Homeward Hound

by Rita Mae Brown

  Rory, behind him, didn’t argue but said, “The fox doesn’t know that.”

  “No, but Sister should!”

  Trying to defuse his boss’s fury, Rory stepped next to Crawford, who already had his hand on the one-foot-tall wrought-iron door handle. The double doors measured a story, impressive, but then everything was impressive at Old Paradise.

  “Boss, you know Sister would never cross you.” Not entirely true but Rory sounded convincing. “She can’t turn around and throw Luckham out of the hunt field. For one thing, it’s against MFHA rules.”

  This stopped Crawford for a moment. “I’m not a member of the goddamned MFHA. To hell with their rules.”

  “You’re smart to avoid all that.” Rory fibbed. “But if a hunt has permission to hunt a fixture, the landowner can’t deny a rider access to their land even if they hate that person. No one would be able to hunt anywhere.”

  “Not my problem. I can throw off anyone.” He pulled open one door still rolling after two centuries of use. “What the hell?”

  A blast of strong wind forced him to take a step back when it hit him in the face.

  Shaker blew hounds to him. Three longish blasts. He turned, hounds behind him, his whippers-in turning with him.

  Reaching his Master, he leaned forward, shouting, so he could be heard. “Madam.”

  “We’ve got to get back before trees come down.” The weather felt like a cold, hard slap in the face. “They’ll be uprooted,” she shouted.

  As Master and huntsman realized the danger of the situation, Crawford, head down, pushed to his Range Rover. Rory closed the door behind him, then hurried over to the passenger side, where he got in.

  “Wind about tore the door off.” He gasped.

  Crawford, windshield wipers on high, crept down the farm road, snow sweeping across it. “I am going to tear that son of a bitch off his horse. He’s not hunting on my land.”

  Crawford lowered his window an inch. The wind whistled but he could make out the horn, which was close. Impulsively, Crawford put the car in park, got out. Rory, surprised, sat a moment. Then he, too, got out. The snow, already thick and blowing, obscured everything, although he could hear the horn. Hounds brushed by Rory, who stood still, looking for Crawford. He stretched out his arms to make himself look bigger and riders, coming up on him, swerved.

  A country boy, Rory knew if he didn’t find Crawford, if they didn’t get out of there, perhaps they never would. Crawford was out of his element.

  Rory heard the horn moving away, knew riders were close but no longer could see them. He heard an umph sound.

  “Crawford.”

  No response. Thinking his boss might have been knocked down by a horse, Rory raised his voice, called again.

  “Boss.” He yelled for all he was worth.

  “Where are you?” Crawford called back, sounded to Rory’s right near the sound of the umph.

  “To your left. I’ll yodel. Come to the sound.”

  A grateful Crawford finally appeared, snow encrusted on his eyebrows. Rory grabbed his hand. They both turned around, hoping to see the car. The lights were on and they could just make out the reflection on the snow.

  That was the only time Rory was ever glad for lights on during the daytime. You couldn’t turn them off. Together, the two men, arm in arm, battled their way back to the car, motor running. Feeling the car, each man reached his door, opened it with difficulty, then slumped in the seat.

  “I’ve never seen anything come up like that in all my life,” Crawford gasped. “Didn’t know you could yodel.”

  “Some.” Rory grinned.

  “This is impossible.” The windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the snow. “I’m heading home.”

  “Good idea. When you pass Tattenhall Station, let me out. I’ll help Sam with Trocadero. No point having him drive the horse trailer alone in this.”

  “Christ, I don’t even know if I can see Tattenhall Station.”

  “There. I can just make it out. Can’t see anyone in yet.” Rory hopped out as Crawford stopped, then slowly drove away.

  Sister turned Aztec, trotted toward Chapel Cross for Tattenhall Station. It sat on the southeastern corner of that old crossroads, the chapel on the southwest corner. It took her fifteen minutes to reach the road. She’d heard Crawford’s car in the distance, barely, but she couldn’t see it. He was ahead of the riders. By the time they reached Chapel Cross, the cross on top of the dark blue steeple couldn’t be seen. The world turned white, biting white.

  Sister was having ample time to repent of her decision. Then again, the Weather Channel mistimed the arrival of the storm.

  The wind howled. People could barely make one another out even though close. They reached the trailers.

  People dismounted, wincing when their feet hit the ground as their feet had gotten cold and the ground stung when you hit it. Dewey Milford, next to Freddie’s trailer, helped her load. They both drove out as soon as the horses were on their respective trailers. Dewey, confused by the snow, realized it, crawled to Beveridge Hundred, where he could turn around the trailer, and headed back. The wind shook the heavy trailer. Untacking horses, throwing blankets on, staff horses were led into the trailer. Sister did not take the saddle off Aztec. She thought keeping the saddle on helped keep his back warm. She put on his blanket. Betty did the same for Outlaw, who was grateful. Each of the staff members took care of horses or hounds. Weevil took Shaker’s horse while the older man loaded up the hounds with Tootie’s help. Betty had Tootie’s horse. The staff had the drill down. People got into their trucks, turned on the lights, which reflected off the snow. Slowly, carefully they drove out while others, slower, hurried to get all done so they, too, could get on the road. Sam, unaware that Rory intended to help him, didn’t see anyone so he drove out praying he’d make it.

  Staff knew they would be the last ones out. All hounds, accounted for, snuggled into their trailer, which had plastic inserts in the long openings on the top. These were for air circulation but in winter, clear plastic, like glass only it wouldn’t shatter, was slid in and on the back door, too. The trailer, straw piled deep, allowed hounds to bed down. That and their shared body heat would keep them warm until they reached the kennels, which would take longer than usual.

  Horses loaded up, Sister kept her hand on the horse trailer as she walked toward the truck. A figure ahead of her appeared out of the snow.

  “Sister!”

  “Ronnie.”

  “Gregory’s horse came back but he’s not here.” He stopped, took a breath. “I thought he was with me. I could hear Pokerface snort, but I didn’t look behind me.”

  “Wait here.” Sister reached the hound trailer as Shaker loaded his horse onto the back of the hound trailer. Tootie and Weevil’s horses, along with Betty’s, were already on Sister’s four-horse trailer. “Shaker, we have a missing person. Ronnie’s guest.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Shaker muttered.

  “Come with me. Take your horn.” She walked back to her trailer, where Betty, Tootie, and Weevil waited.

  “Folks, Ronnie’s guest is missing.” She turned to Ronnie. “Where did you last see him?”

  “I thought he was with me when we rode by the chapel. He was a little behind me. I noticed I couldn’t see the cross. I didn’t think to look back.”

  Shaker interposed. “You wouldn’t have seen him anyway. We’re lucky we got here.”

  “I can’t leave him,” Ronnie said, desperate.

  Weevil, although the newest staff member, spoke up. “This is the beginning of a blizzard. If we all go out looking for him, we can become disoriented in minutes. It’s death. Trust me. I’m Canadian.”

  “Ronnie, call the rescue squad. Betty, call Ben Sidell, the sheriff. God, I wish he could have hunted today. Report this. Shaker, blow your horn. With God’s grace he might he
ar it and come to the horn.”

  The two made the required phone calls.

  “Ben said they’d get here as soon as they can. Accidents everywhere. Trees are coming down. He ordered me to order you to go home. If we don’t go now, we’ll be stuck here.”

  “At least we can go into the station,” Tootie thought out loud.

  “The horses can’t.” Weevil smiled at her. “Hounds could but we can’t leave the horses in the trailer in these winds. We’ve got to do what the sheriff ordered.”

  Tears came to Ronnie’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you follow us, Ronnie? You can stay in the house with Gray and me. No point trying to get to your barn alone.”

  “I can’t leave him. If he’s out there alone, he could die.”

  “Ronnie”—Betty knew him well—“there’s no choice. This is getting worse by the minute. Come on, I’ll ride with you.”

  Weevil and Shaker rode together while Tootie and Sister drove. Although only eleven miles away, it took them forty-five minutes to reach Roughneck Farm, Sister’s farm.

  Hounds unloaded, horses put into the barn including Ronnie’s, and Pokerface, the horse he had lent to Greg.

  “We’re lucky we made it.” Sister meant that as they could hear trees cracking in the woods. “Weevil, you’d best stay here, too. Even though your cottage isn’t far.”

  His cottage was at After All, the adjoining farm.

  “He can stay with me,” Tootie offered. “Come on, Weevil. I need to call Mom and make sure she and Daniella got home.”

  Betty and Ronnie also walked up to Sister’s house, which they did as a human chain, for you couldn’t see a thing now. Once in the house, Gray was on the phone, for he had come in early, figuring he’d better get the house ready for stranded people.

  He looked up. “Aunt Dan’s with Tootie’s mother. Everyone is bunked up with someone.”

  Shaker made it to his cottage as Weevil and Tootie, heads down against the wind, made it to hers.

  At Sister’s each person used the tall bootjack to pull off boots. Coats hung on pegs in the mudroom. Soon they were dripping melted snow. Betty noticed tears in Ronnie’s eyes. He wasn’t a man afraid to show emotion. She put an arm around his waist. He returned the gesture and they stepped into the kitchen.

  The two house dogs and the cat observed all this as the house shook from the assaulting winds. Gray had a big pot of tea boiling. They could worry about supper once they got warm.

  Sister, out in the mudroom, took coats as they were handed to her, lined up boots. She couldn’t help herself. She opened the mudroom door to the outside for a moment; then it slammed shut from the force of the wind.

  Snow-blind, she thought to herself, and she also thought that if Gregory Luckham hadn’t tucked up somewhere, he would freeze to death. No rescue team could find anyone in conditions like these.

  Snow-blind.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tired as they were, everyone rose at first light. Sister threw on her robe, looked out the window. Snowdrifts piled up on the north side of buildings and trees. Snow continued to fall now as big lazy snowflakes. At least she could see and what she saw were trees snapped in half, others uprooted, those being mostly pines due to their small root-balls. Snow covered each roof so if there was damage she couldn’t see it. At least, no part of any roof had blown off.

  The old curving back wooden stairway led down to the kitchen where Golly commanded the kitchen table. Raleigh and Rooster followed Sister, their claws clicking on the worn steps.

  Golly put on her loving face. “I’m hungry.”

  Sister filled a bowl, mixing kibble with canned cat food. She put it up on the corner of the counter so the dogs wouldn’t get it. Then she quickly filled their bowls, placing them on the floor by the back stairway. She then filled up the water bowls, grateful that she still had power, a miracle considering the force of the wind.

  Footsteps down the hallway pattered into the country kitchen.

  “Scrambled egg or over?” Betty, who knew the house as well as her own, pulled a large iron skillet, number 5, out from a cabinet.

  “You make scrambled for those who want that. I’ll make the easy over. Gray can make biscuits.” Sister pulled out another iron skillet.

  “He makes the best.” Betty dropped butter in the skillet.

  “Aunt Daniella’s recipe. I’m glad she stayed with Yvonne. Neither one of those ladies is a fool.” The phone rang, the landline. “Hello.” A silence followed as Sister listened.

  The sheriff, Ben Sidell, informed her about road conditions. “Some of the roads are passable. The interstate has been plowed throughout the night. Slow going. Route 250 is being cleared of trees. Stay put.”

  “What about Soldier Road?” She asked about a state east-west road on the north side of the high plateau on her property called Hangman’s Ridge for that’s where colonials, found guilty, were hanged.

  “Clearing. Plows behind the chain saw crew.”

  “Shall I assume no one has looked for Gregory Luckham yet?”

  “That’s why I called. Obviously, no one could do anything last night. It’s still coming down. I commandeered a snowplow to get us to Chapel Cross. The board of supervisors was too overwhelmed to argue. Wires came down out there so Central Virginia Electric Cooperative is there. They’ve called in repairmen from other states. The damage throughout central Virginia all the way up through Pennsylvania seems to be severe.”

  “Anyone killed on the roads?”

  “Thank God, no. When the governor told people to stay home, off the roads, they listened. But a missing person means we’ll have our search team out there, so tell me what you know.”

  “Started behind Tattenhall Station, headed south toward Beveridge Hundred, but we never got there. Picked up a fading line, which fortunately heated up. Crossed the road. Took the tiger trap and wound up at the large rock outcroppings. You know the place.”

  “Den there.” He did know the place.

  “It was cold but the weather held. The forecast was that the storm would come in after noontime. Anyway, I wasn’t worried, so after putting that red to ground, we headed west toward Chapel Cross. We hit again and ran within sight of Old Paradise, could see the columns in the distance and then lost. I have no idea why. That’s when, almost as if the sky had been unzipped, no warning, really, the snow came down and thick. The clouds were so low, you could almost touch them, but Ben, it truly happened so fast. The wind screamed. So Shaker picked them up, we headed back for Tattenhall Station. Everything seemed to be in order. I didn’t turn around and count heads. If something is amiss, someone rides up to tell me. We were all on so to speak like the hounds, all on, or so I thought.”

  “Were people riding in twos or in groups?”

  “Twos, groups, whatever. Heads down against the wind. The snow became so thick but there were no stragglers and Bobby Franklin brought up the rear with Second Flight. How he did it, I have no idea. Everything seemed to be in order.”

  “What about the whippers-in?”

  “They had moved close to the pack. By then we couldn’t really see. A hound could get swallowed up so all three whippers-in rode up close to hounds to make sure they packed up, but Ben, by the time we reached the chapel we couldn’t even see the cross on top. I could barely see Shaker and I could just see Weevil, who rode at the rear of the pack.”

  “No shouts or anything like that? Anyone falling off?”

  “No. Everyone realized this could be dangerous and everyone wanted to get on the road and home before trees came down, accidents. We made it to Tattenhall Station. I could see trailers once I was upon them. It was a blizzard. A true blizzard.”

  “Then what?”

  “Blankets on horses, loaded, people began to pull out. Shaker and Tootie got the hounds up. Betty and I loaded staff horses. Shaker loaded S
howboat”—she mentioned his horse—“onto the hound trailer. Weevil rode in the truck with Shaker. Ronnie, Tootie, and I would drive back in the horse trailer, but before I climbed into the rig, Ronnie came over, upset. Now Ronnie is usually a cool customer, as you know. His guest was missing but the horse came back.”

  “And he just noticed?”

  “Yes. He said the horse was right behind him. He didn’t turn to see if Gregory Luckham was on but he said even if he were, he might not have seen him.”

  “Wouldn’t he have heard him if he fell off? Or perhaps someone behind hear?”

  “I actually don’t think anyone would have heard a thing because of the wind. I had to shout just to try to talk to Weevil as we crossed Chapel Crossroads. And Weevil really couldn’t hear me. If Gregory fell off and was hurt or knocked unconscious, no one would have known.”

  “And if so he’s dead by now.” Ben spoke honestly, but he could to Sister.

  “I don’t see how anyone could live in that blizzard. Even if he wasn’t hurt, was mobile, he wouldn’t see where to go. You couldn’t see the hand in front of your face.”

  “Let me be clear, you or Ronnie last saw him where?”

  “I last saw him with Ronnie when hounds threw up at Old Paradise, the columns in the distance. Then I turned for Chapel Cross. I didn’t look behind.”

  “Did Ronnie say where he last saw him?”

  “Around the same place. He couldn’t pinpoint it and he faults himself. No one was riding holding hands. He’s, well, you know, he’s beating himself up.”

  “I’ll need to talk to him. Did he go home?”

  “No. No one did from those last two trailers, well our last two trailers and then Ronnie’s. Everyone is here still asleep except for Betty and me.”

  “Once he’s awake, have him call me on my cell.”

  “I will.”

  “Everyone else okay? Hounds? Horses?”

  “Yes.” She hung up the phone. Betty, hearing the conversation, asked no questions, as she cracked eggs.