"When she showed Alicia the sweater she bought from that expensive store in New York, whatever New York is, Alicia was impressed. She said/Paul Stuart.' Then BoomBoom said how they ought to go to New York." Lucy pricked her ears as the wind rattled the outside shutters. "And she said, 'I keep all the sweaters in the drawers.'"
BoomBoom exhaled through her nostrils, a mark of discontent, a touch of the blues. She walked over to the kittens, petting each. "If she were a man she would have stayed." This was followed by a silence. "What am I thinking?"
The tall blonde strode into her den, a high-tech, bright space very unlike the rest of the house. She sat down at her bloodred enamel curving desk with the heavy inlaid glass top. On the left side of the curve rested her computer. In the middle of the curve was the gleaming glass inlay where she could handwrite letters on stationery printed by Tiffany's. On the right side of this exquisite creation rested a small pile of tan, green, or red leather-bound foxhunting books from the eighteenth century.
BoomBoom ran her deceased husband's quarry and business. A keen mind and one that rejoiced in profit, she proved better at this than Kelly had been. She imported marble from Italy as well as from Barre, Vermont. She specialized in the stones for fencing. Her quarry also carried every grade of gravel needed in construction. Twice-washed sand for riding rings, for masonry, was also a lucrative product. BoomBoom enjoyed a business that could change its selling methods, change the speed of delivery, upgrade customer services, but the actual process of building a stone fence, cutting marble for a fireplace, or putting down number-five stone on a farm road would never change. For this, she was exceedingly grateful.
She was also grateful that the men who worked at Craycroft Quarry remained loyal to her. Once she'd proved she knew what she was doing and those Christmas bonuses fattened, the teamwork only got better and better.
Each day she'd stop by the office. She always checked a job. She listened to her customers; she listened to her staff. She couldn't work a nine-to-five job, but many days she worked from five in the morning until eleven at night. It was her business and she loved it. Often she could schedule her hobbies—foxhunting in fall and winter, golf in spring and summer—around work. She lived a fabulous life and she knew it, except for one thing: she had no partner, no true love.
BoomBoom checked addresses on her computer, writing down those people to whom she could speak discreetly about Ned. Since BoomBoom gave generously to the Democratic Party, she had many strings to pull.
"Damned Republicans," she said out loud, which caused Lucy to try and crawl up her leg to see what this outburst was all about. "Come on, you little girl. You, too, Desi!" She placed them on the desk. Both were mesmerized by the computer as she switched it to the pattern of shifting, different-colored shapes. "Here are the desk rules. You can come up here anytime you like once you're big enough to get up on your own. But you can never pee here or anywhere but your dirt box. You can't chew my papers. I don't care if you play with the computer, but you can't chew the wires or pull them out of the back. You can't press the phone buttons and, oh, yes, this is the most important thing, no biting or chewing my old leather-bound books. See this book right here?" She held up a large tome, dark green with gilt lettering "Notitia Venatica." "This cost me three hundred seventy-five dollars. Three hundred seventy-five dollars!"
"What's three hundred seventy-five dollars?" Lucy cocked her head.
"Must be important." Desi noted BoomBoom's stern tone.
"Follow the rules and we'll have a wonderful life." She kissed their soft tiny heads, right between their ears. "We already have a wonderful life."
"I can catch mice." Desi puffed out his white chest. Set against his black body, he looked like he was wearing a tuxedo.
"You can not." Lucy giggled.
"Can, too." He swatted her and she swatted back.
"You two may be the cutest little kittens God has put on earth." BoomBoom laughed, then punched in numbers on her thin, flat phone. "You're home. I was so worried about you."
A laugh, clear, greeted her concern. "Honey chile, I was driving before you were born."
"Oh, you were not."
"Pretty close to it." Alicia replied. "You're sweet not to think I'm old. As I recall you're thirty-seven," she paused, "just a sprig, a green sapling and such a pretty one at that."
BoomBoom laughed. "Are you flirting with me, Alicia? I'm not used to these things."
"Do you expect me to believe that? Beauty is a magnet."
"Look who's talking." She paused. "But, no, women have not flirted with me, or if they have, it's gone right over my head, like the Blue Angels." She made a jet sound, which startled the kittens, who had fallen asleep on the desk.
"Silly girls. "Alicia's voice, part of her outrageous allure, sounded exactly as it did on the big screen.
BoomBoom experienced an uncustomary flutter; she stuttered for a second, then caught herself. "Well, I'm so glad you're home safe and sound."
"Once the weather clears, let's go up to Greyfriars'. You wanted to go, right?" Alicia asked.
"Can't wait," BoomBoom responded. "I look to Mary for light. Not that I'm in danger of being a good Catholic, mind you."
"Actually, sugar, I'm a bad Christian, but it's too late to be a good anything else." Alicia laughed.
As the two women bid their good-byes with promises to call first thing in the morning, high on top of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Virgin Mary was again crying tears of blood, quickly freezing in the cold.
4
What do you think of that?" A puff of air streamed from Harry's lips as she spoke on her cell phone, a gift from Fair on her birthday.
The horses, including the brood mares, munched in their stalls. The minute Harry reached home she had brought in the horses, thrown them flakes of hay, and topped off their water. She turned them out during the day unless the ground was covered in ice. Horses that spend most of their times outdoors, grazing and playing, are far happier than horses stuck in stalls.
She wore a tiny earpiece, phone tucked in her belt, as she swept out the aisles. Although the mercury would drop into the twenties, she knew the inside of the barn wouldn't get below freezing. The outside air would have to stay in the teens or below for the water buckets to freeze inside. Some of this was due to the good construction of the barn, well built but still airy. A tight barn is bad for equine breathing. The warmth of those large thousand-plus-pound bodies did the rest, so the barn stayed reasonably warm—if one considers the high thirties or the low forties warm.
"The Lord moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform," Miranda Hogendobber replied, as Harry had been telling her about the Virgin Mary.
"Oh, Miranda, you don't believe it's a miracle, do you?"
"Does it matter? Does it matter if it can be explained by natural causes or if she truly cries blood? If this helps someone, provides light in a dark world, then it's a miracle."
Harry stopped, propped the broom against Tomahawk's stall. "I never thought of it that way."
"You don't think of a lot of things," Miranda said with warmth, not rancor.
Harry moaned, "Fair says I'm more of a guy than he is, in the mind. Actually, everyone says that. Even my mother used to say that. Irritates the hell out of me."
"I'm not saying that." Miranda thought of Harry as a daughter, since she herself had not been blessed with children. "I'm saying you seek practical solutions. From time to time, you need to sit quietly, or take a walk, allow your spirit to roam. God's love will find you."
"You're right. I suppose I'd say, 'Take time to smell the roses.' "
"I am never closer to the Good Lord than when I'm in my garden." Miranda, a gifted gardener, engaged in hot competition with Mim Sanburne, not nearly as gifted but tremendously rich. "You know Tazio and I are drawing up plans for my dream garden shed." She mentioned a young friend and architect.