I, Emma Freke (15 page)

We got in line at a long table crowded with casserole dishes and plates of steaming summertime food. It all looked delicious.

“Now eat up, Emma,” said Rose, “you need to put a little meat on those bones, dear!”

Herman laughed heartily. “She's a
Frecky,
don't cha know, long and lean, a bottomless pipe!”

I glanced around the huge gathering and realized he was right. I really did resemble most everyone else.

After filling my plate with everything from buttery corn on the cob to pork ribs, Rose handed me her extra rammy and a new itinerary.

“Now enjoy getting to know your cousins! We'll chat with you later.”

Herman clucked, “And, Emma, don't forget to have some
Frecky
fun!”

Wow, I thought to myself. They were just about the sweetest two people I had ever met.

As I made my way through the crowd, everyone seemed to know me, leaning over to give me a quick welcome pat or cheerful “hello!” Never in my life had I experienced even close to this amount of attention.

The whole table of girls shifted anxiously as I approached. Like all the other relatives, they seemed extra happy to see me.

“Here, Emma, sit here,” said the twins who had saved the seat between them. I was glad to see Abby sitting across from us.

“So where do you live, Emma?”

“What grade are you in, Emma?”

“Is this your first visit to Wisconsin, Emma?”

“Who's your best friend, Emma?”

“Do you have any pets, Emma?”

The questions came from every direction. Not only was I the new girl, but I had arrived alone and had traveled farther than anyone could ever remember.

“How come you've never been to a reunion before, Emma?” asked Abby, who had been silent the whole time until now.

“Um. I'm not sure really.”

Morgan asked, “Where's the rest of your family?”

“It's kind of a long story.”

From another table, Aunt Pat stood up and blew her crow whistle three times, then waved her arms for extra attention.

“Greetings, greetings!” she hollered cheerfully. “Before we start in on dessert—a yummy pineapple Jell-O salad mold—let us raise our glasses to the memory of our beloved patriarch, the one and only Boris Horace
Frecky
.”

At that point, we all lifted our plastic cups filled with either whole milk or skim.

“That fiery redhead,” she continued, “who traveled all the way from Norway back in 1899 and settled here in the wilds of northern Wisconsin to make a much better—and far richer—life for his grateful and humble offspring.”

“To Boris Horace!” we cried out in unison.

“And to our
Frecky
ancestors of the past,” Aunt Pat called out even louder, “our
Frecky
cousins of the present, and our
Frecky
descendants of the future!”

“Here, here!” we all hollered and clinked our cups.

It was super exciting. I felt as if I had just joined some secret club.

Uncle Herman stood up next and called out, “Cheers to my big sister, Pat, queen of the
Frecky
family and role model of everything that is decent and honest in the world!”

“To Pat!” we cried back.

Aunt Pat pretended to be embarrassed, but you could tell she was ecstatic.

“I couldn't do it without all of you wonderful, wonderful people!” she insisted, sounding a little like a beauty pageant contestant. “But thank you
sooo much
for the kind compliment. I am truly flattered. Now let's start having some of that famous
Frecky
fun!”

The crowd erupted into applause. And as I gazed upon all my newly discovered relatives, astounded by the warm sense of community and belonging I was already feeling, I couldn't believe Donatella had kept one whole side of my family from me all these years. Obviously, the side I inherited in every way. I also thought about my father, Walter, wondering what it would be like if he were here too.

After the clapping died down, I suddenly noticed something move in the distance up on the hill. I could have sworn I saw a flicker of blue peeking out from behind a tree. I rubbed my eyes for a few seconds, then squinted back up at the woods, but it was gone.

After-dinner activities were listed on the itinerary. First, there was an evening stroll scheduled to work off our meal. Then there was either volleyball or badminton, both played with giant slow beach balls so anyone could participate. Next, it was a family swim followed by pajamas at the enormous bonfire, where stories were told as marshmallows were roasted on special extra-long forks.

“Tell us the story of Great-Granddad and the bear, Aunt Pat,” called out one of the kids.

Aunt Pat waved her marshmallow fork in the air over the glowing fire. The shadow resembled a pitchfork.

“Oh, you don't want to hear that,” she replied extra loudly.

“Yes, we do!” the crowd cried out at once.

“Ok then, settle down, settle down,” she said as she hoisted herself up from a foldable camping chair.

“When Boris Horace, rest his soul, journeyed over from the Old Country, he had never seen such wild animals like the ones we have here. He was amazed by every critter, big and small. But the one he admired most of all was the one who almost ate him alive . . . a frothing, fifteen-foot giant! Who here can identify the beast?”

All the children shrieked at once, “A grizzly bear!!”

“Correct!” Aunt Pat hollered back, straightening her fanny pack like it was a holster. “The great North American silvertip!”

A grizzly?
I thought to myself. That's funny. Grizzly bears didn't live anywhere near Wisconsin. And the largest ever found was around twelve feet. We had done a whole unit on bears in fifth grade, so I knew Aunt Pat's facts were a little mixed-up.

“Great-Granddad had just stepped off the train in Milwaukee that morning, ready to start his new life. All day he walked north, carrying no more than a change of clothes and a loaf of bread. Finally, by nightfall, he reached the outskirts of New Thule, not far from this very campground.”

Huh?
It took Wanda and me about two hours to drive from Milwaukee at highway speeds. How could he have walked it all in one day?

“Now, just as Boris Horace stopped off at Ticklers Brook to scoop up a handful of water, who do you think growled low and mean less than a stone's throw away from where he was kneeling?”

“The grizzly bear!” the kids shrieked even louder this time.

“Right again!” she yelled. “But do you think Great-Granddad ran?”

“No!” we all yelled back.

“Of course not, because he was a
Frecky
and
Freckys
never run away from their problems.”

At this point, Aunt Pat paused and gazed across the crowd like she was waiting for BH himself to appear in the distance.

“Great-Granddad quickly searched all around until he spotted a tree trunk under a bush,” she continued. “And then, as if sensing the human's plan, that old grizzly came charging at Boris Horace with the strength of a hundred men. Let me tell you, that bear was so big, the deep raging brook barely reached his ankles!”

Even though nothing about that last part made any sense, I realized the details didn't seem to matter. All eyes were glued on Aunt Pat.

“And just as that mighty beast was set to lunge upon our fearless founder, Great-Granddad grabbed the log and clobbered the grizzly with one mighty
smack
between the eyes!”

All at once, every
Frecky
was on their feet cheering for Aunt Pat and the impressive skills of our ancestor. And I have to say, it was definitely a good story, even if parts of it seemed confused with the adventures of Paul Bunyon. But I guess what really mattered (more than the facts) was that we were all related to this super brave person. And without him, none of us would be sitting here.

Throughout the entire evening, the twins and Abby had stuck by my side as if assigned to be my personal bodyguards, anxious to take care of my every need. Aunt Rose and Uncle Herman observed from afar like proud parents smiling and waving every once in a while. And since the evening had been so structured, yet so fun, I never once worried about all the mega-socializing. To top it off, I didn't stick out like a giraffe among a pack of hyenas like I did at school. Most of the
Frecky
kids were too tall and too skinny just like I was . . . and if you had the Boris Horace red hair, you might as well have considered yourself royalty.

This
, I contentedly thought to myself,
this is way more than feeling like I belonged . . . this is how it feels to be incredibly popular!

Later that night as I lay on top of my cozy sleeping bag, listening to the loons echo one another down on the lake, I realized everything that had been missing from my life was right here at the reunion. As usual, Penelope knew best—these
were
my people. And her good mojo gold bead had given me the courage and luck to find them.

“Wake up!”

Someone was whispering loudly and shaking my tent. I opened my eyes and realized it was very early in the morning. The outdoor light was dim, and the birds were making a racket.

“Emma from the East, I'm coming in!”

“Fred?”

He unzipped the thick double zippers and stuck his head through the flap.

“You ordered room service, Madam?” he whispered loudly.

I sat straight up and stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” I whispered back.

Still grinning, he ducked back out of the tent only to return with a straw picnic basket.

“Thought you might enjoy a little sunrise breakfast!”

I tried to focus.

“Is anyone else up?”

“No,” he said, still speaking quietly. “Come on. I want to show you something phenomenon-able.”

“Phenome-huh?”

We tiptoed through the woods until we arrived at a huge rock by the water. The top of it was flat, so we climbed on top and ate Fred's breakfast together. Across the far shore, the sun climbed over the horizon between two tall white birch trees, the sky streaking pink and yellow.

“This is my favorite spot on the whole lake. It's the perfect stage. And see, the water is my ocean of adoring fans. Sometimes I climb up here and practice my lines.”

“Your lines?” I asked, peering in the basket of food. “What lines?”

“Jokes!” he practically yelled. “I'm practicing to be a stand-up comic for when I, you know, grow up. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“You want to be a comedian? Really?”

I had never heard of anyone who actually considered that to be a real job. But Fred was clearly on a theatrical path in life, and I could already tell he was a bit unusual.

“Absolutely! You won't see me planted in some cubicle or punching numbers on a computer.”

He opened the wicker lid and grabbed a handful of berries, tossing them one at a time to catch in his mouth.

“And what about my name, huh?
Fred Frecky?
Could a comic ask for a better name than that?!”

“You mean you like your name?”

He took a gulp of orange juice, then blurted, “Love it! The only thing my parents did right.”

That's when it occurred to me that I had no idea which aunt and uncle were his parents. I stared at his short dark legs, his black wavy hair, and those ears. He didn't appear to resemble anyone at the reunion.

“How about you, Emma? Any goals in life?”

Up until now, my one and only goal had been to survive. It's hard to explain, but I constantly felt submerged, like I was partially drowning. I never even thought about the next day, let alone the future.

“Um, well, my mother owns a store, and so I'll probably keep working there, maybe take it over eventually.”

“What kind of store?”

“A bead shop. I know that sounds weird but—”

“Weird? That sounds stupendous! Nobody around here would have a store like that.”

It hadn't occurred to me that Freke Beads & More would ever sound appealing to anyone. There were all sorts of shops in Homeport, like Now You See It! which sold anything that had to do with optical illusions. And Penelope and I loved Kitty's Korner, a boutique and spa just for cats. I guess I was just used to the beads.

“I do like our store.”

I watched Fred as he chose a frosted chocolate muffin and stuffed it into his mouth. Normally I would pick the plainest one to be on the safe side, but for some reason, I chose a sugary muffin covered in nuts.

“Banana pecan,” he said.

I paused for a second. “Huh?”

“I just had an idea you'd like banana pecan. I prefer fudgy cinnamon chip, but banana pecan's okay too.”

“Yah, I like bananas.”

He slapped his leg. “I knew it!”

There was something about Fred that constantly made me smile. He reminded me a little of Penelope.