Trixie knew a good thing when she saw it.

This Christmas pageant was not it.

“Maggie. Maggie!” Trixie waited until the eleven-year-old girl put down the Christmas ornament she was attempting to toss through an angel halo. Fortunately, she had terrible aim. Unfortunately, the halo was attached to Garth’s head. Did Trixie want to do the same thing? Yes. Badly. Garth was a troublemaker who pushed everybody’s buttons. Did that mean that she got to do it? Not if she wanted the extra senior English credit she was earning by directing the Church of the Brethren’s Christmas pageant.

Maggie rolled her eyes and flounced away, letting the Christmas ornament fall to the floor and roll to the far corner of the stage. Trixie knew that she ought to force the girl to clean up after herself, but frankly, freely roaming stage props were the least of her problems.

“Nicholas, it’s your line,” she prompted, trying not to broadcast the impatience she felt. By the panicked look on the young boy’s face, she was fairly certain she hadn’t succeeded. Before she could prompt him, however, a blond tornado blew past her and she once more rued the day Helen Belden had announced Trixie was going to have a baby brother.

“Robert John Belden!” Trixie gasped, and caught a corner of his shirt as he whizzed by. “What on earth are you—”

As Bobby whipped around to face her, she loosened her grasp and gaped. Because while Bobby had silky blond curls and a mischievous grin, he did not wear white tee-shirts with I Heart Justin Bieber emblazoned on the front. Or wear cute dangly earrings. Or stare at her with a perfectly innocent expression. Well, Bobby tried, but Trixie knew better than to believe that he was ever innocent. This girl, however, this Bobby look-alike… Well. Trixie was fairly certain that this girl was about as innocent as Bobby when he insisted that it was Reddy who had eaten the entire jar of Nutella.

“I’m hurt!” Bobby called from across the room. Even though Trixie was pretty sure he didn’t mean it literally, she still did a quick head-to-toe scan to make sure he hadn’t somehow managed to be bitten by a copperhead. Inside a church. In December.

“I can’t believe you thought Bailey was me,” he said scornfully. “What kind of director are you, anyway?”

“The kind that really, really needs the extra English credit,” she muttered under her breath. “And, Bailey?” she said, significantly louder, “A little slower next time, okay?”

Bailey nodded, her bright blue eyes sparkling, before taking off a slightly slower sprint.

As if reading her mind, Honey Wheeler, appeared at her side, a bundle of costumes in her arms. “They’re just high-spirited,” she consoled her best friend. “It will translate well to energy on stage.”

Trixie groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Translate! Why did you have to say it?”

Honey giggled before hiding her face behind the mountain of costumes. “I still say that it was very limiting of Mrs. Norris to reject your idea that Beowulf was really a story about a wolf.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Trixie demanded, throwing her hands in the air. “Why wouldn’t it be a story about a wolf?”

“I know,” Honey soothed, her giggles mostly under control. “Still, if you want to pick up your mark before midterms, you have to do an amazing job of directing this drama.”

Trixie hugged her best friend impulsively, crushing the costumes. “You’re a doll to help me by making all the costumes. And it’s super-amazing of Diana to design the props. I couldn’t do it without the two of you!”

“Well, our English marks could use the boost, too,” Honey admitted. “But isn’t it wonderful that we’ll be able to help out Mrs. Myers? It’s such a shame that she has pneumonia and isn’t well enough to be here.”

Trixie nodded soberly and picked up the pair of feathery angel wings she’d knocked out of Honey’s hands. “She’s directed this pageant for the last fifty years,” she said, eyes widening in awe. “It’s too bad she can’t be here, but at least we can keep the tradition going.”

“And I had no idea that it was so popular! Children from all the churches in town participate!”

“My dad, my uncles, my grandparents…” Trixie ticked off people on her fingers. “Beldens have been participating in this pageant since it started.”

Honey smiled wistfully and Trixie could have bitten her tongue. Honey’s families had plenty of traditions, but Trixie knew her best friend still envied the community connection the Beldens enjoyed. Another impulsive hug, and a shepherd’s robe landed in a heap at their feet.

“Well,” Honey said briskly, “we’d better make sure that this year’s performance lives up to the tradition. And that means getting through this rehearsal!”

“Right.” Trixie nodded decisively, blonde curls bouncing. “Right. I’ll help the shepherds learn their cues and then we can go through the second half again. Do you think we should have someone in the wings to make sure the shepherds aren’t so loud that they miss their cue during the performance? I mean, this is Bobby we’re talking—”

“Trixie!”

She knew that tone. A few minutes earlier when he’d called her name, she’d known deep down that it wasn’t anything serious. This time, her stomach gave a lurch that said otherwise.

“Bobby?” She scanned the pews where the shepherds were supposed to be patiently waiting for their cue to traipse on stage. “Bobby? Where are you?” Not sitting in the benches where he should be, she noted grimly. As she bent down to check underneath the pews he called again, more insistently.

“Trixie!”

Jerking straight up, she smacked her head soundly on the polished hardwood pew. “Bobby!” she hollered, forgetting all of her mother’s training on proper behaviour in church. “Bobby! What is the problem?” she demanded, pressing a hand to her throbbing head and staring up into the dimly lit and most certainly off-limits balcony.

“She’s hurt!” Bobby called, his voice high-pitched with worry. “Come quick!”

Trixie sprinted up the narrow, winding, wooden staircase to the balcony, ignoring the carved handrail. When she arrived at the top she was out of breath and low on patience. “What’s going on—?” she started to ask, but skidded to an abrupt halt when she saw Bailey slouched on the floor, cradling her head.

“Bailey!” Trixie exclaimed, and dropped to her knees beside the child. “What hurts?”

“My head,” she moaned, her face as white as the angel costume Honey had fitted for her. Trixie slipped her arm around Bailey’s shoulders to support her. Should she try to move her downstairs? Call an ambulance? Where was Brian when she needed him?

“Is anything broken?” she asked, expecting to see a bone poking through her skin. Bailey shook her head, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, as if the small motion had upset her stomach.

Concussion, Trixie decided, relying on the first-aid course each of the Bob-Whites took annually. And it looked severe enough that Bailey ought to seek medical attention from someone who knew a little more about medicine than how to rig an impromptu tourniquet.

“Okay,” Trixie said, helping the young girl to her feet. “I’m going to call your mom so she can take you to the hospital.”

Bailey shook her head. “Mom doesn’t have a car,” she whispered, wincing . “And I don’t need to go to the hospital.”

Trixie blinked. If Bailey thought she didn’t need to go to the hospital, she definitely had a concussion.

“Bailey,” Trixie started, but Bobby interrupted.

“Her mom’s the new doctor,” he said, “and they live next door.”

Trixie sighed in relief. One of the benefits of living in a small town was that most places were within walking distance. This was even better than she’d hoped, though. Bailey’s mother could be with her in only a few minutes. And if her mother was a doctor, Trixie could let her decide whether a trip to emergency was necessary.

“Okay,” she agreed, and led Bailey slowly toward the staircase. “You’re sure that nothing else hurts?”

“Just my head,” Bailey confirmed. Her voice was a little louder, but she clutched the railing and descended with her eyes firmly closed.

The staircase hadn’t seemed to have so many steps when she’d sprinted up it, Trixie worried. Was she doing the right thing? She knew that moving a person who had a spinal injury was a definite no-no, but—

“Bailey!” A tall woman with long blonde hair burst through the front doors. Without running, her stride was long and powerful, eating up the distance between them.

“Mom,” Bailey said, and sagged with relief. “I tried to fly,” she said, giggling and crying at the same time.

Trixie’s eyes widened. Tried to fly? She eyed Bobby, who was intently focused on the toes of his beat-up sneakers. Oh, boy. Something told her that her brother would be feeling the repercussions of whatever he’d talked Bailey into doing for a long time to come.

Calm and professional, Bailey’s mother guided her daughter to a pew and proceeded to examine her from head to toe. “You’ll live,” was her firm diagnosis.

Trixie sagged with relief. She would have collapsed on the pew beside Bailey if she didn’t still have fifty other children to supervise.

Fifty children whom she had left unsupervised for a good ten minutes. Ten minutes! How could she have let this happen? Bobby had taught her what could happen in ten minutes even when she was paying attention!

She twisted her body to see the stage, and then she really did collapse on the pew. Relief coursed through her as she watched Diana coach the perfectly behaved children into a scene that didn’t involve Bailey’s and Bobby’s groups of angels or shepherds.

Coincidence? Trixie thought not.

“Thank you for taking care of Bailey,” the woman said, extending her hand for Trixie to shake. “I know that she can be a handful.”

Trixie leapt to her feet, ashamed that she’d let herself be distracted. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Not at all! I mean, I’m pretty sure it was Bobby who came up with the idea of flying,” she said, glancing side-long at her still subdued brother.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Bailey’s mother gave her daughter a similar look. “In any case, I should get her home. Please thank Honey for calling me. Bailey, where’s your jacket?”

Of course, Honey called Bailey’s mom! That’s how she arrived at just the right time. Relief washed over Trixie at the solution to another mystery, and shave gave her brother a gentle nudge. “Go find Bailey’s jacket,” she instructed. “And her backpack, too.” The children had walked to the church for the after-school rehearsal from the nearby elementary school, leaving their belongings in the foyer.

“Don’t forget my boots,” Bailey whispered. “They’re the tall sparkly pink ones.”

Bobby returned in seconds, his arms full of outerwear, a backpack, and a lunch bag. Dropping his burden to the bench with a clatter, he edged out of the pew and glanced toward the front of the church where his fellow shepherds were being prompted to take the stage.

“Not even close,” Trixie said firmly. “You’ll walk Bailey and her mother home and carry Bailey’s things.”

Bobby huffed but swung the backpack onto his shoulder after staring in disbelief at the bedazzled unicorn design. With a shake of his head, he raced ahead to hold the door open for the mother and daughter.

“I really am sorry,” Trixie said, impulsively reaching to touch Bailey’s mother’s arm. “I still don’t know how—”

“We’ve been down this road before,” she assured her. “It’s a mild concussion. She’ll need rest and quiet, but she’ll be fine. And maybe, just maybe,” she said, eyeing her daughter, “she’ll find safer ways of trying to fly in the future.”

Trixie grinned at the gentle rebuke and watched as the pair joined Bobby and stepped into the darkening late afternoon sky.

“And you should see their house!” Bobby exclaimed, mashed potatoes falling to his plate as he waved his fork in emphasis. “All the airplanes! Bailey’s great-grandpa flew fighter jets!” He waved his fork again, prompting Mrs. Belden to move his glass of milk to a safer location. “Only Bailey calls him GeeGeePa,” he said, struggling with the unfamiliar appellation.

“I remember Mr. McCutcheon,” Mr. Belden said thoughtfully. “I think I was in that house a few times myself when I was about your age, Bobby. He had a fine collection of model airplanes then, and I can only imagine what their house is like now if he’s still building them!”

Bobby nodded, though his expression turned more serious. “I don’t think he builds them anymore,” he confided. “Mr. McCutcheon is awfully old. He sat at the table and talked to us, but his hands were really shaky.”

“And Mrs. McCutcheon isn’t doing well at all,” Mrs. Belden worried. “I imagine that’s why their granddaughter has moved in with them. Mrs. McCutcheon had a hip replacement a few months ago, and then she came down with pneumonia. I think she was just released from the Sleepyside Hospital last week.”

Bobby nodded. “There’s a hospital bed in the living room so that she doesn’t have to go upstairs. Hey! Can I have a bed in the living room? Then you wouldn’t have to yell upstairs for me to get up in the morning every day!”

“Not likely,” Trixie snorted, starting to clear away the plates. “But I bet Moms and Dad let you sleep in the family room next time Larry and Terry Lynch come for a sleepover.”

Mrs. Belden nodded. “Certainly,” she said. “And you can even pop corn in the fireplace.”

“Cool!” Bobby carried his plate to the kitchen counter, nearly knocking over his glass again. He thundered up the stairs to his room, leaving the kitchen in sudden silence.

“Honestly,” Trixie said, resting her forehead on her hands, “I don’t know how Mrs. Myers has organized the pageant for so many years. Fifty kids!” she moaned. “And some of them are just as much trouble as Bobby!”

“You’ll figure it out,” Mrs. Belden soothed, placing a piece of lemon pie in front of her. “And you have Honey and Di to help, don’t you?”

Trixie nodded and brought a forkful of the heavenly dessert to her lips. “They’re wonderful! It was Honey who thought of calling Bailey’s mom, you know. I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off!” Sheepishly, she admitted, “I didn’t even know Bailey’s name until today.”

“Well, they haven’t been here long, dear,” her mother said, enjoying the last bit of meringue from her pie. “It is interesting, though, that both Bailey and her mother are McCutcheons.” Turning to her husband, she said, “I thought the McCutcheons only had one child. A daughter.”

Mr. Belden frowned. “You’re right. She was probably a good ten years older than me. Moved away years ago, right after she finished high school, I believe. And she passed away recently. Cancer, I think. Her obituary was in the Sleepyside Sun.”

Mrs. Belden made a small tsking sound at the mention of the insidious disease. “She must not have taken her husband’s name,” she mused. “And neither did her daughter.”

“Or maybe they weren’t married,” Trixie hypothesized cheerfully. “Or maybe their husbands took their names! Or maybe—”

“Or maybe it’s none of our business,” Mr. Belden said, reaching for his newspaper and shaking it open to the current events.

Trixie and Mrs. Belden stared at him with identical expressions of disbelief, and then dissolved into giggles.

“Probably your father is right,” Mrs. Belden acknowledged. “In any case, I don’t imagine you’ve had time to start your homework yet.” She glanced meaningfully at the stairs leading to Trixie’s bedroom and desk.

Trixie sighed heavily but recognized a reprieve from dishes when she saw it. With Brian and Mart both away at college, more of the chores had fallen on her recently, and a chance to get started on not finishing her math homework was tempting.

Once upstairs, however, her mind wandered.

If a farmer has two cows and triples his stock annually, how much milk will they produce in the seventh year?

Is Bailey really okay? I hope the concussion was mild…

What if the cows are raised for beef? Do they still produce milk? Just less milk, maybe?

I wonder if there’s anything the Bob-Whites can do for the McCutcheons. Sure, their granddaughter has moved home, but she can’t be there all the time, especially if she’s a doctor…

What if some cows don’t produce milk? How do I take that into account? What if they’re… lactose intolerant?! If it happens to humans, it could happen to cows, right?

What are the odds that two children as angelic-looking as Bobby and Bailey would both be such troublemakers?

Trixie threw down her pencil in disgust, determined to drink only water instead of milk in the future. It had to be simpler.

“It’s a perfectly perfect idea!” Honey exclaimed, finishing the last bite of her tuna sandwich and fidgeting with enthusiasm at their table in the school cafeteria.

“It is,” Diana agreed. “And I know that the twinnies will want to help.” She paused. “Well, Larry and Terry ought to help. I’m sure they had something to do with Bailey trying to fly. And Mandie and Jenny want to help. Which probably really means that they want to spend time with Bailey.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin before packing away the leftovers of her veggies and dip. “Chocolate cake?” she offered. “I have three forks…”

The trio attacked the cake, reducing it to crumbs in record time.

“So, Saturday?” Honey questioned. “Did you check with the McCutcheons to make sure that day would work for them?”

Trixie nodded. “I don’t think Bailey’s mom wanted to accept our help, but I told her that Moms wanted Bobby to make amends for being a bad influence on Bailey. She couldn’t say no after that!”

Honey giggled. “Poor Bobby! I know he’s the ring leader when it comes to leading Larry and Terry astray, but I think Bailey gives him a run for his money.”

“You should have seen his face when Moms said he had to help clean the McCutcheons’ house!” She unwrapped the three homemade snickerdoodles Moms had slipped into her lunch and distributed them among her friends. Honey squealed and promptly devoured hers.

“Christmas is the worst,” she sighed. When Trixie and Di stopped, mid-chew, she shrugged. “I can’t say no to your mom’s baking at the best of times,” she explained. “At Christmas I just have to resign myself to more skiing and skating.”

“And riding,” Trixie agreed, patting her stomach.

“Don’t forget snowshoeing,” Di added. “Not that either of you needs extra exercise. And I’m sure we’ll burn plenty of calories at the McCutcheons’ this Saturday.”

Trixie groaned. “It’s such a big house! I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided it was a good idea for us to offer to clean it.” Actually, she knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She was thinking that if she’d spent the day seeing patients and then came home to look after her elderly grandparents and rambunctious daughter, the last thing she would want to do is clean. But of course Dr. McCutcheon would do it, because she’d know it would drive her grandmother crazy to not do it herself. Hip replacement or not, Trixie suspected that it would require an awful lot of effort to stop Mrs. McCutcheon from trying to keep up with her house the way that she always had.

“It’ll be fun,” Honey assured her. “It’ll be a few hours of hard work, but we’ll have both sets of twins and Bobby to help.” At Trixie’s horrified expression, she hastily countered, “We’ll send Larry, Terry, and Bobby to shovel snow. Sure, they’ll spend most of their time having snowball fights, but they’ll get the yard taken care of, too.”

Trixie nodded, relieved that the boys wouldn’t be underfoot. As much as she wanted Bobby to mop floors and clean toilets, she suspected that it would punish her as much as it would punish him.

Three days later, she wasn’t so sure. “Another bathroom?” she whispered in disbelief. Shoulders slumped, the cleaning supplies dangled from her hands. “It’s an old house. I thought all old houses were built so that everyone had to share.” At Crabapple Farm, they considered themselves lucky that the master suite had its own powder room with a shower, and that only the children had to share the main bath. The McCutcheons’ house boasted a full bath on the second floor and the main level, as well as two small but fully equipped guest baths. She entered what she hoped was the last guest bath and her jaw dropped, partially from the sight she glimpsed through the window, where the boys were having entirely too much fun building a snowman. But most of her shock was a reaction to the explosion of pink and sparkles emanating from every inch of the tiny bath. For the very first time, it occurred to Trixie to be grateful that she had brothers and not sisters. Because if any room in Crabapple Farm ever turned this pink, she would be forced to raze it to the ground. Unless it was the pink of crabapple blossoms. Pink in nature was always acceptable.

With a sigh, she began clearing the bathroom counter of lotion bottles, lip gloss, and hair elastics. When she picked up the toothbrush holder, she had to laugh. It was still pink, even shockingly so, but it was in the shape of a sheep. Did pink become acceptable if it was applied to something that could be found in nature, she wondered? Before she could contemplate the question, Bailey’s mother poked her head into the room.

“When she was three it was as if someone set off a pink bomb in her brain. Did you know that they make pink camouflage clothing? I once lost her in Safeway for an hour!”

Trixie laughed, picturing the mischievous toddler hiding from her mother in the produce section.

“Speaking of children,” Dr. McCutcheon continued, “have you seen Bailey? She started building a snowman with the boys, but I don’t see her outside now.”

They both peered out the window, watching as Bobby managed to shove snow down the backs of both Lynch boys’ jackets.

“Yeah, I can see why that didn’t last,” Trixie said dryly. Before Dr. McCutcheon could reply, they heard a burst of laughter come from the floor above them.

“The attic?” Dr. McCutcheon questioned. “If they’re cleaning the attic we may never see them again!” Leaning close to Trixie, she whispered, “I think every generation of McCutcheons has kept everything they’ve ever owned, and stored it in that attic.”

Trixie’s eyes lit up at the mention of the possible treasure trove. Who knew what could be hiding in forgotten boxes and trunks?

“And since keeping this bathroom clean really is Bailey’s responsibility, I say we go up to the attic and see what kind of trouble they’ve managed to find.”

Relieved to leave the cleaning behind, Trixie nodded in agreement, tossed her cleaning cloth on the counter, and hurried to follow Bailey’s mother up the stairs.

“What on earth?” Dr. McCutcheon came to an abrupt halt at the top of the narrow flight of stairs and Trixie only barely arrested her own momentum.

“What is it?” she asked. When she peered around Dr. McCutcheon she saw that Mandie and Jenny Lynch and Bailey were all wearing dresses many sizes too big and many, many years out of fashion. Honey and Diana applauded the girls’ impromptu fashion show, but it took Trixie and Bailey’s mom a moment longer to take in the long, trailing gowns fashionable many decades in the past.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Bailey called. “We finished cleaing the kitchen and GeeGeeMa said we could!”

“GeeGeeMa might have worn this one,” Dr. McCutcheon said, walking closer to examine the dress that Mandie Lynch wore.

“She did!” Bailey asserted. “We found a picture of her wearing it!” Gathering up a messy pile of scattered photographs and tintypes, Bailey thrust the bounty at her mother.

“Where did you find all these?” she asked, accepting the pictures with care. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“Of course not,” Bailey said. “GeeGeeMa and GeeGeePa always came to visit us. We never came out here until after—” She stopped abruptly.

“Until after your grandma died,” Dr. McCutcheon said sadly. “And that’s what makes this even more special. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find pictures of your grandma. Or even your great-great-grandparents!”

“Or pictures of you,” Bailey suggested. “I’m sure Grandma sent pictures to her parents when you were little.”

“Maybe…” Dr. McCutcheon said, though she sounded doubtful.

“It must be years since GeeGeeMa and GeeGeePa have seen these! GeeGeePa never comes up here and GeeGeeMa hasn’t been able to do stairs for years. We should surprise them!”

“With a photo album for Christmas!” Trixie burst in. “These pictures are in pretty good condition. It would be easy to put them in a photo album. And scan them!” she continued, tripping over words in her excitement. “You could scan them and make a digital photo album, too!”

“Could we?” Bailey asked, tugging on her mother’s arm. “Could we? GeeGeeMa and GeeGeePa said they didn’t want anything for Christmas, but don’t you think this would be perfect?”

Dr. McCutcheon hesitated. “It’s a great idea,” she said, “but it’s also a lot of work. With all the shifts I’m working at the hospital and your GeeGeeMa’s doctor appointments, I don’t think I can get it done before Christmas.”

Bailey’s face fell.

“I’ll do it!” Trixie offered impulsively. “Mart has a scanner that I’m sure he’ll let me use and Moms has tons of those plastic scrapbooking sleeves…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she’d gone overboard yet again. Probably Dr. McCutcheon wouldn’t trust her with the family pictures. Probably they were none of her business. Probably she should wait until she knew a person more than a week before offering to root through their past!

“Would you really?” Dr. McCutcheon asked, interrupting Trixie’s mental backtracking. “I hate to ask,” she continued, “but it really would be the perfect present.”

“It’s no problem at all!” Trixie assured her, even as Diana squealed in excitement.

“Look!” Di exclaimed. “Here’s another whole box of pictures!” She gestured to the box, which came almost to her knees and overflowed with loose photographs.

Trixie’s eyes widened. The medium-sized project of scanning a handful of pictures had suddenly become a much more daunting project. It would take hours if not days to—

“This is going to be the best Christmas ever!” Bailey exclaimed, her bright blue eyes shining.

“It sure will,” Trixie agreed, and gave her an impulsive squeeze. It might be a bigger project than she’d originally anticipated, but how could she say no to a little girl who could get so excited about giving her great-grandparents a present?

“Moms, you should have seen how excited she was! I know it will be a lot of work, but I’ll manage somehow and it will be so worth it when—” She stopped when she realized that she didn’t have her mother’s full attention. In fact, though it was a rare occurrence, Trixie was pretty sure that she didn’t have any of her mother’s attention.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Moms said, frowning and shuffling a sheaf of papers as they sat at the kitchen table.

“What are you doing?” Trixie asked, curiosity getting the better of her as she tried to read the upside down writing on the papers.

“Oh, nothing, really,” Moms said with a little laugh. Trixie’s red flag of suspicions immediately rose, but her mother looked flustered, not as if she were trying to hide something.

“It’s just that I’m a little behind on Christmas preparations this year. And today we got a letter from Uncle Andrew.”

Trixie’s eyes lit up at the mention of her beloved uncle. “How is he?” she asked. “Is everything okay at Happy Valley Farm? And in the Ozarks?” She stopped, realizing that her mother had mentioned the letter as one of the reasons she was uncharacteristically frazzled. Feeling a sudden pang of genuine worry, she ran through her mental list of all the people connected to Uncle Andrew that she cared about. But if something were wrong, Moms would look concerned, not frazzled, she told herself.

“Everyone’s fine,” her mother said. “In fact, things are going so well for your uncle that he’s made a last minute decision to take some time off and to come here for Christmas. And I’m just mapping out my obligations and planning meals. A word to the wise,” she said, grinning at her daughter and regaining her normal good cheer, “just because all your children are in school does not necessarily mean you should say yes to every charity group that asks for help!”

Trixie grinned, knowing that even if she had over-extended herself, Moms would have everything planned out before she went to bed that night. Probably before supper, even.

“I can’t believe Uncle Andrew is coming!” she said, focusing on the good news. “It’s been forever!”

“All of three years,” Moms agreed, deliberately not smiling.

“Well, it feels like longer,” Trixie protested, grinning in spite of herself. “And if you need help with anything,” she said, gesturing to the stack of papers, “just let me know.”

Mrs. Belden shook her head. “Once I get everything planned out, I’ll be fine. Besides, I think you have a pretty full plate yourself! How did rehearsal go?”

Trixie groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Did you know it’s possible to shoot a spitball ten feet? And that it can actually get caught in someone’s hair? I thought I was going to have to cut it out,” she finished glumly.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Belden said in an attempt at sympathy. The effect was marred, however, when her gaze drifted to Trixie’s even more tousled than usual hair.

“Di got it out with some sort of spray,” Trixie grumbled. “And the worst part is that I didn’t even see who did it! I have my suspicions, though,” she said, and glanced meaningfully to the living room. Bobby was supposedly doing his homework, but it looked to Trixie like he was spending an awful lot of time in front of the bowl of nuts and bolts Mrs. Belden had set out.

“Ah,” Mrs. Belden said. “Probably it would be good for Bobby to help you organize all those pictures. Hear me out,” she insisted, raising her hand to stop Trixie’s ready refusal. “Working with old photographs actually requires study and preparation. Bobby will need to wear protective gloves and handle them gently. It will give him some new hands-on skills.”

Trixie sighed heavily, but agreed. Her mother was right. Bobby was always better behaved when he had a project to occupy him. If he learned a few skills in the process, that was a definite bonus.

“Come on, Bobby,” Trixie called. “We have work to do!”

“Hey!” Bobby exclaimed, waving a photograph. “This one is even older!”

Trixie positioned a photograph in the scanner and pressed the magic button that would send it to her laptop. “Really?” she questioned. “I thought the one from 1905 would be the earliest!”

Bobby shook his head. “No! See here? There isn’t a date on it, but look how young Sean McCutcheon is. And there aren’t any younger siblings in the picture! I think it’s from 1902.”

Trixie took the photograph from her brother, holding it carefully by the corner, well away from the faint writing identifying the subjects. “I think you’re right,” she said, impressed with her brother’s attention to detail. He hadn’t been eager to start the project, but once he’d seen a few of the older photographs, he was hooked. Even more surprising, he’d done independent research, looking up the answers to his questions of why the photographs were in black and white, how they’d been made, and why everyone looked so stern. He was, Trixie had to admit, an excellent assistant.

Trixie carefully labelled the file she’d created and placed it in the correct folder before taking the original photo out of the scanner, tucking it into a plastic sleeve, and inserting another piece of paper with all the information about the photo and the subjects that they could be certain of.

“What’s in the next box?” Trixie asked. Because they didn’t have just one box of photos. No, Bailey had made an extensive search of the attic and found several more boxes for them. Fortunately, most of these boxes were small, and some of them even contained birth certificates and other interesting papers.

Bobby removed the lid on the next box and peered inside. “These are newer,” he said, his disappointment evident.

“Well, they’re still sort of old,” Trixie consoled, peering over his shoulder and assessing the contents for herself. “I think they’re from when Bailey’s grandma was little.”

Bobby frowned and Trixie could practically see the gears turning in his brain. “But these are only from…” He paused. Squinted. Counted on his fingers. “…fifty years ago. Fifty years ago Grandma Belden was…” More pausing, squinting, and counting. “…She was already married! And Uncle Andrew was a baby, just like Bailey’s grandma!”

Trixie did some pausing, squinting, and counting of her own. “You’re right,” she said thoughtfully. “Bailey’s grandma and mother must have each had their kids young. And Uncle Andrew is ten years older than Dad, you know.”

Bobby nodded, and then shook his head as if the mental math had exhausted him. Though she would never admit it, Trixie felt the same way.

“That’s just weird,” Bobby decided, and then promptly dismissed it from his mind. “Hey! Maybe the next box will have really old pictures!”

“Maybe it will,” Trixie agreed, and secretly wondered how many boxes there were to go. She was enjoying the project more than she had thought she would, but there weren’t many days left before Christmas!

“Bobby!” Trixie cried in exasperation, forgetting her resolution never to raise her voice during rehearsal. “The shepherds are supposed to carry their crooks. Not use them as hockey sticks!”

Bobby looked up from the crumpled wad of paper he was attempting to shoot into the manger. “Really? I feel like the shepherds probably made up lots of games while they were watching the sheep. I mean, what else are they going to do, right? How do you know they didn’t invent hockey?”

Trixie stared at him blankly. He had a point. If there was one thing that she’d learned about the male of the species, it was that they could turn anything into a game. It stood to reason that the shepherds, even though they had lived two thousand years ago in Bethlehem, had done the same.

“I’m pretty sure that was the Canadians,” a mild voice from the back of the church spoke. “In any case, I suspect the shepherds had manners and knew better than to fool around in the presence of a newborn baby.”

Ignoring the rebuke, Bobby ran off the stage and down the aisle at full tilt. “Uncle Andrew!” he yelled, throwing his arms around the tall man who had met him halfway. Trixie grinned, proud that her baby brother wasn’t shy about showing affection, even in front of his peers.

“Okay,” Uncle Andrew said gruffly, giving his nephew a squeeze. “Back to the rehearsal. I hear you have a really strict director,” he warned in a stage whisper.

Flashing a grin, Bobby hustled back to the stage, brandishing his crook like he’d just scored a goal. His fellow shepherds cheered and they huddled around the manger, imitating a group hug at the net. Uncle Andrew shook his head and slid into the pew and sat next to Trixie.

“Sorry about that. Your mom told me I probably couldn’t make things any more chaotic than they already were.”

Trixie snorted. “She’s not wrong! You just missed two of the angels getting tangled in each other’s wings.”

“Bailey tried to adapt her wings so they’d be flight capable,” Honey explained, joining them.

“Did it work?” Uncle Andrew asked.

“Well, she caught air,” Trixie admitted. “But I’m pretty sure that was because she tripped and tumbled off the stage.”

“And it was just bad luck that Maggie was standing right where Bailey fell,” Honey added. “The wire Bailey used to reinforce her wings got tangled in Maggie’s hair.”

Trixie shuddered. “Again, the hair. At least it wasn’t mine this time!”

“And no one had to use scissors,” Honey soothed.

“Shh…” Trixie interrupted. “They made it to the last scene,” she whispered.

Trixie and Honey crossed their fingers and leaned forward, watching the performers anxiously. Though two of the three wise men managed to drop their gifts and one of the shepherds tripped over his bathrobe, otherwise the scene went off without a hitch.

“They did it,” Trixie breathed, but Honey shushed her immediately.

“Wait. There’s still Bailey’s song.”

But Trixie wasn’t worried in the slightest. Bailey might be more trouble than Bobby on a snow day, but she always, always performed her solo to perfection. True to form, the blonde angel lifted her voice, the notes of Angels We Have Heard on High carrying to the very back of the sanctuary. Trixie closed her eyes and let the music wash over her.

“Who is that?” Uncle Andrew asked quietly as the last notes drifted away.

Spell broken, Trixie grinned. “Bobby’s twin.” Raising her voice, she addressed the throng of children. “Well done! That’s the smoothest run through yet! Remember, we have a rehearsal on 22^nd, and then the performance on Christmas Eve.”

The children thundered past them, leaving discarded costumes and props in their wake. Only a few more days, Trixie told herself, and the pageant would be over. It would be a beautiful service and she’d save her English mark at the same time. Or, she thought, watching the star atop Diana’s carefully crafted background set wobble and fall to the stage, it would be an adequate performance, and she’d squeak by, hopefully saving herself from another meeting with Miss Siddons, the guidance counsellor.

Nodding to herself, she righted the star and straightened the manger. As she cleared the crumpled pieces of paper out of the manger, she couldn’t help laughing. Hockey-playing shepherds bringing gifts of crumpled paper to the newborn King? Why not?

“Hey!” Bobby called, raising his voice even though he was less than three feet from his sister.

“What?” she asked, her attention on the monitor of her computer. She was thisclose to finishing. Which was good, because it was December 23^rd. The dress rehearsal was over, for better or worse, and she had the rest of the evening free to finish scanning the last of the McCutcheons’ photographs.

“I found another box!” Bobby continued, and Trixie’s heart sank. As much as she’d enjoyed the project, she was ready for it to be over.

“It’s just papers and other boring stuff,” Bobby said, and tossed the box aside after making a cursory inspection of its contents.

Trixie sighed with relief. “I think we’re done,” she said. “You’ve finished putting together an album with the best of the pictures, and all I have to do is put the digital pictures on a memory stick. Bobby, we’re done!”

“Good,” Bobby said. “Now we can play games with everyone else!”

Brian and Mart had arrived home from college that afternoon, and Trixie and Bobby and been listening to the games tournament they’d started.

Three hours later, Trixie tumbled into bed, exhausted from several rounds of highly competitive Uno. Her mind, though, refused to settle.

What if the pageant was a disaster?

What if Bobby forgot all his lines and decided to play an impromptu game of hockey instead?

What if she ended having to go to summer school to make up for a disastrous Christmas program?

What if she had to get an after-school job to pay for damages incurred during Christmas program?

Trixie shook her head, trying to clear it. Those were worst case scenarios, she reminded herself. Bobby had made it through several years of Christmas programs without serious damage or injury. Probably everything would be fine.

And tomorrow wasn’t just the day of the Christmas pageant; it was also the day that she’d deliver the photo album and scanned pictures to the McCutcheons. She smiled, picturing the expressions on GeeGeeMa and GeeGeePa’s faces as they leafed through the album. They would love it!

A thought niggled at the back of her mind, like a thread left unsecured. What was she forgetting? She’d done everything humanly possible to prepare for the pageant. And whatever she might have forgotten, Honey and Diana had taken care of. The pageant, at least the parts that she could control, was fine. What was she forgetting? Bobby had said something…

Trixie sat bolt upright. The last box! Bobby had found another box and had said there was nothing special in it, but what if there were important pictures that he’d overlooked? Bobby had done a really good job on the project, but he was just as anxious to be finished as she was, and he might not have looked very carefully.

Fatigue forgotten, Trixie tossed the covers aside and scrambled to open the closet door. She hadn’t thought to turn on a light, though, and ended up walking into the door rather than opening it. She hopped on one foot, gritting her teeth against the pain of a stubbed toe. A slight rustling in the room next to hers reminded her that there were others in the house trying to sleep, so she turned on her bedside light as quietly as she could and made a second attempt at the closet door. This time the door complied, but creaked as if in protest of the late hour.

She’d put the box on top of all the others, she remembered. Now, of course, it was nowhere to be seen. After a bad moment of wondering if she’d somehow managed to mix its contents with a box she’d already gone through, Trixie found it lying at the bottom of the stack, behind the other boxes. Breathing a sigh of relief, she carefully extricated it from behind the mountain of boxes and hugged it to her chest. Logically, she knew that the box probably didn’t contain anything more important than faded mementos of a bygone era, but her fingertips tingled in anticipation.

The closet door slammed shut of its own volition behind her, and Trixie winced at the sound. Instead of turning on the overhead light and taking the box to her desk, Trixie left the bedside light burning and eased open her bedroom door. If she didn’t go downstairs, she knew she’d end up waking everyone in the house.

When she reached the family room, however, there was already a light on and a figure in the recliner.

“Uncle Andrew!” Trixie whispered from the doorway.

Uncle Andrew looked up from his book and smiled at his favourite niece. “One of my favourite parts of being on vacation is becoming a night owl,” he confided, using a bookmark to mark his place. He motioned for her to join him, and Trixie put her box on the coffee table before curling up on the couch.

Andrew Belden inquired about the box immediately, and Trixie launched into the story of the McCutcheons and how she’d offered to preserve their memories. He nodded thoughtfully when she’d finished. “And now you’ve found another box that you absolutely have to inspect tonight?”

“Of course! I’m delivering the finished project tomorrow—” She stopped and looked at the clock. “Well, today, I guess.”

“Go on and open it,” he encouraged, and Trixie didn’t wait for a second invitation. She lifted the worn flaps of cardboard and peered in. Bobby had been right, she realized. Instead of photographs, the box held a collection of papers. There was probably no point in leafing through them, and yet…

“Well?” Uncle Andrew looked at her expectantly, but Trixie still hesitated. For reasons she couldn’t explain, reading the papers seemed like more of a violation than looking at the family photos. “You’ve come this far,” he reminded her. “The McCutcheons trusted you to look through their things.”

Trixie wasn’t sure she agreed, especially about the McCutcheons trusting her, but something about the papers had piqued her interest. She picked up the first paper and discovered that it was a transcript of Bailey’s grandmother’s high school marks. “Wow,” she breathed. “Cathy McCutcheon had worse grades than I do!”

Uncle Andrew burst into laughter, quickly muffling his mirth so he wouldn’t wake the sleeping Beldens. “I should hope so!” he said. “Cathy McCutcheon didn’t much care about school, and it showed!”

Trixie stared at him blankly. “Of course!” she said, the pieces falling into place. “You’re the same age as Bailey’s grandmother. Bobby and I figured that out a little while ago.” She took the next paper and discovered it was a ticket to a high school football game. “Sleepyside versus Croton,” she read. “I wonder if the rivalry was just as bad back then?”

“Worse,” Uncle Andrew grimaced.

Trixie let out a low whistle. “Look at the concerts she went to!” she demanded, waving a fanning a wave of ticket stubs. Cathy had been one lucky duck, Trixie thought.

Looking at the next set of papers, she sobered. “Oh.” She stared at the pamphlet for a home for unwed mothers. And then a pamphlet outlining how to put a child up for adoption. Next were legal papers, including information on open and closed adoptions. Last was a birth certificate.

“Jennifer Andrews Bea McCutcheon,” Trixie read, tracing the faded, typewritten line. “This must be Dr. McCutcheon’s birth certificate,” she said. “Cathy McCutcheon is the mother, but the father isn’t listed.”

Trixie looked up to find Uncle Andrew looking fixedly at the paper. “Can I see that?” he asked, clearing his throat.

She handed the document to him wordlessly.

He stared at the paper for far longer than it could possibly take for him to read it. Trixie vibrated with impatience, but bit her bottom lip instead of questioning her uncle.

“I think maybe it does list the father,” he finally said, his voice strained. He pointed to Jenna’s middle names, his finger shaking.

“Andrews Bea,” Trixie read. “Andrews Bea. Oh! Andrew B!” she said, finally catching on. “That’s you!” She stopped short, realizing the import of her words. “That’s you,” she repeated, her eyes wide. “You’re Dr. McCutcheon’s father. And Bailey’s grandfather!” She paused. “Wait. Are you?”

Uncle Andrew looked up, his face blank. “I might be,” he admitted, and Trixie had no idea what to say. Her uncle’s bachelorhood was such an ingrained part of his personality that Trixie couldn’t begin to fathom him as a father.

“Well,” she said slowly, “if you are Dr. McCutcheon’s father, I’m sure you’ll be every bit as good of a parent and grandparent as you are an uncle.”

Uncle Andrew gathered up the papers and returned them to the box. Wordlessly, he pressed Trixie into a hug before going to his own room, the box tucked under his arm.

Trixie paced the length of the narrow hallway leading to the stage in the Sleepyside Church of the Brethren. Never, she thought grimly, had she been this unsettled. Not in any of the years she’d participated in school plays and church pageants had she experienced this awful anticipation of waiting for the show to begin.

It wasn’t just nervousness, though. Or the fact that Bobby had been suspiciously well-behaved all day. It was the fact that Uncle Andrew had delivered all of the photographs to the McCutcheons earlier in the day. By himself. And they hadn’t heard from him! How had the McCutcheons reacted? Trixie gnawed at her fingernail, worried for her uncle.

Mr. and Mrs. Belden had sat the children down after Uncle Andrew had left and briefly explained the situation. A combination of strict parents, a headstrong, independent daughter, and a young man bound for college overseas had resulted in a pregnancy kept secret from everyone except Cathy McCutcheon until after the birth of the baby. And even then, she’d refused to name the father.

Minutes before the show was to start, Bailey skipped into the room, her angel wings bobbing in time to her steps. Her mother hovered behind her, staying in the doorway. “I thought I was going to be late, but Grand-drew said I couldn’t because you were a super strict director,” she panted.

“Grand-drew?” she asked, but shook her head before Bailey could answer. “Never mind. Find the other angels and get ready, okay?”

Bailey nodded, her blonde curls tangling in the wings and halo, and whirled out of the room. Dr. McCutcheon remained in the doorway. For the first time since Trixie had met the doctor, she appeared uncertain.

“She’s so resilient,” Dr. McCutcheon said, staring after her daughter. “The rest of us have a harder time, I think, accepting change.” She turned to Trixie and smiled tightly. “Even if that change will probably be a good thing in the long term. Thank you, Trixie,” she said. Before Trixie could reply, she hurried away to find a seat in the sanctuary.

Trixie breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously, things hadn’t gone too poorly if Bailey had already crafted a nickname for her newly discovered grandfather. It might not be completely smooth, but it was a start. Before she could speculate further, she heard the minister welcome the congregation. The children crowded around her, just as nervous as she was. She shooed the first actors onstage, peeking to make sure they found their places and remembered their lines.

“Honey!” she hissed, hoping that her best friend was within stage-whispering distance. “Honey, did you know that the pageant was going to be by candlelight?”

Honey joined her, carrying part of a sheep’s costume in her hands. “I found out a few minutes ago,” she admitted, gnawing her bottom lip. “Apparently Mrs. Myers cleared it with the church months ago, but she forgot to tell us when we offered to take over.”

Trixie took a deep breath. Candlelight sounded bad, but the way the lights were arranged, the stage was clearly illuminated for the audience. And the shepherds were bound to trip over their robes whether the stage was lit or not. She felt a momentary pang of guilt for assuming that Bobby would be clumsy, but then she remembered how he’d managed to trip up the stairs only a few hours earlier. And so far he hadn’t fallen from the stage and landed in the pianist’s lap, so she figured he was ahead of the game. Also, the candlelight was kind of soothing.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. This will work.”

Honey nodded, and then hurried off to her station of waiting with the children who entered and exited from the other side of the stage. The first few scenes of the pageant went smoothly and Trixie started to relax. Maybe she’d been worried for nothing! After all, they’d all worked hard. Maybe everything would turn out just fine! She could practically feel her English mark going up!

And then the shepherds took the stage. Except they weren’t quietly watching sheep. No, the shepherds, Trixie saw with horror, had replaced their crooks with actual hockey sticks and tugged jerseys on over their robes. Bobby, Larry, and Terry played a spirited game of street? field? some kind of hockey until the angel appeared to give them the good news. Only the angel in question, Bailey, had added to her costume by donning pointe shoes.

During an ill-advised mother/daughter trip to the ballet a few years earlier, Trixie had learned the purpose of the pointe shoe. Not merely an instrument of pain, its goal was to create the illusion of the dancer floating gracefully. It was apparent that Bailey understood the concept, but lacked the skill required to implement it. She clomped across the stage, lurching from side to side when she couldn’t stay en pointe. Trixie’s heart leapt to her throat when she nearly took out Larry Lynch, but Bailey recovered, delivered her good news, and exited the stage without mishap. The shepherds followed, continuing their game of hockey and delighting the audience. Trixie listened to the appreciative laughter and applause for the rowdy shepherds, amazed that their little stunt had been received so well.

The pageant proceeded according to the script, the youngest lambs, cows, and other barnyard animals earning a collective “aww” from the audience. Trixie crossed her fingers, hoping that the audience would remember the cuteness even if something else went wrong. But everyone remembered their lines, no one missed their cue, and the show was as close to perfect as she could hope for.

She felt it in the pit of her stomach when Bobby, Larry, and Terry re-entered the stage, “skating” down the aisle from the back of the sanctuary toward the stage. Encouraged by the earlier approval from the audience, the boys hammed up their performance, shooting balls of crumpled paper down the aisle and even into the pews. Trixie bit her lip, hoping that they wouldn’t go too far. When Bobby wound up to take the last shot before they reached the stage, Trixie knew that the good luck they’d enjoyed so far was about to run out.

As if in slow motion, Bobby’s shot arced straight toward the largest of the candles illuminating the stage. Trixie watched in horror as the paper smouldered and then caught fire. Bobby, unaware of the hazard he’d created, raised his arms in a cheer, sweeping his hockey stick in an arc that knocked over another of the candles. Another small flame ignited, and Trixie realized that Bailey was completely unaware of it and standing far too close to it for comfort.

“Bailey!” Trixie called, and the angel hurried away from the flame as fast as she could. Still wearing the pointe shoes, she tripped, toppling Bobby as she fell. Members of the audience started to realize something was amiss and stood, pointing and yelling when they saw the tipped candles.

Trixie tried to scramble to the stage, but a man sprinting down the aisle beat her.

“Look out!” Andrew Belden commanded, and dumped the contents of an oversized pitcher of lemonade on the flames. The liquid doused the tiny fires, and the entire congregation gave a collective sigh of relief. Trixie said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Uncle Andrew had had the presence of mind to pilfer the supply of after-pageant refreshments already set up in the attached family room.

“Bobby! Bailey! Are you okay?” Trixie asked, picking her way past startled wise men and donkeys.

Bobby and Bailey untangled themselves from the mess they’d landed in, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces. At the sight of their dripping wet curls and soaked costumes, Trixie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Mom!” Bailey called, doing a little of both the laughing and the crying that Trixie couldn’t decide between. “Mom! Grand-drew saved me!”

Jenna McCutcheon and Andrew Belden reached her at the same time, and Bailey threw her arms around both of them, effectively coating them with the lemonade still dripping from her clothes and hair. Trixie couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but the haunted expression Uncle Andrew had worn since he’d realized he was suddenly a father and grandfather was gone, and Bailey practically radiated happiness. Dr. McCutcheon, despite the fact that Andrew Belden was virtually a stranger to her, accepted his supporting arm.

Trixie knew a good thing when she saw it.

It turned out that the Christmas pageant might be it, after all.

December 24^th, one year later…

“Look!” Trixie cried, waving an envelope. “It’s a Christmas card!”

“Hardly cause for alarm,” Mart said, propping his green and white striped socked feet on the coffee table and reaching for the bowl of peanuts. “What with Christmas being tomorrow, and all.”

Trixie knocked his feet from the table and plopped down beside him. “But it’s from Uncle Andrew! We’ve never, ever gotten a Christmas card from Uncle Andrew!”

“He calls, instead,” Mart agreed, tossing several peanuts in the air and catching them in his mouth. The three older Belden siblings had only been home from college for a few days, and they were all still taking advantage of Moms’ treats. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

She really ought to wait for the rest of the family, she knew. But… but… She ripped open the envelope, creating a jagged edge and giving herself a paper cut in the process. Undeterred, she pulled out the card, only to stare at it in astonishment.

“Well?” Mart demanded.

Wordlessly, she handed him the card. Mart burst into laughter. “Now this is a Christmas card! What?” he asked innocently when Trixie glared at him. “It’s perfect! It’s got Uncle Andrew, his daughter, and his granddaughter in it.”

“And a destroyed, fire-scorched set,” she groaned.

She didn’t have to ask how her uncle had found a picture of himself, Bailey, and Dr. McCutcheon hugging after what was becoming known as the Christmas pageant. Unbeknownst to her at the time, Bobby had persuaded Dan to record the entire pageant. The footage was still circulating, causing her no end of grief. Her English teacher had even used it as a teaching tool, mostly a “what not to do” tutorial. Uncle Andrew had obviously managed to capture a still shot from the video. Probably with a little help from the photo-editing monster she’d created in her younger brother.

“Bobby!” she hollered, but Mart stopped her from charging up the stairs. “Give him a break,” he advised. “After all, he has his own Christmas pageant to direct tonight.”

Trixie sat back down and propped her own feet up on the coffee table, chuckling madly. The Church of the Brethren had been so impressed with Bobby’s creativity and fresh approach to the nativity that they had recruited him to help Mrs. Myers direct this year’s Christmas pageant. Tossing a peanut in her mouth, she sat back, hoping that this year’s pageant would bring just as much happiness as the previous year’s.