Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 24

March 22, 2019 Friday

The light reflected off the gilt ornament of the Louis XV desk as Sister positioned it in the center of the kennel office, where the original desk had been placed by Uncle Arnold.

“To the left.” Betty wiggled her hand.

Tootie and Weevil moved the not terribly heavy desk two inches to the left.

“Looks good to me,” Sister said.

“Is.” Betty stepped back a bit. “It’s odd to see such a beautiful piece of furniture in this office, but I remember the other one. Ray’s uncle sat in this office more time than in the house so I suppose he liked his luxuries.”

“Come on. Tootie and Weevil, you, too.”

They followed her, raincoats on because the rain never stopped, to the house, into the kitchen, where the aroma of vegetable soup greeted them.

“Betty, you’re in charge of putting out the sandwich meats. Tootie, you can cut the bread. Weevil, you can sit down. I’ll take the drink orders.”

Given the raw day, the orders involved coffee or tea. Once settled they chatted about tomorrow’s hunt, whether it would go off.

“Rain’s supposed to stop tonight but the ground will be soaked,” Betty reported.

“I know, but we can hunt. Maybe we won’t be able to do anything but walk but we can go.”

“Sister, why don’t you make that call in the morning. You can’t trust the weather reports. This entire season has been a mess,” Betty wisely counseled.

“You’re right,” Sister agreed.

Weevil, a good cook himself, tasted the soup. “Perfect.”

Sister smiled. “I think anything hot today would be perfect.”

“What was Uncle Arnold like?” Tootie asked.

“Firm in his beliefs.” Sister smiled. “He became a bit frail at the end and that’s why Ray and I gave up our little place to move here. He was easy enough. All you had to do was go to the kennels with him, talk hounds. Made him happy.”

“Was that when my grandfather carried the horn?”

“Yes,” Sister answered. “Uncle Arnold was careful about who he hired. There was little turnover on his watch. He loved the big hound shows. I don’t think he ever missed the Virginia Foxhound show or Bryn Mawr. Our hunt won classes, even the pack class once.”

Weevil politely inquired, “But you didn’t show once the hunt passed to you and your husband?”

“Actually, Weevil, we didn’t really have the time. I was still working when we took over Roughneck Farm, as was Ray, of course. He hunted the hounds, which saved money. He was good. I didn’t interfere with his decisions but if we were going to show we wanted to do a good job and we didn’t think we could. Then when my son was born I had even less time.”

Betty reached for the mayonnaise. “Uncle A, as he was often called, was gone by the time I hunted seriously. Of course, I heard the stories. He knew his bloodlines, Big Ray continued his breeding program. I came on board when Ray carried the horn.” She passed the mayo to Tootie then said to Sister, “Bet the desk brings back memories.”

“Well, it does, but it brings as many memories of Harry.”

“Kathleen was gracious about that,” Betty replied. “She could have hinted for money or been less understanding.”

“She strikes me as a decent soul and she sent the desk over. I didn’t do a thing. Gracious. That’s how I would describe her.”

“Did she say anything about the letter? You know, she knew him, um, differently than the rest of us,” Betty wondered.

“She never indicated that he was prophetic, if that’s what you mean.” Sister tasted her own soup. “I did okay.”

“Better than okay.” Tootie smiled then added, “Maybe he had a feeling.”

“Actually, I think we knew Harry better than Kathleen. People are usually forthcoming about their entanglements, marriage. Harry, odd for an antiques dealer, didn’t look back.” Sister then laughed. “Not even in the hunt field.”

They chatted about who they might breed once the season ended and who would come into heat at the right time, always a crapshoot.

Then Betty, clearing the table even though Sister told her not to do it, opened the refrigerator door. “Aha!”

“I was going to do that.”

“Don’t you fib. You were going to keep the brownies for yourself.” Betty pulled out the plate while the dogs sprang to life at the sound of the refrigerator door opening.

Golly, wiser, waited for Betty to put the plates in the sink before scraping them. Golly cleaned them as Betty put the brownies on the table.

“You know, these are good, if I do say so myself.” Sister laughed as everyone grabbed a brownie.

“Didn’t Kathleen receive the coroner’s report on Harry? She’s his wife. Wouldn’t she be the first in line?” Betty wondered.

“I suppose she’d be after the authorities. She did.”

“Well?” Betty raised an eyebrow.

Sister replied, “No drugs. A high red blood cell count but nothing to indicate a stroke. He had an accident. For whatever reason, we don’t quite believe he could slip and fall and crack his head, but he did.”

“It’s the letter,” Betty simply stated.

Weevil piped up. “Maybe he was planning to surprise our master anyway. He was working up to it.”

“Given that he quoted me twenty thousand dollars, that would be quite a work-up.”

“Twenty thousand?” Weevil was astonished.

“If the desk were original, from the time of Louis XV, it would be worth far more than that. For one thing, think of all the beautiful objects, even church art, destroyed in the French Revolution. Much of what we have was either hidden in the provinces or from the British Isles or other countries. Can you imagine how terrible that time was? They damn near killed anyone who had an education.”

Tootie, who liked reading history almost as much as the sciences, replied, “Was there another way?”

“Oh, good question.” Weevil smiled. “Destruction before construction.”

“The king, not the brightest, wouldn’t give way…but then, if you had to deal with that Parliament, you probably wouldn’t either. Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a historian but I do know once people start bitching and moaning it never comes to a good end.” Betty grimaced then laughed. “Show me one place where life got better.”

“For whom?” Sister fired back then looked up. “I can’t believe this.”

The rained poured.

“There’s no way we can hunt tomorrow.” Betty shook her head.

“Tootie, you have your phone attached to your kidneys.” Sister pointed to her. “Dial up The Weather Channel.”

Tootie, accustomed to Sister teasing her about technology, pulled her phone from her hip pocket. “The radar has changed. Rain and even tornado warnings, as this is coming up from the Gulf.”

“What about tomorrow? It was supposed to end tonight.” Sister was frustrated.

“No. Now the hourly forecast is that the rain will end at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Dammit to hell!” Sister cursed.

“We could go on foot.” Weevil wanted to hunt.

“You know, Weevil, we can do that for snow, but to get people out in saturated conditions is harder. Dammit. I’ll have to cancel.”

“I have an idea.” Betty put both hands on the table, palms down. “Cancel, of course. But then add a closing hunt party Saturday. Sweeten cutting yet another hunt with a blowout for the last one.”

“Well—all right. Betty, send out an email. I’ll change the huntline. Now, Weevil and Tootie, here is a lesson about human pack behavior. Most of our members will like that we’ve thrown in a celebration. But some will say we should hunt Thursday, Friday, and Saturday if it isn’t raining, to make up days.”

“Oh, for Chrissake,” Betty exclaimed. “Who will have enough horses? We’ve hunted so little this year thanks to…” She pointed to the roof, where the rain hammered.

Tootie said, “Their horses aren’t fit. Who could go three days in a row, no matter what?”

Betty nodded. “Doesn’t mean they won’t pretend they could do it.”

“You know what, we’ll just deal with it. I am not extending the season into April. My prediction is many people will hold off until Saturday, even with keeping to our regular schedule.”

“So they’ll skip Pitchfork Farm?” Weevil wondered.

“Maybe. Dear God, I hope the ground is dry by then. You think?” Betty asked.

“If it isn’t, it will be a mess, but if it’s not raining, I’m going.”

Betty thought then responded, “It probably will be a little messy, no matter what.”

She had no idea.