Purebred (2 page)

Stevie looked a little embarrassed. “Actually,” she confessed, “Sarouk and Tabriz are kinds of Oriental carpets. I looked them up in the dictionary.”

“That’s the problem,” Lisa said. “You’re looking at all these fancy names, and they don’t fit your horse’s personality. She’s like you, Stevie. ‘Sarouk’ wouldn’t fit you, either. Give her something straightforward—something adventuresome.”

“But she ought to have an Arabian name,” Stevie insisted. “She’s part Arabian, and she should have a name that reflects her heritage. Bloodlines are very important in horses—and you know that Arab stallions can trace their breeding back hundreds of years.”

“That’s true, and I know that bloodlines can tell you a lot about a horse,” said Carole. “I mean, good racehorses usually descend from good racehorses. Having a stallion like Man O’War or Secretariat in your horse’s pedigree can
really be important. And then look at show jumping: so many good jumpers are out of Good Twist’s line, and—”

“Stop her!” Stevie cried.

All of them, even Carole, laughed. Carole was known for letting her enthusiasm get the best of her when she was talking about horses. They put down their brushes and began settling No-Name in her stall.

“But you’re forgetting the other half of No-Name’s pedigree,” Lisa said, returning to the subject of names. “She’s half saddlebred, and that was a breed developed in the American South. Maybe you should name her something southern, like Robert E. Lee—”

“She’s a mare!” Stevie declared.

“Or Scarlett O’Hara …”

Stevie wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t think so.”

“That reminds me,” said Carole. She told her friends about her assignment to trace her family tree. “I’ve decided to trace my mother’s side,” she said. “I don’t know that much about her family, and I feel as if I should learn more. I want to remember my mother, and find out more about her life.

“Plus,” she continued, with a teasing glance at her friends, “I’m sure I can find out something great about my family that’ll explain why I’m such a fantastic person. There’s bound to be someone special in my pedigree!”

“Like Man O’War,” suggested Stevie.

“No, Good Twist,” Lisa corrected her. “Carole prefers show jumping to racing.”

They laughed again, and at the sound of their laughter Mrs. Reg, short for Regnery, came around the corner. She was Max’s mother and the manager of the stable. She was known for her never-ending supply of horse stories, and also for her strange dislike of seeing riders stand idle when there was work to be done.

Now she smiled hello to the three girls and reached over the stall door to give No-Name a pat. “I was just noticing,” she said, “that Prancer’s stall needs cleaning out. If you girls don’t have—”

“We’ll do it, Mrs. Reg,” Carole interrupted quickly. It was a Pine Hollow tradition that all the riders did stable chores. It kept the costs down and taught the riders a lot about horse care. They got a wheelbarrow and pitchforks and moved down to Prancer’s stall.

“Prancer’s bloodlines being what they are, you’d think she’d be smart enough to clean her own stall!” Stevie joked as she haltered the mare and hitched her to cross-ties in the aisle. She paused to pat Prancer as she did so. Prancer had been a racehorse until an injury made her unfit for the track. She was a Thoroughbred and still somewhat untrained, but she loved people and now she was rubbing her nose against Stevie’s palm.

“That’s the problem,” Lisa said as she wheeled the wheelbarrow into the stall. “The fancier and finer the
horse, the more it needs special care. In fact”—Lisa straightened up and grabbed a pitchfork—“we need to plan a celebration for Prancer!”

“Why?” asked Stevie. “Not that I mind a party, but …”

“Her birthday,” Lisa explained. “New Year’s Day!”

“That’s right, I’d forgotten,” Carole said. “All Thoroughbreds celebrate their official birthdays on New Year’s. It makes it easier to sort them into age classes on the racetrack.”

“And the poor horse who is born December thirty-first still turns one year old the next day,” said Lisa. “That horse will never make it to the track. Imagine racing against three-year-olds when you’re really barely two!”

“That’s why most horses are born in the spring,” Carole said.

“That, and the warmer weather. After all, most wild animals are born in the spring. But New Year’s is still Prancer’s birthday, and I think we should plan something special for that Saturday,” said Lisa.

They all agreed that Prancer deserved a celebration. Stevie promised to try to come up with something. Lisa and Carole smiled—when it came to parties, Stevie could usually think of something good.

“Prancer—now, that’s a good name for a horse,” said Stevie as she carefully turned over the bedding in Prancer’s
stall. “Maybe I should name No-Name something like that.”

“Like what?” asked Lisa.

“Like one of Santa’s reindeer? Stevie, I don’t think so,” said Carole.

“It was just an idea,” Stevie said a little defensively. “It’s not that I actually want people to think reindeer when they see her.” She paused. “How you think they say
reindeer
in Arabic, anyway?”

“Probably ‘reindeer,’ ” said Lisa. “I don’t think Arabic countries are famous for their reindeer populations.” She grabbed the now-f wheelbarrow by its handles and began wheeling it down the aisle.

“Do you think you really need an Arabic name?” asked Carole. She unhooked Prancer’s water bucket from her stall and carried it down the aisle.

When Lisa returned from dumping the old bedding into the manure spreader outside, she and Stevie began to refill the wheelbarrow with fresh sawdust bedding from the pile in the corner of the stable. Nearby, Carole rinsed, cleaned, and refilled Prancer’s water bucket.

“I wouldn’t call it necessary,” said Lisa. “It’s not that I dislike Arabic names. It’s just that I don’t know any that I do like. I don’t know enough Arabic. And I think a name should mean something.”

“
Barq
means ‘lightning’ in Arabic,” Stevie reminded Lisa. Barq was an Arabian gelding that Lisa often rode.

“Veronica diAngelo’s Arabian mare is named Garnet,” Lisa retorted. Veronica diAngelo was a rich, spoiled girl that The Saddle Club knew and despised. Garnet was a beautiful horse, and they felt she didn’t deserve such an obnoxious and uncaring owner.

“All that means is that Veronica is more interested in pricey jewels than in her horse,” Stevie said. “Catch me naming No-Name after a gemstone. ‘Sapphire, my precious Sapphire.’ ” She mimicked Veronica’s high, whiny voice.

“Might as well call her Rolls-Royce or Mink Coat,” agreed Carole. “It’s not your style—and I’m glad it isn’t!”

For a moment, Carole was lost in her own thoughts. Naming Starlight had been easy—she had first ridden him on Pine Hollow’s annual Christmas Eve Starlight Ride, and, of course, he had a star on his forehead. Starlight was the perfect name. But No-Name was a bigger challenge. She wished she could help Stevie come up with a name for her horse.

The three girls returned to Prancer’s stall and finished their work, and then put Prancer back in her stall.

“It’s got to be a great name,” Stevie insisted. She paused to give No-Name a final pat.

Lisa put an arm around her friend. “Don’t worry, The Saddle Club will think of something,” she reassured Stevie.

“We always do,” Carole chimed in.

Stevie smiled at her friends, and they smiled back. Together, they could solve any problem.

D
URING THE LONG
bus ride home from Pine Hollow, Carole had plenty of time to think about her family-tree project. The more she thought, the more excited she became. This could be really fun! Carole couldn’t wait to discover all the wonderful stories about her ancestors. Maybe her bloodlines
were
something special.

Her father was there to greet her when she got home. “Hi, honey,” he said, kissing the top of her forehead. “How was school? And Starlight? And your lesson?”

Carole gave him a hug and took off her coat. “Have I got something important to tell you!” she said. She explained Ms. Kendall’s project, and how they were to use oral history to learn about their own pasts. She told him how she thought that her past, which she knew so little
about, might be able to tell her something about what sort of person she was. Lastly, she explained why she had decided to concentrate on her mother’s side of the family.

“It’s not that I don’t think your side is important, Dad—and Ms. Kendall did say we could do both—but I think I can do a better job if I just concentrate on one. Besides, your side is just Aunt Joanne and her family, and I already know them. Mom’s family I hardly know at all. Minnesota’s far away, but you won’t mind a few long-distance calls, will you, Dad? Don’t you think it’s going to be great?”

Colonel Hanson smiled at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “I think it sounds wonderful,” he said. “It’ll do you good to get to know your mother’s family. Now why don’t you go make us a salad to go with dinner.” With a final pat on her shoulder he disappeared into his office, shutting the door behind him.

Carole felt a little deflated. She had expected her father to seem a little more excited—and she wasn’t quite in the mood to wash vegetables. As she set to work, her mind was still on her family tree and all the relatives she wanted to call.

Her mother had had two sisters, one older, one younger, and one younger brother. Her older sister, Elaine, lived in North Carolina with her husband and three sons. Carole had been to visit them not too long ago. She really liked her aunt Elaine.

Most of the rest of her mother’s relatives lived on a
Christmas-tree farm in Minnesota. Carole had never been there, and she hadn’t seen any of those relatives for years. Her mother’s brother, her uncle John, had a wife—Aunt Lily—and one daughter, Louise. Her mother’s younger sister, Aunt Jessie, lived with them, as did her mother’s grandmother, Carole’s own great-grandmother, who was called Grand Alice.

Carole couldn’t remember anything specific about John, Lily, or Louise, but she vaguely remembered Grand Alice as being incredibly old with bright eyes and a sharp, kind voice. And Aunt Jessie—there was something mysterious about Aunt Jessie, but Carole couldn’t remember what it was. In fact, she couldn’t even remember if she’d ever known what it was. Mysteries, she decided, would only make her project more interesting.

She rinsed the lettuce in cold water and began to make plans. Tonight she’d make a list of questions and call Aunt Elaine. This weekend, when the rates were lower, she’d call the Foley relatives in Minnesota. She’d probably need to spend a long time on the phone.

Her father came back into the kitchen with a big smile on his face. “We’re all set,” he announced.

“We are? About what?”

“The trip,” Colonel Hanson replied. “It’s on. Taken care of. Permission granted, Private!”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” Carole saluted. “Permission granted to do what, sir!”

Her father smiled, enjoying her confusion. “To go visit the family, of course,” he said. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do?”

“Fantastic!” Carole was thrilled. “Are we going back to North Carolina?”

“Guess again—Minnesota!”

“Wow!” Carole was flabbergasted. She never dreamed they’d be able to go all the way to Minnesota, just like that, just for her project. And what a project it would be!

“Remember?” her father said. “The Foleys have always wanted us to come visit them. I don’t think you’ve seen any of them since your mother’s funeral, and they told me then that they wanted to be sure to stay in touch with you. Besides, this is a great time for us to go. Work at the base will be slow for the next few weeks, and I’ve got some time off coming.”

Over dinner Colonel Hanson went over the details of their trip. They would leave for Minnesota on the Tuesday after Christmas and stay until the next Monday, January second. They would be able to spend the New Year with the Foleys. “You’ll have six days to talk to them,” Colonel Hanson said. “Think that’ll be plenty?”

“Six days to talk and listen,” Carole replied. “It’ll be more than plenty—this is going to be great!”

Colonel Hanson pulled out the atlas to show Carole where they were going. It would be a long and difficult trip, even though they would be able to fly most of the way. The
Foleys lived in the Arrowhead region of Minnesota—a remote, forested area in the northeastern corner, Nyberg, the small town where they lived, was halfway between Lake Superior and Ontario, Canada, and less than twenty miles from the Canadian border. “Lots of snow and wind and ice,” Colonel Hanson said. “Travel can be difficult up there this time of year. But your aunts and uncle will know how to cope with the weather.”

Carole hugged her arms around herself. She couldn’t wait to go.

W
HEN
C
AROLE TOLD
Stevie and Lisa the news the next day at Pine Hollow, they were excited about her trip, but a little disappointed too.

“I wanted you to help me with No-Name,” Stevie said. “But you can help me after you get back. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Starlight for you.”

“We can feed Snowball too,” Lisa offered. Snowball was Carole’s jet-black cat, so named because she was so contrary. She always did the opposite of what she was told to do. Carole thanked her friends. She knew she wouldn’t have to worry about Starlight and Snowball while she was gone—Stevie and Lisa would do everything for them that she would do.