Crazy Like a Fox

by Rita Mae Brown

  Parker reached the den after a scramble up the first covering rock.

  “I know you’re in there.”

  Feeling safe, the fox called out, “I am.”

  The hounds joined Parker but they couldn’t even dig as it was all rock. The den was between two boulders that formed a crevice, but the den really was huge and tight as a tick. No rain or snow would get in.

  Ardent, Asa’s son, peered into the den as best he could. “You did good for a kid,” the hound complimented him. “What’s your name?”

  “Sarge.”

  “Well, Sarge, we’ll see you again before this season is out.” Ardent turned, walked back over the first large rock, and jumped down.

  The rest of the pack took turns jumping up on the first large rock; only three could fit onto it at a time. Everyone sang.

  Shaker rode up. Tootie quickly came to him, taking Kilowatt’s reins as the huntsman dismounted. He walked to the large rock. “Good hounds. Good hounds.”

  “He’s in there. If you just give me time, I’ll figure out how to bolt him,” young Pickens promised.

  “Dream on,” Cora, the matriarch, this probably her last season, replied. “Nothing will get him out of there. He’s a smart little fellow.”

  “I could wait him out. Surprise him,” Pickens, ever hopeful, said.

  “Pickens, he can smell you just as easily as you can smell him. You’d have to hide about a quarter of a mile away,” the older and wiser Delia, mother of the D hounds, advised.

  Sister, standing perhaps ten yards back so the field could have a close view, looked upward at lowering clouds. Bobby Franklin arranged Second Flight right by First so everyone could appreciate the ritual.

  Shaker put the horn to his lips and blew the warbling, satisfying “Gone to Ground.”

  Betty Franklin, slightly off on the right just in case the pack took a notion, turned her head.

  Far in the distance, a mournful echo, deep, returned “Gone to Ground.”

  “Echo,” Gray whispered.

  The echo continued after Shaker ceased the distinctive notes. Deep, deep the sound seemed to linger forever.

  Sister, intently listening, knew this was no echo. This was the call of an old hunting cowhorn, the timbre unmistakable. She shivered a moment.

  Shaker interrupted her reverie, if that word could be applied to what she was feeling. “Master?”

  “Yes.” She blinked.

  “How about I hunt back?”

  “Good idea. Shaker, you heard that?”

  “Did. Curious what sound does.” A crooked grin appeared on his rugged face. “Sounded like my old papaw blowing.”

  “I wonder.”

  “Madam?” He addressed her properly.

  If a woman was your master it was either master or madam, if one was a hunt servant. Half the time they both forgot in the heat of the moment and he called her “Boss.” She almost always properly called him “Huntsman” during a hunt if he called her “Boss,” but she readily forgave him. They had worked together for years in such harmony as to make even the most trying of days a joy.

  “Just thinking. A beautiful sound, that low call. Well, yes, let’s go back. I’d like to get out of here before Crawford shows up, if he’s around.”

  Shaker’s grin widened. “He’s not. If he were, he’d be here cussing us like a dog.”

  A half hour later, at a trot, no new scent, everyone was at Tattenhall Station.

  Tattenhall Station’s walls reverberated with the laughter, the chat. The breakfast was in full swing.

  Kasmir asked Freddie, “How do you like your saddle? You look comfortable in it.”

  “I nearly died paying for it, I swear, but my riding has improved, and my horse is happier, especially this young one. It was worth every penny, plus the countless fittings.” She smiled. “I never really believed a saddle could help one be a better rider, but I do now.”

  Alida Dalzell, a warm, highly intelligent woman in her early forties, dating Kasmir, talked to Sister. “Wasn’t that something, the fox running with the deer?”

  “They are so smart. He was a little guy with a big brain.” Sister smiled. “Inexperienced whippers-in go after the hounds. They don’t think to look for the fox.”

  “Half grown, you think?”

  “Yes. He’ll be looking for his own den if he doesn’t already have one. By October or November, the fathers have pushed out all the sons. They have to make their way in life. I think the fox we ran is by Earl, the handsome red who lives in the stone stables at Old Paradise.”

  “You can tell?”

  “Often you can. Like dogs, they have distinguishing features, family traits.”

  Alida laughed. “Like people.” She paused, sipped her refreshing gin and tonic. “It’s still warm enough for gin and tonic.” She held up her glass. “Sister, I cherish your advice. I travel up from Carolina twice a month, Kasmir comes down. I am thinking about relocating here. What do you think?”

  “We’d be lucky to have you, and Kasmir would be beside himself.”

  “There’s a lot to think about. I’ve built a good business there. It’s how Freddie and I met, at a conference. I gave a talk about forensic accounting, we discovered we both hunted, she invited me here, and I couldn’t believe it. You all have been so kind to me.”

  Sister touched Alida on the shoulder. “Honey, it’s easy to be kind to someone who rides as well as you do; you actually listen to people, and you make Kasmir laugh. You know how I love him. If they’re all like him halfway across the world then it will be India’s turn to conquer.”

  “He wants to take me there to see where he grew up. I think I will be overwhelmed. Just to think of how ancient the culture is, how rich the history, how mixed-up the politics.” She laughed a bit.

  “You don’t have to go to India for that.” Sister clinked glasses with her. “You come here. I will help in any way I can.” She then called out over the heads of a small group.

  “Sara. You had one of those Tad Coffin saddles made, too. Alida loves hers.”

  “After a few adjustments, I agree. Now what are you up to? I know there’s more coming.” Sara laughed.

  Sister explained. Her phone was in the truck, but as Sara had never known Weevil, she offered to show her the video. Sara needed to haul her horse, Shane, back, and said she’d watch it later but not right now.

  “Before you go, let me know. I brought the treasurer’s reports that I copied for Dale.”

  “Without receipts I don’t know what he can tell.”

  “Me neither, but I thought if something proved really amiss in the books Dale would know.”

  “You think this has something to do with money? From 1947 to 1954?”

  “Well, don’t most murders involve love or money?”

  Sara smiled. “I think you’d know by now. That’s sixty-three years ago.”

  Sister brought her drink to her forehead to cool off for a moment. “You’re right. I don’t know why this has gotten under my skin.”

  Sara nodded. “Love or money.”

  True enough, but in a way neither woman could have predicted.

  Hours later, back at Roughneck Farm, horses cleaned, fed, and turned out, hounds the same, Sister and Gray had taken their showers and collapsed out on the verandah to drink and drink in the long, long twilight.

  “How did Crawford take it?” He sipped his Scotch.

  She pulled her sweater tighter over her shoulders. “Surprisingly well. It’s dawning on him that he actually needs us.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “No, really. Maybe it’s Marty.” Crawford’s wife. “Or Skiff. But I think he’s beginning to realize we can divert the Master of Foxhounds Association from blowing this outlaw pack thing up. He thought he was bigger than the MFHA. Richer, yes. Bigger, no.” She breathed in the delicious evening air. “It will take time to play out.”

  A brand-new shiny blue Lincoln Continental crept down the farm road, slowed by the turnoff
to the house, kennels, and barns, then moved forward. They heard the car stop, the door slam.

  Tootie’s small house couldn’t be seen from the main house but one could hear, especially on a night like this.

  A knock on the door and then, “Tootie!”

  Sister sat bolt upright. “What?”

  Gray now sat upright with her.

  They heard the door open and Tootie’s voice, her surprise clear in her tone, answer. “Mother.”

  “Dear God,” Sister blurted out.

  Dear God didn’t cover it.

  CHAPTER 7

  “What’s going on over there?” Young Taz called from the boys’ large play lot.

  Tootie’s house sat away from the kennels at a forty-five-degree angle, perhaps a quarter of a mile. Hounds could hear and smell everything. An unrecognizable car alerted everyone. They heard Tootie’s voice, saw the limbs of the huge old walnut tree by the ruins of what had been the original cabin sway in a gentle breeze.

  Gentle or not, it carried coolness as the twilight faded; night air brushed everyone.

  Surprised, shocked really, Tootie opened the door wide. “Mother, come in. Do you need me to carry anything?”

  “Later.” The elegant, if drawn, Yvonne stepped into the pleasing cabin, a white clapboard addition looking old attached to the original cabin.

  The job, well done, disguised the newness of everything. The stone chimney poked out of the slate roof. Another stone chimney was visible in the roof of the addition.

  Striding as though still on the runway at the height of her modeling career, Tootie’s mother walked into the big main room. Old cabins lacked either center halls or entrance halls. One walked right into the living space. The kitchens were usually at the rear of the big room. A summer kitchen was outside at a distance of twenty-five yards. All old colonial buildings in the South had summer kitchens. No one could stand the heat of cooking in June, July, August. Maybe they could in New Hampshire, but they certainly couldn’t in Virginia. Those states farther south often used the outside kitchens for six months.

  Tootie, recovering her wits, offered her mother a seat in an old comfortable wing chair.

  Yvonne lowered herself onto it, crossing her impossibly long legs, legs she bequeathed to her daughter, which had made riding easier, at least when mastering the basics.

  “Can I get you anything to drink? I have fresh eggs, but that’s about it if you’re hungry.”

  “I ate on the way.” Yvonne looked up, swept her hand at the opposite old wing chair and Tootie dropped into it. “I didn’t have time to call.” She cast her eyes around the lovely little cabin. “Very nice.”

  “Sister and I rooted through old plans, visited original cabins. This is built on the site of the first dwelling this far west.”

  “Yes, you told me. Actually you showed me the ruins once when your father and I came to parents’ weekend at Custis Hall. You and the girls were hunting. We met everyone, got a stable and kennel tour. You even showed us Hangman’s Ridge.”

  “Would you like me to start a fire?”

  “Not yet. It’s still warmish. What kind of heat do you have?”

  “I use the fireplace mostly. There’s a heat pump. I keep the thermostat at sixty degrees. It saves money.”

  Yvonne’s eyebrows zoomed up. “You don’t pay the electricity here.”

  “No. I just don’t like to run up bills if I can help it.”

  Yvonne studied her only child. How different she was from both her mother and father, neither of whom evidenced the least amount of restraint when it came to funds.

  “Surely Sister can pay.”

  Tootie nodded. “She fusses at me, but I like to save.”

  “M-m-m. Aren’t you wondering why I’m here, and here unannounced?”

  “I know you’ll tell me.” Tootie allowed herself a sly smile not unnoticed by her mother.

  “I am divorcing your father. Could not stand one more minute with his lying.” She stopped herself. “I grabbed some of my clothes, all the credit cards, all my jewelry. Drove to the airport. Left the car forever, for all I care, got a ticket to Richmond, and here I am.”

  “He’ll explode,” Tootie replied, voice even.

  “Good. Maybe he’ll die of a heart attack and there will be no need of divorce proceedings.” Yvonne took a deep breath. “You don’t have to say yes, but I’d like to stay with you, for a week at most. I’m going to look for a place to rent here. I’ll be close to you, far away from him, and maybe I will learn to like some of these people you tell me about.”

  “You can stay here, of course. I work most of the day.”

  “Fine.”

  A long pause followed this. “Please be civil to Sister and Gray.”

  A flash of irritation crossed those perfect features, which then softened. “They were more your father’s problem than mine. That and the fact that he couldn’t understand why you wanted to work with animals.”

  “You never seemed too enthusiastic about it.” Tootie said this without rancor—but she said it.

  Yvonne shifted in her seat. “I can’t say that I understand it. I don’t. What upset me was when you left Princeton to come back here. You could have come home.”

  “This is home.” Tootie’s voice rose.

  A very long pause followed this.

  “I can’t apologize for your father. I can’t even apologize for myself. We haven’t had the usual mother-daughter relationship. I was always off somewhere or hosting some enormous fundraiser. But when I was home, I tried.”

  “What you did was give me a nurse, then a governess, then a dogsbody,”—she couldn’t think of a better word—“all of whom spoke French!”

  “Well, French is a passport to fashion, to elegance. Learning it from infancy is a huge advantage.”

  “I speak to hounds and horses.” Tootie folded her hands together. “They don’t care. You wanted me to want what you wanted. I don’t.”

  “Fair enough.”

  This surprised Tootie.

  Yvonne continued. “I was not warm and fuzzy. But I am your mother and I will make up for it.”

  “You want an ally against Dad.”

  “No, I don’t. I hired Hart, Hanckle and Himmel as my lawyers. They’ll take care of him. Plus when I was your age and married young, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I had my name put on everything, even the media business. He was so overcome with lust he agreed to everything. And I will give myself credit, I worked in our company. I actually liked it.” She took a deep breath. “The bastard.”

  “Hart, Hanckle and Himmel.” Tootie half laughed. “The hounds of hell.”

  “Well—yes.” Yvonne laughed, too.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

  “A cup of chamomile tea. I’m tired. It will help and I’ll just go fast asleep.”

  Tootie rose, walked to the kitchen and heard the front door close. Her mother soon joined her carrying a Hunting World duffel, a bag known only to the cognoscenti. Everyone else bought Louis Vuitton. In the other hand, Yvonne carried a satchel.

  “Let me show you your room. It’s not much, Mom, but it’s tidy and, well, you’ll manage. What’s in the satchel?”

  “My jewelry. Every single piece. Here.” She handed it to Tootie.

  “Mom, this weighs a ton.”

  “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Yvonne smiled.

  The teapot whistled. Tootie left her mother at the room, a very clean room with a double bed, a comforter on it, and a nightstand with a light that swiveled so she could shoot the beam exactly where she wanted while reading.

  As she poured the hot water into two large mugs, dropping in little silver balls filled with loose tea leaves, Yvonne returned and sat at the wooden table.

  “Did you notice my car?”

  “No.”

  “A brand-new Lincoln Continental Reserve. Seventy-five thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars. All-wheel drive. I guess I need that here. I had the cab d
river take me from the airport to the Ford dealer—I researched with my phone, found one who had the Reserve—smacked cash down on the table, and walked out. At least I’ll have decent wheels.”

  “Mother, people would notice you if you drove a Vespa.”

  “Very Audrey Hepburn.” Yvonne gratefully took the tea, removed the ball, sipped the soothing liquid.

  Tootie sat across from her with her own cup of tea.

  “Mom, I’ll be out of here at dawn, the kennels. We walk the hounds by seven but I have chores to do first. Shaker and I feed, wash down the feed room, all that stuff. Then we decide who we want to walk, off we go. Sister always walks with us.”

  “She’s indestructible,” Yvonne remarked with rueful admiration. “Proof that you’ve got to keep moving. How old is she now?”

  “Maybe seventy-two or seventy-three. I can never remember. I don’t think about it. I don’t even know how old you are.”

  “Fifty-one.” Yvonne held the mug tighter. “Fifty-one trying to dump a cheating, lying husband, trying to figure out what I did wrong, trying to find a better life.”

  “You made a great life, Mom.”

  “For everyone else. I did what I was supposed to. Everyone kept telling me how beautiful I was, break barriers, be one of the first black high-fashion models. So I did. It was exciting, but Tootie, I never really gave any thought to direction, to what comes next. Then Vic scooped me up. He’d already made the magazine turn into pages of gold. Together we built a media empire. It really was not without excitement, but I have never asked myself the questions you have.” She blinked. “Well, I’m here. I know you think I’m a pain in the ass. I will try not to be, and I will try to find accommodations to get out of your way.”

  “I might be able to help. Because of hunting, I know this place very well and there are beautiful places to rent, to buy. Maybe not so many to rent, but we’ll find them.”

  Yvonne stared into Tootie’s light hazel eyes, so light they glowed almost amber green. Her eyes. She’d been a shitty mother. She’d been a shit to a lot of people. Haughty, demanding, ignoring anyone she didn’t think was on her level or could help her. Here across from her sat her daughter, in many ways a stranger, and the child seemed more settled, composed than she had ever been. Her eyes misted. She caught herself. Finished her tea.