Purebred (3 page)

“Do you have a name for No-Name yet?” Carole asked her friend.

Stevie groaned. “I can’t think that hard during vacation,” she said. “Perfection eludes me.”

E
ARLY IN THE
morning on the Tuesday after Christmas, Carole packed her bags. She still felt full of the warm feelings of Christmas.

On Christmas Eve she had ridden Starlight in another Starlight Ride, only this year she had had the sweet joy of seeing Stevie, flushed with pride and happiness, lead the procession aboard No-Name. Christmas Day had been great—another great Christmas with her dad. Carole found that even though she still missed her mother, especially around holidays, she had become used to and loved the quiet way she and her father celebrated. They had gone to an early morning church service at the base, then came home and built up a roaring fire before opening their gifts to one another.

Carole put her hand to her ear to be sure the earrings her dad had given her were still there. They were real gold, tiny horseshoes set with even tinier diamond chips. “For luck, not that you need luck,” her father had explained. They were the first real grown-up present she had ever gotten from him, and she loved them.

And now, on this lucky day, they were going to Minnesota. Her father had told her a lot already, and from what he said she was even more excited.

“They should make an interesting project,” he had said,
stretching out on the couch Christmas afternoon, while Carole played with Snowball in front of the fire. “The Foleys can trace their ancestry back to the days of slavery, right back to a slave in the Old South.

“I don’t really know the details, but I remember hearing about a man who escaped from slavery just before the Civil War. He brought his family all the way to Minnesota and began to farm there. Foleys have lived in that area ever since.”

Now, as Carole shoved a pair of jeans into her crowded suitcase, she remembered how the story had made her shiver. So this was her oral history. She was eager to learn more, especially since it sounded like she had a real hero in her family tree.

T
HE TRIP TO
Minnesota seemed to take forever, but finally Carole and her father landed at a little regional airport in northeastern Minnesota. Carole ducked her head as she climbed out the plane’s small hatchway. A gust of cold air hit her so strongly that she was nearly blown off her feet. With her mittened hand she grabbed the railing of the plane’s steps and hung on. The air made her nose hairs crackle. She’d never felt anything that cold!

She and her father hurried to the terminal building. Inside, her father collected their luggage while Carole looked around for their relatives. A tall black man in a dark parka stood looking searchingly at the incoming passengers. Carole waved a tentative hand. “Uncle John?”

Instantly the man’s face was wreathed in smiles. “Carole!”
He came toward her and held out his arms. Carole held hers out to him, and he wrapped her in a giant bear hug. “How could I not have recognized you?” he said. “But you’ve grown—you’re grown-up! It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. Now, here, meet your cousin Louise.”

Uncle John stepped back and Carole stood face-to-face with the one member of her mother’s family that she’d never met. Louise was smaller than Carole and just a bit younger, but the family resemblance showed: She had the same high cheekbones Carole had, and the same sort of mouth. Carole opened her arms to give her cousin a hug.

Louise took a small step backward. “Nice to meet you,” she said, with a polite smile and a little wave that prevented Carole from even shaking her hand. Carole was a little put off. Here was Uncle John, friendlier and more welcoming than she’d expected, and yet his daughter, whom Carole had been sure she’d like, hardly seemed glad to meet her.

She didn’t have time to dwell on her thoughts, however. Her father arrived with their luggage, and after greeting him with a backslapping hug, Uncle John said that they had better get going. They had a long drive to Nyberg.

Outside the airport, the cold hit Carole even more strongly than before. The airport’s electronic sign told her why:
TEMPERATURE
: −
5
.

“Is that a negative?” Carole asked, pointing.

“Sure, negative five,” Uncle John agreed. “But you have
to take off another twenty degrees for the wind chill When the sun goes down, it’ll get pretty cold.” Carole shivered harder at the thought. Colder than twenty-five degrees below zero? Stevie and Lisa should be here to feel this! she thought. She was glad that her father had insisted on her packing and wearing her warmest clothes. He had even found an old Marine Corps–issue cold-weather-gear parka for her. It was too big for her, but it was warm. Carole tightened the drawstring on the parka’s hood.

Once inside Uncle John’s four-wheel-drive vehicle and en route to the Foley farm—“the family compound,” Uncle John called it—Carole began to ask questions. “Tell me about the family,” she said.

“Well.” Uncle John looked over his shoulder to give her a quick smile. “You’ve met me, and now Louise. Your aunt Lily, my devoted wife, is more of the same. You’ll like her. And your aunt Jessie is my baby sister—she’s thirty-four.”

“She’s the greatest!” Louise interrupted. “She takes pictures—photographs—and she sells them to magazines … oh, everywhere. All over the country. She’s very talented, you know.”

Carole was surprised by the way Louise seemed to come alive when talking about Aunt Jessie. “I remember hearing Mom talk about Aunt Jessie,” she said. “Didn’t she used to live in New York?”

There was a long pause.

“Well—” Uncle John began, but Louise jumped in
fiercely. “Don’t talk to Aunt Jessie about New York. Carole, don’t you ever talk to Aunt Jessie about New York.”

Carole frowned. What could be so bad about New York? Carole had been there, and enjoyed the city. But she didn’t say anything to Louise.

“The person you’ll learn the most from is Grand Alice,” Uncle John said, returning to the subject of family history. “Seems like she remembers all the stories for us. My father—that’s your grandfather, Carole, and Grand Alice’s son—he can tell a good tale too. But he and your grandmother go to Arizona for the winters now.”

Carole nodded. She remembered her grandparents, though she hadn’t seen them since her mother’s funeral either. “If you need to talk to your grandpa, you can call him from Minnesota,” Colonel Hanson added.

Carole looked out her window. The sun was lower in the sky by now, and the road was covered with hard-packed snow. Plowed snow was banked higher than Carole’s head along the edges of the road. The wind blew gusts of frozen snow off the tops of the drifts, and shook the sides of the car. The land seemed dead. Even the trees looked cold.

“Maybe
we
should have gone to Arizona,” Carole said. Everyone laughed, except Louise, who gave Carole a tight little smile.

“We haven’t got too much planned for your stay,” Uncle John said next. “To be honest, there isn’t too much going on in Nyberg now that Christmas is over. We tend to
hibernate through winter up here. There’s a party on New Year’s Eve—sort of tradition, our neighbors are hosting it this year—but that’s about all.” He looked back over his shoulder again and smiled at Carole. “Even if there’s not much going on, I think we’ll have a wonderful time,” he said.

Carole nodded. She was beginning to be sure that she’d have a wonderful time whenever she was with Uncle John. She wished she could feel the same way about Louise.

Two hours later they drove up the main road of Nyberg. It was a tiny town, with a small collection of shops along that one main road and houses gathered tightly around the shops as if trying to keep warm. They stopped at the lone stoplight. Carole peered out the window.

“We’re not there yet,” Uncle John said. “We live in the suburbs.” He laughed, then went on to explain that the family farm was ten miles on the other side of town. “
Waaay
out in the boonies,” he said. “The farm is a sort of homestead, if you will—there are a lot of buildings. This way, we can all live together without getting too much on each other’s nerves.” He told Carole that the land, and some of the buildings, had been in the family for over a hundred years. “Years ago, we farmed wheat, but the soil is poor around here. My dad switched us over to Christmas trees. They do pretty well.”

A few miles beyond Nyberg they turned off the state highway onto a road that gradually narrowed and then divided.
Thick clumps of pine trees grew on either side of the road. The late afternoon sun cast long black tree-shadows across the road. Finally Uncle John turned onto a plowed dirt driveway and pulled to a stop in front of the largest of several white buildings. They were home.

The door of the house flew open. As Carole climbed out of the car, a huge, hairy, brown and white dog bounded across the snow, and leapt up to put his paws on Carole’s shoulders. The dog aimed a slobbery lick at Carole’s face. She ducked, laughing. “Who’s this?” she asked.

“Ginger,
down
!” Louise said. “That’s Ginger. He’s my dog. Get down, Ginger!” The dog dropped his forepaws to the snow and Carole bent to pet him.

“Pretty boy,” she said. “What kind of dog is he?”

“He’s a mutt,” said Louise. “I don’t think he’s any breed in particular. I found him when he was a puppy.” Louise bent down to pet Ginger too. Ginger wagged his tail joyously and leapt up again, nearly knocking Carole down.

“Ginger!” A woman in the doorway called him back into the house. Carole grabbed her bag and followed.

“Carole!” Aunt Lily, like Uncle John, put her arms around Carole and hugged her hard. “It’s so good to see you. We’ve missed you.” She held Carole out at arms’ length, looked at her closely, and hugged her again. “I know, you’re thinking how could we miss you when we hardly even know you, but we could, Carole, and we did. Lord, you look just like your momma. Come see the rest of
the family.” She gave Carole a little push into the living room, and turned to give Carole’s father a bear hug too. “Oh, Mitch,” Carole heard her murmur.

Grand Alice sat small and upright in a big flowered chair. Her hair was snow-white and her brown skin was creased into a thousand wrinkles.

“Hello,” Carole said, suddenly feeling shy.

Grand Alice held out her hand. “Hello, Carole,” she said simply. She took Carole’s hand and patted it gently. Carole bent and quickly kissed her great-grandmother.

“So you’re Carole,” said a cool voice behind her. Carole turned. A tall, slim, and very pretty woman stood with one hand on her hip. The other hand held a camera. Her face reminded Carole of her mother’s, but her manner did not. “You’re Carole,” the woman repeated.

“You’re Aunt Jessie,” Carole replied.

“That’s right.” She nodded once at Carole and once at Carole’s father. “Glad you could come,” she said. “I hate to greet and run, but I’ve got some developing to do.” She held up the camera. “I’ll see you all at dinner.”

“I’ll help you, Aunt Jessie,” Louise said quickly, hurrying out of her coat.

“Louise, stay here,” her mother commanded. Louise sank down onto the sofa, looking disappointed.

“You can help me tomorrow, Lou,” Aunt Jessie said softly, and turned and walked down the hall.

Carole didn’t want to let Louise bother her, but she couldn’t help feeling a little unhappy. Louise was almost her age—they should be able to be friends. Why did Louise seem so eager to get away from her? And why had Aunt Jessie seemed so abrupt and unfriendly? Carole realized that she almost disliked Aunt Jessie, just on the basis of the way she’d said hello. That wasn’t fair of her, she thought. It wasn’t right. She vowed that she would try hard to like Aunt Jessie—she was sure that she could. After all, Jessie was her mother’s sister. She and Carole ought to have a lot in common.

After a delicious dinner of ham and black-eyed peas, and piping hot corn bread, Aunt Lily declared a rest period before dessert was served. “Louise, why don’t you show Carole around,” she suggested.

Carole was eager to see the rest of the compound.

“There are six big buildings and a couple of sheds,” Louise said as they pulled on their boots and coats. “Most of them are interconnected with covered walkways, but it’s still cold in the walkways and we’ll have to go out in the snow to get to the barn. You want to see the horses, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Main house first,” Louise decided. She and Carole trooped down a long hallway. “The guest room you’ve seen. This is my bedroom, and this is my parents’ room.
Here’s the office, here’s the bathroom, and this is the door to the basement.” They went back up the long hallway, and Carole noticed that the walls were covered with framed photographs.

“Aunt Jessie took those,” Louise explained. Carole stopped to look. The photographs were all different—some of farmland, some of lakes, some of busy city streets—even some, Carole noticed, of horses.

“They’re nice,” Carole said, touching one.

“She’s very good,” Louise agreed.

The tour continued through the rest of the interconnected buildings. There was a small house for her grandparents. “They still spend summers here,” Louise explained.