The Hounds And The Fury

CHAPTER 21

Riding down from their stable, Tedi and Edward heard the mighty rumble of the Chevy Duramax 6600 before they reached their covered bridge.

Sister and Shaker, double-checking the hound list by the trailer, also heard it.

“He wouldn’t.” Sister held the clipboard to her chest as large snowflakes began to fall. Even though Jason had apologized profusely, she thought he’d allow some time to pass for emotions to cool.

“Only one engine sounds like that.” Shaker was as surprised as Sister.

The small field assembled this Thursday morning turned their heads. The girls from Custis Hall, Bunny Taliaferro, Henry Xavier, Ronnie Haslip, Lorraine Rasmussen, and Bobby Franklin glanced at one another.

Betty Franklin walked around the trailer as her husband tightened his horse’s girth. “Do you hear what I hear?”

“I do.” Bobby frowned, a snowflake falling on his nose.

“The man must be out of his mind.”

“Arrogant.” Bobby clipped down his words. “But he did express his regrets. Sister made sure we all knew that.”

Sybil, who had ridden down ahead of her parents in order to help with hounds, leaned down to Sister. “Would you like Dad to throw him off?”

“No. Landowners can’t refuse a hunt member the right to hunt their land with the hunt. A landowner can refuse the hunt but not an individual. This isn’t to say it doesn’t happen, but it’s counter to proper practice. It’s the master’s responsibility to send a member home. The problem really gets ugly if you have a weak master.”

“Why can’t a landowner refuse permission?” Sybil, intent on being a good whipper-in, didn’t pay too much attention to MFHA policies not related to actual hunting.

“Because that member’s dues built jumps on the landowner’s land. And because every time someone gets into a spat it would affect who hunts where. Eventually you’d see fields of two people until one of them pissed off the other.” Sister pulled off her old gloves, cut off at the fingertips, to put on white string riding gloves. “Let’s say you and I had a fight. A big one. One would assume you wouldn’t come on my farm to hunt. You’d steer clear of that fixture because it makes life easier for everyone. But some people like being the center of attention. That kind of person would show up.” She shrugged as Jason’s rig came into view.

Sister mounted Aztec, ready to go and eager to prove to Rickyroo how good he was. He would tell all back at the barn. As the youngest hunter in the barn Aztec endured a lot of ribbing.

All the horses were keen to see how Matador would pan out. He was in work but had yet to hunt, since Sister didn’t want to hunt a new horse on bad ground. This pleased Lafayette, Keepsake, Rickyroo, and Aztec because it showed how much she trusted them.

Tedi and Edward clattered through the covered bridge and rode over to Sister.

Tedi raised an eyebrow.

Edward, a gentleman, quietly said, “Would you like me to go over there with you?”

“All clear,” she replied. “As you know, he apologized to me. I’ll give him credit for that.” Looking up into her old friend’s gray eyes, she shrugged. “You know how I think.”

He smiled. “I do.”

Tedi smiled as well, keeping her peace.

Sister gathered the small group to her. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Master,” came the reply, the same as it had been for centuries.

“As we have such a small field today, I would like to invite the Custis Hall girls to ride up front. Also, they are being allowed to come out weekdays with us if they each write a paper for their environmental studies class. Perhaps if they have questions after the hunt, you would answer them.”

Tootie on Iota, Val on Moneybags, and Felicity on Parson all glowed. To ride behind the master was a singular honor.

Walter rode next to Jason in the rear.

It was truly dawning on Jason that he hadn’t just offended Sister and Shaker; he’d pissed off the whole club.

Dragon, impatient, drifted toward Nola’s and Peppermint’s graves.

“Dragon,” Betty reprimanded him in a low tone.

“Bother,” he sassed, but he did rejoin the pack.

Sister and Shaker discussed the first cast the night before a hunt and reviewed it in the morning, often changing it when they reached the fixture, since winds and temperature might change.

The temperature had bounced up four degrees to thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit. After All was subject to the same northwest winds as Roughneck Farm. As the day wore on, the mercury might rise or fall, depending on whether a front was scudding in from the northwest, bringing a taste of Canada with it. While Sister checked thermometers and the Weather Channel, ultimately she relied on her bones.

Cora ignored Dragon, pushing by his side in the pale gray light.

At the stone wall around the graveyard, Dragon stopped. The pack put their noses down even though Shaker had yet to cast them.

The huntsman wisely worked with his hounds instead of insisting they stick to his program, which was to move into the woods and hunt east.

Tight pawprints were visible, now beginning to be covered by the lazy flakes falling on Nola’s grave.

Doughboy, a second-year entry who had been a little slower to catch on than his littermates, leaped over the low wall, nose to the pawprints.

At Nola’s grave, he said, “Charlene.”

In an instant, all the hounds opened, jumping into the little graveyard, then out the other side. Apart from being exciting for the humans, finding the line was a confidence builder for tricolor Doughboy.

Betty stayed parallel on the eastern side of the creek.

Sybil had faded off to the left, though she was still in sight on the undulating snow-covered pasture.

Charlene, shopping, had been walking along the creek heading back to her den when she heard the pack. Given the conditions, she didn’t dally hitting full speed.

The hounds moved faster as Charlene’s scent grew stronger.

Only the fox understands scent. Humans try to intellectualize it. They conduct experiments with barometers, moisture in the air, time of day, season, and moon phase. Hounds smell it and know what to do with it, but only the fox knows the good days, the bad days, and the in-between days.

This was a good day, so Charlene hurried on, her distinctive odor lifting up slightly.

Charlene, only a half mile from her den, ran up a fallen tree trunk, then dropped down. Lichens, running cedar, and other plants useful in foiling scent were covered with snow. She had to rely on speed today as well as using whatever obstacles presented themselves. Being forty-five pounds lighter than the hounds worked to her advantage.

She sped through the woods, the wide bridle path serving her well. Hearing hounds come closer, Charlene darted to a gopher hole, paused for a split second, then flew onward.

Trident reached the gopher hole just as the disturbed but slothful animal popped his head out.

“Beg pardon.” Trident sat down on his haunches.

“Leave him,” Diana ordered the second-year entry. “Just an old gopher.”

As the hounds moved away from him the gopher remarked, “I am not old. I just look old, and I’ve got rodent teeth. I can make a hole in you if I want to!”

Delia, older, solid as a rock, was bringing up the rear just as the gopher revealed his long teeth. “Terrified,” she laughed as she zoomed by him.

“Hateful canines.” The gopher watched the humans fly by, then added, “Another useless species.”

As Charlene ran the snow turned into sleet. Although the temperature rose four more degrees, the rain felt colder than the snow.

Sister was glad she’d put rubber reins on Aztec’s bridle. Strictly speaking, since she used a snaffle bit, she should have had lace reins but those rules had been formulated for hunting over the English countryside. The Virginia countryside was much wilder than most of England, the weather much more harsh, with great temperature swings between summer and winter. Some allowances needed to be made, and Sister, a stickler for tradition, knew when to make them.

The hanging tails on her hunt cap sprayed sleet.

Charlene scrambled over a snow-dappled stone fence. She dropped down as the land sank into a long wide plateau, six feet above the feeder creek into Broad Creek, aptly named. She ducked into her den under a mighty walnut tree.

Hounds put her to ground, but they didn’t bay in triumph, for Dragon raised his head and moved off toward the creek just as Shaker leaped over the stone fence.

“Coyote!” Dragon bellowed for them to follow the scorching, heavy scent.

Hounds flew straight as an arrow, launching off the bank down into Broad Creek.

Sister trotted downstream to look for a better crossing. A narrow deer trail snaked down the bank at a forty-five-degree angle. It would be slippery, but it was still better than jumping down five feet into a rock-bottomed creek.

Tootie, behind Sister, sat back as she’d seen the old foxhunters do. This was no time for a pretty position. She moved her leg forward of the girth for extra insurance.

Once in the fast-moving water, Aztec picked his way over the large stones. He scrambled out on the opposite side, where ice crystals coated the bank. The deer trail climbing at a forty-five-degree angle was manageable. With care, master and horse achieved the top.

One by one the riders climbed up over the bank, but each horse brought down a bit of earth until the last rider, Lorraine, with Bobby leading her, struggled through the worst footing.

When she had made it, Bobby whispered, “Well done.”

Lorraine was learning. The encouragement brought a big smile to her face.

The straight-running coyote took no evasive action but just turned on more speed. While a fox is preferable, coyote is legitimate game.

A warm wind current, a rising tunnel of air, caressed Sister’s face. Five big strides, and she was once again in crisp air. Now even she could catch snippets of scent: oily, heavy, lacking the sharp musky fox odor, which when one grows accustomed to it is almost pleasant.

A simple coop lay ahead, the base half covered by snow blown against it.

Aztec thought about it for one moment, heard, “Go on,” and did just that. He trusted Sister. She trusted him.

Hounds, running hard, barreled through abandoned pastures and across rutted farm roads, ever straight, ever eastwards. The pastures, snow covered, rolled on. As the whole pack moved farther along, the land became better tended.

After a half hour of slipping here and there, sleet stinging, Sister and the field galloped onto the old Lorillard land.

Hounds headed right for the family plot, which, like most graveyards predating the Revolution, was squared off and protected by a two-foot stone fence, each stone dry-set by hand in the 1750s. Occasionally patched, the stone bore testimony to endurance and beauty even as the graveyard contents announced the fleetingness of life.

Hounds, bearing down on the graveyard, could not see over the fence. Shaker saw it first, then Sister and the field.

Uncle Yancy and a large dog coyote were snarling at one another.

Shaker blew the horn. The coyote still threatened Yancy, but the fox, knowing there was no time to make a run for it, climbed the pin oak in the graveyard.

Folks swear that only gray foxes climb, but reds can do it. Sister had seen it before and wasn’t surprised to see it now. But she was surprised to see the coyote pause for a moment and dig down again, then decide he’d better run on.

Coyotes usually run only as fast as needed. This one underestimated Dragon’s speed. Dragon came alongside, snarled, and bumped him. That fast the coyote turned, sank his fangs into the hound, and leaped sideways to avoid Cora, who was a split second behind Dragon. He then put on the afterburners. The pack had been running hard for a half hour. Besides, they’d been out for another forty-five minutes above that. Fresh, the coyote had the advantage, but the Jefferson Hunt hounds possessed unquenchable drive. They snapped close to his heels. He charged up a slope, crossed a meadow where soil was poor, dropped down the embankment on the eastern side, and disappeared into a large jagged rock outcropping. The pack gathered in front of the narrow opening between two huge boulders.

Shaker dismounted, blew “Gone to ground,” and quickly remounted.

He wanted to pull the pack out of there because all manner of larger predators found the rocks with fissures and small caves very attractive.

Tootie, Val, and Felicity, burning hot, welcomed the ice bits on their cheeks. Their core body heat hadn’t begun to cool.

Uncle Yancy posed in the pin oak on a lower branch, which was nevertheless too high for hounds to yank him down by his lovely brush, quite in contrast to Aunt Netty’s pathetic little tail.

“Close call,” he cheerfully called down as the pack came near.

“What are you doing all the way over here?” Asa wondered.

“Netty brought me a beautiful pencil, so I came to see if there’s more. Dead human, pretty fresh in a shallow grave. That’s why the coyote was digging here. Well, ‘I was here first,’ I says to him, and he says, ‘Bug off, Pipsqueak.’ If you all hadn’t come along when you did, I might have got the worst of that fight.”

Dragon, bleeding all over the snow, limped along.

Shaker stopped before reaching the graveyard and called back to Sister. “We’d better put him in Sam’s woodshed. I’ll come back for him. Don’t want him to walk all the way back to the trailers.”

“Shaker, maybe there’s a better way.” She motioned to Betty, who rode in closer. “Betty, call Sam on your cell phone. See if he’ll leave for a minute and load up Dragon in his truck.”

“He can’t lift him.” Betty reached inside her coat for her phone.

“Right.” Sister nodded, for she’d momentarily forgotten Sam’s wound. “Call Gray. Maybe he can slip away. If not, we’ll have to ride back, then drive back. I hate to leave him for long.”

“Okay.” Betty punched in Gray’s number as Sister gave it to her.

As Betty filled in Gray, the field watched Uncle Yancy, about one hundred yards away, talk to the hounds who sat underneath the tree.

“This place is full of dead humans. Why would the coyote dig one up?” Diddy asked.

Ardent sometimes forgot how young the last “D” litter was. “They bury six feet down so we can’t smell the body. This grave has to be less than that. Peculiar. Humans are fastidious about planting their dead.”

“Go on over there. Even with the snow and sleet, you’ll get a whiff,” Uncle Yancy suggested.

“No. You’ll back down and run off,” Dasher said.

“Ha! What do you take me for?” Uncle Yancy replied.

Diddy and Ardent walked over as Shaker rode up, followed by Sister.

“He’s right. I can get a whiff.” Diddy closed her eyes for a moment.

“Coyote helped. He clawed out six inches or more. Ground’s not as cold here; the graveyard is sheltered from the wind. It’s a lovely spot.”

Shaker dismounted and walked to the pin oak. “Uncle Yancy, you should know better than to pick a fight with a coyote.”

“I was here first.” Uncle Yancy refused to recognize Shaker’s point.

Betty raised her voice so Sister could hear, for she had walked to the other side of the graveyard just in case hounds took a notion. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes, tops.”

“Thank heavens,” Sister sighed. The sleet was now mixed in with more ice bits.

Shaker reached Diddy and Ardent. The pack followed. He stared at the small hole in the ground. He couldn’t smell what they smelled, but he could see where the snow had been pulled away, where the ground was freshly disturbed. He scuffed that area with the toe of his boot. “Sister, something’s in here.”

The weather was worsening steadily. Sister asked Tedi to take the field. She handed Aztec’s reins to Tootie to lead back.

“Shaker, I’ll stay with Dragon. Let’s put him in the woodshed out of the weather. You load up and get on home before the roads really get ugly. Gray can drive Dragon and me to Marty Shulman at the vet clinic. We’ll get Dragon stitched up and fill him with antibiotics.”

Ice rattled against the worn tombstones like clear BBs.

“All right.” He knew her plan was wise.

“Betty, call Ben Sidell. Tell him he needs to come out here.”

“I could stay with you. Val can lead Outlaw back.”

“You need to be with the hounds. You and Sybil. Go on, now.”

Jason rode up and touched his cap with his crop. “Ma’am, I would be privileged to stay. If you find some thread and a needle, I can stitch him up.”

“Thank you, Jason, but really I’ll be fine, and Gray’s on his way. Save your skills for humans,” she replied.

“All right, then.” He turned to fall in alongside Walter, who had mounted up after checking Dragon.

Although they were human doctors, if Dragon needed emergency surgery or stitching, Walter or Jason could do it. In a pinch, a vet could put together a human, too.

As the field rode away, Sister noticed how well turned out they were. Hunched against the weather, all were correct in their attire, their tack. They had such pride in being part of the Jefferson Hunt, and she had such pride in them.

She put her hand on Dragon’s head. “That’s a deep ugly wound, but it’s a long way from your heart. Thank God for Walter; he stanched some of the bleeding. Come on, big fella.”

“It hurts, but I can do it. If you’d put your nose over that hole, you’d smell the carcass.” He then remembered the odor wouldn’t register with her.

“Wish you’d killed that damn coyote. Marauders, every last one of them.”

“Wish I’d killed him, too.” Dragon, head down in the biting weather, agreed.

Once inside the woodshed, Sister sat on a low line of stacked hardwood logs. Dragon rested by her feet. Leaning over, she rubbed his ears, a comfort to a dog. She stroked under his neck, praising him for closing so quickly on his quarry.

“He miscalculated.” Dragon, despite his pain, touted his skill. “I’m fast. Really fast.”

Both animals, grateful for the shelter, listened to the rattle of ice on the rooftop, to the wind picking up.

Sister checked her pocket watch. The hounds and field should have crossed into After All by now. If Tedi picked up a trot where the footing was good, they’d be at the trailers in another fifteen minutes. She reminded herself to give Tootie a small present for taking Aztec back. Leading a horse through rough territory, which some of this was, took talent on the part of the human, cooperation on the part of the horse.

Dragon shivered.

“Getting to you, buddy.” Sister took off her coat, draping it on the hound. She sat down in the dirt beside him to hold the coat closer on him. “You’ll make it, Dragon; you’ll make it.”

“I love you.” He half closed his eyes.

Both heard the welcome note of the eight-cylinder Land Cruiser engine.

Sister stepped outside, waving to Gray, who drove off the driveway to reach her.

“Janie, you’ll catch your death of cold.”

“No, I won’t. Honey, he’ll bleed on the backseat.”

“Put it down. Garvey gave me a blanket he kept in his office for when he sleeps over. I’ll buy him a new one.” He smiled as he strode into the woodpile, knelt down, and gently lifted the seventy-pound hound into the Land Cruiser.

Dragon immediately felt the warmth from the car heater as Gray closed the door.

The windshield wipers clicked against the ice as Gray drove on good roads to Crozet Veterinary Clinic.

“Think he’ll make it?”

“He will. The wound is deep; he’s lost blood. I don’t want him to go into shock. I checked his gums when I put my coat around him. But Marty can handle it. He’s dealt with worse cases than this.” She filled Gray in on the coyote, on Uncle Yancy in the tree, and on the possibility that the graveyard had been disturbed by more than a coyote.

“After Betty called me,” said Gray, “I called Sam. He’ll be there when Ben arrives.”

“He can’t drive, can he?”

“He shouldn’t, but my little brother will manage. Crawford may allow Rory to go with him, but if he doesn’t, you know Sam.”

Once they were inside the scrubbed clinic, Marty Shulman checked Dragon, put him under anesthesia, and thoroughly cleaned the wound.

Sister would need to pick him up tomorrow, but Dragon would be good as new once the wound healed. He’d be out for the season, which would hurt Dragon more than his wound. Yes, he was arrogant and could be hardheaded, but the hound breathed fire like a dragon. He lived to hunt, and his nose and voice were outstanding.

Driving west back toward Roughneck Farm, Gray sighed deeply. “Funny, we haven’t been apart that long. I didn’t realize how much I look forward to our weekends together until now. You spoil me.”

“I do,” she agreed lightheartedly.

“This last year has been one of the happiest years of my life.”

“Mine, too.”

“I can’t wait for Friday.”

“How about if I make that pork roast you like so much? Your mother’s recipe?”

He smiled. “How about if I bring you a gardenia bush in full bloom?”

She turned to stare at him. “That’s major.”

They pulled into the farm as Shaker walked out of the kennels. Gray stopped. “Get in the car, Shaker; the ice is coming down too hard.” Shaker hopped into the back, where the seats were laid flat, and sat with his legs straight out.

“How’s the boy?”

“Being sewn up as we speak. Pick him up tomorrow.”

“You should have seen it.” Shaker leaned forward.

“Sister told me it was dramatic.”

“And funny. On the way back, Uncle Yancy followed us. He hung back with Bobby and Lorraine. No fool. Going home is a lot easier for him if he can follow in our footsteps, since this will probably turn worse. And the wind was in his face. Hounds couldn’t get a whiff. Amazing creatures.”

“Did Bobby notice where Uncle Yancy left them?”

“The big sycamore at the second creek crossing.”

“Changed dens.” Sister liked knowing where her foxes lived.

“Gray, honey, I need to see to Aztec. I’ll have to leave you.”

“Girls did everything. Cleaned your tack, too. Cleaned up after Felicity,” Shaker remarked.

“What did she do?”

“Threw up coffee.”

“I’m going to call Charlotte. Felicity might have a bug. This is the second time she’s thrown up.”

“Well, don’t be so fast. She took a bet from Val that she couldn’t chug the thermos full of coffee. Val bet her ten dollars. She said it’s much harder to chug a hot drink than a cold drink. So Felicity took the bet. She held it down for about fifteen minutes. Dumb kids.” He laughed.

“Felicity is in charge of the kitty. Guess she’s trying to fatten it up. I’d think Val’s profanity would be doing that,” Sister said.

“I never hear Val swear. She’s a lady.” Gray was surprised.

“Among her peers she swears like a trooper.” Sister filled him in. “So Val, Tootie, and Felicity each put in a dollar if they swear. At the end of the semester, they’re going to throw themselves a party.”

“Good idea.” Gray nodded.

“Need any help in the kennel?”

“No, Boss. All done. Lorraine’s got the fire going. She said she’s making navy bean soup.” He winked. “By the time that’s done she won’t be able to drive home. These roads aren’t going to get better.”

“Lucky devil.” Gray laughed. “Wish I could say the same, but I need to get home and see if Ben is there.”

“Something’s not right.” Shaker rubbed his hands together. His joints hurt on a day like today.

“Damn kids. They knock over the tombstones. I guess this time they’ve dug up someone, or tried to. What’s the matter with them?”

“Last year two kids dug up a lady buried back in the 1930s because they’d heard she was buried with her jewelry on.” Shaker found it gruesome but titillating. “What they found wasn’t jewelry but the sheriff, who came up on them at the right moment. Remember?”

“I do.” Gray paused. “Did you notice which grave had been disturbed?”

“Not exactly disturbed. Coyote dug a hole. But the earth was packed down. Recent. Too recent.” Shaker wondered what was going on at the old Lorillard place. He put his hand on Sister’s shoulder. “Good hunt.”

“It was pretty good. I’m high on the second-year entry. They’ve got it now.”

“So do you.” Shaker patted her, then opened the door, stepping into a stiff wind.

Gray drove to the house. “I’ll drop you at your door. Shaker forgot to tell me which grave was messed up.”

“Jemima Lorillard, 1761 to 1847. A good long life.”

“One of the white Lorillards. You know, I think we may be the only family where the white Lorillards are buried with the free black Lorillards as well as the slave Lorillards. It’s quite a history, our family.”

“Most people think Jemima is a black name. It was quite popular in England and here in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Pretty name, really.” She stopped. “Gray, I know you can’t tell me details. But let me tell you what I think, since you’re sitting in the middle of it down there at Aluminum M.” She shortened Aluminum Manufacturing to “M.”

“Okay.” Gray said only that.

“Iffy is missing. I expect she’s been milking money out of the company for years. I suggested to Ben that he get an order to exhume Angel Crump’s body.”

“What?” Gray’s eyebrows darted up. “That will upset Garvey as much as everything else.”

“Well, let me go on here. Angel thought little of Iffy. Iffy hated Angel. I expect Angel caught on. At any rate, Iffy’s disappeared.”

“Looks like she got away with it.”

“That’s just it, Gray. What if she didn’t get away with it?”