Out Of Hounds

CHAPTER 27

March 7, 2020 Saturday

Pears, peaches, forsythias pressed the pause button as the temperature dropped again. The changing seasons meant people could not yet surrender to spring cleaning, needed to keep a heavy coat in the car just in case the mercury plunged in an hour and the errands were not yet completed. People who liked predictability ought not to live in Virginia, especially by the mountains.

Then again, people who liked predictability ought not to foxhunt. Sister changed the fixture to Tattenhall Station, for The Weather Channel forecast a few snow flurries changing to rain. No need to have everyone at the distant fixture she had chosen. In a perfect world hounds would be working Welsh Harp or even Wolverton, but given that Showoff Stables now separated the two, that took care of that.

Cars lined both sides of the Chapel Cross roads, east, west, north, south. As the Jefferson Hunt Club tacked up, people dressed in warm coats of all varieties, wearing scarves and gloves, held signs reading “No Hunting,” “Hunting Is Cruel,” “Hunting Is Elitist.” There were more but Sister needed to get hounds and horses out of there. Reading wasn’t a priority.

The chanting and waving signs unnerved some of the horses. Staff horses noted the noise, the pressing people, but stood still for their riders to mount up.

Sister, on Aztec, tried and true, knew he might avoid a sign but he wouldn’t bolt or spook.

“Weevil, let’s move off behind the station as soon as you can. Our people will find us. We need to get the hounds out of here. I don’t want any hound mistreated.”

“Yes, Master.”

Gray, also mounting up, put himself between Sister and the anti-hunting crowd, perhaps fifty deep, noisy, and with no regard whatsoever for the animals much less the people.

“Go on, honey. They won’t get past me.” Gray’s example led other riders, mostly the men, to form a barrier.

Thanks to the hounds’ attention to the staff, they managed to ride to the rear of the station. The protesters bedeviled slower riders then followed the last of the riders. Thankfully no one felt compelled to smash a complaining face with a crop. Everyone had the sense to know their behavior needed to be perfect.

As they rendezvoused behind the station, Sister cursed. “Goddamn their eyes.” She counted heads.

Kasmir, close to her, as were Alida, Freddie Thomas, and Bobby Franklin, watched as the protesters marched behind the train station.

Kasmir, pulling out his phone from his inside pocket, dialed Ben Sidell, on duty today. “Sheriff, my property is overrun by protesters. They’ve left the road and are now on Tattenhall Station property. I do hope you and your team can take care of this. I will press charges, of course. I will press charges to the fullest.” He cut off his phone, slipping it back into his pocket.

Weevil blew a few wake-up notes and trotted off. Those people carrying signs, in shoes not meant for the country, wouldn’t be able to follow far.

Three car followers edged away from the Station markers along the roads, Shaker Crown and Skiff Kane; Yvonne, Aunt Daniella, and Kathleen; and surprisingly, Gigi and Elise Sabatini with Ronnie Haslip, the club treasurer, in the car with them, who explained foxhunting. Ronnie, a fellow who looked ahead, realized the Sabatinis were the kind of people who needed attention. He hoped Sabatini wasn’t funding the Standish fellow running for office and he hoped the Sabatinis did not blame the hunt club for Parker Bell’s death. He practically roped them into following by car. If anyone could smooth potentially troubled waters, it was Ronnie. He was more than happy to do it and Sister loved him for it. She’d known him since childhood, where his perceptiveness was already obvious. Also, Ronnie was one of her late son’s best friends.

Seeing the behavior of the anti-hunting crowd underscored the calm of the hunters. The anti-hunters did themselves no favors.

Hounds reached Beveridge Hundred with only a few yips and yaps. The darkening clouds, the light wind carrying the hint of moisture promised a good day, good if you’d dressed for it.

Juno, a first-year entry, began to feather. Unsure of herself, she needed support, she didn’t open but her tail picked up speed. Dasher walked over, putting his nose down.

“I don’t know what this is.” The lovely young hound turned to Dasher.

“Bobcat.”

“Can we chase bobcat?” Juno did not want to make a mistake and the field was huge today, people would see.

“We can. Fox is preferable, so let’s open but should a foxtrail cross the bobcat we can switch over. The humans won’t know the difference.”

“Really? Not even the huntsman and the whippers-in?”

“No nose, sugar. No nose at all. They have to be right on top of something to smell it. Now staff may suspect but they won’t really know unless they see the quarry. In time you’ll become accustomed to what they lack but you’ll appreciate what they do have. An odd species. Okay, you open first, this is your chance to show everyone, then I’ll chip in. Sing!”

“Bobcat.” She warbled, her voice still a bit high.

“Warm, getting warmer.” Dasher seconded the find.

The whole pack rushed over, Pickens inhaled. “Finally.”

His littermate, Parker, said, “If you don’t hit in the first five minutes, you get bored.”

“Shut up.” His brother snapped back, they were off.

Aunt Daniella, window cracked, listened. “I do hope they get a good run. These temperature bounces don’t help, but the conditions are about perfect. Good driving, Yvonne, getting us out of there.”

Kathleen confessed, “There was a time when I might have had sympathy for anti-hunters. But learning, as I have, thanks to you all, I realize they have no concept of nature. We’re losing it, I fear.”

“We are,” Yvonne affirmed. “Let’s hope they’re gone when we get back. I don’t want to waste another minute on them.”

Shaker, now on the edge of his seat, the window all the way down, predicted, “If it’s the usual red fox we pick up here, he’ll cut over to Old Paradise in about ten minutes, but if not, I say this is a straightaway run.”

Skiff drove carefully. “They sound great.”

“You know the first thing you can lose when breeding is cry. It’s funny what you can add fairly easily and what you can’t.”

“That’s the truth,” she agreed. “What I’ve found is you can’t breed a den dog. That hound has to appear. I don’t understand it. On, straightaway. You were right.”

He loved hearing that, naturally.

Once hounds were cast, the protesters disappeared from their thoughts. You can’t let people spoil what you love, and neither huntsman was in danger of that.

Ronnie, in the backseat, put his hand on the headrest of Elise’s seat. “Hounds have found. You can see the two whippers-in moving forward and a bit outward. It’s easier to come into hounds than move out, because if you’re moving out you usually are trying to catch up. Betty has a clear path right now but Tootie is in the right place.”

“How can you tell?” Gigi asked.

“If you think of the face of a clock, hounds are at twelve o’clock, the huntsman is the button where both hands join. Your first whipper-in should be at two and your second whipper-in should be at ten. Many hunts use more than two whippers-in but Sister only uses two. She says if hounds need pushing up, she can do it. Best to keep things simple but our territory lends itself to hunting the old way. So many highways for other hunts.”

“The face of a clock. I can picture that.” Elise watched as horses picked up an easy canter.

“As I said when we drove off, there actually is a lot to it. As I also said, we usually don’t have protest drama. Never had people in pursuit before. We’ll get one or two at a county meeting but this was a first and I hope a last.”

Back on the field, the hounds now moved in a line, for the territory began to close in. Weevil, behind them, saw the coop in the old fence line, which fortunately would put him on a decent path in the small woodlands on the south side of Beveridge Hundred. He was on Gunpowder today and if he had given the Thoroughbred the horn, Gunpowder could have hunted hounds.

The bobcat charged through the trees, turned right toward the road somewhat visible through the trees still denuded. Leaping straight up an old black gum tree, the bark friendly to claws and climbing, he dug in, heading straight up. High in the tree he surveyed the pack from a thick branch.

Dasher reached the black gum first. Immediately behind him were Thimble, Giorgio, and Aero, now the fastest hounds in the pack. Dasher’s brother and sister remained in the kennel today or they, too, would have been right up front. Coming up ran Juno, Trident, and Zane, the rest immediately behind.

The bobcat looked down, baring his considerable fangs.

“Nothing we can do.” Zane sat down as Zorro and Audrey stood on their hind legs, hopping.

“If he were down here I’d teach him a lesson,” Zorro bragged.

“Idiot,” the bobcat growled.

Weevil also looked up. “Come along. Well done.”

Freddie Thomas, in First Flight, fished her phone out of her inside pocket to snap a photo. While it was a great way to smash up a phone, hunting with it, she from time to time would take a photo if it didn’t interfere with anything else.

Carter, next to her, also stared straight up and now everyone coming up, even Second Flight, did likewise.

Aunt Daniella asked Yvonne, “Can you see anything?”

“No. Everyone is looking up. That’s it.”

Ronnie Haslip with the Sabatinis got out of the stopped car, walked to the edge of the wood so he could see better. In a moment he returned, with a photo in his phone, which he showed them.

“The bobcat is up a tree. Big boy.”

Gigi felt the roll of cold air when Ronnie closed the back door. “Do you often chase a bobcat?”

Ronnie thought a moment. “From time to time. They are very elusive.

“Weevil will cast on the western side of the road. Soil’s decent here, holds scent a bit. You never know, especially now. Of course he wants to run a fox.”

“Why now?” Elise asked.

“End of mating season. Those foxes, usually young ones, may not have found a mate yet and will need to wait until next year. Doesn’t mean a few aren’t still out there looking, but in the main the long, fantastic runs from December to early March are over.”

“The females aren’t running?” Elise asked.

“Not much. They’ll stick close to their dens, forcing the males to find them. They look them over and when they become pregnant they really stick close to the den. The male usually stays with the female until the young disperse, which is, oh, early October here in Virginia. The young males are pushed out by their father. The female cubs might stay an extra year to help with next year’s babies. People don’t think foxes are social animals but they are. They cooperate.”

“That’s fascinating.” Elise watched as the handsome huntsman now on the other side of the road, having taken an old sagging coop, cast the hounds.

“Mother Nature doesn’t make too many mistakes.” Ronnie watched hounds. “If you think about it, most of her mistakes are extinct.”

As the car followers talked, Sister waited an extra moment before taking the old coop. Jingle, another youngster, a bit confused, stood in front of the jump. The master said nothing, waiting for the huntsman to call hounds or blow them on. She loved the tri-color girl but this was business. Jingle did not need to be listening to the master but rather her huntsman.

Weevil tooted two notes and the relieved first-year entry now knew to go to him. She vaulted the jump, flying to him and then rushing up into the pack, who ignored her frantic tail wagging.

The cars slowly turned around, for the road was narrow. Yvonne, in front, followed the hounds running close to the old fence, which turned into a new fence once they reached the corner of Old Paradise, where she stopped.

The next hour, stop and start, frustrated hounds as they picked up squiggles of scent only to lose it. As there was no wind, soil moist, temperature maybe 41°F, this should have been a stellar day. Wasn’t awful but it wasn’t stellar.

Sister, watching now as hounds cast again, witnessed a bright beam of golden sunlight seemingly slice through a dark cloud, where it reached the ground. The gold against the charcoal cloud illuminated the pasture around it. Had she been superstitious this would have been a sign of something, maybe hopefulness?

Parker opened. They all chimed in and hounds crossed the road, leaping over the two jumps. The one at Old Paradise was a stone jump with a telephone pole over the top. The jump into Tattenhall Station was a new formidable coop, painted black. A seven-board coop, so best be alert.

Aztec popped over but the seven-board coop deterred some riders, who drifted back to Second Flight. Hounds roared over the back pasture of Tattenhall Station down to the strong running creek before the railroad tracks. Sister noticed in the distance no cars were parked along the road. The protesters had been dispersed.

The fox, a healthy red, turned south and within minutes all were on Beveridge Hundred again, where the sly fellow made straight for the main house then veered off to Yvonne’s dependency, executed a confusing circle only to blast straightaway back to the road, where the cheeky devil ran straight down the macadam road for a quarter of a mile. Ruined scent. By the time hounds reached the road, the loathsome smell of oil and gasoline, not very discernible to the humans, fouled the fox scent. Sister, clearing the two jumps to reach the road, pulled up on the side. Weevil stood in the middle of the road, blowing his hounds back while the car followers blocked one end of the road. Tootie quickly stood in the middle of the other end. Fortunately no cars were about.

“Good work,” Weevil praised his hounds, gathering them as he trotted back to Beveridge Hundred.

Sister, following, thought they’d done as much as they could on a strange day. She’d let him determine the next move. If at all possible she did not intrude on a huntsman’s decisions.

Weevil, sensibly, chose to hunt back toward Tattenhall Station, where all they found were four deer shooting in front of them. Hounds paid them no mind. Twenty minutes later all reached the parking lot.

Once in Tattenhall Station everyone found a place to sit with food and drink, including the car followers. Elise bubbled with excitement and Gigi, less excited, was happy with his wife’s enthusiasm. Ronnie made certain to introduce them to others, seating them amidst a lively group.

Along with the day’s sport, the protesters provided discussion.

Aunt Daniella, head of the table, listened and laughed. “If people are out here on a brisk Saturday, you know they have nothing else to do. Then again, some people like to be upset, to have a cause that brings them attention.”

Sister happily dropped into a chair. Gray brought her Perrier with lime plus a salad. She thought she wasn’t hungry but once she ate a bit she discovered she was.

Betty, now next to Sister, devoured her macaroni and cheese, always a favorite on a cold day. “Have you all been keeping up with this virus thing?”

Yvonne replied, “Not too much. The information is conflicting.”

“Odd,” Carter simply said.

“As far as we know today, anyway, anyone whose health is compromised with a chronic condition or who just had an operation, or who is older, is more in danger.”

“I’m not worried,” Sister flatly stated. “Old though I may be, I’m in better health than most of the forty-year-olds sitting behind a computer in a corporation. I’m not going to worry until we are given clear information, and even then I have to ask, who does this really benefit?”

“Cynical.” Betty lifted one eyebrow, dropped it. “I am, too. It seems to me if there’s any way someone can figure out how to profit from a virus, they will.”

“Betty.” Kathleen looked at her.

“Well, I’m sick of if Democrats say ‘apples’ then Republicans say ‘bananas.’ Nothing gets done. Why should this be any different? Party is more important than people.”

“You have a point.” Gray nodded. “But we can hope the welfare of our people takes precedence even in Washington; that is, if this turns out to be more serious than we are presently being told.”

Aunt Daniella listened then added, “My parents were in their prime when the Spanish flu hit. So many people were dying. No one knew what to do but they carried on. That was probably the worst thing apart from wars to happen in the twentieth century. I remember in 1949 when the polio epidemic took over. We’d always had polio but this was a wave. Again people carried on. I don’t recall panic. Some people took their children out of schools. Kids did get polio in school but no one knew how. What I predict is no matter what happens, the media will beat it to death and scare the bejesus out of people.”

Freddie said, “Let’s hope the media puts news ahead of profit. Scaring people makes them money but I think all the media, electronic or newspaper, must live up to their true responsibility, to give us the most accurate information they can.”

Carter changed the subject. “We’re almost at the end of the season. Hard to believe. I’ll miss next week but not Saturday. Have to go to Charleston.”

“Lucky you.” Kathleen smiled.

“Clients. The shops on King Street could wipe out any profit I make.”

“Well, Carter, discipline,” Freddie teased him.

“Easier said than done,” he replied.

A beep snatched Carter’s attention from the people. He took his cellphone out of his pocket, stood up, and left the table with an apology.

Elise walked over to Sister. “I’m glad Ronnie wouldn’t give up until Gigi and I said yes to following the hunt in a car. It was fascinating.”

“I look forward to the day when you’re riding with us.” Sister smiled. “If you can take those jumps I saw at your show ring the day hounds ran over there, this will be a piece of cake.”

Sister neglected to say the show ring had flat ground.

“You’re a flatterer.” The newcomer smiled.

“You have all spring and summer. We have trail rides. We visit other hunts for their trail rides. I’ll send you a schedule. Well, Betty will send you a schedule. She’s our hunt secretary. You’ll meet interesting people. Foxhunters aren’t dull.”

Betty grinned at Elise. “Bet you already knew that.”

As the Sabatinis left, Carter rejoined the table. “Betty, Buddy agrees to the price.”

“Good.” Betty beamed.

“Then he told me.” Carter addressed the people at this end of the table. “We’d better make hay while the sun shines, given the increasing attention this virus is getting.”

Once the breakfast broke up Yvonne drove Aunt Daniella and Kathleen to Aunt Daniella’s, where Kathleen had left her car.

“Come on in,” Aunt Daniella invited them.

“Don’t try to feed us,” Yvonne suggested.

“I won’t, but we can have a drink.”

Ribbon investigated everything in the house. The Norfolk terrier had become Yvonne’s constant companion. The three women chatted a bit, talked about the hunt, the members, the breakfast, whatever.

“Well, ladies, best I go home and walk Abdul.”

“Are you worried about the virus?” Yvonne asked as Kathleen stood up.

“A little. My fear is that no one knows what they are doing.”

Aunt Daniella lifted her bourbon as a goodbye gesture. “Kathleen, no one knows what they are doing wherever they are, regardless of profession. It’s all bullshit. If we knew what we were doing, do you think we’d go to work forty hours a week and do it for somebody else?”