“Well, think of this. Two months ago, two weeks ago you might not have given a nickel for Cody but look how she’s trying. People can change if they want to.”
“You’re right. You’re right. You know if I didn’t have Outlaw, if I didn’t have hunting, I think I would have unraveled at the seams a long time ago. And I have you.”
“Thanks.”
“All right, Madam Master, I’m going to make sure my husband and my youngest daughter are ready for tomorrow and I’ll say a little prayer that it’s a three-fox day. Good night, Jane.”
“Good night, Betty.” Sister hung up the phone. She sat on the kitchen floor as Raleigh trotted over.
“Me, me, me!” Raleigh begged as he rolled over.
Sister scratched his tummy.
“A little to the left.” Raleigh giggled.
“I would bite, as in sink my fangs to the hilt, anyone who rubbed my stomach. First destruction. Then Death!” Golly bragged as she quickly filched another piece of chicken from the table.
The phone rang again.
“Bag it,”Raleigh suggested.
Irritated, Sister nonetheless rose to pick up the offending instrument.“Jane Arnold.”
“Sister, this is Crawford Howard.”
“Yes, Crawford. How are you tonight?”
“Fine, thank you. I called to apologize for losing my temper. I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“I also wanted to tell you, since everyone gossips—I wanted you to hear from me that I am dating my ex-wife with the hope of reconciliation.” He spoke rapidly.
“Well, I hope it works out for both of you.” Sister remained furious at Crawford’s insults to Doug.
“It’s awkward with Martha working for Fontaine, which was my fault. Totally.”
“Avoid him tomorrow.” She almost added “and me.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he will avoid me.” Crawford abruptly changed subjects. “Have you come to a conclusion about taking on a joint-master?”
“I have and I will bring this matter before the board, which, as you know, meets next Wednesday.”
“The ninth?”
“I don’t have my calendar in front of me but I think it is the ninth. Anyway, it’s always the second Wednesday in the month.”
“Right. I’ll be there.” Crawford cherished being a member of the board of governors. “Watched the weather report?”
“No. I think I’ll trust my senses,” she said.
“Ought to be a good day. Overcast. Cool. Ought to be a real Jefferson Hunt day.” He was dying to pry her decision out of her.
“Crawford, you have deeply offended me. Your treatment of Doug was despicable.” She decided it was better to let him have it than hold in her anger. Besides, he was too dense to know how angry she really was. “You did right in calling me to apologize but I know how badly you want to be joint-master. I’m not fooled. I don’t think you are truly repentant. You had best apologize to Doug and if you don’t really think about what you’ve done, if you don’t understand, if you do it again, I will throw you out of this club so fast you won’t know what hit you—and don’t think you can buy off the board of governors. Good night.”
Agitated, unable to go directly to sleep, Sister picked up Washington’s diary.
The acquisition of his own pack in 1768 provoked him to keep track of its progress.
She read entries, enjoying his economy of language and his abbreviations, old spellings.
“Went huntg being joined by Mrs. Washington in her excellent scarlet habit along with Mr. Peake, Wm Triplet and Harrison Manley. Rode Blueskin. Billy on Chinklin.
“After a chace of five hours dogs were worsted. Billy sorely tried.”
Billy Lee was Washington’s huntsman, carrying a large French hunting horn on his back. The two men cherished a friendship and the general visited the stables and kennel each morning and again in the evening.
She read six pages, her eye resting on this entry:“Hunted a black fox twenty miles. He returns to his den fresh. Seventh time on this jet fox. Billy has given up declaring this black fox came from The Nether World. He swears he will never hunt him again.”
She finally fell asleep, the diary on her chest, to dream of riding with George Washington, M.F.H.
CHAPTER 34
The weatherman had lied. A thin band of pale pink deepened to salmon, then scarlet, over frost-covered fields, washing them in dawn’s hope. The rim of the sun peeped over the horizon illuminating maples, oaks, hickories, black gums, sycamores, beeches, black birches, dogwoods, willows, all the great varieties of the deciduous trees of the piedmont, garbed in rich colors.
This would be a perfect early November day, crisp, clear, leaves still on the trees, pumpkins still being plucked in a few southern-exposure fields, drying cornstalks tied in stocks in other fields. Acorn, walnuts, chinquapins, beechnuts dropped, rat-a-tat, onto fields, outbuildings, cars.
Diana, Dasher, and Dragon, bursting with excitement, stood outside the kennel. The experienced hounds slept soundly inside, not even lifting their heads when the three litter mates walked through the magnetic flap door. The tin roof on the equipment shed shone with the coating of frost. A light breeze from the northwest rustled the leaves.
“I hope this is a good day,” Diana whispered.
“Me, too,” Dasher echoed.
“I’ll be leading the pack. Of course it will be a good day,” Dragon bragged.
“You can’t be the strike hound. You don’t know enough. Stay behind Cora.” Piqued by his egotistical brother, Dasher grumbled.
“Cora’s too slow.”
“No, she’s not. She doesn’t pop into fifth gear until she’s sure. You just run flat out with your mouth running, too. If you overrun scent, you don’t know it until it’s too late, Dragon. I’d think by now you would have learned your lesson.”
Turning his well-proportioned head to face his brother, Dragon replied,“The snake could have bitten anybody. It just happened to bite me.”
“Target knew a sucker when he saw one.” Dasher longed for the day when he would see the flashy bold red.“And Reynard saw him do it to you, which means all the foxes know you for what you are.”
“Dachshund.” Dragon threw the worst insult he could think of at his brother.
“At least that’s a hound. You’ve got the brain of a Jack Russell,” Dasher replied with gleeful malice.
Dragon bared his fangs.
“Chill.” Diana bared her own formidable fangs.“If you two get in a fight, you’ll sit right here in the kennel. Neither one of you is thinking too clearly. If you can’t get along, then shut up.”
“He started it.” Dragon pouted.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“I’ll grab you by the ruff, throw you down, and sit on you! Now leave it. I mean it.”
The brothers respected their sister even if they did not respect each other. Snarling under his breath, Dragon pranced back into the kennel.
Dasher sat down next to Diana. They both stared at the sun, clear of the horizon now.
“About time for Shaker and Doug,”Diana remarked.
“Lights on at Doug’s.” He lifted his black nose, sniffing the wind.“Deer.”
“Strong. Just watch. If Dragon can’t get up a fox, he’ll go off again. I know it.” She thought a moment.“But I have to give him credit. He really doesn’t go off on deer. He just finds another fox. He’s so hardheaded.”
Dasher stood up as Doug emerged from his cottage.“Cubbing was one thing, Sis, but opening hunt, all those people looking at us …”
“Shaker won’t take any hound he doesn’t think can handle it.”
“Can’t believe he’s taking Dragon.”
“He’s been good the last two cub hunts and he’s handsome. People like to look at handsome hounds.” She heard the front door of the kennel open as Doug entered.“Let’s go back in.”
On the far side of Hangman’s Ridge, the western corner where the fence line divides the woods from the fields, Target preened in his den. The purpose of opening hunt was for all creatures to see and admire him. He had to admit that he had never looked better nor had Charlene, although her brush was a tad thin.