The Tell-tale Horse

by Rita Mae Brown

  “We might have to,” Sister replied, over the roar of the girls flying into the feed room. “Let me go into the office. Can’t hear myself think.” She waved at Shaker as she left the large room.

  “What do you mean we might have to kill?”

  “Just popped out of my mouth.” Sister sat on the corner edge of the desk. “Do you think kids did it?”

  “I don’t know.” Marion’s voice dropped a bit; she suddenly felt tired. “I guess I’m a little more on edge than I realized.”

  “We all are. Why don’t you come on down here for a vacation?”

  “Thanks. I can’t. I’m buried under an avalanche of work. Everyone is.”

  “Take a rain check then.”

  “How’s everything there?”

  “Oh, fine, if you consider I have an outlaw pack to contend with, plus scenting conditions have gone to hell in a handbasket.”

  “Here too. Joyce Fendley breezed through yesterday saying the same thing. It’s the temperature bounce; it’s responsible for all the colds and flu. I think so, anyway.”

  They talked until the deputy came. Sister returned to the feed room and then walked over to the barn. She brought in each horse, putting him in his stall. Kilowatt looked good; he had wonderful ground manners.

  She threw an alfalfa-and-orchard-grass mix out to the brood mares and the two retirees. Feeding, filling water buckets and water troughs, and checking over each horse took two hours and she was efficient. A dawdler would have stretched it into three.

  She then hopped in the GMC truck—twenty thousand miles on the odometer—to drive to the dentist’s office for her cleaning.

  She shook off hay before walking into the pleasant sitting room. Looking up from W magazine was Ilona Merriman.

  “Ilona.”

  “How are you? I see you just came from the barn.”

  “Thought I brushed off all the hay.”

  “Not quite. Here. Turn around.” Ilona brushed off some bits of rich tiny alfalfa leaves. “You missed a drama last night at Walter’s.”

  “What happened?”

  “He had a poker party.”

  “That’s right. I forgot about that. Which reminds me, he said he could organize a poker tournament for the Virginia chapter of the Thoroughbred Retirement Fund. Haven’t had time to call him since our meeting at the Franklins’.”

  “I can tell you, Sorrel Buruss’s sharp at cards. I didn’t know that. Walter will have her help if he does the fund-raiser. Well, anyway, there were four small tables—play three games, then switch tables. He had it organized like musical chairs except no one was left standing.”

  “Who won?”

  “Kasmir. Faye made out all right too. Well, Clayton was shaking like a leaf. He could barely hold a hand and Cabel kept sniping at him. Walter unfortunately put them together for the first go-round. You won’t believe this, but Clayton has stopped drinking. He’s suffering too. I think he should go away to one of those clinics. Wouldn’t it be easier? People who understand can help you.”

  Sister sat down. “Maybe Clayton will go to a clinic. I hope so. He needs help.”

  “Cabel won’t help him. She ignored him. When he made a bad call—this was before Walter moved him—she said he thought better when he was drunk. That’s vicious. I mean, I adore Cabel, you know we are best-best friends, but the man is suffering and he’s trying. For the first time in his life, he’s trying.”

  “She probably doesn’t believe he’ll make it. Maybe she’s steeling herself for a relapse. I don’t know.”

  “It’s revenge. I swear. I shot her a look but to no avail. If she wants to be hateful to him, do it at home. She was bad enough the other night at the Thoroughbred Retirement meeting.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “I swear, I don’t know what got into her; she needled Faye every chance she got. She’d insinuate that High Vajay spent a lot of time visiting his neighbor. As the night wore on the insinuations became outright accusations. Faye took it with good grace until Cabel—and I swear she’d been drinking because I’ve never seen her like this, I mean it—Cabel said, flat out, that men think beautiful young widows are starved for sex, so she, Cabel, expected they’d worn a path to her door. And Faye looked straight at her and said, Are you worried Clayton was one of them?”

  Sister’s eyebrows shot upward. “Faye Spencer said that?”

  “She’d had enough. Well, Cabel threw her cards in Faye’s face, grabbed her purse and coat, and stomped out. We could hear the motor when she floored it; two times this week she’s ripped up someone’s driveway. Clayton didn’t move a muscle. Faye picked up Cabel’s cards and said Lousy hand, and showed us a pair of threes.”

  The hygienist appeared from the hallway. “Mrs. Merriman.”

  “Coming, dear.” Ilona stood up. “You should start playing poker, Sister. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Apparently not.” Sister smiled but thought to herself that life was gamble enough, why squander her money on cards? It wasn’t noon yet and already the day had been popping.

  It was three thirty when Sister walked through her kitchen door, sun finally peeping through low clouds. She heard a clatter and the sound of a large pussycat running. Raleigh and Rooster, awake at the sound of the truck, rushed to greet her. One of the good things about Shaker’s living on the other side of the kennels was he would let the dogs out when she ran errands. She petted them, bestowed kisses, and threw her gear on the farmer’s table to go in search of what Golly had done. She knew the calico well enough to know the cat had pulverized something.

  Nothing in the kitchen. Nothing in the dining room. The living room glistened pristine. Small wonder, she hardly ever used it. Had to be the large pantry or the den. She walked into the den first. Raleigh’s beloved stuffed pink flamingo toy lay in tatters, the squeaker carefully dismantled by clever claws. One of Sister’s needlepoint pillows, she’d done it herself, sported long dangling threads.

  “Golly, damn you!” Sister walked out and yelled up the stairway at the cat, peeping down at her from the top of the stairs.

  “Death to dogs!” was Golly’s response.

  Raleigh, on Sister’s heels, mournfully carried the flamingo bits.

  “Wicked. That cat is wicked,” Rooster grumbled.

  “I told you I’d get even.” Golly remained motionless on the step, ready to run under a bed or spring over everyone’s heads, a trick she’d perfected.

  Instead, Sister returned to the kitchen, the dogs with her. She gave them large milkbones, picked up the paper, turned on the teapot, and sat down to read the day’s fresh hell worldwide.

  The phone rang.

  “I hope Alexander Graham Bell is in the lowest circle of Hell.”

  Nonetheless, she stood up, slapped the paper down, and picked up the wall phone.

  “Sister.” It was a young voice, trembling.

  “Felicity, are you all right?”

  “Yes,” came the wavering reply.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?”

  “Well, I had a meeting with Mrs. Norton. She was great. But she said I needed to talk to Mom and Dad as soon as I could. So I called them on my cell. I mean I started talking to them and asked them to come visit me. Mom got all worried. I only once ever asked them to come to Custis Hall, and that was freshman year. Well, anyway, I told them. Everything.”

  “You did the right thing. I’m sure your mother thought the worst when you said you wanted her to come to Virginia.” She paused. “How’d she take it?”

  “She told me to get rid of it.” Felicity was sobbing now.

  “Felicity, why don’t I drive over there and pick you up?”

  “Val said I could use her Jeep. I’m going to get Howie. May we both come to you?”

  “Of course.” She hung up the phone as the teapot whistled.

  Howard and Felicity arrived at four forty-five. She glanced up at the wall clock when she heard Val’s Jeep and smiled for a moment, thinking how generou
s Val could be, even when angry at her friend.

  The two knocked on the mudroom door.

  “Come on in.”

  They did. Sister poured coffee, set out cookies and cake.

  “Thank you for seeing us.” Howie sat down gratefully, a young man with a burden on his shoulders.

  “Would you like to talk here or in the living room?”

  “Here.”

  Howard, eighteen years old with an open, All-American face, began. “I called my parents after Felicity called hers. Mom’s pretty okay. Dad’s furious. He said he won’t give me any money for college.”

  “Think he’ll stick to it?” Sister asked.

  “Yeah. You don’t know my dad.”

  Sister thought to herself she was glad she didn’t. “You can go to Piedmont Community College at night, if you want to continue your education.”

  Felicity, a little tense, replied, “But Sister, he can’t play football there and he’s so good.”

  “Felicity.” Howard’s voice was soft, but there was power in this kid. “It’s just a game. My chances of playing in the pros are pretty slim even if I have a great college career. What’s more important, football or you? You.”

  Felicity sniffled. Sister rose, picked up a box of Kleenex from the counter, and set it near the young woman.

  “Howard, have you been accepted at any colleges yet? I know April is usually when the notices go out, but given that you’ve been recruited, have any coaches promised you anything?”

  “Well, they can’t exactly promise but I’m pretty sure I’ll be accepted at Wake Forest, and maybe at the University of South Carolina.”

  “Any Virginia schools?”

  “I applied at Tech but I don’t think I have a chance.”

  “What about William and Mary?”

  “My grades aren’t good enough. If Tech or William and Mary did take me, I’d have to be tutored over the summer and take the College Boards again. I didn’t do very well.”

  “He’s not good at tests,” Felicity simply stated.

  “How badly do you want to play football?”

  Howard looked down at his big hands. “Not bad enough to leave Felicity.” He looked up at her, his light brown eyes serious. “Maybe this is the best thing to happen to me.”

  “How so?” the older woman asked, warming to this young man.

  “You get treated different, you know? Football spoils you. You work hard on your physical stuff but you can think you’re better than other people. I don’t want to end up like that, Mrs. Arnold. I’m not better just because I can throw a ball.”

  “Felicity, what do you want to do?”

  The thin girl held her coffee cup in her hands. “I’m going to get a job, go to Piedmont at night, and have the baby.” She looked at Howard. “If you go to Wake, I’ll support you. You don’t have to stay here with me and the baby.”

  “No way. I’m supporting you. And I’m going to marry you.”

  Felicity smiled but didn’t reply.

  “You’ll turn eighteen soon enough, Felicity, and then if your parents don’t give their approval, it doesn’t matter,” Sister said.

  “I never thought my mother would be like this.” Shock registered on her face. “They were always behind me. I can’t believe my mother told me to have an abortion.”

  “Every woman has to face that issue alone.”

  “I graduate in June. I’ve already sent in my application to Piedmont. I know I don’t really have to for night school, but I wanted to be sure. If I get a job I can work until I have the baby and then go back as soon as I’m able.”

  “Who will take care of the baby while you’re working?”

  “I don’t know yet but I have some time to think about it.”

  “I found a job already,” Howard said.

  “You did?” Felicity grabbed Howard’s hand.

  “Working for Matt Robb’s construction company. He said as soon as I graduate from Miller School to show up at the office. I like construction.”

  “Matt’s good. You’ll learn a lot,” said Sister.

  “And I’ll be outside. I can’t sit at a desk, Mrs. Arnold, I just can’t.”

  “I understand. I can’t either.” She smiled in accord. “What can I do to help you two?”

  “You’ve helped us already.” Howard smiled at her.

  “Mom and Dad are flying in for the weekend. I’m going to hunt Saturday, I don’t care.”

  “Felicity, much as I love having you in the hunt field, please spend as much time as you can with your parents. Have they met Howard?”

  “No. They will over the weekend. They aren’t talking me out of my baby,” Felicity declared defiantly. “And they aren’t talking me out of marrying Howie.”

  “You finally said yes!” Howard leaned back in his chair and let out a stream of air; then he grabbed Felicity and kissed her, but not too long because of Sister.

  “Congratulations, Howard. You’ve won yourself a fine young woman.”

  “I love her, Mrs. Arnold. I know people say we’re kids. I mean, you should have heard my folks. But whatever comes, we’ll deal with it.”

  “I believe you will.” She thought a long time, placing her hand on Raleigh’s head when he came up beside her. “Plenty of young couples get off to rockier starts than you two. I’m no expert on marriage even though I was married myself—you all never knew Ray, of course—and I’ve observed marriages that work and marriages that don’t. What I can tell you is don’t stop talking. If something bothers you, get it off your chest and get it over with. Never go to bed angry. Put up with the little irritations of character and life. Forget them. And most of all, keep your sense of humor.”

  “Thank you.” Howard squeezed Felicity’s hand. “Honey, I have to get back.”

  “Okay.”

  As they stood up, Felicity hugged Sister, and Howard spontaneously did the same. Then he shook her hand. “Thank you!”

  “Howard, you and I are going to know each other a long time, and I look forward to it.” She smiled broadly.

  Felicity hugged Sister again. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, honey. Keep your chin up and remember that your parents want what’s best for you even if you’re on opposite sides of the fence. Real troubles don’t seem to upset people as much as shattered expectations. Try to remember that.”

  As they left, hand in hand, Sister thought they had a lot going for them. She dialed Garvey Stokes.

  “Sister!”

  “You handsome thing, what are you doing?”

  “Just came back in from the bullpit.” This was the factory area where his workers poured aluminum and put together window frames and other objects, much of the work computerized.

  “Garvey, it’s been over a year since Angel Crump died.”

  Angel had been his right-hand “man,” so to speak, ever since he started his business. She had passed away at work in her mid-eighties, and he had never hired a replacement or changed her office, which sat empty.

  “Think of the old girl every day.”

  “Would you hire a new girl if I recommend her? Someone who possesses Angel’s tact and is every bit as smart? Of course, she doesn’t know where all the bodies are buried. That Angel could work a deal because she knew so-and-so’s great aunt got hooked on laudanum back at the turn of the century.”

  Garvey let out a belly laugh. “She did, she certainly did. Who are you sending me?”

  “You know her: Felicity Porter.”

  “She’s not going to college? What a waste.”

  “She’ll be going to Piedmont at night.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Garvey, but if you will consent to interview her, she will do well. She’s steadfast. Once she learns the routine, she’ll fit in, and I think she’ll become fascinated by the business. I thought she’d become an investment banker, but you know, Aluminum Manufacturing may wind up being more exciting for her.”

  “I like the kid.
”

  “Will you interview her? I’ll drive her over next week. She doesn’t have a car.”

  “Of course I will.”

  “I have a feeling about this, Garvey. Forgive me for the prophecy, but I believe wonderful things can grow from this.”

  She hung up the phone and returned to the table. Her tea was cold so she turned on the kettle. Raleigh looked at her with his sweet Doberman eyes, brimming with intelligence. Rooster, now next to him, also looked up to her.

  “Beggars.” She gave them each a cookie.

  Into the room sashayed Golly, leaping to the table, where she paused for some conspicuous grooming. She sat on the newspaper, of course. Forgetting her needlepoint pillow, Sister absentmindedly stroked the cat. She thought of the two kids sitting at her table, each willing to sacrifice for the other. Sex might bring people together but it didn’t keep them together. Those two seemed to have a great deal of what keeps people together.

  She was surprised when the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  CHAPTER 17

  Heavy frost silvered the rolling pastures, fields, and the rooftops of the old stone buildings of Mousehold Heath, a new fixture fifteen miles southeast of the kennels.

  As is always the case with a new fixture, it takes perhaps two years to figure out the fox population, most especially how they run.

  Established in 1807, the simple farmhouse and outlying clapboard barns acquired its name owing to the unusually large mouse population. Over the centuries, generations of hardworking cats somewhat reduced the numbers of these little marauders, as did foxes, owls, and hawks, but Mousehold Heath still boasted regiments of mice.

  Sister noticed Faye Spencer parked as far away from Cabel Harper as possible, down by the old cattle barn. The two pointedly did not speak. Ilona, with quiet glee, was observing every nuance.

  It must have killed Cabel that Clayton dropped his mare at Faye’s farm.

  Betty Franklin noticed too, simply shrugging as Sister said nothing. Human dramas bored Sister. Her focus was on foxhunting in particular and animals in general, although she did care about her Custis Hall girls. They were young, experiencing powerful adult emotions for the first time. They needed a friendly ear, perhaps a friendly nudge. Adults should be accustomed to such tempests, although Sister had come to the conclusion that adults were just wrinkled children with greater resources to inflict greater damage.