Trixie watched enviously as Mart and Brian kissed Moms good bye then got into the car with their father.  The three passengers waved as they traveled down the long gravel driveway, leaving behind them a cloud of dust.  Trixie turned and walked toward the family farmhouse, angrily kicking a stone in front of her all the way back to the house.

“What do you want to do now, Trixie?” asked Bobby, the youngest Belden, who skipped along behind her.

“Nothing with you.”

“Trixie,” warned her mother.

Trixie stopped and turned to her mother.  “But, Moms, it’s going to be so boring around here this summer.  I don’t have anyone to play with.  Even arguing with Mart is better than reading Peter Rabbit a million times.   Why couldn’t I have gotten some kind of a job or gone to camp with Mart and Brian?  You know I’m trying to find a way to earn money so I can buy a horse.”

“Now, Trixie,” answered Moms wearily, “we’ve been over this before.  You’re simply too young to get a job and not qualified to be a camp counselor.”

Frustrated with her situation, Trixie went into the house and to her room where she pulled a favorite Lucy Radcliffe book from her shelf.  “Apparently, I’ll be reading a lot this summer,” she grumbled as she flopped on her bed, book in hand.  The long summer vacation loomed ahead of her, a vacation she saw filled with chores around the house and hours spent entertaining Bobby.  “Just once,” she whispered to herself, “I wish something exciting would happen.”

 

A few days later, Trixie exited the kitchen of Crabapple Farm, letting the screen door slam behind her.

“Trixie!” admonished Helen Belden, known as Moms to her four children.

“Sorry,” snapped Trixie. She stepped off the back step and into the hot June sunshine, squinting as the bright rays hit her face.  

“Don’t forget you need to water the tomatoes,”  Moms called out.

“I know.  I know. I’m going to do that now.” Trixie trudged toward the fenced- in garden, muttering to herself with each step.  As she approached the large vegetable plot, she could see the neat rows that Moms had carefully planted, each one bearing a label with the type of crop and the date it was sown.  Staring at the tidy area, Trixie frowned.

“I hate to think you’re going to be my only companions this summer,” she said peevishly to the seedlings that shimmered in the early afternoon light,  “cuz I find you pretty boring.”

Trixie filled the big watering can and carefully stepped between the rows, sloshing water around the young plants.   As she walked back and forth to refill the watering can, she grew hot and sweaty. Soon her curls were clinging to her forehead and the back of her neck, while flies bit at her arms, creating large welts that she knew would itch later on.  

“Oh, yeah, this is going to be a real interesting summer.” Trixie lifted the damp curls and allowed a faint breeze to cool her.  She replaced the watering can and slowly walked back to the house.  

“Trixie!” yelled Bobby.

“What?”

“Let’s go frog hunting at the pond.”

Trixie shook her head.  “No!”

“Why not?”  A pout formed on the little boy’s face.  

“Because I’m hot after watering the garden and don’t want to be out in the sun.   What have you been doing”

Bobby held out both his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Nothin’.  What am I s’posed to be doin’?”

“I don’t know but I’m sure I did plenty when I was your age.” Trixie stomped past her brother and up the steps to the back door.

“So, does that mean we’ll hunt frogs later, Trixie?” asked Bobby.

“No!” Trixie entered the house, slamming the screen door behind her.

“Trixie,” said Moms sternly,  “what have I said about slamming the door?  Honestly, I would think you could remember that.”

Trixie sat down at the table and watched her mother tidy the kitchen after lunch.

“I’m bored, Moms.  What can I do?”  Trixie folded her arms on the maple table and dropped her head down on them.

Moms spun around and looked at her daughter.  “I could give you several suggestions and I’m sure you wouldn’t like any of them.”

“I might. Try me.”

“Okay.  You could read to Bobby, iron your father’s shirts, weed the front flower beds, fold the laundry, change the water in Reddy’s dish, clean out the bird bath, add bird seed to the feeder or plan dinner.  Does any of that appeal to you?”

Trixie processed what her mother had said, then shook her head.  “No, not really.”

“What?” Moms feigned surprise.  “Then I guess you won’t find my afternoon very appealing because that’s what I’ll be doing.”

Moms hung up the dish towel then went out the back door, carefully closing it behind her. Trixie smirked slightly when she heard her mother chastise Bobby about wearing his shoes if he was going to be playing in the orchard.   With a frustrated sigh, she got up from the table and wandered into the family room where she flopped down in her father’s recliner.  Rooting around the coffee table, she found the remote control and clicked on the television.

“Oh, John, the baby is yours.”

 Trixie rolled her eyes and changed the channel. “Yuck.”

“And this is how you install tile behind your counter.”  

“Boring.” She clicked again.

“Let’s take a look at the top ten college football teams and how they’ll match up this fall.”

“Let’s not.”

“Move into the downward facing dog pose and breathe.”

“Seriously? Somebody has to remind you to breathe?” Trixie clicked the remote.

“And today we’re going to make a delightful bouillabaisse,” sang out a shrill, flutey, alto voice from a tall woman who stood in front of a gleaming stove.

“Boo-la-what?”  Trixie held up the remote control device, her finger hovering over the button that would change the channel, but paused as the woman hauled out several cutting boards and a big pot and placed them on the counter in front of her.  

“This dish is a real showstopper,” said the woman, tucking a towel into her waistband.

Trixie continued to watch as the woman placed several bowls containing a variety of fish on the cutting board.

“Trixie!”  Moms’ voice carried through the open windows.

“Coming,”  Trixie turned off the television,  tossed the remote control back onto the coffee table and went outside.  “What do you want?”

“Could you please keep an eye on Bobby for about fifteen minutes while I scrub the bird bath?”

“I guess so.”   Looking around the yard, Trixie saw the blond curls of her little brother as he crouched down under an apple tree.  “I might as well take him frog catching.  At least one of us will be having fun.”  Tramping into the orchard, Trixie grabbed Bobby’s hand and led him to the pond that bordered the Belden farm and the neighboring estate.  

 

Later that evening, in the privacy of her room, Trixie sat on her window seat and stared out at the night sky.  In the distance, she could hear the faint rumblings of an approaching storm and noticed there were few stars twinkling above.  The trees swished softly as the early crickets chirped their love songs. Sighing, she turned off the light and settled in her bed, wondering if she would ever have a summer that wasn’t boring and what it would be like to have a friend who lived nearby that she could be with every day.

 

The next morning, Trixie awoke to the sound of raindrops pelting the roof above her.  

“No!  No!  No!” she yelled into the pillow that she had pulled over her face.  “I can’t stand the thought of an entire day spent in the house with nothing to do but read to Bobby.”  

After punching her pillow several times, Trixie rolled over and tried to go back to sleep but her efforts were in vain.  Kicking off the covers, she got out of bed, dressed, and went downstairs where she could hear her mother and father in the kitchen.

“Morning, Princess,” said Trixie’s father, Peter, who sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and reading the morning paper.  “What’s on your agenda today?”

Trixie plopped down in her chair.  “I don’t know.  I’ll probably read Peter Rabbit a million times, play a few hundred games of Candyland, change Reddy’s water, and wash the dishes. I hope I can handle the excitement.”

Peter looked over the paper at his daughter.  “I know you wanted to try a waitressing job this summer so you could save up for a horse, but I just don’t think you’re old enough for that.”

“Then why couldn’t I have gone to camp with Brian and Mart and worked there?” Trixie slouched down in her chair and kicked at the rug under the table.

“Trixie. You’re not old enough to be a junior counselor, nor have you gone through the necessary training.  We’ll definitely consider it next year.”

“I’ll probably have died from boredom by next year,”  Trixie scowled.

Peter returned to reading his newspaper while Trixie got up and helped her mother with the breakfast preparations.  Suddenly, they heard a loud thump followed by a wailing noise from upstairs.  Moms looked at Trixie expectantly.

“I know.  I know.  I’ll go check on Bobby,” Trixie said, leaving the placemats in a heap on the counter before running up the stairs to check on her brother.

“She’s not going to be very much fun today,” remarked Peter to his wife after Trixie had left the room.

Moms sat down at the table.  “I know.  And I don’t think asking her to clean the basement is going to make her any happier.”

“She’s too young to have a job,” said Peter firmly.

“I agree,” echoed Moms.

 

By lunchtime, the rain had abated,  but a light drizzle continued.  After eating, Trixie helped her mom with the lunch dishes, then wandered into the family room where she grabbed the remote control and began flipping through the channels.  Again, she paused when she saw the tall woman standing in front of a stove.

“Today, we’re going to make the omelette, a simple dish that tastes best when the proper technique is used,” said the woman in her odd-toned voice.

“What are you doing, Trixie?’ asked Moms as she entered the family room.  Glancing at the television, she smiled.  “Oh, Julia Child.  I used to love to watch her cook.  Such an artist.”

“You used to watch her?  When?” asked Trixie.

Moms laughed lightly.  “When I was a teenager.  My sister and I loved watching Julia Child and The Galloping Gourmet.”

“Who?”

Moms pointed to the screen.  “That’s Julia Child.  She’s a famous chef and one of the first to have a cooking show on tv.  The other show we watched was The Galloping Gourmet.  Both shows were fun, but you also learned a lot by watching them.”  Moms sat down on the couch. “What’s Julia making today?”

“Omelettes,” answered Trixie.  “But those aren’t hard to make.  You make them all the time.”

“But I don’t have the ‘Julia’ technique.”  Moms made air quotes with her fingers.

Moms and Trixie watched as Julia Child cracked two eggs at the same time with one hand, then whisked them with a pair of chopsticks.

“Chopsticks!” exclaimed Trixie.  “Is that her technique?”

Moms shook her head.  “It’s hard to explain.  Basically, she makes everything from scratch and uses only fresh ingredients. She’s quite knowledgeable in the kitchen.  But she wasn't always a chef.  In fact, she was a spy, or something close to one, during World War II.”

Trixie’s eyes widened.  “Gleeps!  A  real spy?”

“Yes.  And it was only when she and her husband moved to France that she got interested in cooking and enrolled in a culinary school.  Eventually, she became quite well known for her  delicious fare.” Moms watched the screen.  “She was really uncomfortable in front of the cameras and it was apparent in her early shows.”

Trixie and Moms continued to watch as Julia shook her pan, cooking her omelette.  

“Moms!” yelled Bobby from the kitchen.

“Shhh!” said Trixie and Moms in unison.

Bobby came into the family room and looked at his sister, his mother, then the television. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Shhh,” ordered Trixie.  “Julia’s making another omelette.”

Bobby slid onto the couch next to Moms and watched the woman on the screen beat the eggs then pour them into a hot pan, all while conversing into the camera.  

“And, Bobby”, said Trixie pointing to the screen, “Julia was a spy, an honest to goodness spy.  Right, Moms?”

“Well, I said she was close to one.  She had very high clearance with the government during World War II and handled many highly classified documents.”

“Is that why she’s a cook, Moms?  So she could poison the food and then feed it to the enemies?” asked Bobby excitedly.

Moms shook her head.  “No, Bobby.  Her culinary skill and her covert skills were not related.”

Bobby scratched his head. “You sound like Mart,  Moms.”  He watched the show for a minute.   “Hey, did you learn to cook from her?”

“Don’t be silly, Bobby.  Of course she didn’t,” answered Trixie.

“As a matter of fact,” said Moms, “I did learn a lot from Julia Child.  One of the first meals I ever made for your father was her french onion soup.”  Moms laughed lightly. “I worked so hard on that meal.  I did everything the way Julia said to.  I even had the man at the meat counter chop up some beef bones for me so I could make my own beef broth.  I spent hours on that one pot of soup.  And I was especially nervous because I really wanted to impress your father.”

Trixie sat back in her chair and looked at her mother, surprised.  “I can’t imagine Daddy not being impressed with your cooking,” she said.

“Yes, but Trixie, I wasn't born knowing how to cook.  It took me a long time to feel like I knew my way around a kitchen.”

“And Julia Child helped you?”

Moms nodded.  “She did.  She took a lot of the mystery out of cooking and showed me that it can be a fun activity.  I have several of her cookbooks on my shelf in the kitchen.”

“Have you ever made that soup for us, Moms?” asked Trixie.

“No.  I’m afraid a pot of french onion soup wouldn’t go very far with Mart at the table.”

 “Oh.  Hey, maybe you can make it while Mart’s away at camp.”

“Hmmm,” said Moms thoughtfully.  “Maybe I can.”

When the show ended, Bobby looked at Trixie.  “Can we play Candyland now, Trixie?  I’ll let you win.”  

“We’ll play but don’t try to let me win.  Last time we did that, the game lasted over an hour.”  

Trixie and Bobby grabbed the board game from the shelf in the corner of the room and spread it out on the coffee table. Seeing that the two were occupied, Moms decided to run some errands.  With a quick wave, she was off, leaving an impatient Trixie watching as Bobby slowly moved his game token two red spaces.

 

By late afternoon, the drizzle had stopped and the sun filtered through the breaking clouds.  

“Come on, Trixie,” said Bobby.  “Let’s go get the mail.”

“Okay.”  Trixie followed Bobby out the front door and down the long driveway to the mailbox.  Seeing Reddy playing in the wet grass, Bobby grabbed a stick and threw it.  He praised the dog when Reddy, tail wagging, returned it.  Immediately, Bobby forgot about the mail and began an earnest game of fetch.  Trixie laughed when Reddy stopped to shake himself dry, dousing the little boy with muddy water droplets. Hearing her father’s car turn into the driveway,  Trixie waved and made sure that Bobby and Reddy stayed away from the moving vehicle.  

“Tell Moms I’ll be in soon,” yelled Trixie to her father.

Peter nodded and smiled, then continued up the long driveway.  

Trixie watched as Bobby and Reddy played, joining in when Reddy brought the stick to her instead of Bobby. Finally she called a halt to the game, saying that she needed to go help Moms with dinner.

“Okay,” said Bobby, “but me and Reddy need to stay outside so we can get dry.”

“How about if Reddy stays outside and you go up to your room and change you clothes,” suggested Trixie.

“Okay-dokey,” smiled Bobby.  “Hey, Reddy,” he yelled, “you can come in when you’re dry.”

Trixie and Bobby carefully wiped their feet, then entered the kitchen where Moms was making dinner while Peter sat on a stool at the counter talking to her.  

“I really hate to spring this on you, Helen.  But I just couldn’t pass up the chance,” said Peter.

“It’s all right.  I can pull something together.  It’ll be fun to see them again,” answered Moms.

Trixie didn’t stop to hear the rest of the conversation but instead led Bobby up to his room where she got out some dry clothes for him.  

“Here.  Put these on and put your wet ones in the hamper,” she instructed, then went back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Trixie was just entering the room when she heard her mother say, “I’m sure Trixie will be happy to help.”

“Help?  What will I be happy to help with?” she asked suspiciously.

“Your mother has agreed to entertain the Elams.  You might not remember them, but he was the bank manager who originally hired me.  He’s retired now, but he and his wife will be in town this weekend so I invited them to dinner on Friday night.”

“I can do it as long as you’re willing to help me,” said Moms, looking at Trixie.

Trixie shrugged.  “Sure, Moms. I’m pretty sure I’ll have nothing else to do.”

“Thanks, Trixie.  I think I can get all the cooking done if you keep an eye on Bobby and help tidy the house.”

“Sounds like a normal, summer day to me,” Trixie mumbled quietly as she went to the drawer and counted out the silverware so she could set the table.

 

The next morning, Trixie found her mother seated at the kitchen table with several cookbooks spread out in front of her.  

“Looking for something special to make Friday night?” she asked.

Moms nodded, her eyes studiously scanning each page. “I just can’t decide what to make.”

“Hey, how about the onion soup you made Daddy?”

Moms looked up at Trixie.  “That’s a good idea, but I would need to add more to make it a complete meal.” Moms pushed one cookbook away and opened another one.  

Trixie watched her mother, then left the kitchen and headed to the chicken coop to collect the eggs.  When she returned, her mother was already starting to make breakfast. The rest of the morning passed quietly with Trixie finishing her chores and keeping Bobby entertained.  After lunch, Trixie and Moms went into the family room.  

“Do you want to watch Julia Child?” asked Trixie.

Moms nodded.  “I think that would be a great way to take a break.  Besides, maybe I’ll get an idea for dinner on Friday.”

Trixie clicked on the remote control, then found the correct channel.  She settled back in her father’s recliner while her mother sat on the couch.  

“Hey, look,” said Trixie.  “This episode’s in black and white.”

“It must be from the early sixties,” said Moms.

“I thought you watched it when you were young?” puzzled Trixie.

Moms fixed Trixie with a reprimanding stare then shook her head.  “Trixie, I didn’t watch it when it first came out.  I watched the reruns.  How old do you think I am?”

Trixie winced. “Oops. Sorry, Moms.”  

The two returned their attention to the television screen as the familiar voice began describing what she was going to make.  

“Yum.  Beef stroganoff,” commented Moms.  “That actually might make a good dinner.  I’m glad we’re watching this today.”

Trixie grinned at her mother and gave her a thumbs up signal then sat back and watched as Julia spread out different cuts of beef on her cutting board and described them.  

“Hey, Moms,” yelled Bobby from the kitchen.

“Shhh,” said Moms.

Bobby came into the family room.  “Her again?”

“Bobby, Moms is trying to get an idea for dinner on Friday night.  Why don’t you go upstairs and play with your dinosaurs.  I’ll read Peter Rabbit to you when the show is done.  How does that sound?” asked Trixie.

“Okey-dokey,” said Bobby.  But instead of leaving the room, he stood behind Trixie and watched the television, mesmerized by Julia Child’s efficient staccato chopping of ingredients.  

When the closing music announced the end of the show, Moms stood up.  “Yes, I think beef stroganoff will be a perfect choice.  I’ll go look through my cookbooks for her recipe.”  

“Come on, Trixie. You said you’d read to me,”  Bobby reminded his sister.

Trixie turned off the television and went in search of Bobby’s favorite book, her mind still focused on the meal she had just seen prepared.

 

Friday was a clear and sunny day.  After breakfast, Trixie helped her mother tidy up the front yard.  

“Moms!  Hey, Moms,” Bobby yelled from the back yard.  “Where are you?”

Moms, kneeling at the edge of a flower bed, sat back on her heels.  “Out front, Bobby.”

“Where?” yelled Bobby again.

Sighing, Moms got up and disappeared around the corner of the house.  Trixie finished weeding  the bed, then stepped back to admire her and Moms’ work.  Seeing her mother returning to the front year, Trixie called out.

“It looks really pretty, Moms.  You do such a great job with these flowers.”

Moms looked at the colorful landscape, assessing its layout, and didn’t see the hole that Reddy had recently dug.  Stepping into it, her ankle twisted and she fell down.

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