Cindy, over the years, opened many paths in her wooded areas helped by the hunt club. Those late spring and summer days brought everyone out with limb loppers, chain saws, even a bushhog.
Thanks to a wide path, hounds and horses could run without negotiating debris.
Rickyroo, ears forward, listened intently. Sister, leg firm, relaxed on the fellow, for he was a most sensible horse. His smooth gaits made him a joy to ride.
“Split!” Dragon bellowed before Diana could say the same.
While he cut to the left, she did not. She slowed, nose down, going from one line to the other to determine which was the hottest. She turned to the right while Dragon could be heard, booming deep voice, on the left.
Weevil, not a moment’s hesitation, followed Diana.
Tootie, on the left, per usual, now had the thankless job of pushing Dragon back to the pack. Weevil might thank her but Dragon would make her work for it. He was determined to be right. To hell with the pack, which is a major sin for a foxhound.
“Dragon, leave it.” Tootie called his name.
“Screw you,” he answered.
As he did not respond to his name, Tootie unleashed her crop, the kangaroo woven crop ending in a tightly woven plait of hay twine. The sound cracked like a rifle shot. His head came up and she rode right for him.
Now beside him, for Iota could easily keep up with Dragon, fast though he was, Tootie turned her right thigh in, pivoting as she leaned over on her left side, and this time aimed her cracker right for Dragon’s rear end. Easier said than done, but Tootie, practicing over the years, nailed him.
“Oww!” he yelled.
“Go to him.”
Dragon did turn right and hurried to catch up. Hardheaded, he couldn’t be taken out with youngsters, as he might lead them astray. He would have today. Dragon was lucky Sister kept him, to use him on days when the veterans were out with only Diana from his litter. His nose and drive were worth it but she was the only person who thought so.
The pack, full cry, raced through the woods, emerging on the far eastern side, a plowed cornfield forcing riders to go along the side. No one should run through plow anyway. Bad enough to risk a crop even if the shoots had not come up, it was also a good way to bow a tendon if the going was deep, which it usually was.
Hounds could go over the plow. Weevil skirted the large pasture. A simple tiger trap in the fence line gave him a way out because hounds were now racing across an old meadow.
Hounds reached the far side of that meadow, once fenced, pieces of the fence standing, the rest fallen down. Scent disappeared.
“Push him. Push him,” Weevil encouraged.
Hounds fanned out but their fox, now racing away, had foiled his scent by jumping up, then climbing to the top of the remaining fence, walking that top board then jumping off hundreds of yards away.
The field waited. Hounds tried. Weevil gathered them and hunted back. Two short runs rewarded them but that was the day.
After the hunt, they gathered in Cindy’s house, light and sunny. Carter carried a box in, placing it on Cindy’s sideboard.
Sister, Kasmir, Alida, and Gray stood at one end of the big hunt board, for Cindy always put on a breakfast.
“After you called, I thought about the protest. There will always be people opposed to foxhunting, any kind of hunting, whether we kill or not. But given that Jordan Standish is running for office he was easy to reach. I spoke to him at length,” Kasmir spoke. “I also asked him if Gigi had helped fund his campaign.”
“What did you think?” Gray asked.
“I think he was smart enough to make a bargain. And no, Gigi isn’t sending money.”
Sister smiled. “What’s the bargain?”
“No protests at hunt fixtures and he must drop the anti-foxhunting plank from his platform. I expect he will then get around that by speaking against it but not having it written. No anti-foxhunting posters or campaign flyers.”
“Even if he shuts up he can always declare his campaign people spoke out without his approval. They all do that and you know perfectly well the candidate is back there stirring the pot.” Alida snagged another chestnut wrapped in bacon, a toothpick sticking out from the chestnut.
“I dropped the charges,” Kasmir told them. “Confrontation usually doesn’t work. It just drives people further apart. Although there are times when confrontation is the only route, having exhausted every other. So we shall see.”
“Kasmir, thank you. I do think we are better off.” She turned to see Carter handing out face masks. “What the devil?”
“Mandating social distance. Won’t be far in the future. Trust me.” Alida filled her in.
“What’s the distance?”
“Six feet. If we are six feet apart, supposedly the virus droplets won’t affix to us,” Alida answered. “But other governors are taking more stringent measures.”
“Like sending police out to enforce social distancing? How can you enforce this stuff?” Sister was aghast.
“You can’t. So the next step will be a lockdown. Businesses will close. Except for crucial ones like a gas station.” Gray had watched more news than Sister. “New York is almost draconian, but then again New York has more cases, with people packed together like sardines.”
“Do you really think it will come to that? People will be laid off work and the most vulnerable will be laid off first?” Sister, thanks to being a master for decades, worked with everybody, her heart always with the poor.
Kasmir considered this. “It may. We will have to balance profit against life. Now, granted, this seems to be attacking people who have, say, diabetes, and the elderly, but it has swept through China like wildfire, Italy is suffering, too. And if our political leaders don’t wake up, ditto here.”
“Good Lord.” Sister then faced Carter, now standing in front of her.
“Here.” He handed each of them a face mask. “If you have to be around people, put this on.”
“Carter, we are out here in the boonies.” Sister did take the mask.
“Better safe than sorry,” Carter announced.
“Aren’t there laws against wearing a face mask except if you’re going to a party?” Alida asked.
“More bullshit. So if someone marches to protest anything and our authorities, who really have no authority, don’t like it, they can identify and arrest the miscreant. It’s bloody stupid.” Sister was heating up like scent.
“Honey, wait and see. No one is saying you have to wear a face mask to hunt but I expect our season will be over,” Gray prudently noted.
She calmed down, surprised that a flash of anger leaked out of her normally tight WASP ways. “You’re right. I guess we will have to wait and see. I don’t think we are a danger to anyone. We’re out here in the country on horseback and we don’t need to have breakfasts after our last hunts.”
“But if nonessential activities are canceled by the governor, in this case the governors are the front line of defense, will you do it?” Carter asked.
“I will. I think it’s a bit much and the thought of all this worries me for the future. How do I know the power won’t go to their heads?”
Kasmir smiled. “As an Indian, I think you can trust your Constitution and your people. If those issuing the orders don’t return to their prescribed duties after this passes, I expect the people will take care of that.” He took a breath. “You do know that India is the largest democracy in the world?”
“I do now.” Carter moved on to give out more masks.
“Let me take this one day at a time. If it really does get awful I will cancel the rest of the season. We can all give thanks that we live in the country,” Sister glumly said.
“Isn’t that the truth,” Alida echoed.
* * *
—
On the other side of West Virgi
nia, formerly part of Virginia, rested the magical state of Kentucky. Its governor, Andrew Beshear, dropped the hammer before Virginia.
Catherine Clay-Neal, having finished hunting, rode back to the gallery with Jane Winegardner. Both, fortunately, had grooms today.
“I’ll keep the staff on as long as I can. There’s always work to be done.” Catherine, like everyone, was worried.
Turning down Old Frankfort Pike, the two discussed the abrupt change in everyone’s situation.
“One minute. I’ll park in front. Come on in. I won’t be a moment with the girls.”
The two walked in. Not a soul to be found.
Then they heard pounding, voices from a closet in the rear.
Hurrying to the closet, Catherine turned the knob. It was locked.
“We’ve been locked in.”
“Hold on. I’ll get the key. You stay here with them. Talk to them.” Catherine ran to her desk, opened it, and pulled out museum keys. She ran back and unlocked the door.
Three young assistants blinked, stepped out. Without thinking, the girls hugged Catherine and O.J., who hugged back.
“What happened? Well, first, are you all right?”
Melissa, the oldest, took a deep breath. “We were up front and two men came through the front door wearing those hospital masks. They had guns, herded us back and locked us in. We could hear them. They didn’t touch us, really, but then again, they had guns.”
“Let’s each take a room,” Catherine ordered.
Within two minutes a yell came from the big room to the right of the center hall, which also could serve as a gallery. Catherine was checking the strongbox, which was untouched.
She hurried into the room along with O.J. The light, turned on, revealed the divine painting of Catherine and Dude was missing.
“Oh. Oh, how awful,” Catherine whispered.
“Sidesaddle,” O.J. mentioned. “Awful and bizarre.”
“Let me call the police and then I must call Andre.” She named the painter.
“Girls,” Catherine always called them girls, “we’ll all have to wait for the police. Are you sure no one was roughed up when pushed into the closet?”
“Yes.”
“I can say whoever they were, they knew what they were looking for, as we heard no talk, no searching about,” Melissa said.
“What a beautiful painting. I am so sorry.” O.J. then thought a moment. “Delores Buckingham. Thank God no one was killed.”
“No one was in the way.” Catherine sat down. “Actually, Delores wasn’t either, was she?”
“No.” O.J. sat down, too, as did the assistants, all felt the wind had been knocked out of them.
“You know what I think?” O.J. sat back. “I think Delores knew what this was about. She figured it out.”
“Well, I don’t have a clue.” Catherine breathed out.
“Be thankful for that,” O.J. quietly replied.
CHAPTER 31
March 11, 2020 Wednesday
“I like getting up with the sun.” Sister buttered an English muffin with real butter. “But after we shifted to Daylight Savings Time, it’s getting up in the dark again.”
“The time shifts aren’t made with farmers in mind.” Gray held a cup of eye-opener coffee. “The real point of it is so people will shop after work is over. If it’s dark, people usually go home. That’s why in the fall there is now a delay switching back to Eastern Standard.” He patted Rooster, head right by his thigh. “Everything that’s done regarding time is now commercially driven. Everything.”
“That’s a depressing thought.” Sister pinched off a bit of muffin for Raleigh nudging her thigh.
“Not if you’re a businessman. It’s all money. Mammon. Nothing new.”
“You’re smarter than I am, honey. I remember when I was teaching before I married and right up until RayRay was born. I made little…I mean, before I married Big Ray…but I managed. Sometimes I think I was happier with my little salary than later. Money gives you choices. I really didn’t have many choices, so I was happy. I did okay.”
“Your parents wouldn’t have let you fall between the cracks.”
“No. But I never asked them for a penny. I was too proud.” She had to give Raleigh another bite then looked at her diminishing muffin. “Better make another one.”
Gray laughed. “You can’t help yourself.”
“I remember that passage in Arrian, Second Century AD, where he writes that there was one hound he loved so much he let her sleep with him even though he shouldn’t have spoiled her. I’d rather spoil those I love than not.”
“You do.” He nodded. “You spoil me.”
“Works both ways.” She thought a moment. “Can’t say that I look back on my own life much. I’m too busy living today, but I think my parents were proud of me going out on my own. Granted, I took up a female job, teaching, but it was at the college level.”
He leaned back, stroked his chin while Rooster tried to work him over, so he dropped his hand on the smooth head. “Beggar.”
“I love you.” Rooster gave him a soulful look, which elicited a reward.
“You’re as bad as I am.”
Gray shrugged. “Oh well. But thinking on Mom. Dad died when I was young. I remember him but not all that well. You probably knew him better than I did in ways, but I think Mother was proud of me. Sam broke her heart.”
“He did. I regret that Graziella did not live to see him sober up thanks to you.”
“Thanks to him. He had to do it himself. I paid for it. Drinking runs in the family. I’m careful but I want that scotch every night. I think we’re born not only with talents but predilections. I know Sam carries a lot of sorrow about the pain he caused Mom.”
“He’s a good man. I’ll never forget the day Sam received his acceptance into Harvard. Aunt Daniella had to tie ankle weights on Graziella. It was a great day. I mean, how many black kids got into Harvard?”
“Few. My brother is brilliant. He’s a lot smarter than I am.”
“He is not. You can do anything. Apart from your profession, you can fix things, you’re welcoming to people. You put yourself together.”
“Mercer showed me that.” He got up and fixed her another muffin. “Let’s split it. I’ve been a little too generous myself.”
“No. You’ve been perfect,” Rooster mumbled.
“How can you two eat muffins? Boring.” Golly, prancing on the kitchen counter, criticized them.
The two dogs ignored her but Gray scratched her ears. She was a beautiful cat and persistent.
The phone rang. Sister rose to answer it as Gray buttered another muffin then reached for the orange marmalade jar. She nodded that she would love some orange marmalade.
“Hello.”
“Sister. I don’t know if you saw the news, but the governor is reinforcing six feet apart, and closing nonessential business. The state liquor stores are considered essential, by the way,” Carter’s voice informed her.
“What?”
“The virus really exploded in New York…New Jersey, too. So this is a preemptive strike. I know we are to hunt Heron’s Plume tomorrow, but it might be unwise.”
“I’d call the Ingrams to see how they feel about it. Apart from wearing a mask, a new fashion accessory,” she paused, “this might be the right thing to do but it will cause panic.
“I’ll give the Ingrams another hour. Late risers. And I’ll have Betty send out an email once Walter and I figure out what to do.”
“I’m thinking about going to the boat and living there until this passes. Have to think it through.”
“You should be far enough away from everyone.”
He agreed. “Unless the Covid-19 knows how to swim. I’ve got two bedrooms, a big kitchen, a living room. It’s quite nice, really.”
“You only go round once. My goal is not to leave anything behind.” He laughed. “You might want to consider how this looks to people who don’t hunt. If you’re out there, you look arrogant and disobedient. I know and you know we’re in the open and far apart. And we could stay apart at the trailers. Non-hunting people don’t know that.”
“Carter, you have thought about this.”
“I have. I’m not in an endangered group, people with preexisting conditions or over sixty, but I like my life right now and have no desire to upend it.”
“Yes.”
“Bet the art thefts stop.” He added, “One less thing to worry about, I suppose. Not that I was worried, just curious. Has been a bit of time since the last one. No, I’m wrong. A sidesaddle painting was stolen from the Headley-Whitney Museum in Lexington. Not a Munnings, though, so that’s a new wrinkle. By the way, their governor has put out restrictions, too.” He heard a beep on his other line. “Have to take this call. I’ll look for the email. Take care.”
“You, too.” She hung up the phone then repeated the news to Gray.
“Better call Walter.”
She ate her muffin then did just that.
“It is that serious. We should end the season. We’ll lose two weeks, but we really must.”
“How long will this rage?”
“No one knows. We can’t trust the numbers we get from China. Italy is getting hit hard. Then again, it has an aging population, but the virus is also in Germany. We are woefully unprepared. My suspicion is, unless real leadership appears, it will run rampant.”
“The president did halt flights from China, as I recall.”
“Too late, plus he was roundly criticized for it. His denial of the seriousness looks suspicious,” Walter replied. “I’m a doctor. I look at something like this as a doctor. A politician will look at it otherwise. When Congress wakes up, the administration wakes up, we’ll be far behind. All they think about is their job security.”
“Well, Walter, how long does the bug last?”
“If you show symptoms, and many people don’t, so whether you show or not you should be quarantined for two weeks. A month is better until we know how long this bug actually lives, plus what it can live on, say shoes.”
Out of Hounds Page 22