Homeward Hound

CHAPTER 27

The Richmond newspaper spread out on Dewey Milford’s leather-topped office desk contained a large photo of the picture taken with ground-penetrating radar at Old Paradise accompanied by an interview with Crawford Howard and Charlotte Abruza.

Betty Franklin bent over to read the article. She’d stopped by to drop off extra fixture cards, which Dewey wanted to send to hunting friends in nearby states. “Looks like he did it.”

“Sure does.” Dewey pointed to the rows of neatly placed bodies, well, you couldn’t see the bones but you could see the rectangles where the deceased, long ago, had been laid.

“Crawford backed up what he said. He has temporarily halted the pipeline route. That doesn’t mean people will be buying or selling real estate. Not until this is clear.”

“Don’t you wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t hired Charlotte Abruza? That’s a young woman who knows her business. First of all, Betty, there have to be bodies all over this state from before the English arrived and after. If we stop construction every time someone is found, nothing will ever get done. Not that I want to see Old Paradise torn up.”

“I never thought of that.” Betty pointed to a small rectangle. “A child.”

“So many didn’t make it.” Dewey sat down, motioning for Betty to sit. “Rest yourself.”

She smiled. “I will just for a minute. This is my errand day but, Dewey, we hunted hard yesterday.”

“And survived aerial warfare.” He burst out laughing. “Muster Meadow is such a special place.”

“You know, most of our fixtures are.” She glanced back at the photo. “I guarantee tomorrow Soliden will issue a statement about considering moving the pipeline so it does not desecrate graves. They can do this to save face. There always were alternative pathways. And business will bounce back.”

“True. This needs to be cleaned up, cleared up so people can get on with real estate decisions. Betty, you can’t believe how this pipeline issue has affected Realtors, construction companies, suppliers. Everyone is sitting on their hands.”

“You’re not.”

“The development in Green Springs, Louisa County, seems safe. So is the one on Old Lynchburg Road. Going well.”

“I couldn’t help myself. Last fall before the snows I drove by. Boy, Dewey, those are some big, expensive homes.”

“Louisa County is now within driving distance of Richmond. Richmond is coming our way and I predict a few of our easternmost fixtures may be impacted. They certainly will be for Keswick Hunt and even Farmington. We are all going to be pushed.”

“Jefferson Hunt is in better shape in the respect it will take longer for people to consider our territory within commuting distance of Richmond.” Betty felt relief that Crawford’s plan had worked or was about to work.

Dewey smiled. “True, but for all I know I will live to see us hunt the top ridge of the Blue Ridge Mountains.” He swiveled around in his chair, pointing to a huge map. “Jefferson is uniquely placed among Charlottesville, Staunton, and Lynchburg. And let’s not forget Waynesboro. That town has come to life.”

Squinting at the map, Betty shrugged. “We’ll do the best we can. Sister and Walter have worked hard to get us new fixtures, well, the members have, as well. Everyone understands how quickly we can lose a fixture. Look what happened when Crawford first rented Old Paradise? He couldn’t wait to throw us off.”

Dewey laughed. “And his raggle-taggle pack would leave him flat and come to us every time we hunted Chapel Cross. How many huntsmen did he cycle through? Three? Skiff will stick. She and Marty have helped him to see there’s nothing to be gained by crossing Sister.”

“Ego,” Betty simply stated, then added, “But he’s somewhat come around. We have a joint hunt in the fall and one in the winter. If our pack follows a fox onto Old Paradise, he follows the centuries-old tradition of allowing the pack to follow the fox onto another hunt’s territory. He realized this benefit applies to him as well. Skiff has been over on Tattenhall Station.” Betty looked at Dewey, who had swiveled back. “So much time wasted on these things. I’ve been meaning to ask you, these big homes you build, I’m assuming our people don’t buy them.”

“Mostly.”

“And the new people are all horrified by foxhunting?”

“Some, but they don’t know about it. I mean all they know is what they’ve seen in movies, mostly English ones or Downton Abbey. So I’ve trained all my people to emphasize, underline three times, ‘We don’t kill.’ Mostly it gets through and I always invite a new person to a hunt.”

“Good for you.” Betty smiled. “Well, let me get rolling here. I’ll soon be out of daylight although we’ve gained a minute each day since December twenty-first. I need those minutes.” She stood up, as did Dewey. Then she said, “Did you hear that Gregory Luckham’s boots were found?”

“No.”

“Middleburg Tack Exchange.” She informed him of the rest.

“Great day.” Dewey used the old Southern expression although he, himself, was in his forties. “To think that someone would remove boots off a dead body. Well. I’m assuming a dead body. Hey, before I forget, if you know anyone in the market for an SUV, I’m going to sell my Range Rover. I need something smaller, better on gas.”

“And before I forget, Thursday we’ll be at Jerusalem Field. First time. I’ll let you know if I think of anyone wanting a ghastly expensive car.”

He laughed. “Usually I can slip away for Tuesdays, not Thursdays, but I’m always curious about a new fixture. And by the way, I thought Weevil did a great job. And thanks for updating us with emails concerning Shaker. So he’s out for the rest of the season?”

“Yes. He’s taking it about as good as can be expected.”

“Got to be hard, and it’s got to be hard being replaced by a younger man whom I predict will be brilliant. He’s got it.”

“He does.” Betty agreed. “We can work that out next season. Obviously I will do what my Master tells me to do, but Sister wants this to work out for everyone. She’ll do the right thing.”

“She always does.” Dewey walked Betty to the door. “Thanks for the fixture cards.” He paused a moment. “Betty, do you know the size of those boots?”

“Nine and a half.”

Dewey looked down at his feet. “Damn.”

“Dewey, you’re awful.”

“I know but still, a pair of superexpensive boots used.”

She looked down at his feet, too. “Never work.”