Full Cry

by Rita Mae Brown

  He watched her mobile features, listened to her, and found himself completely engaged by this forthright woman. “You don’t flinch, do you?”

  “Oh, I do. I don’t like knowing those things about myself.”

  “It’s human. I think the entire media industry is built on just that emotion.”

  They both laughed so hard that Golly returned from her post in the library to see if she’d missed anything.

  “What’s doing?”

  “High-tone talk,” Raleigh replied.

  “Why don’t they just go to bed and get it over with?” Golly rubbed her face against Raleigh’s long nose while Rooster wrinkled his.

  “Because they’re human,” Raleigh said.

  “They complicate everything,” Rooster said without rancor, a simple observation.

  “She was reading this book on sex in ancient Greece and Rome. When you guys were asleep. She woke up, started reading this book. I can’t sleep when she turns the light on, so I watched over her shoulder. And you know what she said? She said, ”Life must have been heaven before guilt. “And then she went on one of her tears. ”How clever of Judeo-Christians to put the cop inside instead of outside.“ You know, that’s guilt. In Rome, you tried not to get caught if you were fooling around. In America, you catch yourself. She has these odd insights. I wish, for her sake, she weren’t human. She’d be so much happier” Golly truly loved Sister.

  “She’s happy enough for a human” Raleigh, too, loved her.

  As the animals discussed their weighty issues, Sister and Gray cleared the table, did the dishes, talked some more. Eventually, Gray got up to leave. He put on his coat, walked with Sister to the door, and kissed her good night. This kiss led to another then another. Finally he took his coat off, and they went upstairs.

  They removed their clothes. Considering their ages, they looked pretty good.

  Gray in a soft voice said, “Sister…”

  Laughing, she interrupted him, “Under the circumstances, I think you’d better call me Jane.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Sound travels approximately one mile every five seconds. Sister believed it traveled faster in a hunt club. Not that she was ashamed of bedding Gray, far from it, but neither of them was quite ready for public proclamations. Nor did either know if this was the beginning of a relationship or simply a matter of physical comfort.

  When she walked out to the kennels at four forty-five, she noticed Lorraine’s car parked in Shaker’s driveway. Maybe the moon, sun, and stars had been aligned for romance. She smiled and walked in the office. The hounds slept, though a few raised their heads. Most humans need clocks. The hounds knew it wasn’t time yet to be called into the draw yard, so they continued to snore, curled up with one another, dreaming of large red foxes. She dropped her amended draw list on the desk, a neon orange line drawn across the top of it, indicating this was the final draw. She’d discovered neon gel ink pens and gone wild with them months ago. Every color now had a special meaning.

  Back in the kitchen by five, she checked the outside thermometer: twenty-seven degrees. She clicked on the Weather Channel. The day, according to radar and a host of experts, should warm to the low forties, high pressure overhead. High pressure, theoretically, made scenting more difficult.

  Golly leapt onto the counter. “I’d like salmon today. And you certainly look happy, happy, happy”

  Sister grabbed a can of cat food, which happened to be a seafood mix, and dumped it in the ceramic bowl—“The Queen” emblazoned on its side—then ground up a small vitamin. Golly stuck her face in the food as Sister finished sprinkling the vitamin powder over it.

  Raleigh and Rooster patiently waited for their kibble mixed with a can of beef.

  Sister made herself oatmeal. Today’s fixture was at Tedi and Edward’s, parking at the covered bridge. She thought about the draw. Then she realized she had to plan for the wind shift. She wanted to draw north, but if the wind wasn’t coming out of the northwest as was usual, she’d better produce a backup plan.

  “God, this takes every brain cell I have,” she said aloud.

  “You can do it!” Raleigh encouraged her. “Think of all that good energy you got last night”

  “Yeah, sex is energy,” Golly agreed.

  “Why do people do it under covers?” Rooster cocked an ear.

  “No hair, they get cold,” said Golly, who thought of herself as a feline in possession of important facts.

  “Oh.” Satisfied, Rooster returned to his breakfast.

  “If all else fails, I bet I can pick up a line if I head toward Target’s den.” Sister was drawing a rough outline on a pad. “But usually I’ll get Aunt Netty just above the bridge. Well, I’ll see what Shaker thinks.” Then she smiled. “Bet he’s in a good mood. Making love with cracked ribs might test his mettle, if indeed he did.” She smiled, twirling her pencil.

  By the time she and Shaker filled the draw pen, he was whistling, and she was singing. They looked at each other and laughed.

  Lorraine’s car was still there.

  Sister didn’t refer to it, but she peppered him with questions on the first draw, the wind, how quickly did he think the mercury would climb today?

  Finally, Shaker slapped her on the back. “Cast your hounds. Be alert. The best advice I can give you is what Fred Duncan gave me when I was a kid, ”Hunt your hounds and don’t look back.“ ”

  “If Fred said it, must be true.” She had greatly admired the former huntsman and his wife, Doris.

  Being a huntsman’s wife called for tact, patience, and humor. Doris had all three, plus creativity of her own. She would sit in the kitchen and write novels. Fred would read them and wonder how he had won such a talented woman.

  Successful marriages mean the two main participants enjoy each other. Sister and Big Ray had. That foundation of truly liking one another saw them through many a trial.

  “So, Gray left at four-thirty.” Shaker’s lips curled up at the corners, a twinkle in his eye.

  “What were you doing up at four-thirty?”

  “Had to take four Motrin and two extra-strength Tylenols. Breakfast of champions. Couldn’t go back to sleep. Saw the light on in your kitchen.”

  “I didn’t see your light on.”

  “Got one of those little book lights, so I can read some.”

  “Lorraine still asleep?”

  “Guess we both got lucky, huh?” He thought a minute. “The man is supposed to be lucky. What do women say to each other?”

  “If they’re smart, nothing.”

  He laughed. “Good point.”

  “You… happy?”

  He draped his arm around her broad shoulders, kissing her on one smooth cool cheek. “Yes. I’m a little nervous, too.”

  “She’s a good woman from what I can tell.”

  “Solid. Shy, but solid.” He kissed her again. “You?”

  “Too early to tell, but I’m—” She stopped. “—I’m waking up. I thought I was too old for all this.” She laughed at herself.

  “Not you.”

  “You haven’t said one word about Gray being African American, black, colored, a person of color, take your pick.”

  “I’d like to think those days are over.”

  “I do, too. For us maybe they are, except the fact that I brought it up means the worries are still in me. Not like they would have been thirty years ago.” She paused, then spoke with a controlled vengeance. “God, we’re stupid. So bloody stupid. Do you think any of those beautiful hounds cares if another one is tricolor or red or black and tan? I hate it.”

  “Ever wonder what it would be like if the situation were reversed? Wake up one morning and you’re black?”

  “I’d slap the first silly bastard who mistreated me. Guess I wouldn’t get far in this life.”

  Shaker, a thoughtful man, a deeply feeling man, softly replied, “If I was born that way, I would have been shaped, pruned, restrained to hold the anger in, you know, hold it in. All that negative shi
t, excuse my French, must be like a drop of acid on your soul each time you feel it. The only thing I can liken it to is sexual desire. For men anyway, we are taught to rein it in, control, control, control. One day you let go, and you feel like you’re flying.”

  “I thought women were the ones who had to deny their sexuality.”

  “Mmm. We both do in different ways. Takes its toll, and you don’t know it until you let it go. But I think about what it’s like to be black in this country. It’s better, but we still have work to do.”

  “The work of generations… about lots of stuff.” She smiled a small, sweet smile. “I think that’s why I like foxhunters. Half of us are stone stupid and can talk only about hounds, horses, and hunting, or worse; the other half of us are the most interesting people I have ever met. Like you, for instance.”

  “Go on.” He squeezed her tight, then released her. “Let’s load these babies up.”

  Once at the fixture, Shaker handed her his horn, a symbolic gesture with the significance of a scepter being handed to a ruler.

  “Still can’t blow this thing worth a damn, despite your quick lesson.”

  “Do the best you can and use your voice. They know you. I’ll get in the truck. I’m on foot, it might confuse them. Their impulse will be to follow me. But you have to use the horn when you move off. They will go to the horn, and they’ll go to you if you encourage them. We didn’t put all those years into this pack to have them fizzle out because I’m on the mend. This is a great pack of hounds, Sister. You love them, and you’re going to do just great.”

  She smiled down at him from her mount on Lafayette. “Shaker, you can tell the best fibs, but I love you for it.”

  “I mean it.” He did, too. “You can hunt these hounds. Remember, hunt your hounds and don’t look back.”

  She rode Lafayette to the assembled field, Edward, the logical choice, acting as field master. Tedi, who knew hunting and the territory, could have just as easily led, but the field was large for this time of year; she didn’t want to tangle with Crawford or other shaky riders. Edward possessed a quiet sense of command. She readily deferred to him. Tedi thought to herself that it was better someone get mad at Edward than at herself.

  “Gather round.” Sister called in the faithful. As she scanned the field, she couldn’t help but linger on Gray, who winked. She blushed, smiled, then said, “Our hosts, the Bancrofts, will again spoil us with their hospitality. Breakfast follows. Shaker is mending quickly. He’ll be back Thursday. Edward is your field master, so you’re riding behind the best. Edward will never tell you, but he won Virginia Field Hunter of the Year in 1987. The hounds of the Jefferson Hunt want you to know they are going to get up a fox for you. And I’m so glad they’re smarter than I am. Let’s go.”

  The small thermometer in the dash on Sister’s truck had read thirty-four degrees when she had first pulled into After All Farm. Now, as she and Lafayette walked north with hounds alongside the strong-running Snake Creek, the temperature remained close to that. She could feel it on her skin. The bright blue winter skies were cloudless. The frost sparkled on the earth. All pointed to a tough day for scent. But a light northwesterly breeze, a tang of moisture coming in, hinted that maybe in two hours or less, conditions would improve.

  In the meantime, she needed to do all she could to flush out a fox. She walked for five minutes, quietly talking to the pack. Settling them, especially with young entry in tow, helped them and helped her. After a long discussion, she and Shaker had decided to include some young entry. Shaker was already on his way, Lorraine as a passenger, to the sunken farm road close to the westernmost border of the Bancroft estate, a border shared with Roughneck Farm.

  Knowing she had Shaker as a wheel whip bolstered her confidence. Knowing Betty rode on her left and Sybil on her right also gave her a lift.

  “Girl power,” she whispered.

  Diana looked up at the human she adored. “You’d better believe it.”

  “Ha,” Asa said.

  “Bet you one of us finds scent first,” Diana challenged him.

  “I’ll take that bet. What about the rest of you boys?” tea sang out, but not too loudly or Sister would chide him for babbling.

  Dasher, Ardent, Trident, Darby, Doughboy, Dreamboat, Rassle, and Ribot quickly picked up the gauntlet.

  Cora, up front, smiled, a puff of breath coming from her slightly opened mouth. “Girls, even if we run on rocks all day, we are going to find a fox!”

  The girls agreed, then all turned their faces up to their master and now huntsman.

  Sister smiled down at them. “Good hounds.”

  A powerful emotion burst through her. She was of this pack. She was one of them, the least of them in many ways, and yet the leader. The only love she had ever felt that was this deep was when Ray Jr. used to wrap his arms around her neck and say, “Love ya, Mom.”

  She whispered, “Ride with me today, Junior,” then turned her full attention to drawing up the creek bed.

  The grade rose by degrees, until Sister and the pack were walking six feet above the creek. The drop into the creek was now sheer. Where eddies slowly swirled, a crust of ice gathered next to the banks.

  The smooth pasture containing Nola Bancroft’s grave soon gave way to woodlands.

  Behind her, Edward led a field of sixty-five people. Everyone came out today because the snows had made them stir-crazy. This was the first good day since then. Before the first cast, Sister noted that Xavier and Sam kept a careful distance between them. Clay, Walter, Crawford, Dalton, Marty, Jennifer, Sari, Ron, plus visitors, all came out.

  She also noted, walking a distance behind them, were Jason Farley with Jimmy Chirios. Bless Tedi and Edward, they found someone to guide a newcomer who couldn’t ride but showed interest.

  A warm air current fluttered across her face, a welcoming sign.

  “Get ‘em up. Get ’em up.”

  The hounds, also feeling wind current, a lingering deer scent sliding along with it, put their noses down, fanned out, moving forward at a brisk walk. Raccoons, turkeys, bobcat, deer, and more deer had traipsed through in the predawn hours. Rabbits abounded, now safely tucked in their little grass hutches or hunkered down as flat as they could get. Foxhounds might chase a rabbit for a few bounds if the animal hopped up in front of them, but otherwise the scent offered scant appeal.

  Tinsel got a snootful of badger scent. “Cora.”

  Cora came over. “Must be more moving in. Strange, strange.”

  Young Ruthie, wonderful nose, inhaled, then sputtered a moment. “A heavy fox, a heavy fox.”

  Heavy meant pregnant. Dasher and Asa hurried over. Both sniffed, sniffed some more, and then jerked their heads up. Ruthie, in her youth, had made the wrong call.

  Cora came over. She inhaled deeply. “Coyote.”

  “Dammit!” Asa swore. He knew how ruinous coyotes were to livestock, house pets, and foxes. In his mind, the foxes’ welfare outweighed the others.

  Sister noticed, stopped Lafayette. Both human and horse carefully watched.

  “Can we run coyote?” Rassle, Ruthie’s littermate, asked.

  Cora hesitated for a second. “Yes. They’re fair game, but” she raised her alto voice, “young ones, they run straight, they run no faster than they must; occasionally one will double back, but this is really a foot race. Don’t forget that. If anywhere along the way, any of you finds fox scent, stop. Stop and tell me. The fox is our primary quarry, understand?”

  “Yes,” all responded.

  Diana, her voice low, said to Asa, “Thank God, Dragon’s still back in the kennel.”

  Asa chuckled. “Right.”

  “Ruthie, you found, sing out.” Cora encouraged the youngster.

  “Rock and roll.” Ruthie lifted her head a bit then all joined her.

  Hounds went from zero to sixty in less than three seconds. Sister, eyes widened, at first didn’t know they were on coyote. Could be fresh fox scent.

  Hounds threaded through the woods
, pads touching lightly down on the narrow cleared trail. They clambered over a fallen tree, kept on, then burst out of the woods, leaping over the hog’s back jump in the fence line separating After All Farm from Roughneck Farm. They’d covered two miles in minutes.

  The electrifying pace only increased as they charged through the meadows, blasted along the edges of the wide wildflower field, the stalks of the odd wisps of broom sage bent with winter’s woes, the earth beginning to slightly soften, releasing ever more scent on this crisp day.