Mart's Black Jacket Musings

            For those of you familiar with the hijinx of the BWGs, you will be painfully aware that your insight into our world is usually restricted to the admittedly exciting, but oftentimes scrambled, perceptions of one Beatrix Belden. So, what you get is a lot of complaining about chores, a lot of hanging out with Honey (and their interminable mysteritis) and a lot of mentions of supple, husky redheads. I have decided it’s time for you, our devoted readers, to have a different perspective. There are, after all, seven of us BWGs. For that reason, I am delving into my not insubstantial interior resources and am sharing with you a familiar scene, from an alternate point of view.  Where to begin…well, let me cast my mind back to a time not so very long ago.

 

            A chill had fallen upon our little town of Sleepyside and as we faced the depths of winter bravely. What did you say?—Get on with it already—Fine. Obviously, Trixie’s lack of patience is catchy. So, the next Bob-Whites of the Glen project is…an Ice Carnival? I hate to admit it, but every now and then, my sister does come up with a good idea. Not that I’m about to share that piece of information. Can you imagine?

 

            The news of the earthquake in Mexico that affected Trixie’s and Honey’s penpals was pretty sobering. We all found it hard to imagine the level of devastation it brought about. But it was Trixie who swung into action, as usual.

 

            Having come up with an idea, she’s been in a dither all day—not that that’s anything new—but I sense she is about to use this latest crisis to palm off her chores on steadier heads, and I’m having none of that. My sister could get a master’s degree in chore evasion.

 

            However, I find her in the kitchen, where she belongs. Now that thought I happily share on regular occasions—mainly to watch her flare up. Having just received the news that Honey is coming to stay, she’s about to abandon her obligations, again, but moms is ready for that.

 

            “Unless I get a little help, we’re going to have a very late dinner, and some hungry Beldens won’t like that.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Moms.”

 

            I watched as Trixie flung off her coat and scarf and couldn’t help but grin when she said. “I’ve been in such a dither all day.”

 

            “A perfectly understandable condition,” I said from my doorway vantage. “Brought on by a complete lack of mental coordination.”

 

            Trixie’s brows drew closer together, and I waited for the inevitable stormy outburst. Instead, the glare faded and her eyes locked with mine, her expression suspiciously equable. “The use of too many polysyllabic words is definitely a symptom of immaturity.”

 

            I am rarely speechless, but that did it. In fact, I’m virtually certain I actually gaped.  My trademark words failing me, I turned and walked away, knowing she would be crowing behind me.

 

Taking several deep breaths, I made my way upstairs, the unfamiliar exchange replaying in my mind. Now that I’ve had time to recover from the shock of hearing multiple words of more than one syllable strung together in a way that even I concede is impressive, I find the fog is clearing. Now, Trixie is smart, don’t get me wrong, (that’s another thing I’m not about to admit to publicly) but words are not her forte and it doesn’t take someone as smart as I am to deduce exactly where she got that little gem from.

 

Okay, so I’m going to let you in on a secret. My big brother Brian, super-responsible, smart, and always reliable is not quite as straight-laced as people might think. He is not above playing a prank or too. And while he regularly nixes my erudite and witty teasing of our mutual, actual sister(for instance a recently received orchid from a certain fellow Bob-White was totally off-limits), he’s not above doing a little teasing of his own.

 

He had a fine old time not long ago when I was the recipient of a perfectly innocent kiss, courtesy of the lovely Diana. And while I laughed off his teasing, I haven’t completely forgotten, or forgiven.   On occasion, he’s been known to tackle me both verbally and physically and now, it seems, he’s decided to coach Trixie and put me, so to speak, in my place. Of course his natural tendency towards protecting those around him has always seen him step in when I, in his words anyway, take my teasing too far. But this tendency has been exacerbated by a certain preference for our next-door neighbour, who, as Trixie’s best friend, is kind of protective of my almost-twin herself.

 

I was still feeling simultaneously flummoxed and piqued when, through the open doorway, I spied said paragon brother (and orchestrator of my sister’s uncharacteristic snappy comeback) running a comb through his hair, dressed in his brand-new taupe cashmere sweater (at least Di said that’s what the colour’s called, and I always listen to Diana, whenever I get the chance; she knows a lot more than people give her credit for—and not just about fashion either) and best dark trousers. Me thinks he too, is in possession of the knowledge that a certain young lady is an impending houseguest.  And at that moment a brilliant idea occurred to me.

 

In no time at all I’d donned dress trousers and my own blue and cream ski sweater (the one Di says brings out my eyes). The look on Brian’s face when he saw me emerge was priceless—score one for me. He must have been watching the path from the Manor House, because he was down the stairs in a flash. I followed. Naturally, as well as being older, he’s also several inches taller than me and had little trouble getting to Honey first.

 

So, longer legs give him an advantage, but my superior conversational skill allowed me to capture Honey’s attention with relative ease. Brian did his best not to look put-out, but when someone’s been your brother for your whole life, you know when you’ve managed to get under their skin. He comes across as easy-going in a family of hotheads, but catch him on a bad day and he is a total grump—except with Honey.

I’m not sure when I first noticed that my big brother regarded our Bob-White ‘sister’ and next-door neighbour with something other than sororitorius eyes.  Of course, he is still Brian, so he’s not about to whisk her away for illicit smoochies (we’re all just kids is a regular litany of his—and he’s right), but I’m pretty sure in his heart of hearts he has dreams of doing so in the future. He’s more human and illogical than people might realize. Still, I digress from the story at hand.

 

The aromas wafting from the kitchen announced that dinner was imminent, and I headed into the kitchen to supervise the proceedings. As well as Moms, Honey, Trixie and Brian were all hard at work.  Not wanting anyone to suspect that their conspiring had in any way unsettled me, I assumed an air of nonchalant superiority, offering suggestions and encouragement. Trixie was having none of it. “If you’re so hungry, why don’t you lend Moms a hand, instead of posing in your new sweater, trying to look handsome.” She snapped.

           

            “Me, do menial work?” I scoffed, ignoring her flounce.

           

            “Seems to me, you were the best table-setter at the ranch last Christmas.”

Honey flashed me that smile that was at once playful and genuine.

           

            “Hey, so I was,” I agreed, because it was true.

           

            “Show Moms how good you were,” Brian laughed as he passed me the pile of plates he was holding.

 

Hot, hot, hot! What the h…, heck. You know that whole, everything is in slow motion and you’re actually watching yourself as disaster takes hold thing? That was me as the plates slipped from my hand, and I saw any intention of taking Diana for a shake and burger at Wimpy’s slip with them.

 

Trixie actually sniggered. I owe her for that, but if I’m completely honest, I’ve been a bit of a chump. No way Brian would have risked Moms’ dishes being smashed—not even to make me look like an idiot.  But for a guy who’s set on a career in medicine, he might like to remember that precept: first do no harm. The (what I’d discovered to be) unbreakable dishes were washed and dried in short order, and I made sure there was no further monkey business.

The table set, we began to gather around. I couldn’t help but grin when Bobby made his opinion of roast beef known. Having been promised a surprise (in his young universe that always means something good), he was not impressed. I’m much less prejudiced. I’m pretty much an equal opportunity guy where roasted meats are concerned. His bad mood didn’t last long, though. A few seconds later Honey emerged from the kitchen, and Bobby’s scowl disappeared in a heartbeat.  That’s one way to get him to stop sulking. One glimpse of Honey, and he’s all smiles. Maybe, the youngest and oldest Belden children have more in common than people might think.

 

Dinner underway, Trixie was talking non-stop—and still eating her fair share— she does have more than one gift, you know.

           

            “I wish you BWGs wouldn’t be so stubborn about not accepting financial help. I’m sure the bank would be glad to underwrite part of the expense, for the publicity.”

           

            I wasn’t surprised to hear my dad’s words, but we BWGs were all on the same page with this one.

           

            “Can’t, Dad,” I returned. “But they can buy a full-page add in our souvenir program. We’ll be glad to sell any space desired.”

           

            As I spoke, I saw Trixie wink at Honey and knew what was coming.

           

            “Mart’s a wonderful salesman,” Trixie enthused—about as subtle as a sledgehammer as she continued to wax lyrical about our plans.

           

            “And who donates the prizes?” Dad asked as he somehow managed to decipher her one-hundred-miles-an-hour chatter.

           

            “Brian will take care of that,” Trixie said confidently. “I’m sure he won’t have any trouble getting the merchants to donate. We’ll mention each one in the program.”

           

            “I just felt a trap snapping shut, didn’t you?” Brian said a whole lot more diplomatically than I would have.

           

            I couldn’t disappoint my almost-twin, though. “We’ve been outmaneuvered, son,” I said, feigning sadness.

           

            Trixie grinned at me.  “I know what that word means.”

           

            “You ought to,” I snapped. “You probably invented it.”

           

            Laughter erupted, just as I expected. The truth was, I think both Brian and I get a kick out of hearing our praises sung, but we had to make token protests. It’s our job as big brothers. Job done, I settled down and enjoyed the rest of my dinner.

 

            Having promised to head up to the Wheeler stables, Brian and I changed our fancy outfits and headed back to the kitchen, where our female contingent was hard at work. Now, it might seem as if we men-folk stride about Crabapple Farm, leaving the chores to the ladies, but I assure you it’s not the case. Both Brian and I take our turns helping in the kitchen and a heck of a lot more besides. Tonight was Trixie’s turn and with Honey on hand to help, I knew I could take a break.

           

            What is it they say about best-laid plans?  Seeing that our damsels were still hard at work, I made my feelings clear.           

           

            “Not done yet?” I quipped before turning to Brian. “I said that they were slow as molasses. Let’s go.”

           

            But we Beldens had a house-guest and she has big hazel eyes that seem to reduce my self-contained older brother to mush. He actually grabbed a couple of dish towels and flung one in my direction. “We’ll give them a hand,” he said, doing his best to sound casual.

           

            “Hey! What is this? A frame up?” I demanded, again because it was expected of me.

           

            “I think it’s darling of you both,” Honey turned to each of us in turn, her smile full of warmth and gratitude. If I didn’t have a preference for a certain raven-haired, violet-eye gal, I could be swayed. Because, more than anything, Honey really was grateful to Brian and I for helping with the dishes in our own house. She’s a goof ball, but you gotta love her.           

           

The thing about Honey is, she really is kind of as sweet as her name. She wants people to feel good about who they are and she almost always sees the good rather than the bad, unlike another certain female of my acquaintance whose suspicious mind leads her to find and highlight even the smallest of faults. Still, I once again digress. Having Honey as a houseguest is good news all round. As evidenced by our current situation, she’s always willing to pitch in with the chores, so Trixie will stop trying to palm them off on to poor overworked me. As previously noted, she puts both Bobby and Brian in good moods, and just generally lifts spirits. Right now, with the four of us all working together, I was a guy who was pretty happy with his lot in life. How different our lives are from our friends in Mexico.

           

            “About the carnival,” Brian said, ever practical. “Are you thinking of a snow theme, or what? We’ll have to make up our minds about the theme before we do anything else.”

           

            Suds flew into my face as yet another light-bulb went off in my sister’s head.   “I’ve got it,” she shrieked. “Mexican! Because it’s for the benefit of our Mexican pen pals! And we can wear our western costumes. And Jim can sketch some Mexican senoritas for us to colour in and…” she trailed off for a moment as Honey clapped her hands and Brian nodded his dark head approvingly, obviously recalling the outfits we all wore in Arizona.

 

Typical, I thought, with more than a touch of asperity. Brian’s dark hair and olive skin were a perfect fit for the traditional Mexican garb. Me, on the other hand—freckle-faced, sandy-haired—the attire was not quite so flattering.

           

            Still, I saw Trixie, out of the corner of my eye, equally sandy curls bouncing, her equally freckled face flushed from the hot dishwater and I couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t even consider the fact that the theme didn’t really flatter her either. Don’t share this information, but there are times when I really love and admire my almost-twin. 

 

You know, everyone has a role to play in their family, and I guess I’m the clown or the troublemaker—the one people expect to act up. I don’t mind, most of the time. Though, to be honest, I get a little fed up with all the jibes about my appetite. Have you ever been to a Bob-White gathering with food? They’re not exactly a bunch of wallflowers. Even Honey can hold her own.  Still, if it makes them feel better about themselves, I can live with it.

 

The thing is, it’s not always easy having Brian for a brother and Trixie for a sister. Don’t get me wrong—I like them both. Love them, really, (again, that’s just between you and me) but one is book-smart and good at practical stuff and the other is always at the centre of some excitement, plus she has her own brand of smarts. I might tease her about mysteries, but she really does have a gift, maybe more than one.

 

Right at this moment, Trixie’s gift of enthusiasm is catchy. The truth is she’s a really generous person and she genuinely likes helping other people, and she’s good at it.  And she’s at it again. The skating, blonde, freckle–faced Mexican senorita. Now that’s something people will pay to see.

 
Word Count: Me 2215 JC 315

Author's notes: This story was written in honour of Mary (Mcarey) who was taken, too soon. Mary's affinity with Mart gave us all many hours of joyful reading. I hope she'd approve of my little wander inside his head. Thanks, as always, go to Dana, wonderful editor and friend. She is endlessly patient and encouraging. All errors are mine alone. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to be. (though I suspect Mart feels he belongs, at least in part, to Mcarey) No monetary profit is being made from these scribblings.