Tail Gait

May 9, 2015

Marveling at the size of the homes under construction, Harry drove through Continental Estates. As it was Saturday, no workmen labored on rooftops or installed windows in the almost completed section. The subdivision followed a grid pattern, except the roads were curvy to accentuate the country feel.

She wanted to find the border between Continental Estates and The Barracks. Across Ivy Creek, large homes were built about fifteen years ago on twenty-acre lots. East of that rested Ingleside, which was the old Jones land broken up into expensive houses.

The old Jones land once covered both sides of Garth Road. What she wanted to do was look at this new development, paying particular attention to those homes that were ready to go on the market with landscaping finished. She figured it was from one of these sites that Frank was carried off. Where he was killed was unknown. How he was killed was finally known, as Cooper told her he was stabbed and the murder weapon was Snoop’s letter opener.

Saratoga Road was the center road, and other roads fanned off of that. Parallel to Saratoga Road was Yorktown Road. Given that only part of Saratoga was nearly finished, she could easily see the layout of the land, as most of the trees had been bulldozed down. Marshall, under the guidance of Paul, did keep all the trees along the creek bed as well as a few magnificent trees that were two centuries old. Once all this was finished, sod on the huge lawns, plantings in place, the old trees would be anchors. Marshall even designed a square such as old colonial towns had. Many were still in use throughout the original thirteen colonies. Around this area, he planned to build houses made to look as though they were from the early eighteenth century. These clapboard buildings, a few stone, would house a pharmacy, a pub, a restaurant, and doctors’ offices, and some would be residences.

She’d seen the large plan on a huge sign at the entrance to the estates, the giant wrought-iron gates already in place just like an English country house or the House of Burgesses in Williamsburg.

“He will make a fortune. Beyond a fortune,” Harry said and whistled.

“Bet they’ll have to walk their dogs on leashes,” Tucker crabbed.

“They can fence in smaller portions of their yards,” Pewter said.

“What fun is that?” Tucker leaned onto the heavy cat.

“If you’re brought up like that as a puppy, you don’t know any different,” Pewter reasoned.

“We’re lucky.” Mrs. Murphy braced herself as Harry stopped at the cul-de-sac at the end of Saratoga Road.

The day, pleasant, allowed Harry to keep the truck windows down. She lifted Tucker down once she stepped out, the cats eagerly jumping down.

Harry walked to the very end of the cul-de-sac. The old road, in use until the 1890s, could be seen under the spring grasses, near blackberry bushes pushing out new leaves. In a few places the ruts, deep, were very easy to see.

She walked along the depression in the ground, the animals following along. Stickers and hitchhikers were problems in the fall. Spring’s only botanical enemy was the creepers with thorns, and those things would tear at you any time of year.

A mile marker, in place for centuries, stood by the side of the once well-traveled road as Harry neared the steep incline to Ivy Creek.

“Will be there for a few more centuries,” Harry commented on the mile marker, a rectangle set in the ground vertically. Numbers were chiseled in the side. Along the old road, the mile markers still stood. She didn’t know if it was a crime to remove one, but why bother? They still proved useful if you knew what they were. Fortunately, Harry had been well taught by her parents and by the public schools.

Looking to the southwest, she knew the border with The Barracks was there. If she climbed to the low rise, she’d see the barns. Having grown up in western Albemarle County, the topography, structures, and roads formed part of her memory. Still, she pulled out the oldest map she could find among her father’s books in the library. She’d never moved them, nor her mother’s. Looking at the map, she then turned toward the east. At one time, three families controlled six thousand acres out here. She stood near the point where all three came together, or so the old stories declared, because she didn’t have any map that old.

Standing there, seeing the remains of the old road, this was prime land even then. Goods came in from the Shenandoah Valley. This was an east-west road. Until the railroads were built, hauling by wagon was the only way, or by river, but the rivers didn’t always cooperate with direction. Sooner or later goods would have to be off-loaded onto wagons. Ships needed goods hauled inland. Western territories needed produce hauled east.

How precious was a satinwood sideboard or a bolt of fine silk? History books wrote in terms of lumber, corn, iron, but she thought about those women wanting to be fashionable, the men wanting a beaver hat, the top hat before silk became the thing much later. Brass buttons, lace, vanilla beans, a jar of paprika—such things made life sweet and all were hauled along this road and others like it. No wonder so many people had the last name of Carter.

She started to call out to Mrs. Murphy, intent upon something, when she heard a boom, another, and then the ground shook.

“I told you!” Pewter had complained about an odd sensation an hour ago.

A small earthquake rumbled through central Virginia, not uncommon by mountain ranges, but not that common either.

Widening her stance to stay upright, Harry listened to the sound of the earth groaning. In a fanciful moment she wondered if it was the Shades crying in the Underworld.

“Come on,” she called to the frazzled cats.

Tucker, calmer, had also sensed something.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Pewter swept past the dog.

The dog defended herself. “I didn’t know it was going to be an earthquake.”

Driving slowly, Harry noticed a few cracks in the new asphalt road. When she reached the houses that were near completion she could see one or two broken windows. It wasn’t too bad, but if any of the foundations cracked, Marshall would have a lot of work to do.

Before she reached the wrought-iron gates, Marshall, in a company truck, pulled in and stopped.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see the place. It’s a terrific layout and I wanted to look into the back of The Barracks. The earthquake added to the excitement.”

“Hey, will you do me a favor?” He took off his work gloves and she again took note of his bandages.

“Of course.”

“Come with me.”

She turned around to follow him, stopping at the first house nearest the gate, a completed house. As she stepped out of the car, Paul Huber arrived in his personal car.

Talking as he opened the door, he said, “I was just down at Beau Pre”—he named a nearby estate—“when that damned thing shook. How bad is it?”

“I don’t know. Just got here. I was at the club.”

“Hello, Harry,” Paul greeted Harry, surprised to see her.

“Each one of us take a house, go through quickly, and if you see any damage, write it down. That will save me some time.”

Harry ducked back in the truck, grabbed her notebook, a pen. Paul did the same.

“All right. We have twenty finished, or just about. Harry, the keys are under the front-door welcome mats. Look for anything major. I expect there will be small cracks in the walls. Make a note of it. Harry, you take the south side. Paul, let’s you and I stay on this side, but you start at the other end and work toward me. We should get through pretty quickly and then we can go over and finish up with Harry.”

They broke up as ordered, the cats and dog with Harry. Walking into the first house, she thought the color scheme perfect, the rooms so spacious and the kitchen just huge but inviting, with a fireplace there as well as in the living room. She bounded up the stairs and then down into the basement. By the time she had gone through the two other houses, the men walked toward her.

They gathered in the middle of the street, compared notes.

Marshall, brows wrinkled, said, “No foundation damage, thank heaven. Broken windows, some dust in the fireplace of one twenty-two. Better check that chimney. Given the rumble, it looks pretty good. Still, I better get crews out here tomorrow. Have to pay overtime.” He frowned.

“Better than bad press,” Paul wisely noted.

Folding his arms across his chest, Marshall nodded. “You’re right about that. I’ll make an appointment with the county inspector to come out. He’ll be backed up, so we can fix these small things. We want a clean report card.”

“The trees and shrubs came through.” Paul smiled. “They weren’t big enough to come down.”

“All right, let’s hit the off roads. The buildings not under roof, got to see if the trusses are twisted.” Marshall thought clearly just as he had on the football field.

“What will you do?” Harry inquired, admiring his nonemotional approach.

“Anything twisted, take it down. You don’t need to come with us for that, Harry. I wanted to first go through those houses ready to be put on the market. I’m hoping to open this to the public mid-May. In time for spring fever.” Marshall smiled.

Harry mentioned the cul-de-sac. “There’s a crack in the road near the cul-de-sac and another one at the back intersection there.”

“What were you doing out here?” Paul realized he had no idea what Harry was doing in the middle of all this.

“I’d come out to look over The Barracks and found the old milepost marker. Curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat. In your case, you got an earthquake,” Marshall replied. “And thank you for your help.”

Driving home, Harry noticed a chimney had tumbled down on an old farmhouse.

“Wonder if we’re okay?” Tucker looked out the window to see people standing outside their homes or walking around them.

Talking to her animal friends, a habit, Harry said, “Big risk equals big money. If you’re smart, read the signs as well as have some luck. I can’t imagine how much debt Marshall incurs when he builds these subdivisions. A lot of that is bank money and the clock is ticking on the loan.” She exhaled. “And I wonder how many houses he has to sell to draw even? After that, pure profit. But he knows what he’s doing. He’s been at this since before I was born. Paul has to replace anything that dies within a year, keep up the big nursery, pay the help, pay for fertilizer, keep those greenhouses going. Tell you what, wimps don’t go into businesses like that. I know how I fret over my sunflower crop. I don’t think I could take the pressure they do.”

“You don’t have to,” Mrs. Murphy reassuringly told her. “You have us.”

“Since when do we make her money?” Pewter wondered.

“We don’t. We keep her from wasting it.” Tucker felt her patrolling alone saved security costs.

“She’s lucky,” Pewter bragged.

“For now,” Mrs. Murphy replied.

“What do you mean?” Tucker’s ears shot straight up.

“You know before a big storm or this earthquake we feel things she doesn’t?” Mrs. Murphy explained. “When they do feel it, it’s too late. I feel something about those deaths. Something’s coming.”