the appearance of Honey's maid, and the packing was completed in short order.

"We don't have personal maids at the Farm," Trixie warned her, "but I'm sure Moms, Mrs. Vanderpoel, or I can help you with anything you need."

Honey waved her hand dismissively. "I chose dresses that won't require assistance," she said, smiling as her maid clicked the valise closed. "Thank you, Celia. Won't you call Samuel and have him carry my bag downstairs?"

The pretty maid smiled and stepped out into the hallway. Seconds later, another servant, presumably Samuel, came and picked up the bag, following them as they returned down the sweeping staircase.

"Will you be seeing Tom this Christmas?" Honey asked Celia slyly, earning a muffled giggle from the young, pretty maid.

"The Spencers usually allow us a Christmas party," she said, "but…"

"And of course you shall have one this year, too," Honey said impulsively. "I'll speak to Mother about it. As we don't plan to entertain, I'm certain it won't be a problem."

"You're too kind," Celia murmured, but her blush and bright eyes gave away her excitement at the prospect of the yearly party still being held.

"Not at all," Honey said briskly. "It's the least we can do—"

"Maid!" a strident voice called. "Whatever is taking so long? Giggling girls and lazy maids, no doubt," she muttered. "Most unacceptable."

Honey gave Celia a sympathetic smile and they stepped into the parlour. "We're ready," she said brightly, walking straight to her mother and placing a kiss on her cheek. Mrs. Wheeler looked up for only a second, her attention obviously still focused on the sheaf of papers in front of her.

"Scandalous," Mrs. Riker continued. "Allowing a young lady to go trotting off with a, a farm girl who knows where! In my day—"

"Yes, Caroline," Mr. Wheeler said, taking Honey's bag from Samuel. "We know. In your day, young ladies stayed quietly at home." Lips pressed together, he added, "It's a shame that teaching appears not to have extended to older ladies."

Mrs. Riker's eyes grew wide and she sputtered unattractively.

"Well, we must be off," Mr. Wheeler continued, his tone bordering on a joviality that Trixie suspected was motivated by the opportunity to insult his sister-in-law and then run. "The day's not growing any younger."

Trixie followed behind the father and daughter, hiding a smile. The dynamics of the Wheeler household were starkly different than the happy, teasing atmosphere at Crabapple Farm, and she was glad to be leaving the fancy home, but it had been a fascinating experience.

"Father," Honey chided. "You really shouldn't insult her that way. You know it only upsets her."

"Nonsense," he said briskly, and Trixie resolved to keep count of how many times he could use the word in their time together. "Your Aunt Caroline will speak her mind no matter what anyone else in the room says or does. It's only fair that she receive a dose of her own medicine from time to time. Now," he said, plucking two cloaks from the tree in the front hall and holding one for his daughter, and then for Trixie, in turn. "I've had Tom hitch Lady to the sled. He assures me that Lady is perfectly capable of pulling the two of you, and that the path is sufficiently cleared to make it a smooth journey."

Trixie raised an eyebrow at the mention of the path. When Mr. Wheeler had mentioned a sled, she'd assumed that they'd be taking the much more circuitous route of travelling down the Wheelers' substantial drive to the winding road leading to Sleepyside and following it the short distance until it met the equally long drive to Crabapple Farm. The path she'd taken only an hour earlier was a much shorter route, but even with the shovelling the men had done, she couldn't imagine how a sled could possibly fit on the narrow path.

When a young man leading a horse came into sight, however, she understood. "What a lovely sled!" she exclaimed, darting down from the front porch to examine the sleek, narrow structure. It was scarcely wider than Lady, and would most certainly be capable of traversing the narrow path connecting the Manor and Crabapple Farm.

Mr. Wheeler hefted Honey's valise onto the back of the sled and then assisted his daughter into the most forward seat on the sled while Trixie cautiously approached the beautiful mare harnessed to the sled.

"May I pet her, Tom?" she asked, looking hopefully at the young groom. She didn't know Tom particularly well, but she did know his family had been in Sleepyside for many years, and that he was known for taking excellent care of the Spencers' stable.

"Of course," he said. "Gently, though. Lady is most certainly a lady and doesn't appreciate rough treatment," he joked.

Trixie smiled and ran her gloved finger along the mare's nose. "You're beautiful," she crooned. "And I wish I had some sugar for you."

"Ah, you know how to talk to horses, you do," Tom grinned. "But we'd best be off. Lady doesn't appreciate the cold until she's moved around a bit."

"We can't blame her for that, can we?" Trixie said, giving the mare one last pat before slipping into the seat directly behind Honey. She'd never been in such an interesting sled before and marveled at the unusually narrow form.

"Designed for these narrow paths, it was," Tom said, as if reading her mind. "Back in the day, Mrs. Spencer used to traipse all over the area to visit neighbours and had the sled custom built."

They set off at a gentle pace with Mr. Wheeler walking alongside Lady, holding her reins.

"I'll be out and about and able to check in on you," he called back to Honey as they made the short trip to the Belden farm house. "So I'll be on hand to take you home when the Beldens tire of your company," he finished, winking in Trixie's direction.

"Nonsense," Trixie replied, having decided that she quite liked the word as it fit seamlessly into so many conversations. "The trick will lie in convincing us to let her go—I've always wanted a sister, you see."

Honey blushed at the attention and quickly looked away, studying their surroundings so intently that Trixie found herself viewing it with new eyes. Westchester County really was one of the best places on earth, she decided, watching the snow-laden trees bow slightly in the breeze.

When they pulled into the yard of Crabapple Farm only a short time later, Honey gasped. "It's lovely!" she cried. "Just look!"

Trixie frowned, trying to figure out what had her new friend so excited. Crabapple Farm looked the same as ever to her, albeit covered in more snow that it generally was.

"You and your farm houses," Mr. Wheeler said indulgently. "When you marry, I'll buy you one for you and your husband to use as a vacation home."

The change in Honey's demeanor was instantaneous. Her expression of rapt wonder slid away to reveal a hard, blank countenance that reminded Trixie sharply of Mrs. Riker.

"Nonsense," she said, the sound coming from her lips as brittle as the icicles hanging from the house's eves. "You know that I am unlikely to marry, and that if I do, my husband would have no interest in such a home."

A fleeting expression of—what? Remorse? Pain?—crossed Mr. Wheeler's face before he, too hardened himself.

Trixie shifted uncomfortably, then jumped down from the sled. "Let's get you inside," she said brightly. "Mrs. Vanderpoel will be happy to make us a cup of hot cocoa—you look like you could use something warm."

And indeed, she did. Honey's cheeks were rosy, but the rest of her skin much too pale. And her lips were blue and trembling. Without a word, Mr. Wheeler brushed past Trixie and scooped his daughter up and into his arms. At a pace that had Trixie practically trotting to keep up, he headed for the nearest door—the back door leading to the kitchen.

"Father!" Honey protested, but he replied in a tone so soft that Trixie could not make out a word, much to her chagrin.

"Moms!" Trixie called, edging past Mr. Wheeler to open the door so that he would not have to set Honey down. "I've brought you a present—the daughter you've always wanted!"

Mrs. Belden hurried into the kitchen, still holding a sock that she'd obviously been darning.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, taking in the unusual scene quickly. "Is she hurt?" she asked, already turning and striding briskly through the kitchen to the parlour. "You can set her down here," she advised, indicating the couch that Mr. Frayne had been placed on less than two days earlier.

"I'm fine," Honey protested, but as her teeth were still chattering, she was not overly convincing.

"I thought the trip by sled would be short enough that she wouldn't catch cold," Mr. Wheeler said, sounding utterly defeated. "She did so very well the entire journey from New York…"

"I'm merely tired and cold," Honey said, speaking determinedly around her clacking teeth. "I require nothing more than a cup of strong tea."

"Of course!" Mrs. Belden said, and hurried back into the kitchen even as she called for Mrs. Vanderpoel Trixie heard movement on the floor above, and the Beldens' housekeeper appeared, carrying a tray with the remains of what must have been Mr. Frayne's afternoon tea.

"Two entire scones," she reported before noticing the company. "He'll be up to kidney pies in no time."

She blinked when she saw the newcomers, but recovered her natural aplomb quickly enough. "You'll be Mr. Frayne's relations," she said. "And more importantly, you'll be the young lady that has Mr. Frayne ready to cut a path through a snow bank to assure you that he's fine, when in fact he's still running a low grade fever. You two," she said, pointing to Trixie and Honey both, "will march yourselves upstairs and keep the young man company."

Mr. Wheeler's face turned bright red and Trixie watched for what she was sure would be a spectacular display of temper.

"Miss Wheeler is obviously in need of hot tea and rest," Mrs. Vanderpoel said, cutting Mr. Wheeler off before he could do any more than draw in an outraged breath. "And she'll find both upstairs as easily as she will here. Moreover, I prefer not to have Mr. Frayne traipsing downstairs before he's ready. Go on, now, girls," she urged, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Thank you," Honey murmured, and rose only a little unsteadily to her feet.

"Nonsense," Mr. Wheeler said, taking his daughter's arm and supporting her. "I'll walk Honey up myself, and then we will discuss Mr. Frayne's health in more detail." He swept past Mrs. Vanderpoel and started up the set of narrow stairs leading to the second floor, completely missing the older lady's satisfied expression.

Trixie followed directly behind, stopping only to exchange amused glances with the housekeeper. Mr. Frayne hadn't been able to cow the woman, and it appeared that Mr. Wheeler's luck would be no better.

"Jim!" Honey exclaimed, spotting the redhead easily through the open door. She rushed into the room, leaving Mr. Wheeler and Trixie to observe her exuberant greeting from the hallway. Honey threw her arms around him, and her voice trembled as she scolded him. "I was so worried! What were you thinking, travelling through that storm? You ought to know better! You may have practically lived off the land every summer since you were nine, but that's no excuse for risking your life in the middle of winter and worrying us sick!"

Mr. Frayne merely patted Honey's back and let her rant, making the occasional sound of agreement. When Honey had finally finished her tirade, most of it muffled as she buried her face in his chest, Jim smiled and nudged her toward the chair beside the bed.

"So you're saying that you don't approve of my plan to escape spending interminably long days with dear Aunt Caroline?" he inquired.

Honey's eyes grew wide and she sputtered in outrage. Mr. Wheeler, however, laughed heartily, announcing his presence. "Always the smart one," he said, moving into the room. "You might have clued me in to your plan, son. I would have been happy to join you."

"You two!" Honey exclaimed, frowning at the men. "Aunt Caroline isn't that bad! She's just rather—"

"Critical."

"Nasty."

"Condescending."

"Shall we go on?"

Trixie smothered her own smile at the banter between Mr. Frayne and Mr. Wheeler. It was clear that red hair was not the only trait they shared—apparently neither was fond of Mrs. Riker.

"I know," Honey admitted. "And she's been even worse than usual this time. Did you know that she's knitting baby clothing? She claims that it's for the Sleepyside Presbyterian Church clothing drive, but the way she looks at me, I just know that she's itching to scold me about not being married yet."

Mr. Wheeler's expression hardened instantly. "Interfering biddy," he barked. "And this, after her son—" He stopped abruptly, looking at Trixie out of the corner of his eye. "My apologies, Miss Belden," he said. "It was very impolite of us to air a family grievance in your presence."

"Don't be ridiculous, Father," Honey said, waving her hand. "Trixie understands perfectly. Why, Aunt Caroline was simply awful to her, too!"

Mr. Wheeler frowned, as if trying to recall the specifics of the earlier conversation at the Manor.

"It was mostly before you joined us," Honey offered. "She—" Blushing, her eyes darted to Trixie's. "She's a cruel, bitter woman," she said. "And I don't want you to think that we share her opinions."

"Just how awful was she?" Mr. Frayne demanded, frowning. "The Beldens have been nothing but helpful and kind to me, and I won't have them repaid with your aunt's venomous vitriol."

"Mrs. Riker was no worse than many of the ladies we see at church every Sunday," Trixie cut in, hoping to forestall what looked to be the beginning of an unpleasant conversation. Mr. Frayne's face was more red than when they had arrived, and she didn't think that a display of temper would help his health.

"In any case," Mr. Wheeler said, apparently cottoning on to Trixie's attempt to alleviate the tension in the room, "don't be surprised if I happen to wander this way more often than not," he teased, smiling affectionately at his daughter. "After all, it's my duty to keep an eye on my daughter, isn't it?"

Honey smiled, but it appeared forced, and Trixie wondered at the shift. "Oh! You should be resting!" she exclaimed. "I'm sure that Mrs. Vanderpoel will be here any minute with—"

"Tea and biscuits," came the answer from the door. "And I'll thank you all to stop upsetting my patients," Mrs. Vanderpoel scolded. Setting the tray on the bedside table, she pointed to the door. "Mr. Wheeler, you'll find your tea waiting for you downstairs. Trixie, if you would be so good?"

Trixie nodded, leading Mr. Wheeler from the room. "I'll be back," she promised.

"Later," Mrs. Vanderpoel insisted. "We're all going to give these two time to rest quietly," she said. Frowning at Mr. Wheeler, she added, "Without upsetting them."

Trixie winced at the housekeeper's pointed statement and turned, expecting to see Mrs. Vanderpoel's attention focused on Mr. Frayne and what Trixie suspected to be his rising temperature. Instead, it was Honey on the receiving end of her observation, and with good cause. The young lady appeared utterly exhausted, sagging in her chair.

"Now, now," Mrs. Vanderpoel soothed. "A spot of tea and a biscuit or two will do wonders for you, and then you can lie down right here on the other bed and have a bit of a rest. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

For a moment, Trixie was jealous of the older woman's kindly tone. When Trixie was unwell, she was usually subject to orders more along the line of, "Well, if you didn't want to be ill, you shouldn't have eaten five apples in the orchard today, now should you?" One look at Honey's miserable expression, however, helped her to understand Mrs. Vanderpoel's solicitude.

The girl looked as if she would fall apart at the slightest unkind word.

Trixie led Mr. Wheeler down the flight of stairs, frowning as she wondered at the change in the young lady. Honey had been overjoyed to see Mr. Frayne, she was sure. She'd been animated and friendly, and then suddenly… not. What was bothering the young, beautiful woman? Trixie didn't think that she'd managed to offend her, but it was entirely possible. Somehow, she managed to offend almost everyone she knew at one point or another, usually without even realizing she'd done it. She hadn't realized she'd accomplished it so quickly this time around, however.

If she even had. After all, it had only been after her father's remark that Honey had seemed to wilt. And hadn't the same thing happened just before they'd reached the Farm? She was certain that Honey had been heartily enjoying the sleigh ride until Mr. Wheeler made the offhand comment about purchasing a farmhouse for her as a wedding present.

It was very mysterious.

And most vexing.