Carole (21 page)

So that was the story. It’s really given me a lot to think about. Actually, my whole family has given me a lot to think about. While love and warmth seem to pour from Aunt Lily, Uncle John, and Grand Alice, Aunt Jessie seems to hold herself away from me, and Louise is so friendly to Jessie and Christina but not to me.

Worst of all, I can’t seem to stop thinking about my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Jackson Washington/Foley, and the way he betrayed his own wife and children. I’d already known there was a runaway slave in my family history, but I had always figured he was a hero, a brave man—not a traitor. Were all my ancestors like him?

And if they were, what does that say about me?

Well, the new year starts in just a few hours, so I thought I should sit and write down what’s been happening in the past few days here in Minnesota. Everyone else is resting or cooking or otherwise getting ready for the big neighborhood New Year’s Eve party, which is at Christina’s house this year. It should be fun.

Let’s see, where did I leave off? Oh, right—Jackson Foley. Hmmm. Well, maybe it’s time to write about some other stuff. Like how much fun I had exploring the area the other day with Christina on her snowmobile. Maybe I shouldn’t write about that, since it doesn’t really have anything to do with my family tree. As much as I like Christina, she’s not a relative.

Okay. Then what else? I could write about how snotty Aunt Jessie can be—but that probably isn’t something I want to include in my project, either. It’s just that she makes me mad sometimes. Like the other day, after I came in from snowmobiling with Christina, I was telling Dad what Christina had told me about how up here in Minnesota, snowmobiles are real transportation, just like cars are where we live. Aunt Jessie happened to be at the sink, and she turned around with a smirk. “I’m sure to a delicate child like you, coming here from way down South is something of a novelty,” she said in this sarcastic tone. “You don’t even know what winter is, or what it means to be up here in the wilderness. Up here, the roads aren’t always passable, and the phones don’t always work. We have to take care of ourselves. You wouldn’t know how to do that. You’d better let Louise take care of you when you go riding later.”

I didn’t say anything, but I felt really hurt by her words. I know I wasn’t raised up here, and I’m not used to winter the way they know it in Minnesota. But I can take care of myself!

I couldn’t help thinking that Jessie was a little bit like Jackson Foley. She didn’t seem to care much about me, just
like Jackson didn’t care about his family. Of course, I’m related to both of them, and I don’t know what to think about that.…

Louise and I went riding after that, and that was fun, even though I had to put on more clothes to protect myself than I would wear in a whole week back home. It was great seeing the woods from Kismet’s saddle—all that snow made things really peaceful and beautiful. Louise showed me all the sights, including this dramatic spot called Lover’s Point. It’s a spot over a lake where this huge pile of rocks juts into the sky. It’s really wild and really special. Louise says they climb on the rocks sometimes during the summer, but it’s way too dangerous now because of the snow.

“But Aunt Jessie is going to go out there at midnight during the next full moon,” Louise added. “She’s going to take a picture of the moon rising over the lake. She’s not afraid.”

I was surprised and kind of worried, especially when Louise said that Jessie planned to make the trip by horseback. But Louise didn’t seem very concerned. I just hope she’s mistaken about what she said.

But never mind about that now. I’m tired of thinking about Aunt Jessie and Louise. Besides, I still haven’t written anything about my visit to Grand Alice’s apartment. I was a little nervous when she invited me over there for a private talk and a cup of tea. I wasn’t sure I was ready for any more family surprises, like the story about Jackson Foley.

But Grand Alice’s apartment immediately helped me relax. It was sunny and colorful, with lots of plants and a bright quilt on the bed. Also, it turns out that Grand Alice is a
painter. There’s a whole series of her watercolors decorating one wall. Another whole wall is lined with Jessie’s photographs. I hadn’t really looked at any of my aunt’s photos up close before that, and I was impressed by them, especially by one that was an extreme close-up of a row of icicles.

That’s winter
, I thought when I saw it.
That’s what winter feels like around here
.

“There’s more than one way of looking at things,” Grand Alice told me as I was looking at the photos. “Some angles are more interesting than others, but some are just more confusing. When Jessie takes photographs, she goes hunting for different angles. Problem is, she sometimes does the same thing in her life.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, so I waited for her to explain. She poured me a cup of tea, then reached down and pulled a small wooden box out from under the table.

“I got this ready for you when I heard you were coming,” she told me, handing me the box. “I can’t be sure what I’m telling you is true, nobody can, but this is the story that’s been passed down, generation to generation, on my side of the family. My mother told me. Her mother told her. Way back, to at least the late eighteenth century, one woman told another. The story is that the first woman in my family came over from Africa on the slave boats and brought this with her, around her neck.”

I opened the box. It was lined with yellowed satin. Inside was a small, finely carved wooden amulet on a leather thong. I held it up and saw that it was the figure of a four-footed animal—a horse was the first thing I thought of, but it might be
a donkey or even a zebra. The wood was dark and smooth and the carving was really good. I held it up to the sunlight pouring through Grand Alice’s large windows, amazed that something so delicate had survived first a trip in a slave boat and then over two hundred years, passed down from hand to hand … to my hand. The thought of the little amulet’s history took my breath away.

I thanked Grand Alice, then flung my arms around her, feeling a little choked up. I never would have thought that anyone in my family would have such a treasure—let alone myself.

We drank our tea, then Grand Alice pulled out some photo albums to show me. She started with a big black album whose stiff cover crackled with age. “These are the old ones,” she said. “There aren’t too many of them—photographs were a rare luxury in those days. We start with Jackson Foley. Here he is.”

I was surprised to see that Jackson Foley looked like an ordinary person, not like a villain. He was thin and slightly stooped, and he looked a little stiff in his formal clothes, but he was smiling and his eyes looked kind.

She showed me a lot more old pictures then. I’d forgotten to bring this notebook, so I jotted down the names and info on a piece of paper she gave me. I already put it in my suitcase so that I wouldn’t lose it before I write my report.

After we looked through the old album, we moved on to more recent ones. She showed me a lot of pictures of my mother when she was young. Those were my favorites. I noticed that Mom even looked a little like me when she was my
age! We looked at lots of pictures of her playing with John and Elaine, and some with her holding Jessie, who was quite a bit younger. There were also photos from a little later, after Mom met Dad. I giggled when I saw one of those. “I’ve never seen my father with that much hair,” I said.

Grand Alice nodded and smiled. “First thing the Marines did was shave it all off.”

There was also a picture I recognized, because we have a copy at home. It was Mom and Dad holding me when I was a baby. After we looked at that one, Grand Alice turned the page of the album again, then very quickly flipped it forward to the next page. But I had already seen the picture she’d tried to skip. It was Jessie, perhaps ten years younger than she is now. She was standing in front of the Statue of Liberty in New York, a huge smile on her face. A tall man stood with his arms around her, and Jessie was holding a young girl, two or three years old, with pigtails and a smile that matched Jessie’s own.

“But who was—” I started to say.

“We don’t talk about that.”

“But I thought—”

“We don’t talk about that,” Grand Alice repeated firmly. And that was the end of that. But I can’t help being curious. Who are that man and that child? Is this another family skeleton?

I still have no idea. And wondering about all the things that might be hiding in my family’s past was making me kind of homesick. So I was thrilled when Lisa and Stevie called to say hi. They told me that my friend Karenna Richards was
visiting Willow Creek. I’m sorry to be missing her, but it sounds like Stevie and Lisa are showing her a good time. They even arranged for her to ride Starlight on a trail ride, which is really nice.

After we hung up, I felt more homesick than ever. So when Aunt Jessie wandered by and started making snotty comments, I couldn’t help defending myself. Somehow I ended up mentioning how I’d gone to watch the American Horse Show in New York. “Did you go to the American when you were in New York?” I asked Jessie.

She sort of flinched when I said the words
New York
. “No, I never went there.” She looked confused for a second, then her face turned angry and hard. “I never was in New York,” she went on. “That part of my life is dead. Gone. Over!” She ran out of the room.

“What did I say?” I asked Louise, who was the only other person in the room.

“I told you not to talk about New York in front of Aunt Jessie,” Louise snapped, looking worried. She got up and ran after Jessie.

I felt bad. I hadn’t meant to upset Aunt Jessie, but I couldn’t imagine why the mere mention of the words
New York
was enough to set her off like that. Then I remembered the man and child with Jessie in the photo. Could they be Jessie’s husband and daughter? Could Jessie have abandoned them in New York, just like Jackson Foley had abandoned his family all those generations ago?

I’ve got to stop thinking about it. It’s been driving me crazy ever since. Anyway, I should probably sign off now and
go get changed for the party. It’s taken me a while to write this, mostly because I keep stopping to look down at the necklace Grand Alice gave me. So far the little horse amulet seems to be the one thing about this trip that isn’t confusing or mysterious or upsetting—just wonderful.

I know you aren’t due home until late tonight, and for some crazy reason my parents frown on my making phone calls after midnight. But I wanted to be the first one to welcome you home and tell you it’s about time you got back here. We all missed you like crazy! (Especially Starlight, ha ha!)

So how was Minnesota? Let me guess—COLD! I looked up that town where you were in my dad’s atlas, and it’s so far north I thought it had to be, like, Canada or someplace. Oh well—at least you probably got to see some snow, right? I wish it snowed more around here.

But never mind that. Your first order of business now that you’ve returned (besides telling us all about your trip, that is) is giving me your opinion of my latest brilliant name ideas for
No-Name. (You too, Lisa—that’s why I’m sending this to you, too, in case you didn’t figure that out.) Here’s the list:

Dirham

Tunisia

Sandy (as in desert, get it?)

Tripoli

Shahrina

What do you think? Call first thing tomorrow. We’ve got a whole bunch of trail rides and Saddle Club meetings to fit into the next forty-eight hours before school starts again!!!