Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 17

March 14, 2019 Thursday

While it was still cold, the footing had improved. Few felt the cold, as they’d been running for thirty minutes at Mousehold Heath, a farm fifteen minutes east of the kennels. The miles of pasture from Mousehold Heath through After All then Roughneck Farm sometimes produced a track-and-field fox. On the other side of the ridge rested Foxglove Farm and Cindy Chandler’s neighbors. In theory, a fox could surmount the ridge to run north. However, many opportunities to dump hounds and humans existed on this side, so thus far no fox had ever taken advantage of the hard climb.

Hounds, fit, pushed hard but the fox, a visiting one, proved fit, too. Mousehold Heath, first cornerstone laid in 1807, sported a few fences but mostly the land was open. Hounds blew through it ten minutes after the first cast. They were now circling the main house at After All, the Bancrofts’ large estate. Mousehold Heath began as a modest farm and remained one now, being brought back to pristine condition by Jim and Lisa Jardin, a young couple doing much of the work themselves.

After All, by contrast, had begun as a large estate, undergirded by first tobacco money then railroad money. It remained a sumptuous place, having never fallen into disrepair. Money couldn’t buy everything but it certainly could maintain grand old estates.

The main house, stone with white pillars, a bit unusual, allowed the fox to give Sister, Weevil, and the whippers-in fits. Of course they couldn’t gallop close to the house. Winter may be hanging on but impeccable lawns would soon revive.

Sister rode quickly to the western corner of the main lawn, standing where she could view the house and outbuildings but be close to the covered bridge in case the fox decided to use that. Not only did he decide to use it, he stopped to assess Sister and her field.

After inspection he sauntered across the bridge while the hounds could be heard circling the house.

“Devil,” Sister thought as she smiled.

Sister never tired of fox behavior, rooted, it seemed, in a sense of superiority. She thought that in some ways foxes and cats held similar opinions of themselves. Nothing she could do but sit as her quarry walked through the bridge, then walked along the creek bank. Walked. Not ran. Not even trotted.

The field, of course, bellowed, “Tally-ho,” hats off, pointing in the direction of Mr. Fox’s path.

She could have killed them. For whatever reason, humans can’t resist “tally-ho.” If they count to twenty, all’s fair. Flushed from their ride, curious as to hounds circling, then dazzled by the appearance of the star himself, half the field shouted, “Tally-ho.”

Weevil heard them, but wisely did not lift his hounds. They would hunt their fox sticking to scent and move off soon enough, for clearly the fox had tired of circling the house.

Giorgio, a hound of smashing beauty, not the best nose in the pack, but good, plus he had drive, stopped by a boxwood lining one of the walkways into the main house.

“He turned here,” Giorgio called.

That fast, Dreamboat reached where the sleek fellow had paused. “Come on!”

Fifteen couples of hounds, full throttle, moved off, with Giorgio in the lead.

Weevil carefully followed from a distance, for he didn’t want to tramp close to the house. This walkway’s English boxwoods had to be at least from the mid-1800s. One doesn’t mess with such ancient boxwoods, no matter what hounds are doing.

So the lean, broad-shouldered fellow trotted alongside the main drive then reached the drive to the covered bridge. Hounds were already into it.

Sister and the field awaited him, hats off, horses’ noses pointing in the direction the fox had gone.

Ripping out an encouraging shout, Weevil pushed Gunpowder, another of Shaker’s horses, through the bridge, hooves reverberating loudly. Gunpowder didn’t twitch an ear. An old hand, he knew his task and wanted to get on terms with this smartass fox.

Once they were on the other side, Sister then walked through the bridge. She knew the noise of all those hooves would be deafening, an opportunity for a green horse or a rider not so tight in the tack to bolt, fall, or embarrass oneself.

Betty galloped on the right side of the creek. She did not ride through the bridge. If the fox crossed back, Betty would be the only staff member who could stay close to fox and hounds.

Tootie went through the bridge after the field. She’d gotten behind, for she correctly waited on the other side of the house, far enough from it not to be a problem but close enough so that it would not be a problem for her.

She held up her whip hand as she passed Sister and the field. Quite proper of her but a few greenies grunted as a Thoroughbred blasted by them. That’s the whipper-in’s job. Get used to it.

Now Sister squeezed Rickyroo. They flew along the creekbed. This fellow could have veered farther west, run through leftover corn stubble, and wound up on Roughneck Farm. That would have been a lovely run but one in the open. He may have been a visiting fox but he had perused the territory before at some time.

They moved at least twenty feet in from the creekbed edge. Given all the rain and snow, the ground might give way. Ice hugged the edges of the flowing creek.

Onward he ran and ran. And then, oh how low, he wiggled underneath vines and old bushes, heading straight for Pattypan Forge. The master couldn’t follow nor could the huntsman. The undergrowth was impenetrable.

Weevil hit the narrow deer path first. Within a few minutes Sister followed. No one had been on this unattractive path for weeks thanks to the weather. Each time Sister fought her way to Pattypan Forge, a true forge set up after the Revolutionary War and allowed to discontinue after the First World War, she cursed, for the path had never been widened to tractor width. Nobody even wanted to do that. The vines had minds of their own. You couldn’t get back to the forge without scratches on your face, vines grabbing your leg, practically pulling you out of the saddle.

Then there was a medium-sized pine that had fallen over the path. Fortunately it was jumpable.

Over she and Rickyroo went, Weevil’s scarlet coat up in the distance. Within minutes, barring another impediment, she and the field would be at the old forge, still impressive. Hounds screamed.

As she reached the opening where the building stood, the large stones as tight as the day they were laid, hounds had leapt through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Weevil was in there with them as Gunpowder stood staring into a window long broken and open.

Hounds gathered around a den opening. Terrible words could be heard from within, for the chased fox had dived into Aunt Nettie’s den. She had many openings at Pattypan Forge. He wisely used the closest one, as hounds grew near.

“Get out! Get out!” Aunt Netty spat.

“No. Not until hounds go.”

Giorgio, still in front, stuck his head into the den opening. “Who are you?”

“It’s not him you need to worry about, Giorgio. I know where you live and I can get you,” the old vixen threatened.

Giorgio pulled his head back while the other hounds dug at the entrance. They knew Aunt Netty. She had tunnels everywhere, but one had to make a show of it.

Weevil blew “Gone to Ground.”

“Finally. Those jerks will leave.” Aunt Netty eyed the interloper. “You can go when they do.”

“Not so fast. That’s a smart pack.”

“Who are you?” she almost shouted.

Outside the den it sounded like barking, which it was. Weevil smiled at the window, walking with his hounds as he praised them.

“Aunt Netty?” Gunpowder asked.

“She’s in there giving that fox hell.” Zorro laughed.

“We’d be easier to deal with than that old bag.” Twist, humiliated by Aunt Netty countless times, hoped she was miserable.

She wasn’t but she was putting this young fellow in his place.

“I am Colby.”

“Colby, you can get your ass out of my den.”

“Ma’am, I can’t do that until all is safe, but I can then tell you where fresh fried chicken bones are.”

Her nose twitched. “And where might they be?”

“Behind the big house back there. Someone knocked over a garbage can. Didn’t finish the job. I would be pleased to escort you.”

Colby smiled at the old girl, who became quiet. He was attractive. He promised fried chicken, a favorite. This would take a bit of thought but not too much.

“All right.” Weevil, now mounted, glanced down at his proud hounds. “Let’s see what we can do.”

The way out of Pattypan if one headed straight east wasn’t too awful. Within five minutes of slow going Weevil and hounds walked out on the farm road connecting After All to the Old Lorillard place. Betty, in perfect position, waited for them.

Weevil had learned much of the territory last year when he whipped-in, but a refresher wouldn’t hurt.

“Think I should head to the Old Lorillard place?”

Betty replied, “It’s that or go back to the bridge. It’s been a long, hard run but another forty-five minutes won’t hurt; even if we don’t find the fox, it’s a good day.”

He smiled then called to his hounds. “Come along.”

Sister emerged from the path as hounds headed toward Gray and Sam’s clapboard house, the old graveyard, tombstones intact, to the side of the house. Generations of Lorillards and Laprades rested there.

Tootie also came out from the bracken, decided to trail the field then flank them on the west once things opened up, which they would.

Noses down, hounds moved into the cleaned-up woods across from the Pattypan path. Nothing doing.

Once at the Lorillard place, a whiff of fox scent curled into their nostrils. They opened, followed it around the graveyard, a stone wall setting that off, then came back to the road down almost to the Pattypan path.

Weevil decided to walk them to the bridge. They were now on the house side, having needed to cross the creek to move away from Pattypan Forge.

Upon reaching the bridge he waited for Sister.

“It will take about a half hour to walk to Mousehold Heath. It’s been a wonderful day. Let’s go back.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded, thinking that was the right decision.

Most people in the field managed to hang on but they weren’t really fit. Why make a mess?

The mercury climbed to the mid-forties, not warm but not nasty cold either. The sun peeked from behind clouds and when one walked into a sunny patch the temperature felt like a warm hand on your back.

Finally, at the starting fixture everyone dismounted and took care of horses while Weevil, Betty, and Tootie loaded hounds, checking each one off the list as he or she boarded.

The Jardines were at work so a tailgate had been set up literally on tailgates. Those with director’s chairs pulled them out. Others stood. Walter kept the bar on his truckbed. Drew, Freddie, and Alida had a feast on their tailgates.

Sister, drink in hand, dropped in a chair.

Alida dropped next to her. “Good day. Would you like a sandwich? Chili?”

“Maybe a sandwich, but here comes Gray. He can do it.”

“He can sit next to you. I would be delighted to serve my master.” She smiled her beguiling smile as Kasmir, having changed into a tweed, came next to her.

Everyone fed themselves, hungry. Alida and Kasmir pulled up chairs. Soon a tired, happy group sat down.

Weevil, Tootie, and Betty grabbed some food but wanted to get the hounds home.

“I’ll see you at the stable,” Betty called out, waving to Sister, who waved back.

A half hour of this pleasurable time passed then Sister, who usually left the speeches to Walter, stood up, tapped a bottle.

All heads turned to her, a few tears in her britches and mud on her boots.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m so glad we could share this day.” She paused for affirming murmurs. “I ask you to visit Harry Dunbar’s shop. His wife,” she paused, for this created more than murmurs, “has taken it over. None of us knew he had a wife, but I did go down, having heard she was coming, to visit. I invited her to hunt club functions and I encourage each of you to drop in, welcome her and her handsome Welsh terrier. With any luck maybe we can get her to ride. But do go.” She sat down.

A flock of people now pressed upon her for more information. What did she look like? Was she really going to run the shop? Where did she come from? Etc.

Drew stood at the edges looking as though he had swallowed a pickle. As the crowd cleared, Sister crooked her finger to him. He came over as Alida, Kasmir, and Gray observed.

“Drew, your past unhappiness did not involve this lady, who I am sure knew nothing. You ought to go and,” another pause as she used the Yankee phrase, “make your manners.”

Four sets of eyes bore into him and those were four important sets of eyes.

“Well—you’re probably right.”

“She’s attractive and likable. All you have to do is welcome her. I trust you to do so and I thank you in advance.”

“I will.” He then turned and left.

Gray tapped the wooden arm of the folding chair.

“Let’s hope he doesn’t make an ass of himself and bring it up.”

Kasmir agreed then added, “And let’s hope he doesn’t take Morris.”

“Yes,” Sister said with conviction. “What’s the point of hanging on to things that went wrong?”

Gray sighed. “Because people define themselves by the shit that happens to them.”

At this the others stared, openmouthed.

Finally Kasmir muttered, “Gray, I hope not.”

“I do, too, but look at your nation and Pakistan? Will anybody ever forgive and forget? Hell, you don’t even have to look that far. Look here.”

Alida smoothly said, “You’re right, Gray, but we can try to overcome and move forward. I mean, look how Europe has stabilized itself after World War Two. It is possible.”

“With American money and leadership. And remember that’s when India gained her independence.” Kasmir knew history and would always love his country of birth.

“Anything emotional takes time, but it’s worth trying.” Alida smiled at the man she adored. “Maybe marriage is the beginning. Think about it. Men and women are different.” She held up her hand. “Whether it’s biology or society. We fall in love, live together, and have to learn about each other. Maybe that’s the true beginning. One has to start somewhere. Who knows, maybe same-sex couples have as much to learn as we do. One has to bend.”

All were quiet for a moment then Sister reached out for Alida’s hand. “You’ve given me something to think about. I would never have put it that way.” She looked at Kasmir. “What a special woman you have found.”

“Now, Sister.” Alida blushed.

Kasmir reached for Alida’s other hand. “I am the luckiest man on this earth. You know, anyone who refuses love is a fool. It’s what makes us better than we are.”

Gray looked from the couple to Sister then smiled. “Why does it take so long to learn?”