Harry called to Sam, "Give with your hand. Grab mane. Never be afraid to grab mane." Taking her own advice she wrapped her fingers around a hunk of Tomahawk's mane and sailed over the low obstacle. She looked back at Sam and he reached forward with his hands, a small victory.
Ranulf popped over.
"Easy." Harry smiled.
The two of them threaded their way through a pine forest, emerging on a snowy farm road. Harry followed the hoofprints until they crossed a stream, ice clinging to the sides of the bank in rectangular crystals.
"Up over the hill." Sam pointed to the continuing tracks.
"Hounds are turning, Sam. We're smack in the way. Damn." She looked around for a place to get out of the way and hopefully not turn back the fox into the hounds, a cardinal sin in foxhunting.
Sam, not an experienced hunter, really thought they should charge up the hill but he deferred to Harry. After all, she'd been doing this since she was tiny.
She pushed Tomahawk into the woods, off the old farm road. They climbed over a rocky outgrowth and stopped about forty yards beyond that. No sooner had they reached their resting point than the red fox sauntered into view, loping onto the farm road. He crossed, hopped onto a log, trotted across that, scampered along, and then, for reasons only he knew, he flipped on the afterburners and was out of there before you could count to ten.
Within two minutes the first of the hounds, nose to the ground, reached the farm road.
Sam started to open his mouth.
"No," Harry whispered.
He gulped back his "Tally Ho," which would have only disturbed the hounds. "Tally Ho" was sometimes called out when a fox was seen but only if the witness was sure it was the hunted fox, and not a playful vagrant. Also, if hounds were close, the human voice could disturb them, making their task even more difficult. Yet it was human nature to want to declare seeing the fox.
In about five minutes, the Huntsman, the person actually controlling the hounds, who had been battling his way through a nasty briar patch, emerged onto the road.
"Okay, Sam, turn your horse in the direction in which you saw the fox, take off your cap, arm's length, and now you can say 'Tally Ho.' Hounds are far enough away."
Excited, Sam bellowed, "Tally Ho!"
The Huntsman glanced up, winked at Harry, and off he rode, following his hounds, who were on the line.
In another two minutes the field rode up, Harry and Sam joining them in the rear. Sam, being an inexperienced hunter, needed to stay in the back out of other people's way.
They ran a merry chase until the red fox decided to disappear and in that maddening way of foxes, he vanished.
Ending on a good note, the Huntsman, after conferring with the Master, the person in charge of the hunt, called it a day.
Riding back, Sam thanked Harry.
Little Mim came alongside Harry as Sam rode up to Larry Johnson to chat. "Think he'll ever learn?"
"Yeah. At least he's not a know-it-all. He doesn't like advice but eventually it sinks in."
"Men are like that," Little Mim remarked.
"Jeez, Marilyn, think of the women we know like that, too."
"You mean my mother?"
Harry held up her hand. "I didn't say your mother."
"Well, I mean my mother." Little Mim glanced over her shoulder to make certain Mother wasn't within earshot.
She wasn't. Big Mim at that very moment was pressing Susan Tucker to join the Garden Club, which was supposed to be a great honor, one Susan devoutly wished to sidestep.
Back at the trailers, people shared flasks, hot tea, and coffee. Susan brought Mrs. Hogendobber's orange-glazed cinnamon buns. The mood, already high, soared.
"Gee, I hate to go back to work." Harry laughed.
"Isn't it a shame we couldn't have been born rich?" Susan said in a low voice, since a few around them had been, like Big Mim and Little Mim.
"Breaks my heart."
"What'd Fair give you for Valentine's?"
"Wormer. Ivermectin."
"Hey, that's romantic." Susan, a hint of light sarcasm in her voice, laughed.
"I gave him a vet book from 1792."
"Hey, that is romantic." Susan handed Harry a mug of hot tea. "You know, this new thermos I bought is fabulous. We've been out for two and a half hours. I put the tea in the thermos a good hour before that and it's piping hot."
"Yeah. I'll have to get one."
Sam walked over. "Harry, thank you again."
"Sure." She offered him a sip of tea. He held up his flask.
"A wee nip before returning to drudgery." He bowed, said "Ladies," then walked back to his trailer.
Susan looked at Harry. Neither one said anything. They neither liked nor disliked Sam. He was just kind of there.
Larry Johnson, carrying a tin of chocolate-covered wafers, came over. "Ladies. Don't worry about the calories. I'm a doctor and I assure you any food eaten standing up loses half its caloric value."
They laughed, reaching in for the thin delicious wafers.
"How's the mood at the hospital?" Susan asked.
"Good. Hank's death may not be hospital related." He paused. "But as you know I'm semi-retired so I'm not there on a daily basis."
"Semi-retired." Harry laughed. "You work as hard as you did when I was a kid."
Larry had an office in his home. Years ago he had taken on a partner, Hayden McIntire, vowing he would retire, but he hadn't.
"That was good of you to nurse Sam along," Larry complimented Harry. "Soon you'll be in Tussie Logan's class. She's wonderful with children." He laughed low. "I kind of regard Sam in that light."
"You didn't see me stop to help him." Susan ate another chocolate-covered wafer. "The run was too good."
Larry, in his early seventies, was in great shape thanks to hunting and walking. "A straight-running fox, joy, pure joy. But you know, I think he doubled back. He was so close, then-" He snapped his fingers.
"Fox magic." Susan smiled, checked her watch, and sighed, "I'd better get home."
"Well, back to work for me." Harry finished off her tea.
14
"Mom!" the animals cried when Harry bounced through the back door of the post office.
"Hi," she called out.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you're here. Look." Miranda handed her an envelope, opened. "Susan left this for you. She forgot to give it to you at the breakfast."
Harry checked the addressee, Mrs. Tucker. "H-m-m." She slid out the letter and read it aloud:
"Dear Susan,
As you know, I will be running for the office of mayor of our great town of Crozet.
I need your support and the help of all our friends. I hope that you and Harry will throw your weight behind my campaign.
My top two priorities are keeping Crozet's rural character intact and working closely with the Albemarle Sheriff's Department to decrease crime.
Please call me at your earliest convenience.
Yours truly, Marilyn Sanburne."
Harry rattled the paper a bit. "Call her? She can nab any of us in the street. Waste of postage."
"It is rather formal but I don't think staying neutral is as easy as you do. And if we waffle too long we will gain her enmity," Miranda sensibly said.
"The thing is, did Little Mim get the support of the party?" Harry was surprised that Little Mim would write Susan. It seemed so distant.
"No. Not yet. Called Rev. Jones. He's on the party's local steering committee. He said that yes, they voted to support Marilyn at their monthly meeting, which was Saturday. They wouldn't make the vote public until the state steering committee gave them the okay. Herb said they would probably hear from them in Richmond today. He didn't anticipate any problems. After all, Jim Sanburne, as a Republican, has run unopposed for nearly twenty years. The Democrats ought to be thrilled with their candidate. Not only is someone challenging Jim, it's his own daughter."
Mrs. Murphy rubbed against her mother's leg. "We checked in your mailbox, Mom. You only have bills."
She reached down, scooping up the beautiful tiger cat. "Mrs. Murphy, you are the prettiest girl."