“Do you know who she’s sleeping with?”
“I need a calculator. She hasn’t restricted herself to boys either. Jennifer is freely distributing her favors.”
“Is she afraid she’s gay?”
“Hell, no. She thinks it’s cool. Oh, she doesn’t know what she is.”
“The first thing is to get her off drugs. If she’s going to spend her life as a bisexual harlot at least she can be a sober one. If you want my opinion about hunting, I say let her do it. Plus as long as she’s riding, she’s not in bed with someone. If it makes her happy, that’s one step in the right direction.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll tell Bobby what you said.”
“What did Dr. Zacks say?”
“We didn’t even get to hunting. We were too busy dodging the karate kid. She’s quick, too, I can tell you. Oh, I forgot to mention that Walter Lungrun was there when I got to rehab. He helped Cody and Doug when Jennifer blew up. He’s a commanding man when he needs to be. You know, this is the damnedest thing—he reminds me so much of Big Ray.”
“Me, too.” Sister smiled. “A quiet, take-charge kind of man.”
“But he even looks like Ray when he was young.”
“Betty, enjoy Bobby while you have him, warts and all.”
A silence followed. Then Betty replied, “You’re right. I know you miss both your Rays every day.”
“You cope with the loss, the physical loss, and you even learn to be thankful for the time you did have but, Betty, there are days when I would give anything, anything, to hear my husband’s laughter or for Junior to open the back door, throw his books on the floor, and bellow, ‘Mom, where are you?’ ”
A sigh followed. “I will try to cherish Bobby and Jennifer but right now it’s not easy.”
“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.”