Puddle Jumpers

Thanks to Vivian for editing.  However once again I couldn't keep my hands off the finished product and made some further changes.  All errors are and will continue to be, mine.  Thanks for reading and feel free to leave comments if you wish.

Trixie, with Diana and Honey following, opened the door to her house while chattering about a day in the city shopping for dresses for the upcoming festivities to celebrate the opening of Jim's school.

Trixie  was putting away her wet umbrella and taking off her saturated raincoat when she stopped and lifted her head to listen for sounds in the house.  Although her daughter was only 2 years old, she had enough experience both as a Bobby-sitter and as a mother to realize that something was off.  

Trixie looked at Di.  "It is too doggone quiet.  You don't think he left them still down for naps do you?"

Diana groaned, "Oh I hope not.  If they are still asleep, it will take forever to put Joey to bed tonight."

Honey piped in, "I don't think you have anything to worry about.  So it’s quiet. You know that he wouldn't let anything happen to them."

Trixie put down her packages.  "Honey, you just wait a few years until that bump is in the middle of the terrible two's.  Then you’ll understand what we have to be worried about. No.  Let's look around and see what's up."

The trio wandered into the den and stopped short when they saw a large counterpane draped over a table with each of the four corners tied to nearby chairs. There were baby dolls, diapers and baby clothes tossed in different piles under the makeshift tent. A ways away from the table, Jinga blocks were laid out in two rows to make a road, and several cars and trucks of random sizes were lined up along side. Nearby, the remains of the spaghetti lunch sat on a small child size table among crumbs and crusts of garlic bread and cups of juice/

The women looked at each other with grins on their faces.  Honey chortled.  "Hmm.  Maybe you are right.  It does look like someone bit off more than they could chew, doesn't it?

Trixie gathered the lunch dishes and headed toward the kitchen. Diana pushed ahead to open the door and stopped suddenly.  There was spaghetti sauce dripped all over the top of the stove, splashes of purple juice on the counter, and a big pile of soap bubbles in the sink.  "I can't believe anyone could make such a mess.  Not even Mart."

Trixie looked out the window as she placed the dishes in the sink.

She giggled, then laughed and held her finger to her lips to ask for silence as she guided her friends to the open back door.

Three figures were standing in puddles in the back yard, and all of them were dripping with muddy water. Of course the muddy splotches weren't as noticeable in the dark hair of the children, as it was in the red locks of their taller playmate.

The distaff Bobwhites stared at the tall man as he stood there watching the two dripping children hopping and splashing in the middle of the largest mud puddle in the back yard.  The ladies watched with interest as he noticed the garden hose suddenly turned in his direction.  It apparently wasn't enough that there had been a steady downpour earlier in the day.  The kids had turned on the water faucet and the hose was disgorging a steady stream of clear water directly at their sitters feet that was making the already large mud puddle steadily bigger.

"Gleeps!  Would you just look at us. Your mothers are going to be very ticked with me."

"What does ticked mean?" asked Nellie Bean.

So much like his Dad, Joey rushed to show his younger cousin how smart he could be.  "Ticked means mad."

Nellie Bean lifted her face as tears started streaming down her muddy cheeks.  "My mommy's going to be mad at me? Why?"

"Aahhh Nellie.  Don't cry.  I think both your moms are more likely to be mad at me than at you.  I really enjoyed telling you stories about how my Dad taught me to make mud pies and splash in puddles. And then we had a lot of fun jumping in puddles ourselves, didn't we?  You two are truly the next generation of great puddle jumpers. But I am sure that your Mom isn't expecting to come home to such a muddy back yard.

"But its time to stop now. If we don't get you dried off soon, you could catch cold, and I just hope that the lights in your shoes will still work after your shoes dry out.

The three soaked playmates stopped in surprise as they heard loud laughter. They turned and saw the two mommy's and Aunt Honey giggling on the porch holding up their cell phones. Then Trixie called out.  “Say Cheese, you guys.  We have to take  pictures for your books.

Epilogue:
A few weeks later all the Bob-Whites and their families, friends and donors broke open bottles of champagne to celebrate the ribbon cutting of the new school.

At the front of the room, Trixie, Honey and Diana rose in unison and suddenly the room heard whistles of Bob-Bob-White, Bob White.

Diana lifted her glass and invited, "Everybody, please join us in a toast."

As Honey pulled a cord to lift a curtain drape, Trixie continued. 

"We have all waited for this day, for Jim to be able to complete his dream. We have often listened to him talk about his plans, and how he hopes to care for and teach his students. Sometimes though, we have worried that Jim would be such a responsible administrator, that he might forget to have fun. A few weeks ago, we found that we were worried for nothing. We want to present this picture to the school, to be placed front and center, to show that under Jim's tutelage, there will always be time for fun."

As the drape fell, the audience laughed and offered a big round of applause as they enjoyed the large portrait of a very muddy Jim playing in the mud with two young children.

Picture prompt : specifically, ducks swimming.

rating: Yellow Star.  One implication of adult language.

Picture prompt : specifically, ducks swimming.

Bob-white Quail.

Honey looked up from the program booklet with a start.  It suddenly felt like the temperature had dropped by at least ten degrees.  But since the Bob-whites were cheering at the first outdoor swim meet of the season it wasn't possible for the temperature to be colder than 78 degrees.  After all, these are students, not ducks swimming in a pond.

Gently rubbing her arms, she wondered if her goosebumps were a holdover from listening to the ghost stories last night. Brian had really used his medical knowledge to infuse the stories, about the old gymnasium next door being haunted, with a lot of blood and gore. No. There had to be some other explanation for the chill other than ghostly apparitions.

Still, the cold didn't make much sense.  The pool area was bathed in warm sunlight outside.  If there were any ghosts they would be hovering up in the rafters as far away from the brightness and the noise as they could get.

Honey turned as Diana shrugged out of a pretty violet sweater and thought that of course she must be imagining the temperature change or else Di wouldn't be taking off her sweater.  Suddenly, the origin of the chill became all too apparent.  It came from the young woman standing rigidly beside her.

Honey sighed.  Everyone on Glen Road always talked about hot headed red-heads but never stopped to consider the temper of the raven haired Irish beauty in their midst.  Couldn't they see that when the violet eyes turned almost coal black that it was time for everyone to take cover?  The old underground civil defense shelter in the basement of the gym would offer perfectly perfect shelter from the pending frigid blast.

Honey moved to stand in front of Diana, hoping that by taking the forward position, there could be enough distraction that Di might take a deep breath and relax at least a little bit. However turning again towards the tournament, she heard Diana make an earthy comment about a female dog and saw exactly what had raised Di's temper to defcon 1.  Ironically, as she turned back to try to soothe Di's ruffled feathers, the entertainment DJ suddenly started playing an old song by the Everly Brothers.

Hey, bird dog get away from my quail
Hey, bird dog you're on the wrong trail
Bird dog you better leave my lovey-dove alone

Mart was safe of course. He was keeping his eyes firmly on the tournament papers in front of him while doing his darnedest to shrug off the wandering hands.

Jane Morgan on the other hand, needed to find a snowsuit to protect her from the coming storm of icy hypothermia.

prompt: Talk to an animal.

Me he he he he eeeoooow, meow.

"Oh! It's like that is it. Well Meow back at you, you little minx. Where ARE you?"

He was suddenly surprised by the small kitten leaping, and attacking the outside of the wire screen door.

mew, mew, mew, MEEEEWWWWW

"Unh hunh. Serves you right. Sneaking outside like that. I bet you slipped right by Moms when she was on her way out to the car to go to garden club. You didn't expect to get all wet, though, did you? Now, your caught with your claws on the screen door. Hold on, and I'll get you down."

Bobby opened the screen and tried to grab the kitten by the scruff of the neck, in a mama-bite manner. Then he had to take the front paws and gently remove each claw from a screen square..

"Yow! Quit clawing me like that. I am trying to help you here. Maybe you will learn to avoid claw snags in the future.
Ok. Panther. Your free now."

Suddenly the kitten scurried up Bobby's chest and took point on Bobby''s shoulder. The loud purring let anyone nearby know that Panther had achieved happiness. The purr was interrupted by a head butt just before Panther jumped to the floor and started circling around Bobby's feet.

Meow.

"Meow to you too. "

Meeeorow. Mew Meeeoooow!

Suddenly, Bobby is singing to the kitten, "Meow, meow, meow, meow
I want turkey
I want liver...

Ok, Ok. I get it your hungry.

Gleeps! If I had realized just how irritating a cute little kitten could be, I would have paid more attention the first time I went panther hunting.

But no. I had to listen to a set of french choirboys that convinced me that kittens are cute."

3.14

An abrupt crash in the kitchen jerked Moms out of a sound sleep.  She poked Peter in the shoulder and hissed, "Peter, there is something wrong down in the kitchen.  I just heard a door slam."

Suddenly they heard a lyrical clatter.  "That sounds like my metal mixing bowls.  Peter we need to go down and see what is going on!"

Peter grumbled some.  He had always known where Trixie got her curiosity.  Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, Helen was more than willing to let him lead the charge in investigating mysterious events and he knew that he would get no more sleep until he solved Helens' mystery.    They both put on their robes, and Helen huddled closely behind him as he opened their bedroom door.  

Peter stopped short outside the bedroom door as he saw Trixie holding a baseball bat and Bobby holding his slingshot armed and ready.  He held his finger to ask for silence and waived them to the back of the line.

Trixie whispered, "Watch out for the squeaky stair."

Peter nodded and stepped forward until he could see down the stairs into the kitchen where every light shone brightly.

Gradually, they became aware of garbled singing.

Moms pushed by Peter and called out, "Martin Belden.  What is the meaning of this?  What are you doing in my kitchen in the middle of the night? "

Mart shuffled his feet and looked up at Moms with no little bit of embarrassment.  "I'm sorry Moms.  I didn't mean to make so much noise.  I just felt like making a pizza."

Moms huffed, "A pizza, at three in the morning?  Have you been drinking?"

Mart puffed out his chest.  "No Moms.  But I could be drunk on love.  She loves me Moms.  Me!  Diana loves me! I am going to make a pizza to celebrate.

As Mart finished gathering the ingredients he burst into song.

When the moon hits your eye like a big 
pizza pie that's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've
had too much wine, that's amore

It was plain to the rest of the family that they would get no more sleep, and that this would be a memorable PI day.

Gloves

First Gloves

Helen sat lightly dozing, in the nursery rocking chair holding Mart while he finished his lunch.  The window was open and the curtains were billowing with the soft late spring breeze while the soft whistling of bobwhite quail filled the air.

Thirty month old Brian was standing holding on to the wooden back of an old cane weave chair next to the crib.  The cane of the chair rustled and crackled every time he turned to look at his mom and then back to the crib to watch the baby.  He had been enamored of watching Trixie ever since she came home from the hospital. He became even more diligent once he saw that the baby had learned how to suck her thumb.

Suddenly, Helen jerked Mart away from her breast, saying, "No bite, Mart.  No bite."

She caught Brian's interested gaze and continued with a chuckle, "It may be time as part of his birthday celebration, to teach your brother to drink from a cup.

Helen started straightening her clothes as she mused about the plans for the party later in the afternoon.  "Daddy will be cooking hamburgers on the grill.  I have baked beans to heat in the oven, and potato salad in the fridge.  The Lynches and Mr. James and Miss Nell will be here later and I imagine will play with you boys for a while before we eat.  I have a little cake for the birthday boy to tear into, and a larger cake for the rest of us.  Oh, and  I need to remember to take the camera downstairs so we can get pictures."

Helen was putting Mart down for a nap in his new toddler bed, when Brian suddenly called out to his mother.  "Mommy.  Sissie is bleeding."

She started up and stepped over to the crib.  "What do you mean Brian?  I don't see anything."

"There on her nose.  She is bleeding.  Not much but it is there."

Helen looked closer, and gave a gentle laugh.  "Brian, she is okay.  She just scratched her nose a little bit.  I need to find the baby nail clippers and clip her nails.  It probably would be a good idea to put her in baby gloves, too, so she doesn't scratch herself even more.

Second Gloves.

Helen was weary.  She had thought it was bad when Brian and Mart both had chicken pox at the same time while she was pregnant with Trixie.  Maybe it didn't seem so bad then because Mr. James and Miss Nell spent a lot of time reading to the boys and keeping them occupied.

"No Trixie.  Don't scratch!  Give it a chance, and the nice soothing oatmeal bath should make you feel better soon.

"But they itch, Moms.  Did the chickens give these to me?  You know how the chickens are always scratching around in the coop?  The poxes look kind of yucky like chicken poop."

Helen grabbed Trixie's hands to stop her from scratching.  "Here, lets cover your hands with your socks, and maybe that will keep you from opening the blisters and spreading hem around.  I'll call Daddy and have him stop at the pharmacy for some small medicated cotton gloves.  Then you won't be able to scratch as much, but you will be able to use your fingers to hold crayons so you can color."


Third Gloves

Trixie was anxious to start riding, but she realized deep in her soul that she needed to listen to what Reagan was saying, "You will be fine in your jeans and tennis shoes.  But you have to remember to keep your heels down, so you don't get your feet caught in a stirrup.  Remember!  Keep your heels down.  Oh, and here is an old pair of Honey's riding gloves.  They will come in handy so the reigns will slide through your hands easily and not cause blisters.

Fourth Gloves

Trixie was furiously taking notes as her mentor spoke to her  Crime Scene Investigation course.

"The most important thing to remember when investigating a crime, is not to contaminate the scene before you have bagged all the evidence and taken all the necessary notes and crime photos." Captain Molinson paused  and asked, "Are there any questions?"

As he looked over the class auditorium, he saw the hand.  He groaned.  Trixie was the most determined student he had ever met.  Her question was sure to be good.

Trixie stood and addressed the Captain.  "Sir, I realize that fiction is a long way from real life, but there is something that you never see on television crime shows, and you didn't mention it either.   Isn't it is also a good idea to style your hair so it doesn't get mixed up with the other evidence.  Most male officers wear their hair pretty short.  Female officers with long hair on the other hand, might have their hair pulled back with a plastic band,  but that doesn't seem like it would be quite enough to prevent loose hairs from the officer contaminating the crime scene."

Molinson replied, "Your correct Ms. Belden.  Hair coverings are commonly used in autopsy or a crime lab,  but they should also be used at the start of a crime scene investigation to avoid contaminating the evidence along with shoe coverings and your regulation plastic gloves ."


Final Gloves

Trixie sputtered.  "Oh my gosh, Honey.  I am sure that you and Diana will help me get these gloves on, but how am I ever supposed to get these off after the wedding?   They are too long and tight, and have about a million buttons!"

Diana grinned.  As the only married female Bobwhite, she had intimate knowledge of gloves.  "Trixie,  believe me.  Jim will have more fun than you can ever imagine, slowly unbuttoning each and every one of those buttons on those long silky evening gloves."

Point of View of a Christmas Ornament

I came to live in this house, for Bobby’s first Christmas. I was always thankful for my place on the mantle, safe from baby hands but with a good view of the tree. I watched many a glass ornament be grabbed out of Bobby’s hands and placed higher in the branches safely out of baby reach. I so enjoyed watching the holiday parties held by the Bobwhites, especially the glimpses of each of the boys and yes, even Daddy, catching their special girl under the mistletoe for a chaste seasonal kiss.

After Christmas, I would spend the rest of the year, hidden in the dark corners of the attic wrapped in tissue paper to protect the thin glass skin ornaments in the pretty red and green colors that dressed my waxy core like a fine holiday garment. I would wait patiently for the holiday cleaning before the Thanksgiving Open House, when I would be gently dusted and placed back on the fireplace mantle

When Moms first put me on the kitchen table this year, I was very disappointed. I worried that for some reason I had been demoted from the gaety of the living room. Oh how wrong I was. Maybe it was because Bobby is older, and Moms doesn’t have to worry so much about careless curious hands, but I learned that I had been missing so much fun not being in the kitchen.

I saw cooking and cookie baking. I was able to see the squabbles between Trixie and Mart, and the gentle inteference by Brian which would bring peace between the almost twins. I watched how Mart teased Bobby to be good so the shelf elf would not make a naughty report to Santa. I watched all the Beldens, from Bobby all the way up to Daddy, open the silverware drawer and pull out a spoon and then open the refridgerator and poke their heads in to get a spoonfull of sweet, cold, cookie dough. I wanted to laugh when Moms said that she ought to make extra dough just for eating from the spoon.

And I learned about the family tradition of counting wood.

One day, Moms was in the kitchen on the phone with Uncle Andrew and even a christmas ornament could be detective enough to know that she was talking about Christmas presents. All the Bobwhites were gathering in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go spend an afternoon in the snow. Moms had confirmed Uncle Andrews ideas for everyone except Bobby. Mart and Bobby were clomping down the stairs, and Mart was trying to convince Bobby that if he rubbed his hands together really hard, they would smell like peanut butter. You know, that old trick to get the innocent to slap themselves? But Moms had other ideas.

Moms said, “Bobby, I need to know that we can have a good fire tonight. You go out to the shed and count the wood.” 

Brian, Mart and Trixie suddenly swiviled their heads toward Bobby with huge grins on their faces, but Dan and Jim both looked at Moms in astonishment. Jim volunteered, “We’ll go out for you Mrs. B, and bring in some good armloads of wood.” 

Before the offer was clear of Jim’s mouth, I saw Mart gave Dan a shoulder shove. 

He ordered, “No, I need Dan to help me find the ski wax at the clubhouse.” 

Brian turned to Jim. “I need you, Honey and Di to help Trixie and I with the Christmas lights out front. I think one of the lines is trying to come down.”

I saw the other Bobwhites spin in surprise to look at the older Belden siblings and watched all three of them with huge grins on their faces, and their hands in front of their mouths signalling to be quiet.
Mart wheeled around to Bobby. “Well, go on, get your coat on. And when you get out there, make sure you count every piece. Sometimes little pieces that are good for kindling get pushed way in the back.”

Mom’s returned, “Yes Bobby, all the older kids started counting wood for me when they were ten, but I really think you are old enough to handle the job for me even though you are only nine. Hurry up, and I will have some nice hot chocolate with marshmallows ready when you are done.”

After Bobby went outside, Moms returned to her phone call with Uncle Andrew. “Go ahead Andy, Bobby is safely out of earshot now and we can talk in peace.”

Mart, and Trixie doubled over in laughter with tears running down their face. Brian made the effort to shush them while trying to hold back his own laughter. “If you don’t settle down, he will hear you, and this won’t ever work for Moms again.” 

Brian looked at Di. “You have younger siblings, so you ought to be famialiar with this.” 

Mart looked at Dan, Jim and Honey. “Moms used to use the military phonetic alphabet when she had to say something in front of us kids that she didn’t want us to understand. But when each of us finally broke that code, she knew that she had to instigate the next level of parental subtrafuge. She sent us out to the shed and told us to count wood. Every one of us was gullible enough to fall for it every time.”

You know, if I weren’t sitting around this candle, and if I hadn’t heard it myself, I never would have believed that Moms would be so sneaky.

Maybe during the next year in the attic I will be able to hear some good stories on Moms if she will pack me in the same box with that shelf elf.

Dec 4, 2014: The Sound of silence. Dead silence. Silence is golden.

Her counselor asks, “Why didn’t you tell someone or ask for help? Why did you keep silent?” Trixie responded. “You know, there are so many types of silence. There is silence, which isn’t even real silence.” “Imagine, you are alone in a damp wooded area, like the Wheeler Preserve. There is total silence, except it really isn’t the absence of sound. You hear the wind and it sounds less like a moan, and more like a low whistle. Then you hear the sound of the damp loose leaves skittering and dancing across the ground until they slap into the base of the trees born by the weight of the rain absorbed by the paper thin membranes. You hear the light rain hitting the muddy path, and the occasional splash of the drops into the already present puddles of water. You hear the very light chittering of the birds who are scrambling to huddle as tightly as possible, in hopes that many can help keep the one dry. You may feel, more than hear, the rasp of your breath as you inhale the scent of the rain and the wet dirt. You wish for someone to help you break the silence, but you they can’t because you are alone. Then there is another kind of silence. It is the silence of not talking, because you can’t believe that anybody, anyone listening to you would believe what you have to say. I was fortunate, in a way. I knew that my abuser didn’t believe that he was doing anything wrong, and he didn’t hide his actions.  I couldn't articulate why I was so unhappy. He kept telling me that I was taking risks and getting myself in danger, that I couldn’t be trusted to keep myself safe. He kept saying that he was only trying to protect me, and that is why he would find me in town, and take my keys away and insist on driving me home. Everybody always thought that he was so honorable, and responsible and  because he was open about his abuse, it seemed less like something bad.  I couldn’t believe that anyone would ever listen and believe me when I tried to tell them what he was doing to me. You may feel, more than hear, the rasp of your breath as you inhale the scent of the fear and the threat of the pain. You wish for someone to help you break the silence, but they can’t because you are alone. That is why I lived with the thundering sound of silence.”