Out Of Hounds

CHAPTER 30

March 10, 2020 Tuesday

Fog as thin as a veil shrouded the old schoolhouse at Foxglove Farm.

A light mist swirled, barely visible. Hounds waited for Weevil’s instructions and the field waited by the clapboard schoolhouse, still inviting and still sturdy although abandoned in the 1960s when bussing became the method, children hauled to large schools, consolidated districts that created rectangular, big, mostly ugly new schoolhouses.

In the distance below, Sister beheld the huge cow and her son, Clytemnestra and Orestes, in a paddock. The Jefferson Hunt always parked by the stables and the cow barn, to Clytemnestra’s irritation. Best to be distant from the enormous crab.

This Tuesday the field swelled to thirty-some people. Given the continuing bad news about the coronavirus, many members felt this would be the last hunt despite the season’s normal end in mid-March.

Rickyroo, Sister’s bay Thoroughbred, waited as patiently as the hounds. He did wonder why every nose had to be accounted for before they took off.

“All right, then, lieu in.” Weevil cast downhill from the schoolhouse.

The gray vixen Georgia lived in the schoolhouse in splendor. She rarely gave hounds a run but the hope was another fox may have visited her, sort of like visiting your rich aunt. Georgia had everything, plus Cindy Chandler would open the door, put in a large bowl of dog food sprinkled with treats. If weather turned ugly Georgia need not trouble herself. Sister fussed at Cindy because the fox didn’t give them runs, staying right where life was easy. Cindy would laugh, which settled it, as no one could argue with such an inviting laugh.

So down the terrace they would ride once off the flat site, down to the two ponds at lower levels before them. The small waterwheel sending water from the upper pond to the lower via a buried pipe, end sticking out at the lower pond.

Hounds veered toward the woods to the right of this. The moisture intensified scent.

“Someone.” Diana kept walking.

Her littermate, the egotistical Dragon, walked beside her. “Red.”

“Yes. We’ll see.” She continued walking but not speaking.

Dragon irritated many of the other hounds but none so much as his own littermates. Diana seemed to be the only one who could work with him, so his hunting days were limited to hunting with her. He was fast, strong, and determined, which was the good part. He thought nothing of pushing another hound off the line, going first, taking credit. The younger hounds would now push back, so Weevil had to keep an eye on him.

Ardent walked fast then trotted. “Two of them.”

The scent, having warmed, revealed a double line. The humans had no idea but the hounds, noses down, now trotted. Finally all opened.

Cindy, over the years, opened many paths in her wooded areas helped by the hunt club. Those late spring and summer days brought everyone out with limb loppers, chain saws, even a bushhog.

Thanks to a wide path, hounds and horses could run without negotiating debris.

Rickyroo, ears forward, listened intently. Sister, leg firm, relaxed on the fellow, for he was a most sensible horse. His smooth gaits made him a joy to ride.

“Split!” Dragon bellowed before Diana could say the same.

While he cut to the left, she did not. She slowed, nose down, going from one line to the other to determine which was the hottest. She turned to the right while Dragon could be heard, booming deep voice, on the left.

Weevil, not a moment’s hesitation, followed Diana.

Tootie, on the left, per usual, now had the thankless job of pushing Dragon back to the pack. Weevil might thank her but Dragon would make her work for it. He was determined to be right. To hell with the pack, which is a major sin for a foxhound.

“Dragon, leave it.” Tootie called his name.

“Screw you,” he answered.

As he did not respond to his name, Tootie unleashed her crop, the kangaroo woven crop ending in a tightly woven plait of hay twine. The sound cracked like a rifle shot. His head came up and she rode right for him.

Now beside him, for Iota could easily keep up with Dragon, fast though he was, Tootie turned her right thigh in, pivoting as she leaned over on her left side, and this time aimed her cracker right for Dragon’s rear end. Easier said than done, but Tootie, practicing over the years, nailed him.

“Oww!” he yelled.

“Go to him.”

Dragon did turn right and hurried to catch up. Hardheaded, he couldn’t be taken out with youngsters, as he might lead them astray. He would have today. Dragon was lucky Sister kept him, to use him on days when the veterans were out with only Diana from his litter. His nose and drive were worth it but she was the only person who thought so.

The pack, full cry, raced through the woods, emerging on the far eastern side, a plowed cornfield forcing riders to go along the side. No one should run through plow anyway. Bad enough to risk a crop even if the shoots had not come up, it was also a good way to bow a tendon if the going was deep, which it usually was.

Hounds could go over the plow. Weevil skirted the large pasture. A simple tiger trap in the fence line gave him a way out because hounds were now racing across an old meadow.

Hounds reached the far side of that meadow, once fenced, pieces of the fence standing, the rest fallen down. Scent disappeared.

“Push him. Push him,” Weevil encouraged.

Hounds fanned out but their fox, now racing away, had foiled his scent by jumping up, then climbing to the top of the remaining fence, walking that top board then jumping off hundreds of yards away.

The field waited. Hounds tried. Weevil gathered them and hunted back. Two short runs rewarded them but that was the day.

After the hunt, they gathered in Cindy’s house, light and sunny. Carter carried a box in, placing it on Cindy’s sideboard.

Sister, Kasmir, Alida, and Gray stood at one end of the big hunt board, for Cindy always put on a breakfast.

“After you called, I thought about the protest. There will always be people opposed to foxhunting, any kind of hunting, whether we kill or not. But given that Jordan Standish is running for office he was easy to reach. I spoke to him at length,” Kasmir spoke. “I also asked him if Gigi had helped fund his campaign.”

“What did you think?” Gray asked.

“I think he was smart enough to make a bargain. And no, Gigi isn’t sending money.”

Sister smiled. “What’s the bargain?”

“No protests at hunt fixtures and he must drop the anti-foxhunting plank from his platform. I expect he will then get around that by speaking against it but not having it written. No anti-foxhunting posters or campaign flyers.”

“Even if he shuts up he can always declare his campaign people spoke out without his approval. They all do that and you know perfectly well the candidate is back there stirring the pot.” Alida snagged another chestnut wrapped in bacon, a toothpick sticking out from the chestnut.

“I dropped the charges,” Kasmir told them. “Confrontation usually doesn’t work. It just drives people further apart. Although there are times when confrontation is the only route, having exhausted every other. So we shall see.”

“Kasmir, thank you. I do think we are better off.” She turned to see Carter handing out face masks. “What the devil?”

“Mandating social distance. Won’t be far in the future. Trust me.” Alida filled her in.

“What’s the distance?”

“Six feet. If we are six feet apart, supposedly the virus droplets won’t affix to us,” Alida answered. “But other governors are taking more stringent measures.”

“Like sending police out to enforce social distancing? How can you enforce this stuff?” Sister was aghast.

“You can’t. So the next step will be a lockdown. Businesses will close. Except for crucial ones like a gas station.” Gray had watched more news than Sister. “New York is almost draconian, but then again New York has more cases, with people packed together like sardines.”

“Do you really think it will come to that? People will be laid off work and the most vulnerable will be laid off first?” Sister, thanks to being a master for decades, worked with everybody, her heart always with the poor.

Kasmir considered this. “It may. We will have to balance profit against life. Now, granted, this seems to be attacking people who have, say, diabetes, and the elderly, but it has swept through China like wildfire, Italy is suffering, too. And if our political leaders don’t wake up, ditto here.”

“Good Lord.” Sister then faced Carter, now standing in front of her.

“Here.” He handed each of them a face mask. “If you have to be around people, put this on.”

“Carter, we are out here in the boonies.” Sister did take the mask.

“Better safe than sorry,” Carter announced.

“Aren’t there laws against wearing a face mask except if you’re going to a party?” Alida asked.

“More bullshit. So if someone marches to protest anything and our authorities, who really have no authority, don’t like it, they can identify and arrest the miscreant. It’s bloody stupid.” Sister was heating up like scent.

“Honey, wait and see. No one is saying you have to wear a face mask to hunt but I expect our season will be over,” Gray prudently noted.

She calmed down, surprised that a flash of anger leaked out of her normally tight WASP ways. “You’re right. I guess we will have to wait and see. I don’t think we are a danger to anyone. We’re out here in the country on horseback and we don’t need to have breakfasts after our last hunts.”

“But if nonessential activities are canceled by the governor, in this case the governors are the front line of defense, will you do it?” Carter asked.

“I will. I think it’s a bit much and the thought of all this worries me for the future. How do I know the power won’t go to their heads?”

Kasmir smiled. “As an Indian, I think you can trust your Constitution and your people. If those issuing the orders don’t return to their prescribed duties after this passes, I expect the people will take care of that.” He took a breath. “You do know that India is the largest democracy in the world?”

“I do now.” Carter moved on to give out more masks.

“Let me take this one day at a time. If it really does get awful I will cancel the rest of the season. We can all give thanks that we live in the country,” Sister glumly said.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Alida echoed.

—

On the other side of West Virginia, formerly part of Virginia, rested the magical state of Kentucky. Its governor, Andrew Beshear, dropped the hammer before Virginia.

Catherine Clay-Neal, having finished hunting, rode back to the gallery with Jane Winegardner. Both, fortunately, had grooms today.

“I’ll keep the staff on as long as I can. There’s always work to be done.” Catherine, like everyone, was worried.

Turning down Old Frankfort Pike, the two discussed the abrupt change in everyone’s situation.

“One minute. I’ll park in front. Come on in. I won’t be a moment with the girls.”

The two walked in. Not a soul to be found.

Then they heard pounding, voices from a closet in the rear.

Hurrying to the closet, Catherine turned the knob. It was locked.

“We’ve been locked in.”

“Hold on. I’ll get the key. You stay here with them. Talk to them.” Catherine ran to her desk, opened it, and pulled out museum keys. She ran back and unlocked the door.

Three young assistants blinked, stepped out. Without thinking, the girls hugged Catherine and O.J., who hugged back.

“What happened? Well, first, are you all right?”

Melissa, the oldest, took a deep breath. “We were up front and two men came through the front door wearing those hospital masks. They had guns, herded us back and locked us in. We could hear them. They didn’t touch us, really, but then again, they had guns.”

“Let’s each take a room,” Catherine ordered.

Within two minutes a yell came from the big room to the right of the center hall, which also could serve as a gallery. Catherine was checking the strongbox, which was untouched.

She hurried into the room along with O.J. The light, turned on, revealed the divine painting of Catherine and Dude was missing.

“Oh. Oh, how awful,” Catherine whispered.

“Sidesaddle,” O.J. mentioned. “Awful and bizarre.”

“Let me call the police and then I must call Andre.” She named the painter.

“Girls,” Catherine always called them girls, “we’ll all have to wait for the police. Are you sure no one was roughed up when pushed into the closet?”

“Yes.”

“I can say whoever they were, they knew what they were looking for, as we heard no talk, no searching about,” Melissa said.

“What a beautiful painting. I am so sorry.” O.J. then thought a moment. “Delores Buckingham. Thank God no one was killed.”

“No one was in the way.” Catherine sat down. “Actually, Delores wasn’t either, was she?”

“No.” O.J. sat down, too, as did the assistants, all felt the wind had been knocked out of them.

“You know what I think?” O.J. sat back. “I think Delores knew what this was about. She figured it out.”

“Well, I don’t have a clue.” Catherine breathed out.

“Be thankful for that,” O.J. quietly replied.