Purebred by Bonnie Bryant Read Free Book Online

headed for home.

T HE NEXT MORNING , after breakfast, Grand Alice invited Carole to come to her apartment. “We’ll have a cup of tea and some talk,” Grand Alice said.
    Carole agreed to come at once, but as she followed Grand Alice down the walkway to her apartment she couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. What other skeletons might Grand Alice pull out of the family closet? Carole didn’t want to hear about another Jackson Foley.
    Grand Alice’s apartment immediately helped to set Carole’s mind at ease. Sun streamed in from large windows set in both the east and west walls of the open, spacious room. Green plants grew on the west windowsill. A bright pieced quilt covered Grand Alice’s bed, a colorful rag rug covered much of the floor, and gaily embroidered cushions decoratedthe cozy red chintz davenport. The colors in the room were continued in a series of bright oil paintings hanging on the walls. Looking closely at a picture of blue and yellow wildflowers, Carole saw the name
Alice
in the corner.
    “Did you paint this?” she asked Grand Alice, who was taking a steaming teakettle off of a little two-burner stove.
    Grand Alice laughed and gestured toward the east window. An easel was set up next to a desk and chair. “Most mornings, when the light’s coming in that window, I sit and paint, or I sit at my desk and write. The sunshine feels good.”
    Carole carefully examined the other paintings, including the one in progress on the easel. “They’re really good,” she said.
    “They please me,” Grand Alice replied. “That’s all that matters.”
    Another wall was covered with photographs. Carole went over to look at them, and was astonished at how good they were. Some were landscapes and some were portraits, but an equal number were almost abstract. Her favorite was an extreme close-up of a row of icicles.
    That’s winter, she thought to herself. That’s what winter feels like around here. Aloud she asked, “Are these …”
    “Jessie’s,” Grand Alice finished for her. “Yes, they are.” She brought the tea things to a low table by the davenport and continued. “There’s more than one way of looking ateverything. 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.” Grand Alice smiled. She sat down slowly, and motioned for Carole to come sit beside her.
    Carole sat down. She wasn’t sure what Grand Alice meant, but the way she was talking reminded Carole of Mrs. Reg, and her habit of telling lessons as stories. Carole was sure her great-grandmother could teach her a lot.
    Grand Alice poured Carole a cup of tea, but at first did not take one herself. Instead she reached down slowly, and pulled a small wooden box out from under the table. “I got this ready for you when I heard you were coming,” she said. She handed the box to Carole.
    “I can’t be sure what I’m telling you is true,” she continued. “I can’t be sure, 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.”
    Carole opened the box. It was lined with yellowed satin. Inside was a small, finely carved wooden amulet on a leather thong. She held it up. It was a figure of a four-footed animal—a horse perhaps, or a donkey, or even azebra. The wood was dark and smooth and the carving was exquisite. Carole held it up to the sunlight. She was amazed to think that something so delicate survived first a trip in a slave boat and then over two hundred years, passed down from hand to hand through Grand Alice’s family until now, when she held it in her own hand. The