Bloodlines

By Karen Probert

Hannah’s trips to an archaeological site in Chile lead to a deeper examination of her own family’s history. Will time away from the family she is building create a stronger bond or will her efforts succumb to events of the past? Delving into Jonathan’s family history to expose the secrets they keep, may create more problems than it solves—especially for his grandmother who is set in her beliefs and determined in her ways. Join Hannah and Jonathan on their journey together through life and family as they discover where they came from and where they are going. The author creates intriguing plot lines and believable, likable characters, who will encourage you to discover who you are, too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dream Write Publishing
• Release date: Oct 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781988723303

Book preview

Foreword

Bloodlines is the short story that got away from me.

It started out slowly but the main characters, Hannah and Jonathan, refused to release their grip on me until I wrote their whole story. They forced me to research things I have never before considered and allowed me to share their dreams. My hope is that you will enjoy following their journey.

Hannah, Jonathan, and all the other people in this story are fictional as are the places in this book.

Thank you to all the people who helped with inspiration, time, advice, and caring.

~ Karen Probert

1. Hannah and Harrison

The small bag held everything she’d need. She was sure she’d packed it all. Her great grandmother’s handwritten family tree was just the beginning. Two years ago, when she found that inside the leather-bound journal tied with a piece of butcher cord, she began her family history research.

At first nothing had been clear and much of it made no sense but as Hannah went further and further into these old lives her attitude changed. How could she not have known any of this? How could her father have known some of it but never told anyone? She never remembered her father talking of anything about his family at least not ones older than his own parents.

With a doctorate in anthropology I should be well aware that secrets can be hidden – sometimes by circumstance, often by choice. My years of study surely have taught me not to make assumptions but to rely on the evidence. ‘Follow the evidence’ is my mantra especially when doing fieldwork.

Hannah had learned to be dismissive of people who wanted something to belong to their preconceived notion of what they thought it should be but not necessarily what it was. Research was her panacea for all the problems she encountered. Except Jonathan. The Jonathan issue will have to wait until I get back!

Hannah checked the small bag once more then fit it inside her backpack before shrugging it on. Just as she heard the toot from the taxi horn she lay a trench coat over her arm and opened the house door.

I need to go to the airport.

That’s where you always go, said Ali, a familiar face in the rear-view mirror.

Yes, that’s true but it's a short personal trip, not to an archaeological dig this time.

After boarding her flight without difficulty Hannah slept the few hours as she trained herself to do years before. Being well rested helped with jet lag as well as when meeting colleagues and researchers. At the arrivals gate Hannah saw a tall, slim, white-haired gentleman with a hand-written sign, H. Morris. Dr. Aegis would not have recognized this young woman with her soft, brown hair, deeply set eyes and olive-tinged skin as the person he waited for.

Dr. Aegis, I assume, she said with a smile as she put out her hand to shake his.

Dr. Aegis drove her straight to his offices in a secure building at the south end of London. They talked on the way about her research so far.

"You know, Dr. Aegis, your suggestion ten months ago to engage an expert in old handwriting has been the most helpful advice I’ve ever received. Although costly, it saved me more hours than I care to consider. In a mere nine days I received a wholly readable translation of my old family tree. Then later the transcript of the journal arrived. By knowing the names and dates I can follow the births, marriages, and deaths listed in there. Using old maps with the original place names of towns and villages I’ve been able to follow some of the movements of the ancestors across the Middle East and Europe. I had originally thought that perhaps my origins were gypsy but now I believe that is likely untrue.

"I understand that Hannah. And the charts you sent me helped me compile more

information. I did notice, as you mentioned, that some of the chronology isn’t correct. I filled in some gaps, but many things are still to be found. And, my dear, since we are going to work together with your information and my old maps, I insist that you call me Harrison."

2. Hannah's Mistake

In early childhood, Hannah loved to sit at the kitchen table while her mother, grandmother, and aunts spent the hour after church baking bread, shelling peas, pitting fruit, and other domestic tasks in preparation for a big family meal. The men were outside smoking and talking about their herds, telling fishing and hunting stories while the boys ran with the dogs in the field across the street. The woman often seemed to forget Hannah’s presence and talked of ‘women’s woes’, or pregnancies or even their concerns about their husband’s drinking or gambling habits. Hannah had rarely heard them discussing their own pasts as they all seemed to already know everything there was to know about each other’s earlier lives. There were never questions of ethnic background or much about where they lived before. It was a close-knit family of only three generations and Hannah never thought to ask when they emigrated or from where they started out. None of her family had outstanding features to her. Their hair was various shades of brown before it turned gray and most had brown eyes. Skin color varied from deep olive tones to paler tawny shades, some with freckles.

Lately, in a dream, she remembered a spoken line, ‘She never really belonged in the family.’

Mother, Hannah asked later the day she’d heard it, after everyone had gone home, am I adopted like Janie Hislop at school.

The shock on her mother’s face surprised her. What gave you such a silly idea, my Hannah? No, of course you are not adopted. You’re mine and Papa's completely. Who’s putting such ridiculous ideas into your head? And your sister, Sarah, too. Janie is lucky to have been adopted by the Hislops. They love her and treat her just the same as their boys.

Hannah’s mother’s hug that night had been longer and tighter than usual when she came to tuck Hannah in. You are my daughter and I love you. Put that foolish idea away. There were tears in her mother’s eyes, so Hannah never brought up the idea again.

When she applied for her first passport at nineteen her mother gave her the original of her birth certificate to use as verification, so she saw the vital statistics and believed her mother was telling the truth.

But why does the line keep coming into my head now, after all these years? Who was not a real member of the family? Maybe someone who married in from another culture? But that name would have stood out on the family tree and I can’t find one that does. The transcribed journal is mostly a list of costs for items and short descriptions of weddings, christenings, and funerals. There are some movements from one country to another. There is little or no emotion in it. Dr. Aegis has read the transcription and he didn’t mention any names that don't seem to fit.

After watching a TV documentary about five years before about Americans tracing their roots, Hannah decided to have her DNA tested. Some of it was what she expected but two things surprised her. Where in the family is there someone who has given me eight percent Native American genes and where did the twenty-six percent North African anomaly come in? There is no mention of either in the list of usually Germanic or Jewish sounding names that comprise my family tree. As far as I know none of my relatives were Jewish and there were no Jewish-style symbolic items in our homes. No one in my family, even in the old photos, has Negroid features or skin tones nor the high cheekbones and squarish body shape often characterized as Native American. Both my parents and grandparents tended to be tall and thin with long arms. My sister Sarah and I have wide shoulders and hips but otherwise I see no obvious signs of bloodlines other than from generations before us.

From her training she knew that many Moors from North Africa moved into the Iberian Peninsula centuries ago and intermarried with locals. She could find no Spanish or Portuguese connection at all. Movement of people through Europe was Dr. Aegis’ specialty. Hannah surmised that the North American Indian heritage came after her ancestors moved to the United States in the late eighteenth century and married someone local whose genes she now carried. But genetically she was over one-quarter African, or black, or colored depending in what century and geographical area of the US the documents were written. So far, she’d been unable to find any relative mentioned who was designated any of these things.

Dr. Aegis suggested, Perhaps the twenty-six percent came much earlier, before your ancestors left Europe.

3. Jonathan's Dilemma

Jonathan had returned home some months ago is a state of fury. He’d slammed the door, stamped through the hall and, at first, refused to speak. When pressed he’d said through gritted teeth, "My mother and grandmother ganged up on me. They said I was a disgrace to my family. They said, ‘After all we've taught you, how can you even be thinking about marrying Hannah - that white girl with a Jewish name?’" And then he’d cried while Hannah held him until he slept. Later, they’d had a quiet conversation while Hannah held his hand gently in both of hers.

Why do your mother and grandmother think skin color matters? This is the twenty-first century. We’re both educated and successful in our careers. What difference does color make?

Jonathan’s reply had shaken her. My grandmother says that our babies wouldn’t look like her, that she can only love little black babies.

There must be white or Indian or something other than blacks in your ancestry.

Don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. But my mother and grandmother wouldn’t know that because they believe that we’re ‘pure’ all the way back to the African slaves. They only have oral records.

What about DNA testing? It could tell you about the purity of your race. Maybe that’s too controversial. But it would tell you precisely what ratio of African heritage you actually have.

Through and through – nothing mixed up about me according to family lore, so I’ll decline for now. Then he laughed. Yes, I think they’d be shocked and, anyway, if it didn’t fit with their beliefs they’d choose to dismiss it as hokum in any case. In his fake Southern drawl, he’d said, What they know anyhow? Them scientists. Could put anything they likes on them charts! And that would be the end of it. They’d go back to their old stories and hold them as true, dismissing the science as prejudicial.

Hannah clamped her teeth together to avoid saying what was in her head. Her hands were clenched in her lap. Now I can’t tell Jonathan or anyone else that I’ve had my DNA tested because I still have conflicted feelings about the results. I’m not ready for reactions from others or for them to propose a hypothesis of how I came to have such a seemingly odd heritage.

Hannah decided there would not be a resolution now on this as they both needed to calm down. Let’s not talk about this anymore now. I’ll pour us some wine and we’ll have dinner, then watch Masterpiece on TV, okay?

I love you, Hannah. You know that, don’t you? We’ll work something out. Please stay with me until we figure it out.

Hey, Jon. I’m not going anywhere except to my next dig. You can’t get rid of me so easily.

But Hannah’s smile faded while Jonathan hugged her. Feeling like an underdog, being discriminated against, wasn’t something she knew. She didn’t like the feeling, so her instincts told her to fight back. She didn't want to lose Jonathan whose skin felt like velvet, the color of chocolate milk. With his almost black eyes and thick black curls the contrast had attracted her immediately when they met. He was tall and powerfully built but moved with an athlete's grace.

Two years ago, when I thought I was pregnant with Jonathan’s child, I wondered what it might look like. Whose genes would be strongest and how would people relate to a child of mixed race? It never occurred to me that someone would, or even could, reject a child because it wasn’t entirely black.

4. Hannah and Harrison

Hannah and Dr. Aegis worked together the whole day putting together what seemed a plausible movement across Europe and to America from what was in the information.

There are still gaps, big gaps, but I’ll concentrate on those after you’ve gone home to America.

He took her out into the foggy late afternoon to a bistro where they talked of earlier times and known associates. Hannah enjoyed the warm atmosphere, the rich wine and spicy shrimps over rice he recommended.

Good night Harrison. And thank you. I feel that we’re going in the right direction finally.

My dear Hannah, I’ll pick you up at nine, so we can continue. Sleep well.

And she did, in a comfortable room in the small hotel he booked for her. She never really belonged in the family ran through Hannah’s mind once or twice.

Over breakfast of poached eggs on toast, good coffee with real cream and the indulgence of British sausages, Hannah was thoughtful. What else could that mean besides adoption? Could it be someone who married into the family from a different culture? Maybe someone less educated or more highly so? Perhaps after an earlier divorce and children from another father? She had not considered these options before.

As she poured fresh coffee, adding the thick cream, another line came into her head "adding cream