Part II

“Moms!” gasped Trixie, running to her.  “Are you all right?”

“I think so.”  Moms pushed her blond curls off her face.  “Help me up, Trixie.”

Trixie grabbed her mother’s arm and helped her to her feet.  

“Oohhhh.”  Moms grimaced and leaned on Trixie.

“What’s wrong, Moms?”

“I really turned my ankle.  Can you help me to the porch?”

Trixie helped her mother up to the shaded porch and settled her on the swing, piling up the cushions for her foot.

“I’ll go get some ice,” she said, dashing into the house.

Returning with an ice bag wrapped in a tea towel, Trixie watched anxiously as her mother gingerly placed it on her ankle.  “Do you think it’s broken, Moms?” she asked. “Do you want me to call Daddy?”

Moms shook her head.  “I’m sure it will be all right after I rest it a bit.”

“I wish Brian was here.  He’d know what to do.”  Trixie chewed her lower lip.

Moms stared at her swelling ankle and adjusted the ice.  “Let’s wait a while and then see how I feel.”

“I’ll go make lunch, Moms.  You stay here and take it easy.”

Making sure Bobby was nearby, Trixie went into the house.  A few minutes later, she brought out a tray that held a simple lunch and carefully laid it across her mother’s lap. Then she went back into the house to get lunch for herself and Bobby.

“Hey!  Are we eating outside, Trixie?” asked the little boy as Trixie set a plate down in front of him.  “Is this a picnic?”

“You could say that.  And, Bobby, I’m going to need your help this afternoon since Moms hurt her ankle.  Can you do that?”

Bobby nodded his head vigorously then took a big bite out of his sandwich.  “I can holp cuz I’m a big boy.  Right?”

Trixie smiled at her brother.  “Absolutely!”  Swallowing her food, Trixie looked up at her mother.  “You just stay on that swing for as long as possible.  Bobby and I can tidy the house and do whatever else needs to be done.”

Moms gave Trixie a grateful look.  “Thank you.  I’m sure you and Bobby will do a great job.”  She sighed softly.

“What?” asked Trixie.

“I just don’t know how I’ll manage to make the beef stroganoff.  And I hate to disappoint your father and the Elams.

Trixie chewed her sandwich and stared out across the sunny lawn, her mind reeling.  “What if I were your hands?”

“My hands?” puzzled Moms.

“Yeh.  You could tell me exactly what to do while sitting in a chair with your foot up.  I would become your ‘hands’.  Besides, I also watched Julia Child make this meal.  I bet I could do it!”

“Hmmm,” Moms stared at Trixie.  “That might work.  Let me think about it while we eat.  But I definitely like your idea.  As for this ankle, I’ll give Dr. Ferris a call and see if he can come out and take a quick look at it.  I’m pretty sure it’s just a nasty twist, but it never hurts to get a second opinion.”

After lunch, Moms hobbled into the kitchen and placed a phone call.  Hanging up, she settled herself in a chair.  “Whew!  Dr. Ferris can come out here at 2:00.  In the meantime, I’m supposed to keep it iced and elevated.”

After refilling the ice pack and adjusting it on her ankle, Moms had Trixie bring her the Julia Child cookbook and she flipped it open to the recipe for beef stroganoff.

“Good thing I did all the shopping yesterday,” she said to herself as she studied the book in front  of her.

“You can say that again,” said Trixie as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water.  “If I had to go into Lytell’s store and buy this stuff for dinner, I would die.  Besides, grumpy Mr. Lytell would never believe I was actually cooking.”

Trixie paused, waiting for a response from her mother, then realized that her mother was engrossed in the recipe for the stroganoff.  

“Come on, Bobby.  Help me with the dishes,” demanded Trixie.

“Is this all I’m gonna do?” pouted Bobby.  “I wanna do more than dishes.  That’s your job, Trixie.”

Trixie faced her brother, her hands on her hips.  “Really?  Is that your idea of helping?”

Bobby looked up at his sister.  “But doing dishes is a boring job.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Bobby.”

Bobby shrugged.  

Trixie rolled her eyes.  “Well, you’re just going to have to be bored for a few minutes.  Come on, you can scrape the dishes and I’ll wash.  After that, we’ll tackle some bigger chores.” Trixie noted the look of disinterest on Bobby’s young face.  “Hey,” she said suddenly, “ how would you like it if I made you a chart and every time you helped, you’d get a star.  At the end of the day, you can exchange your stars for a treat.”

Bobby jumped up and down.  “That would be neat, Trixie.  That’s why I love you so much cuz you’re the bestest sister, even if Mart says you’re not very smart.”

Trixie opened her mouth to reply, then decided that arguing with Bobby would make the afternoon unproductive.  Instead, she pasted a smile on her face, handed him a dirty plate, and pointed to the trash can.

Moms watched the two, satisfied that Bobby would be helping Trixie instead of hindering her.  Grabbing a piece of paper, she quickly jotted down tasks that needed to be completed.

With the dishes done, Trixie sat down at the table.  “Okay, Moms, what do we do next?”

Moms studied her notes and the recipe.  “Most of the dinner will be made right before we serve it.  However, you and Bobby can wash up the lettuce and carrots for the salad.”

“On it.” Trixie gave her mother a mock salute, then called for Bobby.  

While Trixie tore up the lettuce leaves, Bobby placed them in the salad spinner.  When all the lettuce was torn, Trixie got a stool for Bobby so he could run the water through the covered bowl  then spin it out.  

“Hey, Trixie.  Does that lady on that show have one of these?”

Trixie thought for a minute.  “I don’t think so. I think those shows are too old for her to have had one.”

“Imagine what she would say if she did?” remarked Bobby as he turned the handle on top.  “These are the most wonderful things for nice, clean veggies.  I like the one with the tight fitting lid,” said Bobby in a voice that was uncannily similar to Julia Child’s.

Trixie stared at Bobby in amazement, then laughed.  “That’s pretty good, Bobby.”

Bobby beamed at the compliment.  “I think the lettuce is all spinned out.   What do you think, Trixie?”

Trixie lifted the lid and looked at the glistening lettuce inside.  “I think you’re right, Bobby.  Moms, what do you want us to do with the lettuce?”

“Just put the whole spinner in the refrigerator.  Bobby can give it another whirl when we get ready to make the salad.”

Trixie carefully stowed the gadget, then faced her mother.  “Now what?”

Moms winced slightly.

“Does your ankle hurt more,” asked Trixie in alarm.

“No.  I’m all right.  But I need you to finish the dusting.”

“Come on, Bobby.  You can punch the pillows while I dust. And by the way, you’ve already earned one star.”

Trixie grabbed Moms’ list and drew a star at the bottom of it.  “See.” She held out the paper for her brother.  

Bobby looked at the paper and frowned.  “You said I would have a chart.”

Trixie sighed and ran her hand through her tangled curls.  “You’re right.  I did.”

Moms spoke up.  “Trixie, hand me a fresh piece of paper and I’ll sit here and make the chart while you two work.”

“Thanks, Moms.”  Trixie grabbed the paper and a few markers from the pencil can near the phone, then led Bobby out of the kitchen.  A few minutes later, while admiring their efforts in the living room, Trixie and Bobby heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway.

“Moms, Dr. Ferris is here,” yelled Trixie, seeing the doctor getting out of his car.  Opening the door in response to the doctor’s knock, Trixie greeted him, then showed him to the kitchen where her mother had finished the chart and was again flipping through the cookbook.  

“Come on, Bobby,” said Trixie.  “Let’s let Dr. Ferris examine Moms’ ankle.  You and I can sweep the front porch and walkway.”

Trixie was coiling the hose beneath the flowering shrubs when Dr. Ferris pulled away from Crabapple Farm.  She and Bobby ran into the house to see what the doctor had found with their mother.

“What’d he say, Moms?” asked Trixie anxiously, looking at her mother’s ankle that was now tightly wrapped.  “Is it broken?”

“Yeh, Moms. Is your ankle busted?” added Bobby.

Moms shook her head.  “No.  It’s just a slight sprain, as I thought.  He told me to keep it iced, elevated, and wrapped.”

Trixie sat down at the kitchen table.  “At least it’s not broken.  Are you still having the Elams over for dinner tonight?”

Moms looked at Trixie and Bobby.  “So far, our plan is working out. Let’s stick with it.”

Trixie checked the ice pack on her mother’s leg.  “Why don’t I get you a glass of lemonade and then we’ll move on to the next item on the list.”  She stood up, then paused.  “The porch is swept and so is the front walk.  Bobby did a great job with the cushions on the porch furniture.  I think he earned another star.”

Bobby clapped his hands and jumped up and down.  “This is so much fun,” he shouted.  

Trixie got her mother the lemonade then waited for the next request.

After quickly studying her list, Moms looked up.  “Bobby, I need you to straighten up the books and games on the shelf in the family room. Trixie, you can start cutting the vegetables for the salad.”

“Straighten the books and games?” Bobby scowled.  “That doesn’t sound like very much fun. Besides, I did that last week.”

“Tell you what,” offered Moms.  “I’ll time you to see how quickly you can get the job done.  If you get it done in 15 minutes, and it’s done well,  you’ll earn an extra star.”

Bobby’s eyes widened and he ran off while Trixie washed her hands and pulled the first ingredients from the refrigerator.

“Okay, Moms, what do you need me to cut?”

Moms told Trixie which vegetables she wanted added to the salad and how to prepare them.  Trixie did as her mother instructed, chatting while she sliced the carrots and celery.  She was interrupted by Bobby running back into the kitchen.

“Moms!  Moms!  I’m done,” he yelled.  “How long did it take me?”

“Remember, Bobby.  You also had to do a good job.  Trixie, would you go check the family room please?”

Trixie hurried into the room. She noted the sun’s rays that filtered through the windows and onto the maple shelf, where the books were now evenly lined up and the games neatly stacked.

“It looks good, Moms,” Trixie announced when she came back into the kitchen.  “And, Bobby straightened all the pillows on the couch.  He certainly earned his stars.”

Bobby watched as Moms drew two stars on the chart she had made.  He smiled and counted them up.

“I have three stars.  Now what do you want me to do?”

Moms sent Bobby off on another task then turned her attention back to Trixie.  “Before you do anything else, I think you should go set the table.  And if Bobby wants to help, he can, but make sure his hands are clean.”

“Okay.  I’ll do that as soon as I’m done with the radishes.”

Trixie finished her salad preparations, wiped her hands and left the room.

Alone in the kitchen, Moms took a deep breath and adjusted her ice pack.  Exhaling softly, she looked down at the family dog who was calmly snoozing on the clean floor.  “You know what, Reddy?  We just might pull this off.”  

Reddy raised his head at the sound of his name, then dropped it back on the floor, his eyes closed.

By late afternoon, the house was ready for the guests and Bobby had added several more stars to his chart.  

“Time to start the cooking,” announced Moms.

“Do I get to help with that?” asked Bobby eagerly.

“No,” answered Trixie.  “I have to concentrate.”

“But I watched that cooking show too.  I can be just like that lady.  Watch.”

Before Trixie could argue any further, Bobby grabbed a small stool to stand on, stuffed a dishtowel into the waistband of his shorts and stood behind the counter, facing his mother.

“Today,” he said in a falsetto voice,” we are going to make beef stroga-something.  This is a delightful dish that is really easy to make.”  

Trixie and Moms giggled while Bobby continued with his spiel.  Looking around the counter, he saw the pots that Trixie had gotten out in preparation for cooking.  He grabbed two and positioned them so they were right in front of him.  

“These are the pots I prefer,” he said, using his “Julia” voice. “They have a nice firm bottom.”

Trixie glanced at her mother and saw the broad smile that graced her face.  She looked back at Bobby, wondering where he had acquired the ability to mimic somebody so accurately.  She noticed that he had shoved the pans aside and was now holding up an egg.

“This may look like a normal egg, but it is so much more.  You can make pancakes with it, scramble it, add it to the dog’s food, and… oops!”

Bobby froze when the egg slipped from his chubby fingers and crashed to the floor, its contents oozing amidst the pieces of broken shell. The kitchen became totally silent as Trixie and Bobby stared at the mess at their feet. Peeking at Moms, they noticed her shoulders were shaking and her head was bent down.

“Moms,” Trixie said quickly, knowing her mother frowned on wasting food, “don’t be upset.  We’ll clean that up.”  

Moms said nothing but kept her head down.  

“Moms?” asked Bobby worriedly,  “do you want me to give back my stars?”

Moms shook her head, then raised it.  Trixie and Bobby were surprised when they saw that tears were running down her cheeks and that she was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak.  Trixie looked at Bobby and began to giggle, then she too began to laugh.  

Bobby looked at his mother and sister.  “I don’t get it.  Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, Bobby,” exclaimed Moms,  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so funny.  Oh my!”  Moms wiped her face and resettled herself on the chair.  After taking a long drink of lemonade, she composed herself.  

“Okay, Bobby.  Please help Trixie clean up the floor then you’ll need to play in your room for a bit.  I don’t want you around when she is cooking the meal.”

“But Moms, I can help.  Just give me another chore to do.  I want to get another star,” begged Bobby.

When the egg was cleaned up, Bobby presented himself to his mother, a hopeful look on his face.

“Okay, Moms.  Give me another chore and I promise I’ll do it real good.”

“All right, Bobby.  Here’s a special chore only you can do.”

“What?”

“I need you to get your coloring book because I think some fresh pictures on the refrigerator would be really nice.  I’ll even color with you.”

Moms watched an excited Bobby hurry off to get the supplies, then turned her attention back to Trixie.  

“You’re up,” she said.  

Moms told Trixie which cutting boards and knives to use.  Trixie listened as her mother read off the first part of the recipe.

“Start by cubing the beef.”  

Trixie slowly cut the meat into small pieces, remembering how they had looked when Julia Child had prepared them. Meanwhile,  Bobby returned and slid onto his chair at the table, chattering away while he colored several pictures of dinosaurs.  

Under Mom’s direction, Trixie set a pot of noodles on the stove and began cooking them.  Next, she grabbed the salad ingredients.

“Hey, Bobby,” Trixie called.  “Why don’t you come give this spinner another whirl.”

“Can I, Moms?” asked Bobby.

When Moms nodded, Bobby ran across the kitchen and spun the lettuce.  Returning the table, he asked, “Did I get another star, Moms?”

Bobby smiled proudly when Moms added another star to the chart.  “Oh, boy!” he said. “I bet I get a nundred stars.”

“Hundred,” corrected Moms.

“Yeh, that,” responded Bobby, as he returned to coloring a stegosaurus bright orange.

Moms continued her instructions to Trixie. Listening closely, Trixie followed every word, picturing Julia’s motions in her mind, and pleased when her results closely resembled what she’d seen prepared on television.

“Moms, I think this is going to work,” said Trixie as she sliced green onions and put them next to a pile of cut mushrooms.  

“I think so too, Trixie.  I’m going to hobble down the hall and fix my face, then we’ll be ready to cook the meat. I sent Bobby upstairs with some laundry to fold so you don’t need to worry about him.”

While Moms was gone, Trixie tidied up the kitchen and drained the noodles.  As she was pouring them into a serving bowl, the pot slipped and the noodles flopped onto the counter, then onto the floor.

“Oh, no!”  Trixie frantically tried to scoop them up, but they kept slipping through her fingers.  She grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter, thinking they would help give her a better grasp of the noodles. But before she could even try to pick them up, Reddy appeared and, in one huge bite, slurped them all up.  Trixie stared at the floor where the only evidence that the noodles had ever been there was a small puddle of water.

“Now what am I going to do?” wailed Trixie.

“Do about what?”  Moms carefully lowered herself back onto her chair.

“Oh, Moms.  The worst thing happened.  When I was putting the noodles in a bowl, the pot slipped and all the noodles landed on the floor.  Then, before I could get them picked up, Reddy ate them.  All of them! What should I do?

Moms ran her hand through her hair.  “Okay, first thing you do is let that dog out.  Odds are, those noodles will be coming up soon and that’s the last thing you want to have to deal with.  Second, start another pot of water and cook more.”

“But Moms, won’t that mess up the timing?”

Actually, no.  I goofed and had you start the noodles too soon.  Now they’ll finish at the right time.  Reddy helped us, but don’t let him know that.  He might want a star too,” grinned Moms.

“Okay.”  Trixie refilled the pot with water and placed it on the stove.  Relieved that the crisis had passed, Trixie now noticed that her mother looked quite nice, with freshly combed hair,neatly applied lipstick  and dressier clothes.

“Did you go all the way upstairs, Moms?”

“No. But I’ve learned today that all you have to do is dangle an additional star in front of Bobby and he’ll do whatever you ask.  While you were working, he ran upstairs and grabbed some clothes for me. I think he’s now aiming for two hundred stars.”

Trixie smiled.  “You look pretty, Moms. Now what should I do?”

Moms consulted the recipe then instructed Trixie on the sauteing of the mushrooms and green onions.  “Yum,” Moms sniffed. “It’s starting to smell really good in here.”

Trixie smiled to herself, relishing Moms’ compliment.  She deftly removed the mushrooms and onions, then added more butter to the pan.  A few minutes later, she slid the cubed beef off the cutting board and into the hot butter where it sizzled and popped.

“What will I be doing next?” asked Trixie as she continued to monitor the cooking meat.

“When the meat is done, you’ll remove it from the pan and then deglaze the pan with the Madeira wine.”

Trixie snapped her fingers.  “Of course, how could I forget the wine?  I can only imagine what Bobby would have to say about that.”

Moms rolled her eyes then asked Trixie to bring her the corkscrew and the wine, plus several additional items that would use to make up a plate of appetizers.   Once the wine was opened, Trixie added one half cup of it and carefully deglazed the pan.

Sniffing the open bottle, Trixie grimaced. “Whew! I don’t understand how the wine makes a dish taste good.  It sure doesn’t smell good.”

“The alcohol cooks off, leaving a deeper flavor,” explained Moms as she firmly pushed the cork back in the bottle.

After a quick adjustment to her ankle wrap, Moms sliced cheese and arranged it with several types of crackers and olives.  She pushed the completed cheese plate to the side and consulted the cookbook before instructing Trixie.

“Ah, yes,” said Moms.  “You’re going to need the Creme Fraiche soon.

“The what?” sputtered Trixie.  “That sounds complicated.” She paused, then added, “And french!”

“It is,” laughed Moms.  “But don’t worry, Trixie.  We’re going to cheat and use sour cream.  I know better than to push my ‘sous chef’.”

“Your what?”

“My ‘sous chef’.  Literally, that’s somebody who is training under a chef.  I would say that’s you.”

“Gleeps!  That sounds way fancier than calling me your ‘helping hands’.”

Trixie added some beef broth and a few spices, then carefully stirred the fragrant concoction.  

“The next part is tricky,”  advised Moms. “ You have to combine one tablespoon of water and one tablespoon of cornstarch, then add it to your mixture.  But you have to keep stirring for one minute to keep the sauce nice and smooth.  Are you ready to do that?”

Nodding, Trixie measured the ingredients then added them to her pan.  She watched as her spoon swirled the mixture together, anxious to see how it would all turn out.

After a minute, Moms called out, “How does it look?”

Trixie held up her spoon.  “What do you think?”

Moms clapped her hands.  “Perfect! It’s coating the spoon just like it should.”

Just as Moms was ready to tell Trixie the next step, they heard the sound of car doors in the driveway.

“Uh-oh.  Your father and the guests have arrived.  Here’s what you’ll need to do next.”

Moms hurriedly gave Trixie the instructions, and slid the cookbook over for her to read.

“I think I’ve got this, Moms.  I’ll help you into the family room, then finish up here.  All I need to do is add the mushrooms, season the meat, then add it back to the pan.  I’ll go ahead and dress the salad and dish out the noodles.  Anything else?”

Moms stood up.  “No. You and Bobby have done an amazing job this afternoon.  You might just end up being a good cook yourself.”

Trixie wanted to help her mother into the family room, but Moms waved her off.  “I think I can make it by myself.  Besides, you’ve got some meat to watch and some food to dish out.”

“Hey, Moms,” Trixie called out, “bon appetit!”

Moms turned and grinned at her daughter.  “Merci.”

Trixie watched her mother slowly ease into the family room, then went back to the stove where she got to work.  

“Bobby,” yelled Trixie, not knowing where the little boy was.  

“What?” Bobby popped up from under the table.

“What are you doing down there?”

“Moms told me to stay out of the way so I’ve been hanging out here.  And you’re not the only one who can do something special for her.”

Trixie peered under the table and saw the white dinner napkins she had neatly laid out earlier wadded up into several balls.  “Bobby!  What are you doing?”

Bobby gazed at the linens scattered around him.  “‘Member that time Mart made ducks out of the napkins?”

“Ducks?  You mean swans?”

“Okay.  Well, I tried to do that, only they don’t look too good.”

Trixie reached down and gathered up the napkins.  “Great.  Now what am I going to do?”

“Give me those.  I’ll just put ‘em back on the table.”

Trixie ignored Bobby and stood still, her mind racing.  Suddenly, she snapped her fingers.  “I have an idea.”  Pulling a chair away from the table, she grabbed Bobby’s arm.  “Okay, now I need you to go out the back door, run around the house to the front porch and get that pot of flowers, the one with the pretty blue ones that you like so much, and bring it to me. Don’t talk to anybody, don’t play with Reddy and don’t think about doing anything except what I said to do.”

“Okay, but sheesh, Trixie, you don’t have to be so bossy.” Bobby yanked his arm from Trixie’s grasp.

“Yes, I do.  Now scoot!”

Trixie tapped her foot impatiently while waiting for Bobby to return.  When she heard his footsteps on the back porch, she opened the door and ushered him in.  

“Thanks,” Trixie said, grabbing the potted plant from him.  “Now sit back down under the table.  I’ll be right back.”

Trixie carefully carried the pot to the dining room where she arranged it in the center of the table, then added clean, dark blue napkins to each place setting.  Dashing back to the kitchen, Trixie returned to the stove to tend to the meal.

“How many stars did I earn for that, Trixie?”

Trixie thought for a moment then realized that the table, although arranged attractively before, now looked better with the pot that contained trailing ivy and deep blue lobelia that set off the white china and sterling silverware.  “I’d say you earned two stars.  And now it’s time to earn another one.  Reddy needs his dinner and I think you’re just the right person to feed him.”

“Okey-dokey.”  Bobby crawled out from under the table and got Reddy’s dish and stood in front of the stove. He looked into the pan doubtfully.  “I don’t think Reddy will like all that junk in with his meat.”

Trixie raised her brows.  “Since when do we serve Reddy our food? This is for the company. Just give him his regular stuff and feed him outside.”

“Okay, but I just thought since it is a special night, Reddy might get a special meal.” Bobby went to the pantry and, by leaning deep into the big bag of food, was able to scoop enough out to fill the beloved dog’s dish.

“Here you go, Reddy.”  Bobby placed the dish on the mat outside the back door then scrambled back under the table where he resumed his coloring. 

Trixie sat on the kitchen stool and watched over the meat mixture, occasionally giving it a stir.

“It really wasn’t that hard to make.  Moms was right.  Julia Child does take some of the mystery out of cooking.”

“What?” Bobby asked, poking his head out.

“I said making this beef stroganoff really wasn’t that hard.”

“Yeh, but what does it taste like?”

Trixie looked at Bobby and then at the meat simmering in the creamy sauce.  “There’s only one way to find out.”

She pulled two spoons from the drawer and took two tiny samples from the pan.  She held one out to Bobby.  “Make sure you blow on in before you eat it.”

After deciding her sample had cooled enough, Trixie took a cautious taste.  “Wow!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up.  “This is really good.  What do you think, Bobby?”

Bobby licked his spoon.  “Yep, it’s good Trixie, but not as good as Moms’ hamburgers.  Hey, why don’t you learn to make those next.”

Rolling her eyes at her brother, Trixie tossed the spoons into the sink, then sat back down on the stool.

A few minutes later,  Peter came into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively.  “Your mother said you cooked dinner, Trixie.  It smells great in here.  Mind if I try it?”

Trixie got her father a spoon and watched him taste the meat mixture.  A smile crossed his face.  “This is delicious.  It tastes as good as your mother’s.  I won’t need to worry about who will fix dinner if your mother is ever away.”

Peter licked both sides of the spoon before adding it to the others in the sink. “I’ll help you ladle this into a dish, then we’ll take it and the rest of the food to the dining room.  I’ll make sure to leave enough for you and Bobby.”

Later, Trixie and Bobby sat at the kitchen table eating the delicious beef stroganoff while listening to the muted voices and soft laughter of their parents and their guests.  

“So, what do you think it’ll be, Trixie?” asked Bobby, wiping the milk from his upper lip with the back of his hand.

“What do I think what will be?”

“You know, my treat that I get for all the stars I earned.”

Trixie shrugged.  “How would I know?”

Bobby shoved some meat into his mouth. “I hope it’s another Peter Rabbit book.  You know, there are a lot of them out there.”

Chewing her food, Trixie stared out the kitchen window  “Yeh, that’s what I’m hoping for,” she said sarcastically.

“Really?” Bobby sat up straight in his chair.

Trixie shook her curls. “No, not at all.”

After the guests had left, Peter joined Trixie in the kitchen to help her with the clean-up.

“That was a delicious meal, Princess,” said Peter as he filled the sink with hot, soapy water.  “The Elams were quite impressed.” He tossed a towel to Trixie.  “I’ll wash. You dry.  We’ll get this done in no time at all.”

Trixie snagged the towel, mid-air.  “Okay. You’re on!”

With Trixie and her father working together, they soon had the kitchen cleaned up and the leftover food stowed away.  

“Where’s Moms?” asked Trixie.

“She’s in the living room keeping her foot elevated.”

“That’s good. I guess I’ll go upstairs and read,” yawned Trixie.  “I’ll check on Bobby too.   And who knows, I may even read Peter Rabbit to him.”

Trixie kissed her father and then headed up the stairs.  After a quick shower and a short story with her brother, Trixie retreated to her own room where she settled down with a book, relaxing after a long but satisfying day.

After Trixie had gone upstairs, Peter poured two glasses of wine and helped Helen out to the porch where the two settled on the porch swing.

“Trixie did a great job today,” he said.

Moms took a sip and nodded.  “She sure did.  She even came up with the idea of the chore chart for Bobby.” Moms laid her head on the back of the swing.  “I just need to come up with a treat for him in exchange for all his stars.”

Peter swirled his wine in his glass.  “Why don’t I take him frog hunting in the morning?  He always wants to do that but there never seems to be anybody around who is actually willing to do that with him.”

Helen smiled.  “He’ld love that.”

“What about Trixie?  Did she have a chore chart too?”

“No.  The ‘helping hands’ idea was all Trixie’s.  She’s been watching Julia Child and I think it must have inspired her.  I don’t think she’s looking for any kind of a treat.”

Peter sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the night when he suddenly sat up and looked at Helen. “I just remembered I have some news for you.  I found out that somebody purchased the manor house up the hill.”

“Really?  Do you know?”

“No.  But I plan to look into it.”

Helen exhaled quietly.  “I really hope that whoever bought it has a girl Trixie’s age and that Trixie will stop moping around and feeling sorry for herself.”

“Here! Here!” agreed Peter, gently clinking his goblet against Helen’s. “Now, what are we going to do about your ankle?  Should I get somebody to help you around the house?”

“No.  With you home over the weekend,  we’ll be fine. By Monday, I assume I’ll be able to get around.”

“And Trixie can help you out,” added Peter.

“Yes, but although she was a great help today, I don’t think I want to push that with her.”  Helen took a sip of her wine.  “No, Trixie will be happier if something happens that makes her summer more exciting.  I don’t think my twisted ankle will fit that mold.”

With the stars twinkling overhead and the frogs calling from the nearby pond, Helen and Peter sat on the porch swing enjoying their wine and their peace and quiet.  

“It sure will be different having somebody living in that big house on the hill,” observed Peter as he looked toward the dark and vacant estate.

“Yes, it will,” agreed Helen.  “I hope our new neighbors don’t end up disrupting things around here.”

“I don’t see how that could ever happen.  I bet our life stays as simple and peaceful as it is right now.”

“I hope you’re right,” murmured Helen, settling herself comfortably against Peter’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right.”