Crazy Like A Fox

CHAPTER 29

Crawling along in the Continental, Yvonne driving, the two women listened intently.

“Heading toward the old home place.”

“Yours?” Yvonne inquired.

“Um-hum. The Lorillards were free blacks, and way back in 1790, the men all became blacksmiths, much in demand. After All wasn’t much at the time. We worked in Pattypan Forge as well as traveled to stables. A skilled metalworker commanded good money and respect.”

“Can you imagine life without cars, airplanes, trains? Not much noise. Well, birds and stuff.”

Aunt Daniella smiled. “And a blacksmith’s hammer. Things were different down here from Chicago. We—the Lorillards, the Laprades, the Davises whom you haven’t met—descend from families older than most of the white people’s. They might have seen us as beneath the salt but we certainly didn’t feel that way.”

“Do you think we will ever know our history? The true history of our country?”

Aunt Daniella, ear tuned to the outside, murmured, “No. History is twisted by whoever is in power or wants power. That’s why it’s important to know your family, your people, your neighbors.”

Yvonne considered this. “Yes. Even in a huge city like Chicago, once the second largest city in America, you have your family.” She sat up straighter. “Who is that? Someone leaving early?”

Aunt Daniella recognized Weevil, although she didn’t recognize Clipper. “Heading back to the stables. Maybe the horse threw a shoe. Happens. He’s an old friend.”

Yvonne smiled. “He looks like a young friend.”

Aunt Daniella folded her hands in her lap. “Honey, it’s a long story for a snowy night. Move on a bit, they’re going to swing out from Pattypan Forge, and you’ll see my childhood home. Has a charm to it.”

Yvonne rolled along in second gear as Aunt Daniella turned and watched Weevil stop at the stables, dismount, and whip the tack off Clipper in the blink of an eye.

What’s he up to? she wondered, then spoke: “Stop. They’ll pop out in front of you. There’s a little trail.”

Yvonne stopped. Sure enough out came hounds, moving briskly. She saw Betty out of the corner of her eye, moving on a trail to the right in the woods. Then those woods ended, and Betty took a coop into a well-kept pasture, a few big hay rolls dotting the green.

“How old is she?”

“Betty? Fifties. Early fifties. A low-key rider. Draws no attention to herself, but she gets the job done.” Aunt Daniella said this with praise. “Here comes Shaker.”

All business, Shaker reached the road and turned left, moving at a collected canter. Hounds were speaking but not screaming. The line, good, wasn’t red hot.

“Where’s Tootie?”

“She should be on our left. She might have moved on, since it’s best to clear the woods on the left. Someday, get your daughter to take you back to Pattypan Forge. Quite interesting, and the heavy enormous furnace from 1792 is still there, along with some old tools hung on the walls.”

“I’d like to see it. I must say being here I’m not always sure what century I’m in.”

Aunt Daniella laughed, then ordered, “Okay, last of the field has passed us. You can creep forward.”

The blue car inched forward, the Lorillard house came into view, and the hounds circled the house, hopped on the graveyard wall—did exactly what Uncle Yancy planned for them to do. Tootie sat quietly on the other side of the graveyard.

“What a lovely house.” Yvonne admired the white clapboard home, old slate roof intact, front door painted marine blue, as were the shutters.

“Memories.” Aunt Daniella smiled. “All of us rest in that graveyard. Mother. Father. My sister Graziella and my son Mercer. I expect soon it will be my turn.”

“I hope not” came the swift reply.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Aunt Daniella asked as hounds leapt back out of the graveyard.

“People have spoken of them for thousands of years in every culture. There must be something to it. I’ve never seen one.”

Having just seen Weevil ride out of the woods, Aunt Daniella smiled. “Not that you know. Here’s what I think—oh, look at young Pickens. Head under the front porch, butt in the air.”

“You know the hounds? How can you remember them?”

“I know some of them, thanks to Gray or Sam occasionally driving me along a hunt. Where was I? Ghosts. Yvonne, there is so much we don’t know, but we’re a nervous lot. We want answers. We want things tied in a bow, so whoever comes up with a convincing answer pacifies the rest, even if it’s false.”

“God help anyone who disturbs the status quo.” Yvonne enjoyed watching Shaker dismount, speak to his hounds, and convince Pickens to leave the front porch. “Think of Galileo.”

“Well, here’s the thing. Galileo. Copernicus. Men who shook up the status quo. Yes, the earth moves around the sun. Big deal. We can plant, plan, live just as well thinking the sun revolves around the earth.”

“Can’t do space travel that way,” Yvonne answered.

“Honey, firing men up in rockets seems an expensive way to get rid of them.” Aunt Daniella’s eyes twinkled.

Yvonne laughed, happy to be in irreverent company.

Then the old lady remarked, “Gray and Sam have repainted the house, done quite a lot of work inside. Speaking of men, they are good men, but I’m prejudiced.”

“Good men and good-looking.” Yvonne smiled.

“Never hurts, does it?”

“That fellow riding back to the barn. Good-looking.”

“Oh, Yvonne, that he is.” She took a deep breath. “Now Shaker has to figure out what to do next. Temperature is rising. The fox is in his den. What next?”

Shaker drew back along the road but scent proved spotty. Really the day was done, but he stayed out another hour, hunting and pecking, then finally rode back to the trailers.

Clipper, in his pasture, wished he could have finished the hunt. His coat, a rich dark bay, shone in the sunlight. Weevil had wiped him down, picked out his hooves, and turned him out.

And, as usual, Weevil vanished, but not before blowing “Going Home.”

Tootie and Betty loaded hounds on the party wagon with Shaker. Sister, being Master, fielded chat, inquiries from members, as did Walter.

Rickyroo, happy to be free of the tack, was wiped down as he munched on hay in a string bag. Most of the horses stood, tied to the sides of the trailer, happy to eat. They were always happy to eat. And most had a light cotton sweat sheet over them.

Sister adjusted his sheet, patted the wonderful fellow, fished a baked cookie with apple bits in it out of a bucket in the tack room, and fed it to him.

Alida, trailer next to Sister’s, called out, “You spoil that horse.”

“And you don’t spoil Mumtaz?” She named one of Kasmir’s Thoroughbreds, which Alida often rode, and rode well.

Kasmir sounded off from the other side of his horse, Nighthawk. “She spoils me.”

They all laughed, then Sister asked, “How’s Lucille Ball coming along?”

“Wonderfully well.” Kasmir filled her in. “Sam tunes her up once a week.” He paused a moment. “That was a good idea to have a joint meet with Crawford.”

“Thank you. Well, are you ready for that famous Bancroft hospitality?”

—

Given the loveliness of the day, the Bancrofts hosted the breakfast outside. Fall color, nearing its peak, added to the beauty of the day.

Long tables in a row held the food, and smaller round tables, complete with table settings, covered the immaculate formal backyard, the gardens just beyond.

Aunt Daniella, given a good seat so she could see everyone, had her bourbon in hand, thanks to Gray. Yvonne sat with her, a good idea since everyone knew Aunt Daniella. Anyone she hadn’t met, Yvonne did today.

Betty plopped down at a table, her husband with her. “Can you believe we are about three weeks from Opening Hunt?”

“Three weeks to the day,” he replied.

Alfred DuCharme joined them. “Good day?”

“Given conditions, pretty good.” Betty leaned forward. “Drove by Old Paradise yesterday. Crawford is starting to frame it up. It’s coming back to life.”

“I’m as curious to see it as you-all. The house was burned down by the time I was born.”

Binky, on the other side of the gathering, chatted with Edward. The two brothers did not acknowledge each other. Given that The Jefferson Hunt was one of the hubs of the county, people came to watch the hounds, to partake of the breakfast. Technically, the DuCharmes were no longer landowners. Didn’t matter. Anyone was welcome, and over the years they had been a big part of the hunt.

Edward, standing, glass in hand, waved to people, turned to Binky. “Glad you could make it.”

“You know, I haven’t been on After All for most of a year. I don’t know where the time goes.”

“Who does?” He nodded as Tedi came up by his elbow, kissed Binky on the cheek.

“Where’s Milly?” she asked.

“Hanging curtains.” Binky grimaced, then changed the subject. “Why anyone ever wants to move is beyond me. But I picked up a pile of books last night and noticed a family scrapbook. Sat down and studied every picture. There was one in there of you and Evangelista. Thanksgiving Hunt. You looked like you were still in college, or just graduated. Hard to believe we were that young.”

“I feel young. Look old.” Ed knocked back his drink, rattled the cubes in his glass.

“I thought your sister was a knockout. She was my idea of a movie star.” He grinned. “But I was just busting twenty. Way beneath her.”

“Funny, how we remember our early crushes. For me it was the actress Irene Dunne.” He smiled. “Then I met a real star.” He squeezed his wife.

“Edward, you are so sweet.” She glowed.

“My sister could have run the business. She was whip smart, but women didn’t do that then. I did okay. But I really think Evie would have done better.”

“She took over the Warrenton Horse Show. Did a splendid job for decades.” Tedi mentioned one of Virginia’s premier outdoor horse shows, held over Labor Day.

The Warrenton Horse Show signals the end of the show season—outdoor, anyway—and the beginning of cubbing.

“Loved it. She just loved it.” Edward chewed an ice cube. “Now we have women CEOs of major corporations. It’s good, I think. Opens us up. New ideas.”

“I often wonder if Mom would have been happy with a career,” Binky replied.

“Another really smart woman.” Tedi nodded.

“Mom never really found her way.” Binky shrugged. “And I took to fixing cars.” He paused. “Haunting, that horn echo.”

Tedi nodded again. “Happens almost every hunt now. Very odd.”

The people at the gathering nattered on. A lively discussion erupted concerning red cords for gentlemen’s top hats. “One can’t find them unless you go online. Easier to find in England.”

This provoked all manner of why isn’t someone here doing it.

The subject of garter straps provoked opinions. A leather strap, slid through two slits in the back of one’s boot to hold up the boot, is a garter strap. However, boots are no longer turned over as they were in the seventeenth century. As boots tightened in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, garter straps became no longer useful.

However, as they had been worn since the reign of Charles II, they were still considered absolute proper turnout.

Everyone had much to say. Sister settled it as she usually did by following protocol.

“I understand that thin leather can cut you at the back of the knee. I don’t much like it but on the High Holy Days, I wear the damned garter strap. Four days out of a hunting season, how bad is that? Put a strip of moleskin under your britches at your knee. Saves the blisters.”

Finally, the breakfast broke up.

Gray, now in Yvonne’s Continental, carried Aunt Daniella home. Yvonne squeezed in with Sister and Betty, as Sister drove the hound trailer. She wanted to be with the girls and Gray was curious about her new car. Worked out. Tootie rode with Shaker in the party wagon.

The trip took maybe five minutes, but that was long enough to talk, laugh, plan Tuesday’s hunt.

Back at the farm, Yvonne stood by while hounds walked into their quarters. Tootie and Betty washed the horses. Sister joined them once hounds were put up.

Yvonne, enjoying the company, dropped into a director’s chair. She offered to help, but she didn’t know enough to be really useful.

The horses loved their bath, being scraped down, and then more cookies before being turned out. Each horse was led to his or her pasture. Rickyroo was first. He turned around once in the pasture and faced Sister; she slipped off his halter. Every single time, he would stand there for one moment, then turn and run, run, run to the end of the large pasture. He’d twist around, he’d stand on his hind legs, he’d buck.

“Happiness.” Sister grinned.

Each gelding, in turn, performed his own ritual.

Back in the stable, the center aisle was swept out while Betty, Sister, and Yvonne cleaned tack. Yvonne proved a good tack cleaner.

“Sam showed me how to do this.”

Betty was impressed that a formerly famous model dipped her sponge in a bucket and got to work.

Yvonne regaled them with Aunt Daniella’s comments. “She is ninety-four going on twenty-two.”

“True.” Sister and Betty agreed.

“We’re sitting in the car and this divine-looking young man rides by and Aunt Daniella says she’s known him for years. I wonder what her definition of years is,” Yvonne added.

Just as her mother told this story, Tootie walked into the room.

Sister and Betty continued cleaning but didn’t say anything as Yvonne repeated the sighting for Tootie’s benefit.

“Was he blond?” the young woman asked.

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Mother, that was the man who saved me at the marijuana patch.”

“Well, I hope he keeps hunting with Jefferson so I can thank him for saving my baby.”

“Oh, Mom.” Tootie rolled her eyes, then added, “He’ll probably be out sooner or later.”

“Think so?” Sister asked.

“I do.”