“Ever notice how more people get hurt at the end of ahunt than at the beginning?”young Trudy wondered out loud.
“They’re tired, horses and riders, and sometimes they getso excited they don’t realize it. It’s those last stiff jumpsthat will get them if it’s going to happen. It’s New Year,we’ve got until mid-March to hunt. This is a wise decision.”Asa spoke to Trudy.
“Yancy is a cheat.”Dragon switched subjects.
“No, he’s not.”Cora laughed.“If another fox ducksinto his den for cover, Yancy can hide him. But I’m surprised that Uncle Yancy is at those stone barn ruins. He lives closer in.”
“Oh, Uncle Yancy moves about.”Ardent knew the fox, same age as himself.“Changes his hunting territory andgets away from Aunt Netty.”
Aunt Netty, Yancy’s mate, harbored strong opinions and was not averse to expressing them. Yancy, a dreamy sort, liked to watch Shaker through the cottage windows or simply curl up under the persimmon tree. After the first frost when the persimmon fruit sweetened, Yancy would nibble on the small orange globes.
When the hounds returned to the covered bridge, cars, trucks, and SUVs lined the drive for a half-mile up to the house. Some cautious few parked nose out in case they couldn’t get enough traction. This way they could be pulled with one of Edward’s heavy tractors.
New Year’s breakfast attracted nonriders, too. Upon the riders’ return, After All was already filled with people. The event was hosted by social director Sorrel Buruss, who merrily bubbled with laughter and talk. Having Sorrel run the breakfast meant both Tedi and Edward could hunt.
“Well done.” Shaker patted each hound’s head as the animal hopped into the party wagon. Inside this trailer at the rear, a two-tiered wooden platform had been built. A second platform on a level with the lower one on the rear ran alongside the sidewall. This way hounds would climb up or snuggle under a platform and relax. Like humans, they preferred one hound’s company to another’s, so there were cliques. This platform arrangement allowed them to indulge their friendships. No one wanted to be next to someone who bored him or her silly.
Cora hung back. She liked to go in last, partly because she always wanted to keep hunting and partly because she liked seeing the humans back at their trailers. Some would dismount and be so exhausted their legs shook. Others would nimbly slide off, flip the reins over their horse’s head, and loosen the girth a hole or two. They’d remove the bridle, put on a nice leather halter, and then tie the horse to the side of the trailer, careful not to allow the rope to be over long. That caused mischief. The horse would step over the rope or pull back and pop it. Wool blankets, in stable colors, would be put on the horses. The different colors looked pretty against the snow.
Cora liked horses, although, as they were not predators, she sometimes had to think carefully to appreciate what was on a horse’s mind. She was always grateful when a staff horse informed her what was behind her; their range of vision was almost, but not quite, 360 degrees.
“Cora.”
“Oh, all right.”She grumbled as Shaker tapped her hindquarter.
The other hounds fell silent when the lead bitch entered the trailer.
Asa said,“Happy New Year, Cora. You were wonderfultoday.”
The others spoke in assent.
Henry Xavier, in his trailer tack room, exchanging his scarlet weaselbelly for a tweed coat, commented to Ronnie Haslip, who had already changed and was standing at the open door,“The hounds are singing ‘The Messiah.’ ”
Ronnie, always dapper, smiled.“Damn good work today. I didn’t think we’d do squat out there in that snow, did you?”
“No.” Xavier shook his head.
“Tell you what, I’d put this pack of hounds against any other pack out there.”
“Me, too. I wish Sister pushed herself more. You know, would go to the hound shows and publicize our club more. People don’t know how good Jefferson Hunt is until they cap with us.”
Ronnie nodded in agreement.“When Ray was alive, she did go. She needs the push, and she needs more hands. Remember, she used to have Big Ray, Ray Jr., and then until last year she had Doug Kinzer. It’s probably a little lonesome for her, you know.”
Doug Kinzer, a talented professional whipper-in, had moved up to carrying the horn at Shenandoah Hunt over the Blue Ridge Mountains. In the past, particularly during the days of slavery, many an African American carried the horn. After the War Between the States, people couldn’t feed themselves, much less a pack of hounds. When hunting with a large pack again became feasible, about twenty years after the end of the war, it was often feasible because of Yankee money. For whatever reason, having black hunt staff made the Yankees uncomfortable. Doug, an African American, carried on a long, complex, even contradictory tradition. The last great black huntsman whom folks could remember in these parts was the convivial, talkative Cash Blue. He had hunted hounds for Casanova Hunt Club way back when today’s older members were children.
“If only I didn’t have to pull those long hours, I’d love to go to the shows, wash hounds, stand them up.” Xavier straightened his stock tie.
“Yeah, but not having to pay that extra salary has put the club in the black.” Ronnie, tight and treasurer, appreciated the bottom line.
“Listen, Crawford Howard hemorrhages money when he walks to the john.” Xavier disdained him. “If Sister asked him, he’d come up with the salary. I heard through the grapevine that he offered to do so last year.”
“He did. He made sure we all knew that, but not from his lips.” Ronnie half smiled: Crawford was beginning to learn some of the round-about Virginia way. “He did, but his condition was that he be made joint-master.”
“She has to pick someone soon.” Ronnie folded his arms over his chest.
“Wouldn’t want to be in her boots. She’s between a rock and a hard place.” Xavier had known Jane Arnold all his life. Although he didn’t know it, he loved her. He was devastated when Ray Jr., his best friend, had been killed. Sister was part of his past, present, and future, as she wasfor Ronnie.
“You said a mouthful. Crawford’s got the money, but he’ll alienate the club or at least most of us.”
Xavier stepped down from the tack room, closing the door.“I heard that Shaker said he’d leave. He wouldn’t serve under Crawford even if she kept that blowhard out of the kennels.”
“Heard that, too.” Ronnie straightened the blanket on Xavier’s Picasso.
“Thanks.”
“As I see it, the choices are Crawford, Edward, possibly Sybil, or maybe even Bobby Franklin. Each has pluses and minuses. Clay Berry could do it, he’s making a lot of money these days, but I don’t think Izzy would go along with that. She covets social events, traveling. Being master would take up too much time for her taste. And there’s you, Xavier; there’s you. As head of that nice big old insurance company, you know everybody, and everybody knows you. Some of us even like you.” He slapped his childhood friend on the back.
“Well,” Xavier put his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, “I would love to be joint-master. Really, I would, but right now the business is demanding. Insurance has been in a slump since September eleven. You can imagine the hit the huge carriers have been taking. Rates are changing, and that impacts even a small guy like me who deals with those carriers. I try to find my people the best rates, and even I’m appalled. I don’t know where this is headed, but I do know these next couple of years, I’ve got to keep my nose to the grindstone.”
“Sorry to hear that. You’d be good.”
“And Dee would love it.” He mentioned his wife by her nickname. “Saw our Explorer, so she’s already here and wondering why I’m not at the house. Come on.”
They walked through the snow, following the line of other hunters.