Kelton took off his pack, and took out the poncho and used it to cover the injured man. Even on a warm day, the number of hours on the ground combined with the trauma strained the human body.
“I got a signal, and they’re on their way,” reported Vicky. “I’ve told them not to use the siren once they turn onto Stirrup Cup Road because of the horses. I’ll go to meet them.”
“You know the terrain better than anyone. Will they be able to drive back to here? Civilian ambulances are heavy and typically two-wheel drive,” asked Kelton.
Abriella clarified, “Westburg’s ambulance is four-wheel drive. My dad made that a campaign issue a couple of years ago after the hospital made a half dozen trips out here in one season. They used to do annual training exercises out here, but they get to do it for real too often to worry about just practicing. My mom usually sees a couple of riding accidents in the ER every weekend all year round from somewhere or other,” she smiled. “Welcome to Hunt Country.”
Kelton turned back to his patient, “Sir, the ambulance is on its way and I’m told the driver is familiar with our location.”
Gregory omitted a soft strangled croaking sound, gave up, and made a brief slight smile instead.
“Glad you are with me. I hear their beds aren’t quite comfortable or their food so good, but that the nurses there are a lot prettier than I am.”
Abriella got off of Indy, put up her stirrups on the leathers so they wouldn’t bang against his sides and held his reins. She walked a bit closer holding her phone in the other hand.
“Just got a text from Elizabeth,” Abriella announced. “Ollie’s safe in the school barn. I’ve let her know we have Master B.”
“Hear that?” asked Kelton. “Your mount is safe and uninjured. Quite the handsome fellow yesterday at the service if I do say so myself.”
The old man made a bigger smile this time, but it looked more of a grimace. Still, Kelton felt encouraged. The femur was a very painful bone to break, let alone both of them. He was surprised that shock hadn’t done for him, flat out on the ground all night. That he was interacting made Kelton ever hopeful for his survival.
Abriella continued her updates, “Vicky can see the ambulance coming down Stirrup Cup.”
“Okay. You will be in good hands,” said Kelton as he gave Master Bartholomew’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. Then looking toward Abriella, “I need to go, since I’m not supposed to be here. Don’t let them take my poncho. I’ll come find your car soon.”
“Kelton?” she asked and he turned around. “Will you come help us with the math again at study group tonight?”
He nodded and gave a wink, “Sure. You’ve got my poncho so I have to come back.”
Then Kelton and Azrael strode quickly away into the woods.
CHAPTER—11
Bridgette Grant looked out her window over the green, trying to catch a glimpse of her bidden young charges between the swaying lush branches. She’d sent the Matron’s Assistant to their house with her summons for afternoon tea. It was the way she directly interacted with most of her girls, hosting tea three times a week during the height of the school year. Summer was a bit slower with some families opting to skip that semester, so she’d host less often. Rotating the invitation from house to house, along with floors and wings of the main building, it ensured she saw most everyone in a small group setting on a regular basis. It kept her grounded on what was going on in their lives and Bridgette considered gracefully navigating such formal events essential to a young lady’s education just as much as book work.
Certainly not more than book work, however. The era of grooming young ladies to serve on the arms of powerful men was long over at Fox Ridge School. Bridgette wanted to grow entrepreneurs and Fortune 100 corporate executives. Senators and cabinet members. Surgeons and Supreme Court Justices. The curriculum was demanding and her graduates easily rivaled college sophomores at most state universities. She hired the most driven and talented academics the school’s budget could afford and didn’t shy away from hiring male professors. Many were not only accomplished within their respective fields, but Bridgette recognized the downside of a single sex educational environment and tried hard to balance it.
The students didn’t just come for the education of course. They came for the connections. Activities outside the classroom were paramount. Sports or clubs, it didn’t matter. Teams, and the long term relationships they built, were to be rewarded. Not just for their accomplishments, although she was quick to note and celebrate them, but also the behavior of striving together and trying something new, regardless of the outcome. She wanted all her ladies to dare mighty things and earn the respect of their peers. Bridgette considered this the foundation of the strong bonds needed for a network of powerful relationships after graduation. When Helmut called her about what happened in the fixture with Master Bartholomew, she knew this was something requiring immediate praise.
Bridgette was impatient to hear about the adventure, as well as any potential details unfavorable to Fox Ridge School’s reputation. She calmed herself with a few deep breaths and wiped her sweaty hands with a napkin. The credenza on one side held a large silver electric service with hot water and a selection of flavored teas. At the other end was a three-tier chrome serving tray holding cucumber sandwiches, crackers with a cream cheese-olive spread, and some cheesecake bars monogrammed with frosting in different letters and colors like children’s blocks. The leather arm chairs, couch and loveseat made a nice sitting space about the Italian wood carved coffee table from Sorrento. Atop it, on matching end tables, and about the room were various knickknacks from her world travels with her husband. He had been an ambassador to several countries, mainly in Europe and Africa. They were always great conversation pieces to help them engage in the art of small talk. Things were perfect and she forced herself to sit down and try some relaxed breaths again.
It was hard to believe her husband had been gone more than a decade with the tragic event coinciding with the opportunity at her old Alma Mater. Her son and daughter were long grown. She’d nothing to keep her from living onsite fulltime as required, and had embraced the students as extended family in a way not experienced in previous tenures. Sometimes she regretted not having sent her daughter to school here, but Bridgette’s time had been a wild and unsupervised era. In many ways it still felt weird receiving girls into this room, forty years after she’d come through those same doors in a plaid skirt, cigarettes hidden in the waistband, and no longer a virgin.
This afternoon’s Matron’s Assistant opened the door to lead the girls in. Everyone had to be the Matron’s Assistant at least once a quarter for a few hours. Generally, they looked forward to it, but sometimes tasks were tedious.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Grant. It’s nice of you to have us up,” greeted Elizabeth. Kate and Vicky smiled shyly behind her.
“I always wish for more time with my young ladies,” and turning toward her assistant, “Thank you, Julie. You may go back to the spreadsheet of cafeteria receipts.”
Julie’s face dropped like a stone as she inclined her head and returned quietly to the side office. Bridgette would be sure to thank Julie again for her hard work and send her off at the end of her shift with leftovers, but she didn’t want to dilute the congratulatory celebration with others. These girls had earned their tea party, whether they wanted it or not.
“Let’s get some tea, shall we? Kate, please go first.”
It took a few minutes for them to fill the china cups and plates, and make their way to sit about the carved table. Vicky piled a stack of the tiny sandwiches on the small plate, and Bridgette smiled inward at being young again and unconcerned with diet. While there was nothing wrong with the cafeteria food, student scuttlebutt to the contrary, she made a point to entertain a few steps up.
“Are we missing someone? Holly, I think? Mr. Muench said four of you were involved in this afternoon’s adventure?”
“Abriella rode with us today,” clarified Vicky. “She�
�d love to come but had to take Indy home. Mr. Harper said she could come back tonight for study hours though.”
Bridgette nodded, “That’s right. Holly is a field hockey player like I was. I miss being young and running that field with my stick. What position does she play?”
Elizabeth and Vicky exchanged blank glances.
After a long awkward pause Kate ventured, “Mopper, I think?”
“Sweeper was the term in my day, but cross training sports and showing interest in each other is a conversation for us to have another day. Please tell me about this most daring rescue of one of the most prominent gentlemen in town.”
Oblivious to the previous admonishment, Kate jumped right in, “We went hacking in the fixture this morning and after an hour or so I saw a lose horse in tack but no one in sight. We all chased after it and it ran from us faster and faster.”
Then Kate picked up one of the three cheesecake bars from her plate and interrupted her own narrative with a large bite so Vicky picked up the tale, “Ginger is pretty fast and I know the grounds, so I galloped ahead to try and grab the reins.”
“Marder and I were right behind,” nodded Elizabeth.
“How exciting,” declared Bridgette with sufficient emphasis to rattle the teaspoon on the cup and saucer she was clutching. “Who managed to catch the loose horse?”
“That was Kelton,” admitted Vicky. “He’s a friend of Abriella’s.”
“And a great geometry teacher,” declared Elizabeth.
“My word, he sounds like a very talented young man,” nodded Bridgette with wide and inquisitive eyes.
“He’s old though, Mrs. Grant,” admitted Kate in a steady thoughtful voice.
Elizabeth nodded, “Might even be close to thirty, Ma’am.”
“Is Kelton a member or employee of the Westburg Hunt? What was he doing in the fixture?”
Vicky shrugged, “I’ve never seen him hunting before so I don’t think he’s a member. He looked to be taking a nap in the shade of a tree with his dog. Abriella said he is homeless.”
Bridgette Grant’s mind raced with more questions, but she steadied herself with a long sip from her teacup. The homeless wasn’t a demographic she wanted her girls mixing with absent adequate supervision and the structure of a community service organization. As a general rule, they did not advance her students in geometry and presented other risks. On top of that, the local television news last night featured the mauling of a policemen by a homeless person’s dog. But this conversation wasn’t supposed to be about investigating her students for wrongdoing, or making them feel interrogated and then doling out punishments for them when they told the truth. Gregory Bartholomew’s life, a special man in the eyes of the community, had been saved.
“Never mind that. How did you find Master Bartholomew after you had his horse? Did the horse lead you to him? Mr. Muench talked me onto one of our school horses once long ago and I’ve no desire to repeat that experience. I don’t really understand how they work.”
Elizabeth tread in a gentle tone, “Horses aren’t really like that, Mrs. Grant. Kate and I rode back with Ollie to the barn. Kelton used his dog to track Ollie’s trail and find the master.”
Vicky nodded, “It was cool. I wish I’d made a video. When we found the master, Kelton performed first aid while I called 911. Since I knew the area best, I met the ambulance while Abriella stayed with Kelton and the master.”
“Where is Kelton now?” asked Bridgette.
Vicky shrugged, “I don’t know. He and his dog weren’t there when I got back.”
Bridgette Grant spent the next half hour praising the girls for keeping their heads in all the excitement so that a man could get the urgent medical care he needed. They flourished with the attention and made more trips to the refreshments tray. She briefly considered reminding them about the school’s strict policy against nonfamily members on campus, and how security was everyone’s responsibility, but thought better of it. That was a message for the entire student body, and it didn’t need to distract from more positive learning moments here.
When the cups were empty, and she’d told them once again how proud she was of them, Bridgette mentioned that it was a school night and they filed toward the door. One by one she shook their hands and as the door closed, Bridgette bolted to the laptop and phone on her desk to look up Justin Harper’s home number. It rang four times before he answered.
“Councilman Harper,” answered Justin in a professional voice, but the tired tone indicated he was in no need for trifles.
“Mr. Harper, this is Mrs. Bridgette Grant at Fox Ridge School. Do you please have a few moments?”
“Of course, Mrs. Grant,” came the sigh. “What can I help you with?”
“Just a few quick things. First, I wanted to call and commend your daughter in the rescue of Master Gregory Bartholomew from the fixture this morning. She made quite a contribution to the effort, and her actions reflect great credit upon herself and our school. I have no doubt that good parenting equipped her with such skills and sense of responsibility.”
“I’d be remiss if I didn’t note the nurturing culture you’ve built at the school,” replied Mr. Harper in a patient voice despite undertones of weariness.
“Thank you, Mr. Harper. That is kind of you.
The second item, which is unfortunate, is I suspect we have a trespasser on the grounds that your daughter has had some contact with. I was going to simply call the police, but then thought it might be better to confer with you first.”
“What kind of trespasser?” asked Justin sharply.
“It seems a homeless man with a dog has been camping out in the fixture and has possibly encountered a few students. Certainly Miss Harper and her friends seem to count him amongst their acquaintances, but I’ve not had the opportunity to confer with her directly on the matter.”
“I see. So are you calling me as Abriella’s father? Or is there some action the school wants Westburg’s City Council to consider?”
“I’m calling you as a parent of one of my students, Mr. Harper. I’m sure the police will want to talk with Abriella for more information, such as a suspect’s description, and I know it will be easier for you to support that process with a head’s up. And as the school’s matron, I will be reminding our student body of the importance of quickly reporting strangers around campus. You really can’t be too careful in this day and age.”
“Thank you for the call, Mrs. Grant. You have a good night now.”
“Good evening to you, Mr. Harper.”
She terminated the call by pressing the cradle switch with her fingers, and released to hear a new dial tone. Then, Bridgette Grant called the Westburg police department.
Justin Harper closed the manila folder of papers and called for Abriella, but he knew he was alone in the house. His wife was working at the hospital and his daughter was sure to have joined her friends on campus for the evening study hours. He remembered the homeless guy and dog from his wife’s tale last night. A cop had wound up needing some stitches. What he couldn’t get his head around was why Mrs. Grant seemed to think Abriella was an acquaintance of the homeless guy. More likely than not, she had merely talked to him briefly out riding in the fixture and had nothing to contribute. There weren’t many people running around the fixture anyway, and even Barney Fife could sort out the “homeless man with dog” from the legitimate population there without a formal description from an alleged eye witness. He wished he would have asked a few probing questions, but with the meeting tomorrow night he was running low on probing questions and critical thinking.
So alone, and tired from being on the phone, his mind drifted from the minor issue of a vagrant to the proper development of their town. He liked Westburg, and other than going a few hours’ drive away for college, had lived there his whole life. His family had been into cows instead of horses and he hadn’t been much into either. He sure liked the rural character of the area, even if he no longer roared through the fields in a beat up,
jacked up four by four with a bolt action deer rifle that never ever left the gun rack. That tape deck had worn down and stretched out his favorite Hank Williams tape such that he’d paid to replace that cassette three times.
He wasn’t blind like the mayor, cutting ribbons and making rosy speeches. The town had needs. There wasn’t much of a middle class here, although he thought of himself among them. But generations of farm laborers were bequeathing legacies and their offspring were electing to stay in the area. To build upon that, working people needed stepping stones between mucker and cattle baron. They wanted to open small businesses which frequently met zoning challenges by those concerned with the town’s special character or increasing traffic. Justin’s leadership on the council was evolving into a sort of champion for the emerging poor.
Justin could see a day in which the Westburg Hunt could no longer run roughshod over the needs of everyone else. Greg had known that too, and put a lot of effort into the hunt’s outreach programs. The two factions needed to do more than just coexist however; they had to grow and support one another.
This was why the golf course was a sticky issue. It would provide a lot of good jobs during and after construction, more affluent than that of farm laborer. There would be demand for services from small businesses. However, frequent low flying helicopters would irritate a lot of people who just want to enjoy their horses. The loss of a few hundred acres to ride to hounds on was a blow that the riding community would never recover from. And who knew what environmental hazards there would be from golf course chemicals running off into the streams.
The council could easily come up with ways to spend increased tax revenue, but Justin felt there weren’t any critical unfunded needs. There weren’t any pothole problems around town. The high school had new computers and the gymnasium was being renovated this summer for the local boys and girls who didn’t attend the private school. Homeland security grants had the police department well equipped. The hunt managed elderly outreach and home meal delivery so well that the city program had shrunk to more of a monitoring program in case something changed.
By Dog Alone: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 2 Page 10