Tin-Tin Kyrano sat in the old, rattletrap car, staring out over the ugly flat landscape, silently fuming. She refused to rub her arms, even though she felt as if the dust that permeated the air was trying to burrow into her skin.
Her companion, aware of her pique drove on past the newly harvested wheat fields without saying a word. That suited Tin-Tin just fine. At the moment, she wanted nothing to do with Mister High and Mighty Alan Tracy.
He hadn't even had the decency to argue with her. He'd just said they were stopping, and that was the end of it. Never mind that she had arranged to meet her old school friends in New York. Never mind that she disliked Kansas, especially in the late summer, when the air was hot and full of agricultural haze. Never mind that she had wanted a perfect trip with her erstwhile boyfriend. None of that entered into whatever equation Alan had cooked up.
She'd been so excited early this morning when they had left Tracy Island. Mr. Tracy, Alan's father, had needed someone to represent Tracy Industries at an important conference. Normally, that duty would have fallen to Scott or Virgil, the eldest of the five Tracy brothers, but for some reason, Mr. Tracy's eye had fallen on Alan.
Tin-Tin had immediately asked if she could go along, stating that some of her dearest college friends were going to be in town, and she'd love to meet up with them. She would have asked to go regardless of which brother had been chosen. The fact that it had been Alan had just added a touch of spice to the arrangement.
Alan had warned her that he would be hung up in meetings all day, but that suited Tin-Tin's plans perfectly. She and her friends would spend the days shopping, and having a girl's spa day. Then in the evenings, she would go to dinner, the theater, and who knew what else with Alan? As much as she loved Tracy Island, and her life there, there were just times when she needed to get away from all of the men, and just be with the girls.
Alan had seemed to understand, and was a love about getting appointments for her friends at one of the top day spas in the city. But then, when they entered U.S. airspace, he'd told the air traffic controller that his destination was Kansas, not New York. It was the first she had heard of his plans.
She'd asked him what was going on, but he was very closed mouthed about it, only saying that he needed to make a short stopover at the farm. She had argued, but he simply ignored her, saying it wouldn't take that long, and they'd already made up the time in the long flight across the Pacific Ocean.
He was being reasonable, and it absolutely infuriated her. They'd arrived at the farm's airstrip, and Tin-Tin had at first refused to leave the plane. Alan had pointed out that the plane had to be totally shut down while the fuel robot refueled it, and without the air conditioning on, it would get very warm.
Angry, she had flounced over to the elderly town car that the Tracy's left at the hangar strictly for trips to and from the farmhouse. Despite its age, it was a well built car, and she didn't even get the satisfaction of slamming the door closed.
Now she sat, angry at Alan, and even angrier at herself, watching the flat fields go by. Tin-Tin, who'd been raised in the lush verdant hills of Malaysia, and the manicured parks of Paris, felt like she might as well be on the moon. The landscape was bleak, and windblown, and she'd just as soon given it a miss.
The wheels of the car crunched as Alan pulled up the gravel driveway to the old farmhouse where he'd been raised. After traveling through the dry wheat fields, the farmhouse and its surrounding lawn and garden were like an oasis. The lawn was well kept, and although the Tracys no longer lived there, the farmhouse had an appealing well cared for look. Tin-Tin knew that keeping the farm in good shape was practically a cottage industry for the sleepy farm town of Kalvesta.
Alan parked the car, and though her back was turned, Tin-Tin could sense him relaxing with a sense of homecoming. His voice was tentative as he said, "This is going to take about an hour, then we can be on our way. Here's the house key. I called ahead, so the air conditioner should be on. Go on in, and I'll tell you when I'm ready to leave."
Tin-Tin refused to move, to acknowledge him. After a few moments, Alan sighed and put the key on the car's center console, and got out. A wave of heat hit Tin-Tin from the open car door. Alan closed the door and moved to the trunk of the car, pulling out the package he had put there when they had landed at the airstrip.
Alan walked away, around the side of the farmhouse, leaving Tin-Tin frowning in her huff. When he disappeared from sight, she rapidly rubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
She considered just simply staying in the car, but like the plane, with the air conditioner off, it was rapidly becoming stiffling. In a snit, she snatched up the house key, and abandoned the car in favor of the house.
Entering the Tracy home, she felt like an intruder. She had heard many stories about this house. About growing up in rural America. She'd always found the stories entertaining, and enlightening. If the Tracys weren't who they were, she would have probably looked down her nose at their provincial background. As it was, she had nothing but respect for them.
Well, at least for most of them. Alan was the most frustrating man she had ever known, and today's little adventure was not endearing him to her. She looked around the living room and parlor, but all of the furniture was covered in white sheets. Where did he expect her to sit?
She considered going back outside, but the air was cooler here, and she remembered Scott once telling her that all the real action took place in the kitchen. She'd been here on a few other occasions, so she knew exactly where to go.
She pushed her way through the swinging door into the large farm kitchen. Nothing was covered here, and in fact it looked as if Mrs. Tracy could just walk in as start cooking. She saw a note sitting next to a plate of cookies on the table, and so she went over to read it.
'Lemonade and sandwiches in the fridge,' it said.
Tin-Tin licked her lips, thinking some lemonade would be good. She walked to a cupboard and opened it, pulling out a glass before she even thought to be surprised that she knew exactly where it would be. She looked around, a fond smile on her lips. The kitchen on the island had the same layout.
She shook her head, and went to the refrigerator to get the lemonade. As she did so, a movement out the window caught her eye. Alan was out beyond the barn, by a spreading tree. On his hands and knees, she could see he was digging a hole in the ground.
Frowning she watched as he finished digging, and reached over to the bag he had pulled from the trunk of the car. He reached in and pulled out a shoebox, which he placed in the hole. He made quick work of covering the box up, as Tin-Tin seethed.
It was some sort of practical joke. She was sure of it. He was hiding something, probably from Gordon. This is what was so important that it couldn't wait for the trip home? She had to wipe her eyes again, the hot angry tears blurring her vision.
Tin-Tin sat down at the table, gripping the heavy old wood with both hands. She got her breathing under control. Fine. If he wanted to be so childish, she would take the high road and be mature. But she'd be damned if she would let him into her room any time soon.
She heard him coming up to the back door of the house, stamping away the dirt and grime. There was a pause as he pulled out his keys, so Tin-Tin was able to be calm and collected as he entered the room. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment before going over to the sink and washing his hands.
Determined to be the better person, Tin-Tin said, "There's lemonade and sandwiches in the refrigerator."
"Uh, Thanks." Alan moved much as she had, going to the cupboard and pulling out a glass. He went to the refrigerator, and poured himself a glass, which he drained while standing there before pouring a second glass.
He came over to the table, and set the glass down, and warily said, "I just have one more chore to do and then we can get going."
Tin-Tin didn't respond, she just sat, coolly sipping her drink. Alan hesitated for a moment longer, then with decision, left the room.
She could hear him banging around in the other room for a few minutes, then it grew quiet. Unable to contain her curiosity, Tin-Tin moved over to the swinging door, and pushed it open a bit, peeking through. She saw Alan had pulled the sheets off of a sofa and coffee table. He was sitting there, leafing through a big book, a look of wistful sadness on his face.
"What are you doing?" Tin-Tin asked.
Alan jumped guiltily, and set the book aside. "Uh, nothing. I was just looking at a scrapbook. Um, give me a couple of minutes to get this done."
Tin-Tin frowned, noticing that Alan had pulled a blank sheet from the back of the scrapbook. There was a tube of glue, and papers and what looked like a photograph in front of him. As she watched, he pulled the scrapbook sheet closer, and started arranging his papers and photos on the page.
Unable to contain herself, Tin-Tin moved over to the sofa, and sat down. Looking to Alan for permission, she picked up the scrapbook and opened it up. On the first page, there was a photo of a young boy, and big black dog going gray around the muzzle. Under the photo, in childish script was the name Rex. The photo was very old, one of those black and white prints with the glossy finish and scalloped edges. From the car in the background, Tin-Tin guessed it was from the 1930's or 40's. In addition to the photo, there was a piece of lined paper in the same childish script. She read: "He was my best friend. We played a lot together. At night he slept in my bed with me. I will miss him forever."
She looked again at the child in the photo. He was probably no more than eight of nine years old, and his simple testament touched her heart. Tin-Tin turned the page to find another picture, this time of a young man in a uniform. At his side was a shaggy black and white dog. Both were smiling at the camera with remarkably similar grins. Under the picture, was the caption, Scout. A longer letter, no less heartfelt described the dog's devotion even when the owner had left for World War II.
Tin-Tin ran a finger over the tall soldier, He was obviously a Tracy. She could see the same pride and dignity that she saw every day on the island. "That's Grandpa Joe and Scout. He was Dad's grandfather."
She glanced over at Alan, seeing the quiet wistfulness again in his eyes. She turned the page, and there was another tribute to a dog, this one named Rascal. Then a different hand, again childish, wrote of a young girl's love for a cat named Dingaling. "That's Grandma. She's about five in this picture."
Tin-Tin couldn't help the soft smile seeing the freckled pigtailed girl closely holding her cat. As she went through the pages, there were more dogs, the photographs eventually changing from black and white to color. In each picture there a boy or girl, man or woman, each showing that same Tracy pride. The dogs all looked to their masters with full devotion.
The occasional cats were all held in arms that spoke of true affection, even if the cats themselves didn't display it. Tin-Tin felt a tug on her heart as she thumbed through, watching the generations of Tracys grow old, all still loving their pets, each one writing a benediction as they were added to the long roll call of the Tracy family.
She paused at a picture of a small brown bird, sitting on the finger of a lovely young woman about Tin-Tin's age. The caption read Flute, and Tin-Tin read a story of affection and exasperation written by Alan's own long dead mother. "I think this is one of my favorite pictures of my mom," Alan said quietly.
Tin-Tin nodded, smiling. She'd of course seen the carefully composed portrait that had been taken sometime shortly after Gordon's birth. And there were a few other pictures, usually with Lucy Tracy fully aware of the camera's presence. This snapshot was obviously taken without her knowledge as she held the tiny bird up, her face in profile, making a kissing gesture. It was a charming natural moment.
Almost reluctantly, Tin-Tin turned the page, She burst into a delighted laugh at the next picture. It was of Scott and Virgil, sitting astride a huge dog as if it were a pony. Scott couldn't have been more that four, and he held tightly onto Virgil who was only a tiny baby. She read the caption, Polly. The epitaph below was again in Lucy's handwriting. Praising the dog's intelligence and good nature, she read that the dog had once saved Scott's life by refusing to let him run out into a busy street.
She read of two more Tracy family dogs, then turned the page, to see a gold fish in a bowl held by a young red head. The caption read Face, but instead of a story about the fish, there was just one word, scrawled in red crayon. 'MURDERED.' It read. Tin-Tin raised an eyebrow at her seatmate. Alan smiled, shaking his head. "Gordy loved that damn thing. He had it for a couple of months. One day, I decided I wanted to feed it. I went and got the box of oatmeal, but it slipped, and I poured in too much. Poor thing couldn't breathe and I didn't know what to do. It died, and I still don't think Gordy has forgiven me."
After a picture of a cat named Barney, there was a picture of John in a white uniform with a large cow in a halter. The caption read Cowbert, and the story was about John raising it from a scrawny calf. John's notes were full of affection, but Tin-Tin frowned at the last line. "He was delicious?"
Alan laughed. "Yeah, actually, he was. It was a 4H project. John raised it over the summer, then after the fair, it went to the slaughterhouse. John seemed okay with it at the time, but then he went vegan on us for a couple of months. He really liked that cow."
There were only a few pages after Cowbert, the last being a gray tabby cat named Snuff, that Mrs. Tracy had had until shortly before she moved to the island. The few lines written were full of love and loss, and along with the all of the other pages, heartbreaking.
Tin-Tin ran her hand over that last page, saying softly, "I've never had a pet. And when I read this, I'm not sure I'd want one."
Alan shook his head, and reached out and took her hand. "Yeah, I know what you're saying, but I can absolutely guarantee you that nobody in this book would agree with you. Grandma says pets are one of God's greatest gifts. They teach you humility, but they offer total devotion. Here, look at this one… This was Scott's dog when I was just a baby. It died when I was about three years old, but I still remember using him for a pillow, and crying into his fur when I was upset."
Alan shrugged, a little wistful smile on his face. "I was only three, but I'll remember that dog to the end of my days. And sure, we were all sad when he died, but his life was his legacy. I've had pets since then, and I remember them all. I remember the joy they gave and the way they opened my heart to love. I think we all feel that way."
Tin-Tin frowned, "Then why do you not have pets on Tracy Island?"
Alan was quiet for a moment, formulating his answer. He started to speak, then paused, then started again. "It's like this… when we need a pet, we will get that pet. I know we don't have any dogs or cats right now, but that's just temporary, believe me. When I get to the point that I want a new dog, I will come home here, and find one. All the dogs around here are what you call farm dogs. Not fancy, not purebred, but good sturdy intelligent stock. Right now, I don't feel the urge, but it will happen. Either I'll get one, or one of my brothers will. Or Grandma will decide she's ready for another cat to replace Snuff. It'll happen. Tracys just don't live for long without pets."
Tin-Tin looked over at the page Alan had just finished, raising her eyebrow at the photo of the miniature alligator she had bought him for his last birthday. The animal had at first seemed to thrive in the enclosure Alan built for it, but then had suddenly died a few weeks ago from some unknown problem. It had disappeared after its death, and Tin-Tin had not actually given it another thought.
She shook her head. "I thought you didn't care for Tiny."
Alan had the grace to look sheepish. "Well, I wasn't crazy about it, but still, it was under my care, and there were a few times when it earned its keep. Like the time it nipped Gordon when he was trying to paint it red."
Alan smiled at the thought. "Ah, Tin-Tin, until you've had a living breathing creature that depends on you for its life and care, you'll never fully understand what pets are all about. I wasn't crazy about Tiny, but still, I'm sad that it died. It deserves its page every bit as much as Scout or Ding or Muffles."
Tin-Tin watched as Alan carefully opened up the book to add his page. When he was done, he sat looking at it, then thumbing through the book to find other beloved pets from his past. She watched this quieter, more gentle side with growing affection, her earlier anger forgotten.
After several quiet contemplative minutes, Alan shut the book with something like reverence, and with a sigh, looked over at her. "Okay, let's get this show on the road."
With the exuberance that Tin-Tin had come to associate with him, he set aside the book and the mood, and with a grin, offered his arm, and together they left the farm behind.
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