The creek meandered, little loops here and there, as it was an old, old creek. Young waters run straight. Following the creek, which now ran close to the farm road, he headed south.
A wooden footbridge arced over the water perhaps six feet wide at that point, wide enough for a horse or human, since many humans on foot would not have been able to jump six feet as a long jump. Truly it wasn’t that wide but the banks could be slippery and a child would not be able to span it with a leap.
Weevil on HoJo nudged the Thoroughbred across the creek. Hounds, forward, noses down, moved with deliberation. The thin water vapor hovering over the creek might intensify scent.
An old deer trail wound up, for the land rose a bit.
Yvonne couldn’t go farther, as the farm road became impossible, deep ruts for decades.
“Hounds are headed for Birdie Goodall’s,” Aunt Daniella informed her. “The only way there would be to go out Mill Ruins, turn right, turn right again at Clinton Corners, way in the back there, and go down maybe two miles. A little white sign will hang on an old post. ‘Goodall.’ ”
“God’s little acre?” Yvonne laughed, using the phrase from the play.
“No, Birdie keeps it pin-tidy but it’s not convenient. The old home place of the Goodalls still stands. Never was a Goodall had a gift for money but they work hard and Birdie manages Walter’s medical office, the one he shares with the other doctors. If you sit still I am betting our fox will come back. This way we can warm up.” She lifted a flask with the Jefferson Hunt insignia engraved on it, reached again in her bag, pulling out Jefferson cups.
“I like the way you think.” Kathleen took the cup handed to her.
Yvonne ran her window down a bit to hear. Even though opened only a crack the cold air slipped in, wafer thin. She, too, was offered a libation.
“Ah.” Aunt Daniella smiled, for hounds opened loud enough for them to listen.
The whole pack together ran down the rutted farm road, which widened just enough for them but not enough for riders to gallop more than two abreast.
Reaching a garage, slate gray with red trim, they stopped. The front door to the garage was open, the house within walking distance but not particularly convenient. Hence no car was parked safely in the garage. It sat instead next to the house, under one of those roofs propped up on four legs. Why people used these things was anyone’s guess. Snow and rain easily blew onto the vehicle from the open sides.
Sister held up far enough from the house so as not to be a nuisance. She figured maybe Birdie just didn’t want to walk to the bigger, wooden garage except when a terrible rain or snowstorm was predicted. Then the car would be protected, except one would need to dig it out. Then again, it didn’t matter where you parked a car in a snowstorm, you had to dig it out eventually.
Pansy circled the garage, followed by Dreamboat. Not a tendril of scent assailed their noses. The fox didn’t go to ground. He had vanished, just vanished.
Weevil rode to the edge of the garage, looking inside to see if by chance the fox had climbed onto a shelf. Not a thing.
Well, they’d had another run, short but still good music.
“Come along,” he bid his charges as they turned back to Shootrough.
Leaning over HoJo’s side, Weevil checked for tracks. Raccoon tracks dotted the creekside once he again reached it, but nothing else. Yvonne and her passengers sat on the road. Upon hearing Weevil’s call, then seeing him cross, Yvonne backed up to a spot where she could turn around to park by the side of the farm road.
Weevil passed the storage shed, reached the intersecting farm road, and turned for the big mill itself, two miles off. The day would try the patience of all the giving saints.
Betty and Tootie shadowed him as the field walked far enough behind the hounds, so as not to disturb them.
As the temperature dropped people flipped up the collars of their coats, which protected your neck a bit. If a hunter wore a four-in-hand tie, wider and often thicker than a thinner tie, that helped cut cold. Sister, long in the tooth and wise in the ways of keeping as warm as possible, except for her feet after an hour, wore a cashmere stock tie. Since it wasn’t fuzzy it looked like a conventional stock and blocked the wind.
Heading back onto the trail flanked by thick woods, Barrister, two years old, a young entry, stopped, tail flipping. “Hey.”
Diana checked. “Let’s go.”
This fox, not anyone they knew, had walked in the middle of the farm road, which was helpful of him.
“Okay, girls, bottoms up.” Yvonne shifted into drive.
The ladies held on to their empty glasses except for Yvonne, who handed hers to Aunt Daniella.
Young and strong, the healthy red heard the commotion so he stepped on it, as did Yvonne. She had to crawl behind the last flight, while the fox ran through the creeks between the two hills, charged up the western one, took the big coop in the corner, then ran for all he was worth to the mill itself, now a mile distant, but given its size, visible.
Tootie, now in the pasture, hollered, “Tally-ho!”
Betty, also now in the right pasture, caught sight of the fellow speeding toward the mill. Urging on Magellan, her second horse, she moved up to keep him in view. He was breathtakingly beautiful.
Hounds burst onto the left pasture, speaking as one. Then Weevil took the big coop, pushed HoJo, lengthening his stride so Weevil could close with his hounds.
As there was no coop in the middle of the fence, hounds easily wiggled under but Weevil had to hurry to the end of the pasture, where there was another big coop. By the time he was over and Betty and Tootie had also cleared their obstacles, the fox zigged toward the mill then cleverly ran around it to the front, where the big waterwheel slapped, slapped, slapped.
He weaved through the trailers, zoomed up to the house, moved around it, then hit the afterburner to reach the hay shed, where he spied Hortensia’s den entrance, the one on the western side. He skidded right down into it, emerging in the hay shed, where the stored orchard grass and timothy hay bales smelled like heaven.
Hounds bayed outside. Pookah, Pansy, and Baylor, another youngster, dug for all they were worth. The entrance, cleverly angled, yielded no way in.
“Well done,” Weevil praised them.
“Not fair. Not fair, I can get him if I can dig a little more.” Baylor believed this was possible.
“Give it up, kid.” Dreamboat deeply breathed in the fresh fox scent.
Sister rode up to Weevil. “We’re here. Might as well put them up. They did very well on a spotty day.”
Gray rode up alongside of Sister as they walked to the mill. “Not a bad day.”
“No. Not a terrific day, but hounds did well, no one hit the ground. February baffles me. Always has.”
“Was reading in the paper that many of our worst snowstorms hit us in February. Well, sooner or later have to start shoveling.” He noticed the hounds, sterns up. “Happy.”
“They are. They ask for so little and give so much. Same with our horses.”
Gray patted Wolsey’s neck. “Right, old man?”
“Right,” Wolsey replied.
Once at the trailers it seemed colder than when they began. It was. Temperature plays tricks on one and the spray shooting off the paddles made it seem even colder.
Weevil dismounted, as did the staff. “Kennel up.”
The riders, now on the ground, tidied up their horses, removed bridles, tossed on blankets. Freddie Thomas saw to her horse then rubbed her hands. The cold felt so raw.
As hounds stepped up onto the hound trailer, the party wagon built just for them, Barmaid, young, lagged a bit behind.
Freddie opened her trailer door, foot on the running board, stepped into the room, carpet on the floor, her extra heavy jackets hanging on a rack, a saddle rack and bridle holder on the right wall.
Nose peeping out from the blanket, Hortensia waited until Freddie’s back was turned. “Now!”
Ewald wormed his way out from under the cozy blanket. The two foxes blasted by Freddie, Ewald brushing against her leg. She looked down in time to see the red and the gray vault out of her tack room.
Barmaid, door held for her, turned to see the escape. The odor of fresh, very fresh fox reached her nostrils. She took off.
“Foxes!” she squealed, her young voice still high.
“What are we waiting for?” Tattoo shouted gleefully.
The entire pack exploded out of the trailer, with Trinity in the rear, still a bit shy from being kicked. Weevil stood there with the door open, feeling like an idiot, as he didn’t quickly shut it.
Freddie, finally in possession of herself, yelled, “Tally-ho!”
Sister ordered Gray, “Leg up, honey.”
He cupped her left foot in his hand, gave her a lift, then easily swung up on Cardinal Wolsey. The horses were excited.
People stood at the trailers, dumbfounded.
“Betty, Tootie, mount up!” Sister yelled as Weevil, young and lithe, was already in the saddle, passing his master; he could, being the huntsman. The two foxes, not lacking in speed or brains, streaked through the trailers, now passed the house to hit the open space, all pistons firing.
“Follow me,” Hortensia called out.
The two magical creatures, out in the open, vulnerable save for their head start, blasted for the big hay shed.
“I see them! I see them!” Barrister, Barmaid’s brother, babbled with joy.
The “B” ’s, young entry, never knew foxhunting could be so unpredictable. At that moment, neither did the humans.
Freddie, back at the trailers, for she’d removed her horse’s bridle, stared in wonderment then glanced down at her right boot to see a few slivers of red fox fur where Ewald had brushed her.
Others mounted back up but most had horses already tied.
Weevil, right behind his hounds, horn between the buttons of his coat, remained silent. Hounds needed no encouragement.
Hortensia reached the hay shed, slid into her entrance like a baseball player belly down trying to steal third. Immediately behind her, Ewald also skidded to safety. Thank the fox in the sky that Hortensia’s den was so close.
Hounds crowded around the opening.
“There’s gotta be a way,” a frenzied Barmaid yelped.
Diana said, “Good work, pup. No way we can reach them.”
Weevil dismounted. Betty hurried up, taking HoJo’s reins while he blew “Gone to Ground,” to everyone’s delight.
“What good hounds. Barmaid, my clever girl.” He rubbed her head then called each hound by name for a pat and praise. He could linger, for the day was done. Taking HoJo’s reins from Betty, he and Hojo walked on foot back to the trailers, hounds close to Weevil, thrilled to be close to their huntsman, and high from the wild event.
In the hay shed, Hortensia and Ewald caught their breath while Reuben, who had sought refuge there, cocked his head. “Close call.”
“I’ll say,” Ewald replied, then turned to the gray vixen. “Thank you.”
“If I were you I’d stay until the last trailer leaves. We’ve had enough adventure for the day.” She then looked at the handsome red. “Who might you be in my den?”
“I had to hide. I’m Reuben.”
“Where is your den?” Hortensia asked.
“I don’t have a permanent den yet. I’m still looking. Right now I live above the creek, under an old dead tree, at Kingswood. There’s no one there. No other foxes, no humans. Squirrels.”
“There are many good places here and there’s a lot to eat. Tomorrow I can show you what’s here, and this is a big place. Kingswood is falling down.”
He smiled, dipping his head, which was vulpine good manners.
Ewald added, “The old red at the Mills, James, is bossy and a crab but as long as you leave him alone, it’s not so bad, but he wants the mill all to himself. Say, you didn’t by any chance see us jump out of the horse trailer, did you?”
“No, but I heard the ruckus.”
Both Ewald and Hortensia eagerly told their story, which involved a human who couldn’t smell and who had left a bag of gummy bears in her open trailer tack room. Every detail was expressed: the tastes of the different colored bears, the round tin of shoe polish, the coats hanging up, the wind blowing the door shut. It was a good story.
As there was so much food at Mill Ruins, another fox wouldn’t create problems. In fact, another fox could add to the hounds’ confusion.
It was also a good story back at the trailers when staff finally got the still excited hounds loaded. Barmaid wanted to check out Freddie’s trailer but she finally did get on. Freddie, meanwhile, regaled whoever was around her with Ewald brushing her as he escaped.
Finally, the people made it to Walter’s breakfast, everyone laughing, beside themselves with what had happened.
The bar saw a lot of activity. Aunt Daniella, in a chair, bourbon in hand, announced in all her nine decades she had never seen anything like that, never.
Kasmir and Alida, with Yvonne, Ribbon in her lap, and Kathleen, covered the event then Yvonne inquired, “Anyone read this morning’s paper yet or see the news?”
They shook their heads.
Yvonne filled them in. “One of the workers at Showoff Stables was found murdered. Found at twilight by a Central Electric repairman up in the box.”
“Did they say who it was?” Alida wondered.
“Next of kin has to be notified first,” Yvonne answered.
The conversation moved on, as no one thought a worker at Showoff Stables had anything to do with them.
“It’s an impressive place,” Kasmir noted. “Carter, have you shown Gigi your jewelry yet?”
“No. You know, often when I hold the old jewelry from families, not all of them needing money, by the way, I wonder who wore the rings, necklaces, bracelets, pins? Jewelry is so personal and it’s not all women’s jewelry, men have rings, watches, of course, and for some even a bracelet. Whatever I’m holding in my hand was expressive of someone’s personality, their years,” Carter mused, grateful to be inside. “My work can be enjoyable. I see so much.”
Buddy stood in the group.
“Marion Maggiolo gets a lot of the equine jewelry, studs, cuff links, wonderful stuff.” Kathleen had seen Marion’s jewelry case.
Carter spoke up. “When I go to England, if I see old equine jewelry I text her. It really is her market. To hold that jewelry, to see the workmanship, makes her want to get the stuff.”
Buddy joined in. “I’m glad she doesn’t sell furniture. She’s too good at what she does.” He paused. “Kathleen, you have that good eye.”
“Thank you.” Kathleen smiled.
“It’s nice to see you, Aunt Daniella, and Yvonne out there. You must see things we don’t.” Carter spoke up as Buddy didn’t know what to say next to Kathleen.
“I do but I don’t know what I’m seeing.” She laughed at herself. “Lucky I’m with the girls.”
“You must be good at it. You’re driving a new, three-horse Sundowner.” Yvonne named his horse trailer, as Tootie had explained to her the various brands.
“How observant.” Carter smiled. “Ladies, I don’t have to pay rent on a store. I do not have any employees, nor do I have an employer. Marion has to be at the top of her game. Look how big her store is and loaded with pretty much the best of everything. I can carry my inventory in my pocket.”
Kathleen nodded in affirmation. “I hate to think what the rent on the 1780 House would cost me. Harry left me a wonderful store, living quarters upstairs and a good business.”
“But you give the store flair.” Buddy worked up the nerve for a personal compliment, being rew
arded with a genuine smile.
“I don’t know how you can run a retail business. I couldn’t do it. I don’t have the patience,” Yvonne confessed.
Carter looked at Yvonne. “Neither of us has to predict fashion, but you had to show it off walking down the runway in New York. You had to have hated some of that stuff.”
Yvonne, still buzzed from the day’s events, laughed. “I had to wear some things, rags that I wouldn’t have used to clean the car. Fashion is a ruthless business. Look what happened to Halston or Yves St. Laurent. Poor Halston. He gets bought out then, in essence, paid not to create. Well, I’m not really creative, but when we were married I ran the media business with Victor. I began to understand the power of media for good and for evil.”
“You could still command the runway.” Carter flirted a little.
“Yvonne, he’s right. Oops, let me grab our host. I’ve got to find out where he bought the coffee.”
“He made it,” Yvonne informed Kathleen.
“Made it?” Carter’s dark eyebrows knitted together.
“He buys coffee by the burlap bag. Goes down to Shenandoah Joe’s and tests what they have then orders a bag. He and Alida entertain a lot. Plus he bakes, as you may know.”
“A man who bakes.” Kathleen held her chin lightly. “That’s a real recommendation.”
Buddy smiled at her. Now he knew what to bring to the store. Something freshly baked. This would take some thought.
“Before we all go our separate ways, when summer comes please come out with me on my boat. Sailing the Chesapeake is relaxing. It’s funny what happens when you leave the shore. You leave your troubles behind. It’s a forty-foot boat, has a cabin and a kitchen,” Carter invited them.
“Are you moored near where Crawford keeps his boat, that big sailboat? If you’ve been to his house you’ve seen the photo in the hallway,” Kathleen mentioned.
Carter smiled. “That is more of a ship. He’s got radar, a captain, a crew. Can you imagine the expense? He is moored down in Hampton Roads. He likes to go out the mouth of the James River and into the Atlantic. My boat is powered and more modest.”
Out of Hounds Page 9