Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 11

March 8, 2019 Friday

“Happy International Women’s Day.” Betty, a package in hand, walked into the barn at Roughneck Farm.

Sister looked up from the stand-up desk in the corner of the warm tack room. “A present?”

“Thought we should celebrate being women.” Betty placed the wrapped box on the beat-up coffee table in the middle of the floor.

The tack room, filled with cleaned bridles hanging on special wooden mounts on the wall, the saddles aligned on saddle racks, smelled wonderful. The actual size of the room was twenty feet by fourteen feet, not exactly a double stall but close enough.

Betty sat down in one of the director’s chairs, “Roughneck Farm” embroidered on the back.

Sister closed the desktop, sat down next to her. One chair was green with gold piping, the other was a reverse. The dark green hid much of the dirt, mud, and saddle-soap smears.

Sister picked up the box, rattling it.

“Something is moving.”

“This comes under the category ‘useful.’ ”

Sister smiled at her dear friend. “My favorite kind of gift. Although I have never been adverse to diamonds.”

“And I have never been able to get that through my husband’s head.”

“Those earrings you wore at last year’s hunt ball dazzled. Something got through his head.”

Betty smiled seraphically. “Hauled his ass to Marion’s and stood him right in front of the jewelry case. I did buy him a Tattersall vest. He’d shredded his old one. Anyway, wouldn’t you know, earrings from Horse Country appeared on my birthday. So, I suppose something filtered into that male brain.”

Sister carefully unwrapped the package. “You underestimate him.”

“You know,” Betty somewhat seriously replied, “I probably do. Are you going to keep that wrapping paper?”

Sister was folding the paper carefully. “I like the fox masks on it.”

“Open the present!”

“All right. All right.” Sister opened the box, peeled back the colored tissue. “What is this?”

“You need new paddock boots.”

“Oh, Betty.” She quickly untied her beat-up paddock boots, seams splitting, to try the new one on her right foot. “Perfect.”

“Put the other one on and walk around. See how they feel.”

Sister did as she was told, stopping in front of the full-length mirror, which she and everyone else in the barn used to check their turnout. “Real leather. These feel broken in.”

“Of course it’s real leather. I know you, remember?”

Glancing down at her feet. “So you do. They feel really good.”

“Space-age stuff inside. Absorbs shocks and also will help right where the stirrup iron rests. Tell you what, after a long day’s hunting, I can feel that stirrup iron on my feet even in the shower.”

“Yeah, I can, too. Betty, these are exactly what I need.” She bent over to kiss Betty. “I would never have thought of a present for International Women’s Day.”

“I probably wouldn’t either, but Wednesday when we were cleaning tack I realized your paddock boots really had breathed their last.”

“I have a hard time throwing anything out that I might be able to use for one more day.”

“That day has passed.” She leaned back in the chair a bit, tilting the front legs off the ground. “The temptation is to wear out full-length boots, but I’ve got to make mine last and so do you. The cost!”

Sister sat down, pulled off one paddock boot to more closely inspect the interior, poking her finger into the springy insert. “That’s the truth. You know there’s nothing like a pair of bespoke boots when you’re out there for hours. You and I should drive to Omaha to see rows and rows of lasts. Be kind of fun, say, to call up Ginny Perrin,” she mentioned the senior master at Deep Run, “and say I saw your feet.”

“Have you ever seen Ginny incorrectly turned out?”

“In forty-plus years, no.” Sister took off the other boot, fascinated with the interior.

“You, too. Perfect.”

Sister smiled. “Thank you. I really care. When I receive an invitation, the first place I look is at the bottom to see the dress code.”

“Me, too.” Betty laughed. “And now that I’ve lost the weight I can actually wear nice clothes.”

Betty, with effort, lost over thirty pounds years ago and she fought to keep it off. Her husband, Bobby, did not evidence as much discipline.

“You look good in the hunt field, too. I mean, why do something if you don’t do it right?” Sister put the shoes back in the box. “I’m taking these to the house and I’m going to use saddle butter to keep moisture out.”

A long sigh escaped Betty’s lips. “Miserable year. Worst I can remember.”

“We’ll get through it. Tootie, Weevil, you, and I walk those hounds in all but a roaring downpour. They are not sitting in the kennel getting fat. Lest I forget, Shaker creeps along in the car.” Now she let out a long sigh. “Betty, I’m worried about him. The neck brace is off but the doctor says one vertebra remains slightly out of alignment. He doesn’t tell me. I have to worm it out of Walter. That was a hell of a hit he took before Christmas.”

“He’s damn lucky he didn’t break his neck.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s been generous to Weevil. You know how hard it must be for him to see a young man hunting the pack. Sister, what are you going to do if he can’t hunt anymore? If that vertebra stays out of line, one bad fall and the result could be paralysis. Obviously, that’s the worst-case scenario but none of us wants to see someone we have followed and care about come to a sorrowful end.”

Sister reached over to hold Betty’s hand. “Haunts me. For two reasons. One, I have worked with him for decades. We’re like Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Two, I will be the person who must tell him.”

“We can only hope for the best. On a positive note, I like hearing Ray’s horn in the hunt field.” Betty mentioned the horn that Weevil used, for it had been Sister’s husband’s horn when Big Ray hunted the hounds.

“That deep timbre.” She dropped her friend’s hand. “Before I forget it, and I can’t thank you enough, when did you get these wonderful paddock boots?”

“I called Horse Country after you’d left Monday.”

“Sneaky.”

“I figured someone had looked at your feet but I know your size is 7½. Easy size to find. Then I called yesterday to tell Jean, who picked up the phone, to send the boots, FedEx Air. Anyway, they got here in time.”

“Betty, you never fail to surprise me. Thank you again. I really need a pair of paddock boots. It’s easy to muck stalls, tack up, and mount. I will never ride in sneakers.”

“Given the tread, it’s not very smart.” Betty smiled, happy she’d made her friend happy. “Oh, Jean bounced me to Marion. As always, we talked about everything under the sun, then she told me a strange thing. Harry Dunbar’s body had been examined, of course. No one has claimed him yet. I expect the authorities are searching for family.”

“Did she say anything about the Medical Examiner’s report?”

“Well, his fracture, right there at the base of the skull where the step hit him, or more precisely he hit the step, is pretty clean.”

“First joint, I recall. Ice on the steps, not mud.”

“Marion, insightful as she always is, remarked that he must have hit hard and backwards. A clean break, so to speak.”

“Fastidious even in death.”

A pause followed this then Betty stretched her legs out straight. “International Women’s Day. Do you feel solidarity?”

“Uh, Betty, I never thought of it, so I guess I don’t. Well, let me take that back. Women’s issues, as long as they stay women’s issues, will never be resolved.”

“Child-care centers in corporate buildings won’t solve anything?”

“Yes, it will make it easier for working women. But keeping women focused on child care, reproduction, child rearing means we are not addressing the military budget, countering the Chinese as rivals, trying to find new ways to produce energy with less pollution. See what I mean? And what about the Federal Reserve? The money supply. Those issues are a long way from child care. Would child care make women’s lives easier, help them in the workforce? You bet. Would it bring women one step closer to power, real power? No.”

Betty tapped the arm of the chair. “Sometimes I forget how logical you are.”

“Some would say cold.”

Betty laughed. “Yes, as women we’re supposed to emote all over the place and wear our hearts on our sleeve.”

“Not this woman,” Sister replied. “If there’s one thing my own mother taught me that I keep in the forefront of my mind it’s ‘The secret of success is to watch the donut not the hole.’ ”

At this they both laughed.