Hotspur

by Rita Mae Brown

  Over the cut hay pasture, over the coop in the fence line, over the still uncut hayfield with the chestnut tree, over the in and out with the usual rubs and tumps and oomphs. Over the next field and over its jump and down into the thin, parked out woods, the underbrush cleared away, with another trickly creek. Splashing through the creek, cantering alongside the fence, then over the sliprail jump, a little airy, and down a steep incline to another jump at the bottom. This one usually scared the bejesus out of people since you approached at a slight drop and you landed on a bigger drop. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the only way. Down and over Sister and Lafayette went. Oh, how Lafayette loved drop jumps, because they let him stay airborne longer. And on to another hayfield cut so trim, it looked like a front lawn. The three-board fence around it had a freshly painted black coop.

  Sister could see Jennifer way at the other side of this field on her right. There was a coop there, and the girl took it in good form as she moved along with hounds but far out of their way. Jennifer was having the time of her life.

  Shaker, in his element, screamed encouragement to the hounds, his horn tucked between the first and second button of his brown tweed jacket, his forest green tie a little bunched up behind the horn.

  After Sister and Lafayette cleared the coop, she turned to glance behind. Mary Robertson was right behind her. She thought to herself how good her field was. They put the visitors before themselves, and no one had to be told to do it.

  As she approached the swale, frothing with mist, she slowed to trot along the edge before heading down into it.

  As they had planned, Walter rode up out of the mist onto the far side of this low pasture.

  She saw him out of the corner of her eye. On a horse like A. P. Hill, a stout handsome hunter, Walter looked so much like Raymond, she couldn’t hold back a tear.

  She pressed on. A murmur behind her swelled and she heard a gasp.

  Xavier’s voice came out of the mist. “Did you see that?”

  Tedi simply replied, “I’m not sure. It’s too strange.”

  By the time the field came up out of the swale, the schoolhouse now in view, a few riders were bug-eyed. Sybil came up alongside her mother; they were still cantering.

  “Mother, did you—”

  “Yes.”

  As the pace again increased, conversation decreased.

  Uncle Yancy paused at the door to the schoolhouse long enough for everyone to admire him, then he ducked under the stone steps into the den.

  “Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum,” he sang in his reedy voice.

  Dragon, there first, started digging. “Yancy, you push your luck.”

  “Three blind hounds, three blind hounds, see how they run, see how they run—” Yancy threw in vibrato for effect.

  “Come on out!” Diana called in as she dug next to her brother.

  “When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls.” Yancy loved the sound of his own voice.

  “Good hounds, Good hounds.” Shaker praised them, then blew “Gone to Ground.”

  Jennifer held Hojo’s reins. Usually Shaker took Gunpowder on Saturdays, but he wanted to see how his younger horse would handle the crowd. Handled it just fine. Shaker scanned the field, saw a few of them whispering excitedly. A few wondering whether to speak to Sister about what they thought they’d seen.

  “Dragon, come on, boy.”

  “Yancy! Yancy, you’re a coward. Show your face.”

  “When I’m calling you-oo-oo-oo,” Yancy imitated Nelson Eddy. It was not a success.

  Dragon blinked as he heard the “oo-oo-oo.”

  Shaker pulled his tail. “Dragon, come on, fella. You’re a good hound.”

  “Some of us don’t agree,” Asa barked.

  Out came Dragon, dirt all over his face, to the cheers of the humans. He looked around at the other hounds, then at the humans. “I am the greatest!”

  Shaker patted each head, sure to let the young entry know they could not have accomplished this victory without them. Then he nimbly vaulted up into the saddle, winked at Sister, called his charges, and headed northwest into the breeze, exactly as planned. By now, the cloud cover was overhead, but the eastern sky was still clear. The effect was dramatic.

  As they rode across the beautiful pasture, rambling roses clambering over some of the fence, Bobby Franklin spied Raleigh and Rooster. Hearing the excitement, they’d come out into the pasture instead of staying in the woods. Bobby hadn’t seen “Raymond,” but the buzz reached him. He figured it was some type of illusion, but he did note that Walter was absent. Being an instinctual creature, he shut up. He sensed something was afoot. He became very alert.

  As hounds weren’t cast yet, Bobby gave the field over to Kitty English, a reliable person, and rode up to Sister.

  “Sister, Raleigh and Rooster are here.” He turned in the saddle and pointed to where the two house dogs, in their excitement, had revealed themselves.

  The two culprits hurried back toward the woods, but too late.

  “Those devils!” Sister fumed. “Well, there’s nothing to do for it now. Thanks for telling me.”

  “And Sister,” he whispered, “a few people think they saw, in the mists, Raymond on A. P. Hill.”

  “Trust me, Bobby. It’s going to be a strange day.”

  “Okay.” He touched his cap with his crop and rode back to the Hilltoppers.

  Hounds moved on, a little scent here and there but picking.

  Grace, down at the waterwheel ponds, heard them. She’d been fishing when Melissa and Brandon, led by Walter, took up their position on the far lip of the upper pond. The soft lap of the waterwheel had covered the sounds of their arrival, but Grace moved away before they reached the pond. She crept back because they didn’t speak. Her experience with humans was they just had to yak.

  As she silently circled them, Melissa’s horse swept his ears forward and back. He snorted, stamping his foot. She made a little sound.

  Brandon whispered, “Pat his neck.”

  They sat there in the swirling silver mists while the air danced over the ponds. Grace was astonished.

  She stayed behind them until she heard hounds coming. Then she trotted over by the waterwheel and dipped down into the meadow heading back toward the stables, which were one mile away. Fishing was good and she wanted to get back to it, so she thought she’d run to the first den between the ponds and the stable, which was a large entrance on the creek embankment.

  Grace usually didn’t mind giving the foxhunters some fun, but today she preferred fishing. She tracked across the ponds pasture, swallowed in ground fog, rubbed against a fence post, and walked along the top of a fallen log. She put down so much scent that if one of the humans got down on all fours, he’d smell it, too.

  Cora had reached the waterwheel, gently turning, each large cup of water spilling to the pond below. The sound alone was better than any tranquilizer. She smelled the two horses and riders, then saw them. They frightened her for a second. She let out a gruff little yelp.

  Diana came right to her. “Why aren’t they riding?”

  “Don’t know. But they rode past the kennels at seven. The lady is very nervous. Let’s take the pack up ahead. I’m pretty sure we can pick up scent there. It’s fresh.” Cora put her nose down.

  Melissa’s horse had quieted, but she was so frightened, he began to worry and jig a little.

  Brandon whispered, “Remember, smile. Pick up your reins a little. Our horses might want to join the others.”

  A smile froze on Melissa’s gorgeous face, moist with mist.

  Cora and Diana loped along the pond embankment, then tore down the side of it.

  Shaker flanked the embankment. He said, as much for Melissa and Brandon as for his pack, “You’ll get ’em!” He dipped deep into the cauldron of mist rising over the twin ponds, then he, too, dropped into the pasture, rivers of mist snaking through it, silver stripes next to green.

  Within thirty seconds, horn blowing, hounds baying, the fiel
d reached the waterwheel ponds.

  Edward, even though he knew Melissa and Brandon stood in the mists, was shocked when he caught a glimpse of them. Melissa, the spitting image of Nola, stopped his heart. He sucked in his breath.

  Tedi, all steely resolve, refused to cry.

  Ron Haslip, overwhelmed, blurted out loud, “Guy! Guy and Nola!”

  Xavier pitched forward on his horse.

  Sybil screamed.

  Ken stopped, so all the horses behind him had to stop, too.

  Walter, hiding in the woods near the pond, imitated a mourning dove. That was the signal for Melissa and Brandon to evaporate into the shroud of silver.

  Raleigh and Rooster stuck with Walter.

  Just like remembering blocking on a stage, Melissa and Brandon turned their horses’ heads. They disappeared as St. Just cawed overhead.

  Chills ran down people’s spines.

  Although hounds were running, people couldn’t help it. They started talking.

  Sister, pretending not to see or know, said quite firmly, “Hark!”

  The field shut up and followed her, but she and they could feel a force building, a long hidden emotion.

  Hounds flew to the creek, which meandered into the pasture closest to the stables, finally feeding into Broad Creek not far from where Broad Creek crossed Soldier Road. Grace ducked into the den.

  Clytemnestra and Orestes in the back pasture heard hounds moving closer.

  “I’ll crash this fence!” Clytemnestra loved any act of destruction.

  With a moo of rapture, Clytemnestra lowered her head, crashing through the three-board fence as though it were matchsticks. Then she frolicked past the stables, hind end higher than her front end; she even turned a circle. Orestes followed suit.

  As the hounds and Shaker appeared out of the mists streaking toward the creek, Clytemnestra put on a tremendous show, mooing, bucking, prancing, a mockery of ballet.

  “Bloody cow,” Shaker said.

  “Happy one.” Delia, at the rear, giggled.

  The field, close behind Shaker and the hounds, didn’t laugh at Clytemnestra’s antics. They’d seen too many strange sights.

  As the field began to emerge from the mists, a commotion occurred at the rear.

  Ken bumped Sybil hard as he turned his horse.

  “Ken, what are you doing?” Sybil sharply reprimanded him. “Where are you going?”

  Tedi cupped her hands to her mouth. “Sister! Ken, turning back to the waterwheel.”

  Sister whirled around in the saddle. “That son of a bitch!” She plunged back in the fog.

  Mary Robertson, field master at Deep Run Hunt as well as MFH, calmly addressed the people riding up. “We’re going back to the trailers. Please follow me.”

  Ken, hearing someone chasing him, clapped the spurs to his horse and flew south, toward the sunken meadows. He’d find Nola later.

  Raleigh and Rooster, hearing Ken ride off, followed him.

  “Mother! Mother, what’s going on?” Sybil cried.

  Edward grabbed Sybil’s horse’s bridle. “Honey, we’ve got to go in. Your mother and I must talk to you.”

  Tedi sandwiched her in by riding along her other side. “Just do as we say, honey. Please.”

  Betty Franklin trotted in from the left and saw Sister charge into the mist, then come out behind her, heading south. She pulled up, then obeyed the call of the horn. Jennifer, coming in from the right, saw nothing but came to the horn.

  The field, in shock, watched as first Ken flew out of the ground fog and then Sister.

  Clytemnestra, oblivious, kept bucking along, throwing her massive head to the right and the left. Orestes imitated his mother.

  Cindy Chandler sat there knowing there’d be more fence to repair, as well as wondering what the hell was going on.

  Sister pushed Lafayette. The wonderful older thoroughbred had no bottom, he’d not wear out. He’d catch that horse in front of him. He’d show him who was the best of the best.

  Ken, on a good horse, jumped out of the pasture, heading for the sunken acres. He knew the territory. Knew if he crossed Soldier Road, he could get into the brush at the bottom if Sister pushed too hard. If he could keep his lead he could ride straight to Roughneck Farm, get in her truck, and get away. Just where he’d go wasn’t in his mind at that moment.

  A vision of twenty-one years ago was going through his mind. He wanted Nola.

  Sister reached around and pulled out the .38 tucked in the small of her back. She fired a warning shot over her head.

  Ken spurred on his horse.

  Shaker, hearing the shot, knew it wasn’t ratshot. “Jesus,” he thought to himself. He told Betty and Jennifer to load up the hounds. He knew hounds would follow him, so he had to wait while they were hastily loaded. Then he was off.

  Ken thought he could outride Sister, thought that because he was forty-eight and she was seventy-one he had the advantage. He should have known better. He’d ridden behind her for thirty years. She was tough as nails and always on fast horses.

  He jumped into the sunken meadows and raced across, traces of rising mist all around him. He heard the two dogs behind him. Raleigh couldn’t have been more than twenty yards behind. Rooster was only a few paces behind the Doberman.

  He crossed Soldier Road, got across the wildflower meadows just as Sister and Lafayette crossed Soldier Road.

  Shaker and Hojo cleared the fence into the sunken meadows. He looked up ahead in the distance and saw Sister leveling her gun on Ken. She fired and missed.

  “Christ,” he thought. “If she kills him she’ll go to jail even though he deserves it.” He laid his body low over Hojo, and the gelding knew just what to do. He put on the afterburners. They were over Soldier Road in no time.

  Ken plunged into the wooded base of Hangman’s Ridge. There was enough cover that Sister couldn’t hit him. Raleigh and Rooster, however, were right behind him, giving tongue for all they were worth.

  Ken cursed the fact that he didn’t have a gun. He’d shoot them and he’d shoot that goddamned old woman riding hard on his tail. The bitch. If she’d come to him quietly he would have paid her off generously. And killed her later, of course.

  Sister and Lafayette pulled up at the base of Hangman’s Ridge for a moment, and she saw Shaker heading for her. She heard Raleigh and Rooster. She followed their voices. Like any good hunter she trusted her partners—in this case, one harrier, one Doberman, and one thoroughbred.

  Warily she rode into the brush. She heard her dogs making a huge fuss and Ken cursing them. He was climbing. Well, it was faster than going around the ridge.

  She pushed up the ridge. Shaker was now a third of a mile behind her.

  While leading Melissa and Brandon home, Walter had heard Ken, then Sister, riding away. Now, hearing gunfire and a third set of hoofbeats, he urged the two actors to do their best and trot.

  He nudged them toward Hangman’s Ridge.

  Ken finally reached the top of the ridge, his horse blowing hard. He pushed on, heading to the hanging tree. The mists from below, rising, dissipating, wove in and out of the branches like silvery silk ribbons. He looked up. There sat Athena and Bitsy, an unnerving sight, especially since Athena held her wings fully outstretched, spooking his horse, who jumped sideways as Ken kicked him on.

  Sister was over the ridge now, and Lafayette was gaining on Ken’s horse. Sister leveled her arm and fired. She hit Ken in the right shoulder. He didn’t make a sound but he bobbled in the saddle.

  Lafayette drew even closer. She fired again, and this time hit him in the left shoulder. Blood seeped out of the back of his coat.

  He had no grip left in his hands. Ken fell off the horse, his spurs digging up the earth as he hit hard.

  His horse, grateful, stopped, sides heaving, covered in lather.

  Athena kept her wings spread. She looked spectral.

  Sister pulled up Lafayette to stand over Ken. “I have three bullets left. I will put one through your head.”
<
br />   “I’ll tear his throat out.” Raleigh leapt on Ken.

  “Off, Raleigh.”

  The Doberman obeyed but sat by the bleeding man, ready to strike.

  Shaker came up alongside. He dismounted, whipped off his belt, and tied Ken’s hands behind his back.

  “Well done,” Shaker said. “Jesus, I thought you were going to kill him.”

  “Day’s not over. I just might.” She stared down at Ken. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, so Shaker kicked him in the kidney. “Speak when a lady speaks to you.”

  “I was going to lose everything.”

  “But you already had lost everything.” Her face darkened.

  He looked up at her through watery eyes.

  “You lost your soul.” She slipped the gun back into her belt as Athena folded her wings.

  Just then Walter, with an exhausted Melissa and Brandon, rode up by the wagon road.

  Ken saw Melissa. His head fell to his chest as he sobbed.

  CHAPTER 41

  “The sordidness of it.” Alice Ramy stared at a tendril of poison ivy, flaming red, twining around a walnut tree.

  Sister, Alice, and Tedi Bancroft sat on the bench in the hound graveyard. The three women had gravitated there as they walked together Sunday afternoon. They found themselves bound by time, by losses and loves, and finally by the profound shock of Ken Fawkes’s perfidy.

  “You risked your life, Janie. I don’t know how to thank you. Edward and I can never truly thank you.”

  “He didn’t have a gun. I was safe.” She grinned raffishly.

  “He’d killed three people. He would have killed you if he could.” Alice noticed the long rays of the sun, the changing light from summer’s harshness to the soft, sweet light of winter.

  “I don’t know if Sybil will ever thank me.”

  “She will. Edward and I will get her through this. And the boys, she has to live for the boys now.”

  “Poor girl . . .” Alice’s voice trailed off.

  Alice put her arm around Tedi’s shoulders. “At least we know. That’s something.”