Doodles—the fuzzy in his mouth—Tucker, Mrs. Murphy, and Pewter scampered throughout the garden path, which was brick laid in a herringbone pattern. Pewter hated to leave the glowing ball behind, but outdoors provided the chance to snag a bug or maybe something bigger.
Then something bigger slithered right across her path: a four-foot blacksnake.
“Snake!” Pewter froze in her tracks.
Mrs. Murphy pounced on the tail, which made the large snake curl up.
“Don’t you dare,” Harry reprimanded her tiger cat. “Blacksnakes are friends.”
“Oh, bother.” Mrs. Murphy stepped backward.
The snake, flicking out his pink tongue, murmured, “I catch more mice than you do.” With that, he disappeared under the periwinkle ground cover.
“What an insult!” Mrs. Murphy puffed out her tail, but Harry paid her no mind.
“We’re home.” Little Mim threw open the cottage door, painted royal blue, as were the shutters.
“In the back,” Blair called out.
The wives came out on the patio to find two happy men, wreathed in smoke, drinks in hand.
“I want to show Harry and Fair what we’re doing.”
Blair stood up, kissed Harry on the cheek. “Let me get the plans.” He disappeared inside, then reappeared, unrolling the plans on the wrought-iron-and-glass table.
“It’s a two-pronged attack.” Little Mim pointed to the south side of the cottage, where one bedroom now existed. “We can use the existing door so we don’t have to tear out stone, and we’ll create a master suite on that end, which will be warmer in winter than building on the north side.” She moved her finger to the west, to the patio on which they now stood. “Here we’ll build a great room and a new patio. No point in missing all those gorgeous sunsets over the Blue Ridge. I mean, I just love Aunt Tally’s view, so this will be our smaller view.”
“What will you do when Aunt Tally finally goes to her reward? This place will be wonderful,” Harry wondered aloud.
“We’ll move into Rose Hill, of course, and then we have to decide whether to make this part of a farm manager’s package or to rent it. Always nice to produce a little income.” Little Mim, though rich, respected profit and thought squandering resources sinful.
This view was shared by her mother except in practice. If Big Mim wanted something, she bought it. Her daughter would search relentlessly for the best bargain and, if she couldn’t find it, would do without.
“This farm isn’t what it used to be.” Blair slipped his arm around Little Mim’s small waist. “Given her age, Aunt Tally has done yeoman’s labor, but we want fields of corn, better grades of hay, cattle, and you know, Harry, you’ve inspired us to try a small vineyard.”
“I have?”
“You certainly have.” Little Mim smiled. “I remember when I was a girl how this place hummed. Tractors running, fences being painted, stone fences being repaired. Fabulous Thoroughbreds playing in the pastures. Aunt Tally bred great horses. Remember?”
“I do.” Harry nodded, as did Fair. “And Aunt Tally always gave us a Dr Pepper or Co-Cola.”
“You taught me a lot when I was your neighbor.” Blair smiled warmly at Harry. “Now that Mim and I are married, I don’t want to be on the road anymore. I want to be right here with my beautiful bride. I think with a little luck and a lot of hard work, we can make a bit of money. Neither of us believes in hobby farming.”
“Good for you.” Fair slapped him on the back. “Besides, with Little Mim’s whole political career in front of her, having you here will help. You see things differently than we do, because you weren’t raised here.”
“He’s so smart.” Little Mim was besotted with her gorgeous husband.
“When do you start?”
“Tomorrow morning. Mark Greenfield’s company has the project. He doesn’t waste money.”
“No. That’s a wise choice.” Harry liked Greenfield ICF Services. “The trick is to get Tony Long as your county inspector, not Mike McElvoy.”
Blair exhaled. “That’s a roll of the dice. You should hear Carla Paulson, Folly Steinhauser, Penny Lattimore, or even Elise Brennan on the subject of Mike. Elise, whom I’ve never seen show temper, blew like Mt. Vesuvius on the subject.” Blair shook his head. “Well, we’ll just deal with it when we deal with it. My concern right now is that the stonework matches the original.”
“That will be tough,” Fair said.
It would, too, but stonework would be the least of their problems.
9
Amazing how heavy your boots get when they’re caked with mud.“ Harry lifted up a foot, displaying the red clay embedded in the sole.
Fair lifted up his right foot, his work boot covered with wet red clay, too. “Could be worse.”
“Like what?”
“Oil sludge. Then we’d slip across the field.” He pushed his baseball cap down over his eyes, for the sun was fierce. “Your black-seed sunflowers are about ready.”
“Grey Stripe, too.” Harry, hands on hips, surveyed the seven-foot giants, their massive golden heads pointed straight up to the sun. “You know,” she grabbed his hand, “I love this. I wish I’d quit work at the post office years ago.” She paused. “Course, I don’t know if I’m going to make a dime, but I truly love it.”
“Well, you know you won’t make any money on the grapes. You have to let the fruit hang until it falls off this first year.”
“I know. Seems so wasteful, but if Patricia Kluge tells me what to do with my Petit Manseng, I’d better do it. The foxes will be happy.”
“Yes, they will. They’ll start eating the grapes even before they fall.”
“The one that makes me laugh is Simon.” Harry mentioned the opossum who lived in the hayloft along with Matilda, the blacksnake, and Flatface, the owl. “He’s got a sweet tooth.”
Matilda—no sweet tooth there—was actually on her hunting range. The large circle that she made around the barn and the house took up spring and summer. She’d return to her place in the hayloft in another three weeks. Right now she was hanging from a limb in the huge walnut tree in front of the house. It pleased her to frighten the humans and the animals when they finally caught sight of her. Nor was she above dropping onto someone’s shoulders, which always provoked a big scream. Then she’d shoot off.
Harry and Fair walked over to the pendulous, glistening grapes. Although the vines would produce better with each year, Harry was delighted with what her first year had brought.
Fair draped his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Abundance.”
“Lifts the heart. I was worried that yesterday’s hard rain would just pepper these guys right off the vine.”
“Tougher than you thought.”
They turned for the barn. The four mares and foals lazed in their pasture. The three hunt horses and Shortro, a gray three-year-old saddlebred, munched away, pointedly ignoring the youngsters born in March. Every now and then, a little head would reach over the fence to stare at one of the “big boys.”
Tomahawk, the most senior of the hunters, looked back at the bright chestnut filly begging him to play with her along the fence line.
“Worm” he said, returning to the serious business of eating.
“Momma, do you know what he called me?” The little girl romped back to her mother, a patient soul.
“Oh, he gets all grand and airy. Pay him no mind.” She touched noses with her child.
Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker, who were walking ahead of the humans, heard the exchange.
Pewter called out, “He’s a meanie.”
“Shut up, fatso.” Tomahawk raised his head.
“When’s the last time you got on the scale?” Pewter noticed a big belly.
“Pewter, leave him alone,” Mrs. Murphy counseled. “If you irritate him he’ll start picking the locks on the gates. That’s the only horse I’ve ever known who can actually open a kiwi lock.”