Trixie Get Your Gun

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"Trixie, if you don't help me, I don't think I can get through this!"

Thirteen year old Trixie Belden was juggling her schoolbooks into a semblance of order, wishing she had just a few less books to lug around. When she heard her friend's plea she looked up, startled. Her blue eyes widened and the pencil she'd gripped between her teeth fell to the floor as her mouth gaped open.

"Wha-a-t?!" She got out. It had been a while since she'd seen Di looking so desperate. "What on earth are you talking about, Diana Lynch?"

Forehead furrowed and violet eyes batting nervously, Diana sneezed twice into her handkerchief. She slammed her locker door shut. "I do not know how I'm going to make it through this musical," she said hoarsely. "I wish I'd never taken the part of Annie Oakley!"

"Oh," Trixie said in relief, bending over to rescue her chewed up pencil. "Come on, it can't be that bad," she shifted her load of books and reached out to pat Di's arm. "You managed to be a star in grade school, even if you did get some of your lines mixed up," Trixie grinned playfully, but Di didn't seem to notice. "And Mrs. Catania picked you specially to play Annie. From what I've heard she thinks you're Broadway's next big star in this role, right after Reba McEntire gives it up!"

Di, Trixie knew, was a country music fan who fairly worshipped Reba McEntire. She'd been twice to see the country star perform Annie Get Your Gun on Broadway.

"Mrs. Catania may have been pleased with me for a while," Di said, lifting her long black hair out from around her sweater and neck and tossing it around her shoulders. "But lately I can't seem to do anything right. And I think she's losing patience."

"It's not like Mrs. Catania is known for having the patience of a saint in the first place," Trixie said. Mrs. Catania was a blunt, heavy-set Brooklyn native who'd worked in off-Broadway theater for 25 years. A few years earlier she'd retired from professional theater to teach drama in Sleepyside-on-Hudson, a small town just outside White Plains, New York.

Di started to move down the hallway but Trixie grabbed her arm. "Wait!" she cried. "You forgot to lock your locker!"

Di rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That's what I mean," she muttered, turning back to click the Yale lock closed. "I'm a basket case these days. I don't know where I am or what I'm doing!"

"So, how is this different?" Trixie teased, then bit her lip when she saw the pained look on Di's pretty face. "I'm sorry, Di. I'm the one everyone calls harum-scarum so I've got no business making fun of anyone for being forgetful. But, really, you're going to be just fine. In fact, you'll be great. You've got a nice comic touch and you have a wonderful singing voice."

Both Trixie and Di had study hall third period and they began to make their way through crowded halls toward the library. The girls were eighth graders at Sleepyside's small Junior-Senior High School. Trixie's older brothers, Brian and Mart also attended the school as did her next door neighbors, Honey Wheeler and Honey's adopted brother, Jim Frayne. The teen-agers all lived near each other just outside of Sleepyside and rode the bus to and from school.

"Mrs. Catania may be regretting her decision," Di said dolefully. "She asked me to stay after rehearsal yesterday. She told me I seem distracted and not really committed to the play," Di sighed. "She pointed out that as the lead, I'm supposed to set the tone for the entire production. But I'm not setting a good example," Di sneezed again.

"Oh, phooey," Trixie scoffed. "Mrs. Catania is known to be very demanding and I'm sure she's just trying to get you to do your best. This is just mid-production doldrums. Plus, this cold has got you down."

"It's not a cold, it's allergies," Di said.

"Whatever. I'm sure you'll get over this just fine. I'll help you any way I can and work with you as much as you like. We'll make sure you've got this part cold!" The girls had reached the corner where the hallway intersected with the main hallway that ran from the south end of the building past the administration offices, school gym, and theater all the way to the library on the building's north end.

"That's great Trixie, but I'm not so much concerned about learning my lines as I am -" Di stopped suddenly as a tall, pretty girl with dark blonde hair came rushing around the corner, nearly running into the two girls.

Trixie moved aside without a thought, but then stopped as she realized that, while the stream of students moved around them, Di was standing completely still, biting her lower lip and staring at the girl. The girl was staring at Di also and blushing furiously, Trixie noted. Then she ducked her head, straightened the books in her arms and scurried around Di to merge with the other students, moving as quickly as she could in the crowded hall.

"Who was that?" Trixie asked.

"Sssh," Di said, putting a finger to her mouth. "That," she continued when she thought the girl had moved out of earshot, "is someone who was hoping to get the part of Annie Oakley and who may yet be my replacement."

"I don't think I've even seen her before. What's her name?" Trixie asked curiously. Like Di, Trixie had lived in Sleepyside all of her life and was acquainted with just about all of the students in school as well as most of the people in the town.

"Her name's Alison Travers," the voice was Honey Wheeler's, who joined Trixie and Di at that moment. Honey, nicknamed for her long, golden-brown hair, glanced back sympathetically at the rushing figure of Alison. "She and her mom moved to Sleepyside over the holidays and she just entered school in January. She's two classes ahead of us. Jim's in chemistry and home room with her and has mentioned her to me. He says she's sweet, but seems shy and even frightened much of the time."

Trixie reflected that it hadn't been that long since Honey herself had seemed shy and frightened much of the time. But since moving to the countryside outside Sleepyside the previous summer, making loyal friends, and acquiring an adopted brother, she had blossomed into a quietly self-possessed teen. Honey's parents, who were quite wealthy, had bought a mansion called the Manor House. Their home sat on a high hill west of the Belden family's modest Crabapple Farm, which nestled in the hollow below.

"Well, she's my understudy as Annie Oakley," Di said. "Plus, her mother is the wardrobe mistress, sewing most of the costumes. Mrs. Travers will tell anyone who'll listen that her precious 'Ali' knows the part word perfect and note perfect and can step in at any time! I'm starting to think I should just move aside and let her have it. For the good of the production," Di sighed and looked down at the linoleum floor.

Trixie grimaced and looked at Honey who was studying Di with concern. Di, Trixie and Honey belonged to a club that also included Trixie's older brothers, Brian and Mart Belden, and Jim Frayne. The teens called themselves the Bob-Whites of the Glen and had agreed that the purposes of the club would be helping others and being there for each other whenever one of the Bob-Whites was in trouble. "This is a Bob-White moment," Trixie decided.

"Di," she said aloud. "You mustn't let yourself be bullied. Or scared. This is your part. I was there the afternoon when you were singing in the hall and Mrs. Catania came up to you and asked you to audition. You sounded great. You asked for help, I'm going to help. I'll rehearse with you every spare minute until you're over this case of nerves."

"I'll help, too," Honey said sympathetically. Honey, who had had a somewhat lonely childhood, was a kind-hearted girl who knew first hand the importance of having support. "I don't know for sure what I can do, but I'll be there to pat you on the back!"

That won a small smile from Di. "You guys are great," she mumbled.

"Let's start right now," Trixie said eagerly.

"During study hall?" Honey asked.

"Oh, we can do our homework anytime," Trixie, who never needed much excuse to put aside her algebra homework, airily brushed aside that consideration.

"That's what you said last fall and look what it got you - you had to be tutored while we were on Christmas vacation at Uncle Monty's wonderful dude ranch," Di said with a laugh. The Bob-Whites had spent two memorable weeks at Di's Uncle's dude ranch outside of Tucson, Arizona. Uncle Monty had invited the teen-agers out of gratitude for the help the Bob-Whites, led by Trixie, had given the Lynch family in exposing a con man who was posing as Mrs. Lynch's long lost brother.

"I know but I passed mid-terms didn't I?" Trixie said impatiently. "That was my problem then, we need to focus on your problem now." They crossed the library threshold and Trixie led the two other girls over to an empty table in a quiet corner.

"Now," she said firmly, but keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention. "Let's start with the first scene - the one where Annie Oakley has just come to town to sell the game she's shot."

Trixie pretended to pick up a rifle, take aim and shoot at one of the light fixtures. "Pow! Heck, little lady, you'll knock their lights out just like that!" Trixie dusted her hands on her back side, swung her leg up on the chair and leaned over her knee. "Why, I can take on any sharp shooting stage mom, just bring 'em on!"

Di began to giggle at Trixie's Annie Oakley imitation. Happy to see her friend relaxing, Trixie continued with her Annie Oakley act, speaking in a loud whisper. "Aw, shucks, ma'am, 'tweren't nuthin'!"

Trixie noticed that Honey had leaned back in her chair and a smirk was spreading over her pretty face. Trixie thought she must be doing a good Annie Oakley imitation, so she swung her leg down and began to strut back and forth in front of the table, swinging her arms, watching Di and Honey and not looking where she was going.

"Folks are dumb where I come from, they ain't had any learnin'," Trixie started to sing Annie Oakley's first song, still in a stage whisper. "Still they've gone from A - Z, doin' what comes nat'rally!"

She whirled around, arms outstretched and ran straight into the arms of red-headed Jim Frayne. Jim reached out and grabbed Trixie by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks.

"Oh!" Trixie said, more loudly than she meant to. She was turning red. Behind her she heard muffled laughter coming from Honey and Di. Jim just stood there, hands on Trixie's shoulders, looking down at her quizzically. From behind Jim Trixie's blonde-haired brother, Mart, emerged, eyebrows raised.

"Gleeps, Trixie! Who or what are you trying to hit with that 'air rifle' of yours?" Jim asked. "Are you planning to run off and become an extra with Buffalo Bill's Wild West show?"

"Wild is definitely the mot juste, the precisely right term to use to describe my contrary sibling," Mart said, moving to stand beside Jim. "Trix is the original Wild Child who makes everyone else look tame by comparison. But, I've got news for you, Trix," Mart continued, giving her arm a light punch. "Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show has vanished like the Last Mohican and we've been back from Arizona for over a month. The storied land of sagebrush and cacti is nothing but a distant dream. And, need I say, you stand as much chance of shooting out the lights with that 'air rifle' of yours as you would with a real rifle."

Trixie stuck out her tongue at Mart and Jim. "No, you needn't say anything, Smarty Pants. I'm not joining the Wild West show and the only things I want to shoot are you two ignoramuses," she said impatiently. "I'm just coaching Di on her Annie Oakley part."

"If anyone can give advice on how to play a tomboy, it's you," Jim said, amusement sparkling in his green eyes. "But I thought Calamity Jane was more your speed than Annie Oakley."

Trixie folded her arms and tossed her short, blonde curls. "Says you. What calamities are you referring to? The one where your uncle was dying in the hospital and I found the money he had hidden? The one where you ran off not knowing you were safe from your stepfather and Honey and I found you? The one where -" Trixie was ticking off examples on her fingers.

"Enough," Jim laughed, holding his hands up in admission. "You've made your point. Sometimes, Calamity Belden, your calamitous adventures have good results."

"Thanks," Trixie said. "I think."

The Bob-Whites voices had slowly escalated and had attracted the attention of Mrs. Anderson, the librarian. She now came walking purposefully over to them looking sternly over the rims of her reading glasses.

"This is study hall," she said with emphasis. "And this is the li-brar-ry," she spoke with exaggerated slowness, as if the teens might not be acquainted with that word.

Trixie sank into the nearest chair. Di looked down and Honey buried her face in her history book, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Jim and Mart nodded agreeably to the librarian, waved to the girls and headed off to the periodicals section of the library.

While Mrs. Anderson watched Mart and Jim depart, Trixie whispered across to Di, "Maybe I can come over tonight and help you rehearse lines!"

Di sneezed again and shook her head. "I've been trying to tell you," she rasped. "The problem's not my lines. Or, it's only sort of my lines. Something keeps going wrong during rehearsals -- just about every day. And, it always happens in scenes involving me."

Honey looked up from her book then and both she and Trixie were fixated on Di's face as she whispered urgently, "I'm telling you, Trixie, the play is jinxed! I'm jinxed!"

Chapter 2: Trouble Backstage

Trixie and Honey stared at Di and each other, but dared not ask any more questions. Mrs. Anderson had turned back around and continued to straighten books on nearby shelves, officiously fingering the bindings, pulling out and then replacing volumes. Every so often she turned and peered over her glasses at the girls.

Di busied herself with her script. Trixie sighed and pulled out her algebra book - her least favorite subject and one she'd passed successfully in the fall term only with the help of rigorous tutoring from Jim and her brother, Brian. She frowned at the story problems. Railroad mismanagement again. Those same two stupid trains had left two opposite stations on the same track again. Would they never learn? Never had Trixie been less interested in algebra. After a minute of trying unsuccessfully to consider the problem, she looked up at Di who was mouthing her lines silently as she paged through her script.

"What can she mean - jinxed?" Trixie wondered. "Usually I'm the one with the wild ideas." To tell the truth, Mart's description of Trixie as a wild child, while a typically far-fetched Mart-ism, had some basis in fact. Trixie loved adventure and had been known to make it up when she couldn't find it naturally.

Trixie knew that going on the stage was a kind of a love-hate affair for Di. Her dark, exotic looks quickly captivated an audience and she had a lovely singing voice. But, even offstage, she tended to forget or mangle words. Being onstage she was prone to feeling she was always just one short step from disaster.

When Mrs. Catania had encouraged - bullied, actually - Di into taking the part of Annie Oakley Trixie knew her friend had taken on a big personal challenge. Any extra trouble behind the scenes must be adding to Di's nervousness.

But what could she mean by jinxed? Finally, Trixie couldn't stand it any more. She wrote on a piece of paper, "Jinxed?" and shoved it under Di's nose.

Di shook her head. "Later," she mouthed. Groaning inwardly Trixie reluctantly returned to her algebra problems.

At last, Mrs. Anderson moved to another part of the library, leaving the girls in the relative isolation of the corner.

When the coast was clear, Di leaned forward and began to speak in a low voice. "First, you've both got to swear not to tell anyone," she began.

Honey and Trixie nodded.

Di continued, "Mrs. Catania is very adamant that, no matter what is going on, everyone must tell anyone who asks about the show that it's going just fine. We are to give people the impression that it's going to be a great production, one they shouldn't miss seeing. She's like that on every play - she feels it's important for professionalism and morale. And, of course, to sell tickets."

Trixie and Honey both nodded solemnly. "We won't tell," they said.

"At first I thought it was just my nerves," Di continued. "Odd things have been happening. I leave props on the prop table and when I come to pick them back up for my next entrance, they're not there. Or, take these allergies. Everyone was warned repeatedly that I'm allergic to talc and so we'll have to use special powder for my make-up. But, somehow, talc got onto one of my props."

"Well, accidents do happen," Honey began.

"I know, but over and over again?!" Di exclaimed. "The thing is, these things seem to be happening only when I'm in a scene. But they seem to happen in just about every scene I'm in! I thought I might be losing my mind, but when I think back on it, in every instance these things happened either to me or when I was speaking or singing. That's what's got me so nervous! I can't concentrate! I go to rehearsal thinking, 'what's going to happen today?'" Di's beautiful violet eyes were clouded with anxiety. Honey put a slender hand on Di's arm soothingly.

Trixie mulled over Di's description. "But, Annie's the lead and it's a big role, Di," she said finally. "You must be on stage ninety percent of the time. So, it wouldn't have to be much of a coincidence for things to be going wrong when you're onstage, would it?"

Honey stared at Trixie. "Since when did you begin to search for a logical explanation, Ms. There's Something Mysterious Going on Here and I'm Going to Get to the Bottom of It?"

Trixie grinned. "That's Ms. Schoolgirl Shamus to you," she said, referring to the nickname Jim had once teasingly bestowed on Trixie and Honey. "And, anyway, the ruthless teasing of my fellow Bob-Whites is wearing me down. But, Di, do you see my point?"

"Yes, but Trixie, rehearsals have been split so that not everyone has to attend every day. That gives us time to do our schoolwork. There has been at least one day a week when I haven't had to be there - and there's never been any trouble on those days. The stage manager's noticed it too," Di said, tears forming in her eyes. "Yesterday she asked me what I'd done today that would annoy the theater ghost."

"The theater has a ghost?" Honey exclaimed.

"Not really, it's just a superstition," Di waved her hand dismissively.

"But Nancy Norland says you're a jinx?!" Trixie asked incredulously. Nancy was an upper classman, in the same class as Jim and Brian. She had managed Sleepyside High's last two stage productions and was known for her discipline and level-headedness.

Di nodded miserably. "And, with all of the distraction, I am having trouble remembering my lines, which, as everyone knows, I sometimes have trouble learning in the first place. Trixie," she said, giving Trixie's arm a slight shake. "You and Honey have got to come and help me. You've got to find out what's going on."

"But I can't sing or dance or act - as I just proved," Trixie laughed.

"Me either," Honey said. "Besides, it's too late to get involved."

"No, it's not too late to get involved backstage," Di said. "Yesterday, a couple of boys who were stage hands were asked to leave because they haven't been reliable in showing up for rehearsals and they goof off when they are there. Mrs. Catania has put the word out that we could use some more hands backstage. If you go and talk with her today, I know she'd jump at the chance to sign you up. Oh, please, Trixie," Di was gripping the table. "I need someone to help me figure out what's going on here."

"I guess I don't need experience just to move scenery around," Trixie said slowly. She turned to Honey. "And you'd be a natural for sewing costumes."

Honey nodded her agreement.

"I'll have to check with Moms," Trixie said finally. "It will cut into my time baby-sitting Bobby and I'll have to see if that's okay with her." Trixie earned money by working part time, usually baby-sitting her six year old brother, Bobby, and by helping her parents with household and gardening chores.

The rule of the BWG's was that all club members could only contribute money they earned to the club treasury. Even though Honey and Di's parents were very wealthy, and Jim had inherited a small fortune, all worked at various jobs to contribute to the Bob-White's treasury. Honey, who was an excellent seamstress, usually earned her share by taking on mending jobs.

"Plus," Trixie continued. "Then I won't get paid as much and I won't be able to contribute as much to the Bob-Whites."

"Let's worry about that later," Honey said. "You work very hard for your money and have given as much as anyone to our club, especially with all the mysteries you solve. I vote we put Di first."

Just then the bell rang signaling the end of third period. The girls rose to go to the cafeteria for lunch.

"Let's drop by Mrs. Catania's office on our way to lunch," Di said. "The drama coach's office is right across from the cafeteria, you know. You can at least meet her and let her know you're interested. You know, I feel better already just knowing you two will be around," Di sighed in relief.

"We're glad to do it," Honey replied as the girls headed toward the cafeteria for lunch.

The three girls hurried as fast as they could down the crowded hall. When they turned the corner toward the drama coach's office, the door was standing open, but the girls paused as they approached. Loud voices were arguing. From where she stood, Trixie could just make out three boys standing sullenly in front of a desk. Although she couldn't see Mrs. Catania, she could hear her scolding the boys.

"I asked you a question and I'd like an answer, Greg. What were you doing taking those prop guns home without permission?"

The boy who seemed to be Greg answered. "We never planned to keep them! We were just curious. We'd never seen a gun that shoots blanks," he said defensively.

"Well, they are expensive and they are school property. You don't just walk off with them. That's theft," Mrs. Catania insisted. "I should report you to the principal."

"We didn't do no harm!" the second boy burst out. "We brought back your stupid props the first thing this morning. And, you've got bigger problems than a couple of phony guns, lady!"

"Are you threatening me, young man?" Mrs. Catania's voice was curt

For answer, the boy stuck his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor. The other two boys glared at him.

"Tony, wouldja cool it?" Greg elbowed his belligerent friend, then turned to Mrs. Catania . "He didn't mean nothin', Mrs. Catania"

"Anything. He didn't mean anything," Mrs. Catania corrected absently.

"We returned the guns," Greg continued. "They're in the prop room now, honest. Del, here, let us in," Greg gestured to the third boy, then tugged on Tony's arm and said, "We gotta split. Got to get to class." Without waiting for permission, the two tore out of the room, nearly knocking over Diana, Trixie, and Honey in their haste to get away.

Mrs. Catania followed the boys out of her office. Ignoring the three girls, she folded her arms across her chest and silently watched the fleeing boys. She turned back towards the third boy who remained in her office, a grim look on his face.

"Del, what is going on here? We can't have crew members taking the props home. You know that!"

"Yes, ma'am," the boy got out. He was tall and slim with long, light brown hair, which fell into his face and over the rims of his black glasses.

Trixie, Di, and Honey looked at each other uneasily and began to move away when Mrs. Catania suddenly switched her attention to them.

"Diana!" she barked. "I see you've found two replacements for our backstage crew, have you?"

"Well, maybe, Mrs. Catania, that is, I mean, I'm not sure, we were going to see about it," Di fumbled.

"No time like the present," Mrs. Catania boomed. "We need some more help back stage! Pronto!"

Trixie and Honey looked blankly at each other. "Neither of us has much experience in drama, Mrs. Catania," Trixie blurted out.

"Then now's your chance," Mrs. Catania replied, seemingly oblivious to the girls' confusion. "Come on in." With that, the drama coach whirled around and headed back into her office.

The girls blinked and followed her. Trixie's mind was racing. She'd seen Jeff and Tony around but didn't know either boy very well. They were part of a small group of students with reputations as trouble-makers. But what was Mrs. Catania saying about stealing prop guns, Trixie wondered as they entered the drama coach's tiny office. The office was located across the hall from the cafeteria and adjacent to the Sleepyside High auditorium. It doubled as the box office when a show or concert was on.

Looking around, Trixie saw that the office, little more than a cubbyhole, was in a state of barely controlled chaos. Books, scripts, programs, and posters of all kinds were scattered around the room.

"This is Chris Delaney, we usually call him Del," Mrs. Catania gestured to the boy. "Diana, why don't you introduce your friends?"

Diana introduced Trixie and Honey, but the boy barely acknowledged their greetings. He kept his hands on his hips and his eyes, Trixie noticed, were fixed on Mrs. Catania's desk. Trixie followed his gaze and saw a pile of books and papers in the center of the desk. Perched precariously atop it were a pair of scissors and a large swatch of sky-blue jersey.

"Del is our Technical Director," Mrs. Catania was saying to Trixie and Honey. "He and our stage manager, Nancy Norland, will give you your specific assignments later. Del, confer with Nancy about where to put our two new volunteers. You and I will talk more about this other incident later."

Mrs. Catania waved her hand dismissively and Del hurried away, never making eye contact with the girls.

"I'll get you two copies of the script," Mrs. Catania said as she moved papers and folders around on her desk. She stopped for a moment when she saw the scissors and cloth on the pile in the center of the desk. "I wonder why she left those here," she mumbled under her breath.

Then she continued aloud. "Rehearsals start every day fifteen minutes after the school dismissal bell. Don't be late! They'll last for 3 hours for the next two and a half weeks. We'll do our Tech rehearsal this Saturday - we'll start early and go for however long it takes until we're done. We've only got about 15 rehearsals before Opening Night, including the Tech and the Dress rehearsals. We've got no time to waste! Be here early this afternoon. Come as soon as you can after the last bell and Del or Nancy will have time to give you a little orientation before this afternoon's rehearsal. Aha! Here are two scripts," she finished in triumph and handed Trixie and Honey each a stack of loose leaf papers held together with brads.

"Um-m-m-m," Trixie started.

"Yes?" Mrs. Catania was looking at her sharply.

"It's just that I help my Moms out a lot, with babysitting and chores and stuff and my parents really depend on me and I haven't even asked permission and if I don't do my chores I won't get paid and then I can't…" Trixie stopped just as she was about to mention paying her Bob-Whites dues. The BWG's kept their club semi-secret.

Mrs. Catania looked at her impatiently. "Get permission. This is only for the next few weeks and it's a good learning experience. Let me show you the prop and scenery room. It connects both to this office and to the back stage of the theater. It will be open this afternoon shortly after the last bell has rung. You come here to meet up with Nancy and Del."

She took a few steps toward the other side of her office and opened the door to a larger room used to store props and some scenery. "I'll check to make sure those boys did bring the prop guns back," Mrs. Catania said, flipping on the light switch. Then she paused and stared in disbelief.

Trixie and Honey entered the prop room behind her and followed her gaze. Along one wall was a rack where dozens of colorful costumes hung. The front of the rack, however, was in disarray: costumes were strewn around the floor and tables. What looked to have been a fancy blue and white cowgirl suit was ripped and barely hanging on the hanger. Di stepped into the room then and let out a small scream.

"My costumes!" she cried.

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Trixie Belden® is a registered trademark of Random House. This page and its author are not affiliated with Western Publishing/Golden Books or Random House in any way. The Lord knows I'm not making any money or profiting in any way from this site, which is intended as a fan's homage. All original text and graphics are copyright © 2003 by js@sleepysidezone.com.