"Claudia." The rest of the room rated a smile from Emily-in-charge. "I want to introduce Madeleine Weon. She's applying for an administrator position here, and I'm giving her the tour. Claudia Weatherby is one of our social workers, Madeleine. Maybe you'd like to advise us on our situation here, how you would have handled it in Dallas, if we can do so without violating anyone's privacy?"

Madeleine Weon looked like Honey grown up, after she swallowed maybe a ton of steel. She allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch upward before she said, "I believe I may have some inside information on the topic, if the young man here is the subject of all the texts my husband sent me last night and this morning. Jim, I believe?"

Ms Weatherby grudgingly took on the task of introducing everyone. She finished with, "We don't usually have a congregation at our patient conferences."

Ms Weon agreed. "No, we don't either. Usually just a child or elder with no one to care what happens to them, and our problem is to find an agency or person to step in. So I'm encouraged to think we can find a good solution for Jim and his grandfather. The first thing we think of is their safety, and as I understand it, the hospital recommends that Mr. Frayne spend some time in rehabilitation after his discharge. So his safety is assured. Jim has run away from his abusive stepfather, so his situation is more precarious."

"His stepfather beat him! You should see all the scars on his back!" blurted Trixie. Faced with the familiar expressions of adults about to demand explanations, she added, "He was in his bathing suit, okay?"

A sidewise glance from Jim let her know that Honey had been right. Trixie felt stupid for blushing over something that happened yesterday.

Mr. Weon said in his gentlest voice. "These women have the power to end Mr. Jones' guardianship, Jim. Perhaps you could show them some of your scars?"

His cheeks flaming as red as his hair, Jim lifted his shirt towards the women at the door and then at the social worker. He tried to exclude Honey and Trixie from the view, and Honey cooperated by staring at the wall behind her.

Honey's mother couldn't keep all the emotion out of her voice. "Jim, some of us are obliged by law to report your stepfather for child abuse, and as for me, I will do my best to see that you never are in the same room with him again."

Giving Trixie's shoulder a squeeze, her dad said, "I know we all feel that way, including the local police, who have notified all the nearby hospitals and the Shreveport police. After Mr. Jones burned Ten Acres, some local dogs—or dog—attacked him, judging from the blood on the scrap of his shirt in the dog's mouth."

Mr. Frayne snapped his eyes open. "That scoundrel burned down my home?"

Peter said, "He was certainly nearby, and the police want badly to talk to him. If he goes for treatment or goes home, he'll be apprehended, and then keeping our promise to Jim will be easy."

Trixie whispered to Jim, "The yellow dog got him. And Officer Jason took him home. The dog, not Jonesy."

Jim grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

Mrs. Weon asked, "Jim, do you have any other family? Or friends in your home town that you would like to stay with?"

Jim shook his head, making his wild curls dance. "There's the white Winthrops. But they beat me up the first day of junior high school and said they'd do worse if I ever said I was their cousin."

Emily the boss said, "Of course, their parents might feel differently."

Like every other adult of color in the room, Mrs. Weon pursed her lips tight. "I would be inclined to think that the children learned their attitudes from their parents. I think we can do without the white Winthrops. But no friends?"

Jim scowled. "If I just had a few months of school left, maybe. But I'm just starting high school. That's a long time to sleep on someone's sofa and…I don't know…I loved my home when Mom and Dad were alive, but since living with Jonesy…" He pressed his lips tight, and then rushed on. "He just poisoned everything, and I'd rather start over somewhere else, even if I have to go to some strange foster family."

Trixie's dad cleared his throat. "I would like to make clear that we on Glen Road need Jim as much or more as he needs us, if he feels that he would like to make his home with us."

Trixie just stopped herself from clapping her hands. "Yes, we do! It would be so great if he could go to school with us, especially if Honey doesn't have to go back to that horrible school where everyone's so mean to her. Please don't send her back!" Seeing her dad's disapproving scowl, she clapped a hand over her mouth.

The adult Weons both looked astonished. Honey's mother asked, "Honey, is this true?"

Fighting tears as hard as she could, Honey just nodded.

Her mother said, "We'll have to talk about what's best for you, but of course we won't send you to a place where you're unhappy."

"Oh, Mother, thank you!" Honey managed over swallowed sobs. Like a just-programmed robot, she lurched across the room with jerky steps. She embraced her mother as though she were following a diagram.

Trixie didn't think Mrs. Weon could look any more shocked, but she did. Then, like she was following the same set of unfamiliar instructions, she put one arm around Honey and then the other, indifferent to Honey's tears staining her cream silk blouse. She murmured into Honey's hair, "I was teased in high school because I was Asian and studious, and I vowed that would never happen to my daughter. I thought we chose a school with nice children."

Indignant, Jim exclaimed, "Well, if she goes to school with me, I won't let anyone bully her."

"Me either," Trixie swore. "Or at least I'll stick up for her. My brothers will too. Kids are horrible everywhere, but you can bear it if you have friends."

Careful to avoid the scars, Mr. Weon put his hands on Jim's shoulders and said to the social worker. "As Mr. Belden says, we need Jim as much or more than he needs us. I hope I can convince you that we would be good guardians for him. I remember being not much older than he is, all alone, just from Korea, in my first year at Louisiana State University. I would have been lost without the resident assistant in my dormitory. His name was Johnny Joe Winthrop. Jim reminds me of him, but I suppose Winthrops look similar, like the Cohens and the Olsens."

"Nonsense," said Mr. Frayne, not opening his eyes this time. "Jim looks like his mother."

Remembering the dark-haired, olive-complexioned girl in the Ten Acres photographs Trixie grinned at Honey, who was trying not to laugh.

Jim said, "Well, I never saw any Winthrops that did, besides my dad. He was John Joseph Winthrop, and he had an ag degree from LSU. My mother was Katje, or Katie, Frayne."

"Katie! Every Friday afternoon we would go to her apartment for dinner with some special bread! I thought all Americans did that," exclaimed Mr. Weon.

"Wait! You were the shomer at their wedding. You'e Uncle Ming! I have their picture here." Jim went digging in his endless backpack and pulled out an 8 x 10 photo in a cardboard holder.

As near as Trixie could see, it looked like a bunch of people, including a white-draped bride, under a white canopy.

Mr. Weon laughed in delight and put arm around Jim's shoulder. "What a day that was! My religious influences are Buddhism and Korean Methodism, and Johnny Joe was a Southern Baptist. Our efforts to put on a wedding for a Jewish bride entertained even the rabbi. I think he could see our sincerity. Katie did say it was a perfect wedding, but Katie was always kind. After your birth, when I sent a christening cup and an offer to be your godfather, Katie sent a sweet note explaining that godparents were not a Jewish custom, but I was welcome to embrace its spirit of guidance, if I liked. I can't say that I did much besides send some probably inappropriate presents when you were young."

Finally Jim laughed, as he pulled a lumpy sock out of his backpack. "Look, I still have your christening cup. It's kind of beat up because I kept taking it outside to play in the sandbox. Uncle Ming's presents were always the best! I hope I sent thank you notes."

"You did. Sometimes in Hebrew. Your mother provided translations." Mr. Weon looked younger and happier as he remembered his friends from earlier days.

"Mom was strict about me learning Hebrew."

Mr. Frayne looked ready to die of sorrow. "She kept a real Jewish home, did she?"

"Yes, sir. She did," said Jim.

"He made challah for us last Friday night," added Trixie. "Honey and I lit the candles. Candle. Sterno."

Mr. Frayne looked at her, then Jim, in amazed silence.

Mr. Weon grew serious again. "I am so sorry that I lost touch over the years, Jim, as my business and my family expanded. But where previously I merely offered you a home, I now beg Mr. Frayne and Ms Weatherby to allow me to keep my promise to my friends, even if godparents are not a Jewish tradition."

With her arms still around Honey, Mrs. Weon stepped closer to her husband and Jim. "It seems like an excellent idea to me, as long as we make it official with the courts and in Mr. Frayne's directives, to keep Jim protected at all times."

Mr. Frayne sat up straighter. "I still don't see any reason for a rehab center, but I want Jim safe and provided for." He turned the silent man in the corner. "That's why I asked you here, George. I need a lawyer to transfer as much of my money as possible to Jim now. Draw things up to make sure everything comes to him when I die. Appoint Weon and Belden trustees, guardians, whatever you call them, so that he always has someone to look after him. And you may as well put the money Jim found in the credit union." He handed George Rainsford the bag of money and lay back on his pillows, exhausted.

His lawyer took the money and tried to put it in a pocket where it wouldn't spoil the lines of his jacket. He said in precise accents, "I believe I should also look into the wills of Jim's parents. In Louisiana it is difficult to completely disinherit a child. At a minimum, Jim, your stepfather owes you money for your share of the farm."

Jim flushed. "That would be great. I'd rather have even part of the farm, because it was in my father's family. I never understood how it all went to my stepfather."

"Get it back for him, will you, George? The state will be providing that scoundrel with a home for the foreseeable future," said Mr. Frayne. He scowled at Peter Belden. "Since this day seems to be my personal Yom Kippur, I beg your pardon for any contention between us in the past. And I beg your daughter's pardon for chasing off her church group last Christmas. And I beg Jim's pardon, for abandoning my daughter and her family and ask him to give me a chance to repair my conduct. This is a heavy day for me. I have no idea why anyone in heaven or on earth should forgive me." He leaned back, exhausted. Fortunately, since no one could think anything to say, he continued after a few struggling breaths, "Jim, your grandmother's jewelry is yours, for that day when you find a young lady to love as much as I loved your grandmother. Here's another Jewish lesson for you: When a wedding and a funeral meet at a cross-roads, which one takes precedence? Did your mother teach you that one?"

Jim frowned. "No, she didn't. But wouldn't it make sense for the wedding to go first? I mean, we should honor the dead—"

"But our allegiance is to the living. Life must always triumph over death. I forgot that, but I beg that you won't." Mr. Frayne fell silent again, but rallied once more. "And one more thing, George. Ask Jim for the art from my home and put it in a safe place."

"Mom's paintings?" asked Jim, bewildered as everyone.

"No, the small paintings and drawings upstairs. The art my grandfather brought from Europe, when he saw which way Hitler's wind was blowing. Bosschaert, Leyster, Ruysch, Steen, Pissarro, Sisley, Mondrian, Magritte—an odd combination, but they all fit in a suitcase. My grandparents and their children brought as many artistic miniatures and jewelry as they could carry. Only two changes of clothes each, though. When I couldn't get up the stairs any more, I boarded them up, to keep the pictures safe. But if every Tom, Dick, and Harry is going to come fortune hunting, the art better be secured."

"There was a fortune in the mansion!" exclaimed Trixie. She turned her jump for joy into a little dance and then shrank against her dad when everyone looked at her.

"You have a safe deposit box at the credit union," said Peter. "Some may be small enough to fit there."

Mr. Frayne waved a tired hand. "You and George attend to it. I'm sure Jim has them somewhere safe."

"Let's do it really soon," said Jim, sounding as doubtful as Trixie felt about locking up such treasures in an old farmhouse.

Ms Weatherby, looking much relieved at being able to pass the buck, said, "Thank you for your advice, Mrs. Weon. If you think this is best, Emily—"

More footsteps clumped down the hall, more like Godzilla feet than the clattering high heels of the hospital administrators.

Those ladies jumped aside as a force stronger than nature burst into the room.

"Well!" said Aunt Alicia, glaring at the shriveled man in the bed. "I've been waiting to hear that you finally woke up, Mr. James Frayne. Claudia, I don't know what you have planned for this ornery old coot, but his wife got my sister and me scholarships from her temple—I expect you'll get one too, young Trixie, if you apply yourself—and she lent me money to start my first business, which he refused to let me repay after her death."

"I told you then I didn't need your money, Leecey Johnson," snapped Mr. Frayne, trying to rally, but no match for his opponent.

"I am not twelve years old. My name is Alicia," she reminded him in a tone he wouldn't soon forget. "And I told you that my mama taught me to pay my debts, and if it means taking Miss Nell's crabby old husband into my home and caring for him until the good Lord sees fit to call him home, so be it. Betsy can feed him some decent food, and we can get him to his medical appointments and physical therapy and take care of him like Miss Nell would have done, in her memory."

"Now that is kind of you, Alicia," said Mr. Frayne, switching to cunning. "But we've just settled it that I'm to go into a nice rehab center near Ruston, and that my daughter's old friend Matthew Weon will take care of my grandson until I can come home and give Jim the biggest bar mitzvah ever."

Jim looked uncomfortable. "Grandfather, I don't need that. I can just go up and read the Torah when you're feeling well enough to go services."

"You'll follow Jewish tradition and invite everybody in the parish to a bar mitzvah that comes close to bankrupting your family," Mr. Frayne declared with as much voice as he had.

Jim looked worried.

Aunt Alicia sniffed. "Your grandfather is inclined to exaggeration, Jim. And it sounds like everything is all arranged."

Honey whispered, "All because of Trixie." She shrank back as Aunt Alicia turned to her.

Aunt Alicia snapped, "I should hope so! There's more to Trixie than just a good head of hair, you know. She's a Johnson through and through."

Trixie gaped, amazed at the nicest thing her aunt had ever said about or to her.

"I am purely glad someone in this town can do something without my help," said Aunt Alicia, not sounding glad at all. "But I will repay my debts, and so I warn you, James Frayne."

Mr. Frayne closed his eyes. "Give my grandson a bar mitzvah present. Nothing's too good or too much for him."

"That I will do, Mr. Frayne," Trixie's aunt replied. She looked around the room. "What are all you people doing, nattering at this old man, who needs his rest? You'd best come to my place, if you need to keep talking. Betsy will be taking the scones out of the oven about now."

"My mama made the scones this morning," said Trixie.

"I'm sure she did a good job," said Aunt Alicia as she swept from the room.

Ms Weatherby stood up and seized the moment to resolve everything. "Alicia is right. We should leave Mr. Frayne to his rest. Mr. Rainsford, as Mr. Frayne's attorney, you can draw up the necessary papers, and I'll contact the rehab center so they'll be expecting him when his doctor releases him." She led the procession out of the room.

Trixie grabbed a hand each from Jim and Honey and squeezed hard. "It didn't work out because of me, Honey. It worked out because of all of us, working together! We're going to have so many adventures!"

Behind her, she heard Mr. Weon tell his wife, "What a surprise, Madeleine! You would give up your position in Dallas?"

She laughed, like a silvery bell. "Let's say I'm investigating that. I've been thinking that I'd like a slower pace and more time with my family. Ever since you bought this place, you've sounded so wistful about it.

"I think it would be a good place for a Weon office and plant, which would give me less time traveling."

"If your sister really will take care of the house and your mother—"

"She will. She is. She has hired a wonderful housekeeper. She looks after Honey well, but, Madeleine, I do think our daughter needs you. Why, we hardly know her!"

Trixie and Honey exchanged delighted smiles and squeezed hands again. Trixie whispered, "You'll be on that school bus with me, wait and see."

The group had gathered in a circle by the elevator, everyone happy and relieved for their own reasons.

Jim looked around and struggled to get words out. "Thanks…"

Trixie's dad smiled. "I meant what I said, Jim. Thank you for helping Trixie take care of the farm, especially for milking our goat of mass destruction. We're all looking forward to you and your grandfather living on Glen Road.

Jim's face changed colors and expressions fast as a video game. He opened his mouth several times but nothing came out. He traced the rough, rustic wallpaper for a few seconds before looking up into Peter's eyes. "Mr. Belden, can I drive the Bobcat?"

THE END

Thank you for joining me in a new adventure for Trixie Belden and friends (who of course belong to Random House)