Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 17

“I can’t do this as long as the ground is frozen.” Tootie held a two-by-four, leaning it on the doghouse.

“I know but we can look at it.” Yvonne, scarf wrapped around her neck, held a mudflap. “We can fix up a back door, double flaps to keep out the wind. Come spring, I can add up on the doghouse.”

“Mom, the fox doesn’t really need a tower.” Tootie knelt down on the cold ground, began sawing a back door.

“But won’t it be fun if I build a tower off this back door? He can climb up, look out. No one will be able to get to him if by chance he’s trapped in here.”

“That’s why I’m putting in this back door. Doesn’t have to be big, just has to be secure.” She lifted up her hand for a first mudflap.

Yvonne leaned the two-by-four against the doghouse, walked to her small wooden box, plucked out a second mudflap. She’d bought a big wooden toy chest, bought mudflaps, bought more sweets for the fox.

Tootie carefully nailed in the top of the mudflap, then placed a quarter round along the top once she affixed the second mudflap. Surely this would keep out the wind.

“What about if I build a fence in springtime?”

“No. He doesn’t need a fence. He needs to come and go and not become trapped in here. It’s not just hunting. There are other animals that like treats—raccoons, possums. You’re starting a restaurant in here.” Tootie stood up, checked her handiwork.

She knelt back down and pushed the flaps again. Satisfied, she stood up.

Now Yvonne knelt down, the cold earth hard beneath her knees. She reached all the way to the back of the doghouse—she was almost flat on her stomach—and she pushed the mudflaps from inside. “There.”

Tootie, now standing over her mother, waited for her to rise. Then she knelt down to test it from the inside. A metal food bowl clanked.

“Empty.”

“I know. I have kibble in the toy chest. Gumdrops, too.”

On her hands and knees, Tootie picked up the food bowl, handing it behind her while still down. Her mother took it. Tootie smoothed out the straw, fluffed the old, well, not so old towels. The Saint Hubert’s ring fell out of a plush towel. She picked it up, backed out.

“Mom, what’s this?”

“I don’t know.” Yvonne held out her gloved palm wherein Tootie dropped the lovely ring. “It’s a deer, a cross between the antlers.”

“Saint Hubert.”

“You’re right.” Yvonne, a Catholic, remembered her saints.

“Let’s put the two-by-fours in the mudroom.” Tootie picked one up.

Yvonne carried her toy chest while Tootie made the trips to put the four two-by-fours in the mudroom. They took off their coats, gloves in the pockets. Yvonne pulled the ring out of her coat pocket. Once in the kitchen, she placed it on the kitchen table.

“The metalwork is beautiful. I think this must have been done by hand. It’s too detailed for a stamp.”

Tootie picked it up, turning it in her fingers. “It is beautiful. I like the oak leaves on the side facing upward and the acorns on the sides. I wonder how it got into the doghouse.” She stared again at the top of the ring, a ten-point buck, his noble head looking left, the cross between those august antlers.

Yvonne then asked, “Anyone in the hunt club wear a Saint Hubert’s ring?”

“Not that I recall,” Tootie added. “But then everyone wears gloves even at the outdoor tailgates, because it’s cold.”

“Rory?” Yvonne inquired.

“Oh, Mom, he could never have afforded a gold ring.”

“A gift?”

“I would have noticed. I’d see Rory once or twice a month. He’d drop by, usually with Sam. Sam would come by for Gray and to see Sister. Sometimes we’d talk about restoring the home place, about the foxes there.”

“I like that old wraparound porch,” Yvonne mentioned.

“Remember the story of Saint Hubert?” Tootie asked her mother.

Twirling the ring in her fingers, Yvonne proclaimed, “I do. All those years of Catholic school, I know my saints. He was a rich kid, a pagan his mother had converted to Christianity and this was the eighth century in Belgium, much of which was still pagan. Anyway, his mother begged him to go to church with her on Good Friday. He refused, going hunting instead. The church bells could be heard in the forest at three P.M. ringing to signify the time of Jesus’s death. An enormous stag walked in front of him, turned his head, and the crucifixion cross shone between his antlers. That’s how Hubert converted. He wound up being the bishop of Maastricht and Liege. Kept on hunting but not on Sundays or Holy Days.” She laughed.

“Think those stories are true?”

“I expect there are elements of truth in all the saints’ stories. Mostly they provide examples. When you think of the suffering some of these people willingly endured.” She shrugged. “I’m not that good a Christian. Actually, I’m quite an awful one. I wish mountains of misery on your father.”

“He keeps texting me.”

“Why?” Her eyes widened.

“Stuff about my grades. I know he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want me to go to vet school. And he wants to know again if you are investing your money.”

Yvonne placed the ring on the table. “Your father never asks an idle question about money.” She blew air out of her nostrils. “I wonder if he’s losing money? Not my problem. However, since we are on the subject of money, I do wish you’d take it a little more seriously.”

“I have enough.”

“I’m not saying you should switch to a business major. I know you like science, you always have, but why don’t you pick a stock and follow it? Learn how the market works. Pay attention to what’s happening in the world.”

Tootie got up, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a ginger ale. “Want one?”

“No.”

“Mom, money doesn’t fascinate me. I think people do terrible things over it. But I will follow a stock.”

“Good.” Yvonne picked up the ring, slipping it on the third finger of her right hand. “Fits perfectly. I’ll see if Violet or Cecil is missing a ring. He’s becoming a little forgetful, or so Violet says. I don’t really know them enough to see that but if they haven’t lost a ring, this is mine. Finders keepers.”