“I don’t know about that.” Herb laughed. “Well, let’s you and I keep our ears to the ground, and don’t tell Miranda or Susan. We’ve got to keep this just between us.”
“Agreed.” She petted the kitties. “Why don’t I give them some goodies on the way out?”
“Hooray.” The two vacated her lap and hurried toward the small kitchen.
Walking to the kitchen, Herb said, “This new carpet is the best thing. When you think of all the meetings the Parish Guild had about it—it was worth it.”
“Like walking on air.”
Driving back to her farm, the sunshine golden and fine, Harry wondered how she could get the money to buy that land. She’d get it somehow, if she had to work three jobs. The chance to buy land that you know doesn’t come along but so often. Then she remembered describing to Herb where she’d found Barry, by the creek.
She needed to go back to the creek, but first she’d change her clothes and take along Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Their senses were better than hers, and she had the good sense to know it.
4
A cool wind current snaked alongside Potlicker Creek. The wind flowed up and over a small hillock covered with mountain laurel, then dropped down to the lowland again.
Harry, a creature of the outdoors, felt it on her skin. She breathed deeply. Ofttimes she could smell deer scent or plant pollen odors on these currents. As the scent warmed, it would rise to her nostrils depending on the temperature during the day. There were days in winter when the scent stuck right on the ground. Even with the stronger aromas overhead, Tucker usually knew who and what had passed along the ground. The two cats did, as well, but since their sight was superior to either Harry’s or Tucker’s, they usually relied on that sense first.
“Why are we back here? Wasn’t once bad enough?” Pewter grumbled as she again examined the area where Barry Monteith had been discovered.
“Mom’s got a notion.” Tucker moved upstream, the clear water revealing rounded rocks underneath or pools of deep water where rockfish dozed in the early afternoon.
“Always means trouble.” Pewter slapped at a mayfly zooming in front of her.
“Missed,” Tucker, out of Pewter’s range, said.
“As if you ever caught a bug.” The gray cat turned her back on the dog, the feline version of the cold shoulder.
Mrs. Murphy walked alongside Harry. Like her human, she, too, overflowed with curiosity. Unlike her human, she had a much better sense of danger.
“You know, I didn’t feel so bad at the time, but I feel bad now,” Harry said to Mrs. Murphy. “What could have killed Barry? The only thing I can think of would be an eagle. There’d be no ground tracks, no fur, and one slash with those talons could open up any one of us, although it would have to hit him just right to slice the jugular. People don’t realize how strong or how fast birds are. A bluejay going at top speed can hurt you. Of course, the question is, why would an eagle want to kill a human?”
“I will kill that bluejay in the lilac bushes. I hate him,” Pewter snarled, the vision of her nemesis arousing her ire.
“He is pretty awful,” Mrs. Murphy agreed as Pewter joined them.
“Mom, there are eagles around now. Most of them are down along the James River, but bald eagles are making a comeback and they are scary.” Tucker respected large raptors, and if she saw a shadow on the ground she looked up, prepared to fight.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Harry shook her head. “I’m wasting my time and yours.”
“I could be sleeping.” Pewter agreed with her.
A snort through nostrils behind them, downwind, caused all four to wheel around.
“You’re on my turf,” an old buck challenged them.
Mrs. Murphy and Pewter immediately huffed up, standing sideways. The tiger cat let out a ferocious growl.
“Pipsqueak.” He lowered his head.
“Big enough to scratch your eyes out.” Mrs. Murphy stood her ground.
“Damn.” Harry simply exhaled.
Usually deer will flee from a human, but occasionally a buck or a doe with a fawn will become aggressive. They could do damage.
Tucker, flat on the ground, hind end bunched up ready to spring, bared her fangs.
The buck charged toward the cats, who spat and scratched. He was so nimble he soared clean over them as Tucker sprang toward him. The path was narrow; mountain laurel rolled down almost to the creek at this point. Harry leapt sideways into the creek, her shoes hitting the stones, rolling a large one. She lost her footing, falling into the water.
Tucker, furious, ran at the stag, leaping up at him. The large animal swung his head low at the dog, but the corgi had been bred to herd large animals. She dodged, then nipped the shiny cloven hooves. This upset the stag. He kicked out, but the beautiful and brave little canine easily avoided the blow. She circled the stag, confusing him, then she nipped again and again. She was relentless and much faster than the stag anticipated.
“You leave us alone!” Tucker barked.
Mrs. Murphy stalked the stag, although Tucker had the situation under control.
“Climb a tree, Mom!” Pewter advised, taking her own advice.
Harry, wet, picked up a rock and aimed it at the enraged animal. She hit him hard on the side just as Tucker landed another painful nip. The stag leapt gracefully over the mountain laurel, flying away from Tucker, who chased the stag all the way to a meadow filled with buttercups.
She returned to cheers.
Harry, still standing in the creek, praised her. “You are the best dog in the world.”
“Who does he think he is?” Tucker, adrenaline still pumping, puffed out her snowy chest.
“I’m glad you’re my friend.” Mrs. Murphy rushed up to the corgi and rubbed across her chest.
Pewter remained in the tree. A prudent sort, she thought it best to wait for a few minutes just in case the stag decided to return.
Harry bent over to wash her hands, since the rock she’d plucked out had a muddy clump on the bottom. A shiny flash caught her eye. She reached down, but the water distorted her depth perception and she missed. She slowly reached again and grabbed it.
Pewter backed down the tree as Harry put a small gold school ring in her palm. A shield with a cross, an inscription in Latin underneath, the ring was distinctive.
“What the . . . ?” She peered but couldn’t make out the inscription. The writing was reversed and quite tiny. She thought the first word started with a V. The shield looked like the shield for the Episcopal Church. Inside in larger script were the initials M. P. R. and, underneath, 1945. A 10K stamp rested to the left of the M, far enough away not to draw the eye from the prettily engraved letters and numbers.
“Must have been under the rock,” Pewter opined.
“Gives me an idea.” Mrs. Murphy, fur finally flattening down, paced alongside the creek bank. She wanted Harry to come out of the water. If need be, Mrs. Murphy could and would swim, but she didn’t like it. One hideously hot and humid day last summer she put her front paws in her water bowl, to everyone’s amazement.
Harry stepped out of the creek, her work boots sloshing, her pant legs stuck to her calves. She bent down so her friends could see the ring. Living close to animals since birth, Harry naturally shared with them; more, she trusted them. These small predators, her dearest companions, had survived the millennia just as her species had. In her mind, they were all winners, and you learn from winners.