Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 22

March 20, 2019 Wednesday

Slap. Slap. Slap. The huge waterwheel at Mill Ruins turned, throwing water outward, the long rays of early-morning light not yet fracturing the water into millions of tiny, moving rainbows.

Sister, next to Walter, watched the wheel, giant gears still working as they had for over two centuries.

“That sound.” She breathed in the quite cool morning March air. “For centuries that sound was as familiar to people as their own breathing. Now few have ever heard the rhythm.”

He kept his hands in his fleece-lined pockets. “Funny you bring that up. As a doctor I see new technology advances so much in medicine that I like, and yet on other fronts it can be a loss, can’t it?”

“Yes, to me it is. Who brings grain to be ground anymore then takes home the fresh corn, oats, whatever, placing it into their wagon, inhaling that odor? The odor of life, if you think about it. For centuries those grains kept us and our stock alive.”

“Still does, but God knows what’s in it.” He grimaced.

“In that respect I envy the horses. If you can get fresh crimped oats, they’re exactly what they’re supposed to be.” She thought a moment. “But on the other hand, the commercial feeds have vitamins and many of the brands have the protein content, the fat content, etc., printed on the bag. That certainly helps with feeding the hounds, because we can adjust according to their workload and the cold. Everyone needs more calories in the cold if you’re working out in it.”

“Cold beats you up. And I’m getting cold. Let’s go into the kitchen.”

“Walter, one last thing. The fox that lives behind the mill. How about if I put out another feeder for him and add a few more near the other outbuildings? Because you’re getting a bumper crop of foxes here.”

“Fine with me.” He looked up. “I wonder why they built the wheel side of the mill facing west. The wind comes from the west. I’d think that would be a problem.”

“Could be, but the stream runs through the property, strong running. If you walk backward to the mill run where it cuts into the stream, this is easier, closer than trying to reroute the water. They cut those banks straight and clean. Our ancestors possessed incredible skills without gasoline-powered equipment.”

“Ah.” He nodded then they turned to walk into the kitchen.

Once sitting, Sister placed papers on the smooth small oak table. How many decades had she sat at that table absorbing Peter Wheeler’s wisdom about many things, but especially hunting?

Placing a cup of tea before her, one for himself, Walter read the papers.

“Drew offered Pitchfork Farm for next week. How about Thursday?”

Walter nodded. “I’m not opposed to Pitchfork Farm but I think we should end our season’s extension on March 30, Saturday, at the kennels. Go out with a weekend blowout.”

“Gray and I talked about that. I think you’re right.”

“Well, five hunts to the end. Only if the weather cooperates. Maybe we will close this season with a few good runs. God, what an awful year.”

“Mother Nature will do as she pleases. Okay, I’m with you on the Saturday for closing meet. How about if I call Drew back and ask would he consider a Thursday?”

“You can, but then he’ll need to take off work.” He picked up his mug then put it down. “We can’t park easily at Pitchfork Farm. Never could. Did Drew mention that?”

“He’ll call the Ticknors. I’ll call as a follow-up, too, obviously.”

“Whatever happened there? We haven’t hunted that part of the county for years.”

She shrugged. “Mrs. Taylor liked having us hunt at Pitchfork and we did. She’d created a roundabout at the end of the drive, all grown over now, so we could get the trailers in and park on the field with decent drainage. Anyway, we hunted there for years until she died and Drew and Morris sold her furniture to Harry Dunbar.”

“Really?” He didn’t know this part of the story, but it had been years ago and he didn’t really know the Pitchfork area well.

“The entire affair descended into endless acrimony. If we had hunted there with Harry in the field, Drew and Morris would have created a scene.”

“Wait a minute. I thought a landowner couldn’t deny a field member access for a hunt. Isn’t that part of the MFHA rules?”

“Yes, it is, but you can’t enforce it without tearing apart a club. Most people don’t care about the rules and it’s difficult to get some of them to understand the traditions.”

“True,” he mumbled.

“Harry paid his dues. He had a right to hunt wherever we cast. I let it fade away. That’s why Drew’s call somewhat surprised me. Then again, Harry is dead.”

“Good Lord.” Walter exhaled.

“You’ve lived long enough to apprehend how petty people can be, vain, egotistical, but then again it was an ugly, ugly fight.”

“But Drew rode in the field with Harry at other hunts.”

“He had no choice. That wasn’t his land and they never, ever spoke. Not once since the furniture debacle.”

Walter took a deep sip. “Well, then I guess we have to hunt Pitchfork if we can start from Fairies Bottom. Think the Ticknors will be okay?”

“As Drew has probably already called them and he hasn’t called me to say it isn’t okay, I think it is, but of course, as I said, I will call, and since this is the reopening of territory, basically, we should bring gifts for the Taylors.”

“Right.” Walter put his chin on his cupped hand, elbow on the table, which would have driven his mother wild. “What?”

“Can’t be bourbon. Bainbridge.”

“I don’t think he’s an alcoholic.”

“I hope not but there have been times when he’s put on a good show. Then again, Drew and Morris could knock it back. Maybe a bush that can be planted. Winter can’t last forever. One for the Ticknors, too. Everyone likes a flowering bush.”

“All I need is one daffodil and I’ll believe.” Walter laughed.

“Walter, I called you about Harry’s letter, and Marion. Since then I’ve been thinking.”

“It is a tremendous gesture on his part. An act of love, really.”

“I couldn’t believe it. We all had such good times and you never do know how what you do affects others. Actually, you know better than the rest of us. You save lives.”

“Oh,” he fumbled a moment, “I try. Our diagnostic abilities, our operating techniques, are so much better than even a decade ago. We can repair a heart without sawing through a ribcage. Most times. There are still problems where you have to do that to someone. But we have pinpoint lasers now. I can literally cut with light.”

“Amazing.”

“And it gets better and better. What I can’t do anything about is a person’s health habits. That’s why Chalmers at Heron’s Plume is such a great example. If I have a heel dragger but someone who is in our circle, so to speak, I bring up Chalmers Perez.”

“He does look good. Younger.”

“Health does that for you.”

She folded her hands together, looked him in the eye. “Walter, is there something about Harry that I should know? Did he have some kind of condition? Something for which there was no hope?”

“Oh, Sister, the only way I would know that is if I were his personal physician or on a medical team called in to consult and treat him. Also, I’m a cardiologist. I would only be consulted if the issues involved the heart.”

“Betty said she thinks his personal physician is Mark Derrick over at Augusta Hospital.”

“He is.”

“Would he tell you?”

“No. Nor would I ask. Patient confidentiality is important, and thanks to the Internet, fragile. I’ll spare you my worries about the wrong people getting hold of your information and then selling it to insurance companies. That’s for starters.” He held up his hand. “But Mark wouldn’t tell me unless I were part of the team.”

“Well.” A long pause followed this. “Let me come at this another way, did you have an inkling something might not be right with Harry?”

“No. I could see sometimes after dismounting he’d be stiff or he’d drag his left leg a few steps. We all have, as you put it, ‘jewelry.’ If he had, say a cancer, I would think it would show if it were one of the more obvious ones, like lung cancer.”

“Are there cancers that aren’t obvious?”

“Yes. For women, ovarian. Often by the time we find out it may be too late. Certain forms of colon cancer. Even with a colonoscopy, you can miss a tiny, tiny cell, and by the time you know, a major operation may fix it, but then again, the cancer may have metastasized to show up later.”

“Okay. But if he had regular checkups, wouldn’t his doctor know that his red blood cell count was up, I guess that’s a stroke signal, I don’t know. Or what about white blood cells?”

“Sure.” Walter nodded. “But, Sister, there are an unfortunate number of things that give no warning. Like a massive stroke.”

“Yes. I think I understand but if someone was vital, full of life, maybe they wouldn’t want to wait for that. Go out on top.”

“Is that what you think Harry did?”

“I don’t know, but that note about the desk makes me wonder.”

“Don’t quote me on this, but that is a decision I understand and respect. And between us, if anything happens to me, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Well, I’ll be long gone by that time. I don’t want to see you go.”

He smiled. “Oh, Sister, you’re tough as nails. You might outlive us all.”

She smiled back at him. “Walter, I don’t know that I would want to. It’s hard enough to lose those who are older than you, then your own age, then younger people. I don’t know that I want to live without at least some of my friends.”

“Years ago, I wouldn’t have understood that, but I do now. And I will miss Harry. We weren’t that close but what good company he was and he knew hunting.”

“Yes, he did, bless him.” She finished her tea. “I called, also. Put the schedule on our website. Oh, I’ll ask Betty to send out an email, as well. And remind me to change the color of the fixture card for next fall.”

“Whatever you say. Fall’s far away.”

“Walter, September will be here before you know it. We’re good?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Think of Pitchfork Farm as a homecoming.”