The Hounds and the Fury (10 page)

CHAPTER 14

Y
ou look like the dogs got at you under the porch.” Iffy, carrying a file folder while using one cane, walked into Gray’s temporary office.

“Spent the night in the hospital.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. Tired.” Gray noticed her quizzical expression. “Sam was in a car accident.” He held back the small detail that Sam had been shot. He was tired and didn’t feel like indulging in speculation with people who weren’t close.

“Oh, no; he didn’t fall off the wagon?” Iffy exclaimed without thinking.

Gray shrugged. “Skidded off the road. He’s home. Banged up, but”—Gray motioned for her to sit, which she declined—“all right.” He half-smiled. “He couldn’t get out of that hospital fast enough.”

“I’m sorry.” She handed the folder to him. “Hanson Office Supplies. First quarter.” She paused. “Sometimes I keep things in my office instead of putting them in the central files. Going up and down steps is hard sometimes. Oh, is Freddie coming in?”

“At three every afternoon. We’re lucky to get her. Her business is booming; but she likes Garvey and understands the situation.”

“M-m-m.” Iffy tossed her head. “I wouldn’t want to be self-employed. Too Iffy.” She smiled at her joke.

Gray smiled, too, then said, “The company doesn’t pay any bills by automatic draft, does it?”

“No. We receive an invoice for every service or bill, and I cut the checks once a month.”

“All right, then.” He nodded, and she left.

The morning’s hunt pleased Sister and Shaker. They took out more young entry than usual. In the beginning of cubbing they’d put two couple of youngsters in with the pack. Keeping the number of young entry small allowed them to study them. By now, January 5, Thursday, enough of the youngsters had settled in that they could take more than two couple. However, it usually took a season, sometimes two, before a young hound fully came into her or his own.

Often an older hound would be retired or pass away and a young hound would step into that hound’s position, a bit like a first baseman retiring and a rookie taking over. But even if the young ones were learning quickly, a large number of them in the pack in their first year often meant excessive excitement, overrunning the line.

This Thursday they’d taken three couple, six young entry from the “A” litter.” Perhaps next Tuesday they’d take four couple. Since the field was usually large on Saturdays, Sister avoided a large number of first-year hounds. She didn’t want to overwhelm youngsters with too many people.

The snow had sunk down to the consistency of hard vanilla sauce. The footing gave everyone flutters. Horses slipped, although it didn’t bother the horses as much as it bothered the people. Most people instructed their blacksmith to put borium on the shoes. A few people used screw-in caulks, a bit like small spikes on baseball shoes. While they could be tremendously useful on a day like today, they could also be dangerous. If a horse overreached or inadvertently clipped himself, he’d tear into flesh. Worse, if an owner forgot to unscrew the caulks, the ride home could turn into disaster for the horse. And unscrewing the ice-cold caulks, when hands were frozen was not a congenial task.

Sister stuck to borium, a powder applied to spots on the shoe rim. Slightly raised and rough, it helped the animal get purchase. Besides which, borium created much less damage if her horse stepped on himself. She’d rather slip and slide than risk injury to her horse.

Despite the skating, they ran two foxes. The saucy creatures were fully aware that the footing gave them a great advantage. The hounds fared better, thanks to their claws, but they couldn’t keep up with the lighter foxes on a day like today.

Uncle Yancy, a venerable fox with peculiar habits, one of which was watching TV while sitting in Shaker’s window, sauntered in full view. As it was, he was all the way over on the Lorillard place. This surprised Sister, Shaker, Betty, and Sybil because Uncle Yancy usually kept within a small radius of Roughneck Farm, occasionally taking over a den at After All Farm.

Uncle Yancy was experiencing domestic problems with Aunt Netty. She said old age was making him dotty and querulous. He said she was an old harridan and her brush looked like a rat’s tail.

So Uncle Yancy was sleeping on the sofa, as it were. He explored the Lorillard place and was impressed with the brothers’ accomplishments. But it was too far east for him.

When hounds caught his scent, their third fox of the morning, Uncle Yancy headed west to Tedi and Edward’s After All Farm, which was where hounds had met for the first cast. He skated a few times, but it was fun. Uncle Yancy liked the cold air in his nostrils.

He hastened all the way to the pattypan forge, five miles as the crow flies, which St. Just was doing. The crow tracked Yancy the entire way, but both animals knew nothing would come of it. Still, it afforded St. Just a thrill to see the old red fox loping along. He hurled down insults.

When Uncle Yancy dropped into the pattypan den he kicked himself. He had discounted it as a homesite because he’d be within two miles of Aunt Netty. Once inside he changed his mind. He’d avoid her as best he could, but he wasn’t going to pass up the chance to live in this exotic labyrinth.

Hounds marked the spot.

Dragon sailed through the window. Cora, Diane, and Asa followed.

“You won’t blast Uncle Yancy out of here any more than you did Target,”
Cora complained.

“I know. I’m looking for an arm or a leg. Or old bones. Remember the blood last time?”
Dragon answered.

“Shaker will think you’re dawdling.”
Asa turned to jump back out the window.

“If I show up with a human leg he’ll think otherwise. And a bone
is a bone. Doesn’t matter what animal it comes from.”
Dragon lifted the fur on his shoulders.

“Ass.”
Asa jumped out.

“Take that, too,”
Dragon called after him.

Cora didn’t feel like wasting time on Dragon, so she, too, jumped out.

Dragon looked at his sister.
“A quick check.”

She turned to leave, but her curiosity got the better of her. She put her nose down. Seconds later at the actual forge she came up on another large glop of congealed blood, the cold giving it an odd glisten.

“Here.”

Outside Shaker called them.

Dragon hurried over. He trotted along the side of the old bellows.
“This is weird.”

Diana joined him. Another frozen gelatinous lump, palm sized, had been dropped on the other side of the forge. Diana was baffled by this. Given the cold, not much scent came off this substance, either.

“Come on, Diana. Come on, Dragon.”

Dragon ran back to the blood, inhaled deeply. What little scent he could pick up with his long nasal passage made him sneeze.
“Human blood, but something’s wrong with it.”

Both hounds then jumped out of the window in tandem. If they could return on a non-hunting day, maybe they could find more. But they left the kennels only for hunting or for hound walk. It was a sorry hound that ran off during hound walk. He’d lose his privileges or be coupled to another hound, berated by that hound for being a damned fool and being out of step besides.

Later, as Sister and Betty cleaned tack they heard the sound of a six-cylinder Wrangler. A lime-green Jeep pulled into the stable lot. Three young women crawled out, swinging their legs over the high bottom lip of the doorway.

“Sister!” Tootie, Val, and Felicity ran inside the stable.

After hugs and kisses, Sister and Betty listened to their stories of Christmas vacation, dreary dates, even more dreary family reunions, and how cold the dorms were when they arrived back at Custis Hall. How tough Bunny Taliaferro, the riding instuctor, was. Christmas vacation made her meaner.

“How cold?” Sister enjoyed the hyperbole.

“My toothbrush froze.” Val tossed her blonde ponytail.

“In her mouth,” Tootie added with a sly smile.

“My,” Betty simply commented.

“I’m surprised it’s still not stuck to your mouth, Val. Your Wrangler can’t be that warm,” Sister teased.

“But it is. Daddy bought me the hardtop. We can lift it off, but we have to disengage the wires to the windshield wiper on the back. Isn’t it cool? Isn’t it the coolest car you have ever seen?”

“It is. Looks like fun.” Sister loved being around these kids.

“You need one. Red.” Felicity imagined the master tooling around the back roads.

“Black,” Tootie said.

“I knew you’d say that.” Val laughed.

“Really, black with a blue and gold pinstripe. How cool is that?” Tootie folded her arms over her chest.

“Pretty cool.” Sister imagined the sight.

“You’re ahead of Jennifer. She still doesn’t have a car,” Betty said. “Wants a Pontiac Solstice.”

“Me, too. Howie wants one in that titanium color.” Felicity found a way to drag her boyfriend into the conversation.

“Howie will have a long wait,” Val replied.

Felicity ignored Val’s remark.

“How many great hunts did we miss? Tootie e-mailed us your reports. I wish we’d been here.” And before Sister could open her mouth, Val bubbled over. “But we can hunt Saturday. Bunny said so. I can’t wait! It’s horrible not being around horses. I love Mom and Dad, but my horse is here. I can’t live without Moneybags.”

Moneybags was a handsome gelding.

“Who’s the new gray?” Tootie noticed the compelling thoroughbred.

“Matador. Sixteen hands, but a big enough barrel he’ll take up my leg. Chaser.” She used the abbreviation for steeplechase horse.

“Wow.” Felicity walked out of the tackroom to Matador’s stall. She returned smiling.

“Are you girls going right back to the dorm?” Sister asked.

“No. We want to hang with you,” Val announced.

“I’m glad to hear that. If you help me for just an hour I promise I’ll feed you well.”

“Don’t pass up the apple crisp.” Betty smiled. “Made it this morning and brought it to the tailgate. There’s lots left.”

Once the tack was cleaned, Sister checked on the hounds and put Raleigh and Rooster in the house. The girls followed her to the spot where Sam had careened off the road.

Betty, too, followed.

Sister briefly recounted the events.

A dirt road, now snow packed, fed into Soldier Road on the opposite side of the road from where Sam had crashed. All three vehicles parked there.

“Girls, what I want you to do is walk three abreast in this field. Pay special attention to bushes and trees. And tell me if you see tracks: animals, human. Betty and I will walk up here on the road.” She turned to Betty. “Why don’t you walk against traffic, and I’ll walk with it? Shouldn’t be much, but I’ve got on this red scarf. Anyway, I expect Ben’s crew found whatever there was to find.”

They walked slowly. Only two drivers passed, one being Roger, the owner of Roger’s Corner, the last convenience store heading west before one climbed the Blue Ridge to drop into the Shenandoah Valley below.

After a half hour, the cold beginning to seep into their feet even with heavy socks and Thinsulate boots, Tootie called out, “Found something.”

The rest made their way to her.

Random pricker bushes dotted the snow. Deer tracks, crow tracks, and raccoon tracks were evident, all heading toward Broad Creek. The human tracks were scuffed so no sole tread would be apparent, and the size was indistinguishable.

“Damn.” Sister whispered as she noticed that. “Smart, too.”

CHAPTER 15

O
dd dates and facts rolled around Sister’s mind.

She often conceived of her mind as a closet, which when opened would reveal the usual apparel but also a few dead moths, the remains of long-perished spiders, and tiny little skeletons of whatever Golly had secreted there long ago.

Yesterday had been the day of St. Simeon Stylites, born 390 and died 459. Apart from his piety, gentle preaching, and self-abnegation on top of the pillar that had given rise to his name, Stylites, he must have stunk to high heaven. Perhaps that was his plan. After all, the Olympians enjoyed the fragrance of offerings slaughtered or burnt in their honor. Perhaps Simeon’s Christian God liked human unwashed scent.

Sister doubted this. Simeon had had doubts, too, but they were of a higher order.

Today, January 6, belonged to St. Peter of Canterbury, birth date unknown, who died in 607 after an eventful life. On a mission to Gaul, disunited then (and perhaps still), poor Peter drowned in the English Channel. When found, he was unceremoniously buried by pagan locals. But a mysterious light danced over his grave at night, which made them reconsider Christ’s message.

Sister would have welcomed a mysterious light—any light to shed on the disquiet she felt. She’d driven to town at first light to meet with Ben Sidell, already in his office.

After informing him of the scuffed foot marks, she asked, “Any luck with other Land Cruiser owners?” She gratefully drank from the mug of hot tea she’d brought along.

He shook his head “No,” then added, “Brad Johnson was deer hunting here around that time, but he was on the other side of the road. Not much, but you gather these little bits of information. Eventually some kind of picture emerges.”

“I’m trying to convince myself the shot was an accident. If only Brad had been on the west side of the road.”

“I hope so, too, but I’ll keep on it—just in case.”

“Hunting Saturday?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

After classes, Tootie, Val, and Felicity carefully put out their kit for tomorrow’s hunt. Valerie as class president had a room to herself in the corner of the oldest and therefore most prestigious dorm. Tootie and Felicity, each carrying 4.0 grade averages, also lived on the same hall.

Custis Hall’s founder and succeeding headmistresses judiciously used earned status to motivate the girls. This part of the school had been built in 1812, along with the only other structure at that time, the administrative building, which had been used for classes as well back then.

Since 1812 Custis Hall had entertained building programs consistent with the rise and fall of capital cycles. The newest dorms, very attractive and with every modern convenience, had been built in 2000. The three seniors would slit their wrists before living in the newest dorm.

Old One, as their dorm was called, had been remodeled sporadically. Modern insulation, electricity, and plumbing had been installed. But each room still had a fireplace, and the girls had to take proper care of it or lose the privilege of living in Old One.

Val’s room had served every senior class president since 1812. Many had gone on to become the wives of senators, generals, admirals, and captains of industry. A few made their independent way in the arts. Fewer still started their own businesses, although more graduates had moved into the business world after the 1970s. Still, Custis Hall girls, after college, married well if they married.

As Val’s room was the largest, both Tootie and Felicity sat there shining their boots.

“I can never get this stuff out of my fingers,” Tootie grumbled. “Me, neither.” Felicity, slender and observant, vigorously rubbed in the black paste.

Val’s boots gleamed under her mahogany valet, where she’d hung her frock coat, her white shirt, her ironed stock tie. She pinned her stock pin through the buttonhole of her black frock coat so she wouldn’t lose it in the hustle of leaving in the early morning. Her canary vest was over the shirt, the coat over the vest. Her britches were draped over the bar constructed for that purpose. In the tray of the valet she’d placed two long thin strips of rawhide, one penknife, one pack of matches, and a cotton handkerchief. She’d already put her Virginia hunting license in her vest pocket. Her velvet hard hat, tails up, sat next to her boots but in a special hat case wherein she kept two pairs of gloves, one white and knitted, one deerskin with a cashmere lining. Inside the hat case were small packs of handwarmers and extra hairnets.

“Val, how’d you get everything done? You’re usually behind,” Felicity inquired.

“MinPin.” She named a freshman by nickname.

“Wish I had a slave.” Tootie didn’t especially like the cloying freshman.

“I could be really obnoxious,” Val warned.

“Free blacks could own slaves, too, Val.” Tootie fired away because she knew what Val was thinking. Tootie was also black. “I know my history.”

“Not my strong suit, is it? But hey, I’m good at calculus.”

“You’re good at anything if you want to be.” Felicity made peace. “That’s what makes me wonder where Howie will go to school. His grades are okay, but you know.”

“We know,” Tootie and Val said in unison.

Blushing, Felicity remarked, “He’s such a good quarterback. He’s been scouted by a lot of schools.”

“Princeton isn’t one of them,” Val flatly said. “We’re all going to Princeton.”

“We haven’t got our acceptances yet,” Tootie reminded her.

“We will. You know we will.”

“Well, if not, we have our back-up schools, but I don’t think Howie could get into Bucknell or some of our others.” Felicity bent lower over her boots.

“So? You see him on big weekends unless he winds up in Kansas. Then you can see him at Christmas.” Val picked up a small hard-bristled whisk brush to brush Tootie’s coat.

Little clouds of fine dust whirled up and made Val choke.

“Here?” Tootie stood up, reaching for her coat.

“I can do it. You’ll get bootblack on the coat. What’d you get into? This coat is a mess.”

“Remember when we got muddy, last hunt before vacation? I brushed it off but not so good.” Tootie apologized.

“That was fun staying with Sister after the dorms closed. I didn’t really want to go home,” Val said. “Glad I did.” She laughed.

“You didn’t know your dad was getting you the Wrangler for Christmas?” Felicity didn’t envy her the car. She had no envy in her.

“No.” Val looked down as students walked across the oldest quad. “Wonder if she’ll really go to Ole Miss?”

They knew she must be watching Pamela Rene, an African-American student from great wealth.

Pamela didn’t like Tootie because Tootie was beautiful and popular. Pamela was neither, but she was smart.

“She won’t go,” Felicity predicted.

“Hell you say.” Val used the old expression.

“One dollar.” Felicity held out her hand.

She kept the kitty, which was filling up rapidly. One dollar for every swear word uttered by any of them. The plan was to use the money at the end of the semester for a party.

“She’ll go.” Tootie’s alto sounded firm.

Both white girls stared at her. “Why?”

“To defy her mother; to prove she can do it.”

“You mean survive in the Deep South?” Valerie caught on.

“Right. Her mother, the drama queen, thinks she’ll be walking into the arms of the Ku Klux Klan.”

“Thought they were strongest in Indiana. I swear I read that somewhere,” Felicity added. “Or maybe Howie told me. His favorite subject is current affairs.”

Tootie stood up, putting her boots on the floors to allow the polish to set before buffing. She walked to the window to watch Pamela. “Guess she’ll be hunting tomorrow.”

“She’s a good rider,” Val grumbled. “It’s the rest of it.”

“She’s lost weight. How does anyone lose weight over Christmas vacation?” Felicity, thin, wondered.

“Her mother wired her mouth shut.”

Val arched one eyebrow, a neat trick.

Tootie and Felicity burst out laughing.

“Felice, my darlin’,” Tootie grinned, “You’ll be okay if you and Howie are at separate schools.”

“He’s hoping for a football scholarship to Wake Forest. And they’ve offered him a tutoring program. I wouldn’t mind Wake.”

“Princeton!” Val fiercely said, her heart set on being a tiger.

“Are you in love or something?” Tootie sat back down beside Felicity.

A long silence followed. “I don’t want to live without him. I guess I am.”

“I am going to throw up!” Val swatted Felicity on the shoulder with the whisk brush. “You can’t fall in love. We’re too young. I mean, that’s like prison.”

“Val,” Felicity blazed, “in the last century most people our age were married. It’s natural to fall in love when you’re young.”

“Bullshit.” Val, a beautiful six-foot one-inch blonde, tossed her long hair.

“She’s right.” Tootie defended Felicity. “We’re the strange ones, out of step with biology.”

“Since when are you a biology major?” Val would have none of it. “You’ve never even felt a twinge for someone?” Felicity asked quietly.

“Only you.” Val smarted off.

“Val, you can be such an ass sometimes.” Tootie didn’t say this with hostility.

“One dollar.”

“God, Felicity, you’re relentless!” Tootie handed over her dollar. “Val, you owe two.”

“I know.” Val opened her bureau drawer and pulled out two crisp dollar bills. “You’re going to be a banker, I know it.”

“Maybe.” Felicity did, though, have a head for business, and she liked it.

“And you’ll run for public office after law school.” Tootie started buffing her boots.

“I will,” Val agreed. “And I’ll put off getting married until my middle thirties. Make every male voter believe he could be the one.”

Tootie appreciated this shrewdness in Val, “Sometimes I think I’ll marry, and other times I think never.”

“When you meet the right one, everything falls into place.” Felicity glowed.

“You’re seventeen. Lust—okay, I can understand that, but love? Come on, Felicity, get over it.” Val really couldn’t understand this.

“Let’s change the subject.” Felicity sighed.

Before they could do that, Pamela Rene popped her head through the open door, but she had the manners to knock first on the door frame. “Hi.”

“Hi,” the three said.

“I lost my stock pin. Can I borrow one?”

“Sure.” Tootie, who kept extras, reached into her coat, which Val had finished brushing. “Here you go.”

“I’ll give it back after tomorrow.”

“Keep it.” Tootie worked hard not to allow her feelings about Pamela to surface.

“I’ll order everyone a backup from Horse Country,” Pamela offered. “Be here next week.”

“Good idea. Got the catalogue?” Val asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I see it later?”

“You can see it now.” Pamela, also a resident of coveted Old One, turned on her heel and walked down the polished wooden floor to her decorated room. She returned with the glossy catalogue. The four girls strained to view it, but Tootie gave up and buffed her boots now that the polish had set.

“Retail’s pretty amazing.” Pamela also liked business, but from a different angle than Felicity.

“I wish Marion would take on apprentices,” Felicity laughed, mentioning the owner of Horse Country. “I’d work for clothes.”

“Me, too,” Val agreed.

They commented on various delightful offerings and deplored their relative poverty, which was funny considering they were rich kids. But they were still kids and, with the exception of Val, were kept on a fairly strict allowance. Val’s parents often overdid; she liked that in material terms, but it embarrassed her with her peers.

The funny thing about Pamela’s parents was that they kept her on a short money leash, but then her father would send the corporate jet for her. Of the four girls, Pamela’s home life was the unhappiest. Her mother, Thaddea Bolendar, had been a highly paid model in the 1970s. She’d made the cover of
Vogue
more than once, and she never ceased to remind her daughter, a few pounds overweight, that she wasn’t perfect and she’d never make
Vogue.

Val reveled in unconditional love, which gave her tremendous confidence. She was a happy young woman, if occasionally overconfident.

Felicity’s parents also provided support, but they were exacting about her grades. They expected her to succeed, and this expectation was inferred, not expressed. She had lived up to it so far.

Tootie’s parents loved her dearly, gave her a sharp moral compass, and had taught her discipline. Young though she was, she was the most organized and focused of the girls. Her father, who measured all things by money, pressured her to become an investment banker. Her mother mostly expected that she would have a dazzling career in whatever she chose and would marry an appropriate man. That meant rich. Both parents would prefer he be African-American, but the real cutoff was money.

They sat there, chattering away, talking about their studies, their friends, their beloved horses.

“Tomorrow’s hunt is going to be the best. I just know it,” Val enthused.

“The grays are mating. Reds should be, too,” said Tootie, who loved nature far more than banking.

“Bet it’s one of those hunts we never forget.” Pamela, too, was enthusiastic, a rare occurrence. She was glad to be sitting with the other three. She wanted to be part of the group but lacked that easiness and warmth that make others comfortable. At least the chip on her shoulder was shrinking.

“I remember every single one.” Tootie was so serious the others looked at her.

“Really?” Val recalled highlights, not every detail.

“Tomorrow will be a good one. We’ll all remember,” Pamela again predicted.