The fox Bessie had the run of the house. She moved quite well despite her amputated front paw. But this was all too much. She retreated to the basement, but not before nabbing a tasty bit of ham. She ate half and buried the rest. Walter, realizing he couldn’t control her cache digging, had put down a load of dirt. Every other day while Bessie walked outside for a breath of fresh air, he’d sneak down, dig up her treasures and put them in the garbage. If the vixen minded, she didn’t say.
Even Tonto, the Welsh terrier puppy, now six months old, felt overwhelmed by the crowd. He joined Bessie.
The two canine relatives listened to the revelers upstairs.“Bet there’s no leftovers.”Tonto’s merry little eyes clouded over.
“Has to be some. Chef Ted drove up with an entire truckful of food.”Bessie remained hopeful.
“I don’t know. I didn’t know humans could eat so muchat one time. I thought only dogs gorged.”
Bessie’s special house, wooden with a big overhang, reeked of her special scent. Tonto, accustomed to it, paid it little mind. He himself gave off faint odor compared to other breeds of dog. And terrier though he was, and prone to digging, he was fastidious in his personal habits, which helped keep whatever odor he possessed low.
“Bessie, do you think if the hounds saw you, they’d killyou?”
“Yes,”she said matter-of-factly,“if the pack did. Maybeif just one hound saw me or came upon me, it wouldn’thappen, but a pack gets in a frenzy. Although Walter says he has seen Shaker call hounds off a quarry and it was impressive, I sure wouldn’t want to take the chance.”
The footsteps upstairs sounded heavier.
“Glad this old house has beams the size of tree trunks.” Little Tonto grinned.
“They are tree trunks. Peeled the bark off.”
Tonto peered upward. His eyes weren’t as good as a cat’s, nor even a human’s, but they weren’t awful. He could see better in the dark than a human.“Oh. Old, huh?”
“This section, mmm. 1792. Heard Walter say so.”Bessie tilted her head, ear upward.“Now they’re singing.”
The assemblage, euphoric, gathered around the piano, Tedi Bancroft at the keys, belting out,“Do Ye Keen, John Peel?”
Those who weren’t singing stayed back in the dining room where, as Tonto feared, pickings were slim. Even Chef Ted himself had never seen people eat so much, and he’d catered many a hunt breakfast.
Sister, drinking a cup of tea, listened to Edward Bancroft expound on the conflict between Xavier and Sam.
“… in the bud. You did the right thing.”
“Now I have to make those calls.” Sister looked up at her dear old friend.
“You’re a good master, Janie. Better than good, one of the best.”
“Edward, you flatter me, and I thank you.” She sipped. “Were you surprised at X?”
He nodded his silver head.“We’ve all known him since he was in diapers. He’s not a rash man. He wasn’t even that wild as an adolescent. For Xavier to lose his temper like that, I wonder if there’s more to his past dealings with Sam Lorillard than we know. Ronnie would know.”
“I wonder, too.” She inhaled the bracing fragrance of the tea, a strong Ceylon type. “I’m grateful neither man came to the breakfast. It was tense enough.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I want to hear X’s reasons. As for Sam, I can’t very well fault the man for defending himself. I am not going to suspend either man, but each will receive a fair warning. If X can’t put a lid on it or if Sam carries on an obvious grudge after this event, then I will ask the board to suspend them for the season. I really don’t think I’ll have to use such drastic measures.”
He shrugged.“I certainly hope not.”
“And I know a tornado of gossip will swirl upwards, ah yes, talk so quickly turns into a gaseous state.” She ruefully smiled. “There will be those who think I should let them settle it without the hunt club’s intrusion, those who think I should throw their asses—excuse me—out now. So it goes.”
“Actually, I don’t think there will be that much second-guessing.” He motioned with his head to those singing in the next room. “They trust you. It takes years to build that trust.”
She laughed.“Well, why are they always fussing then? ‘You go too fast.’ ‘You go too slow.’ ‘Why did you take us over that jump?’ ”
“Who says that? Only the ones who aren’t tight in the tack. If you can ride, Janie, you ride.”
“That’s the God’s honest truth. But you and I grew up when riding was one of the social graces. In the South you learned to ride, shoot, play cards, and hopefully speak a foreign language—French was the one always shoved at us girls. That’s gone. Middle-class people had high social expectations of their children. Now both parents work, and expectations aren’t uniform. Maybe in some ways that’s good, Edward, because if a little girl wants to play soccer instead of learning to ride, she has the choice. I never had much of a choice, although if I wanted to go to the symphony or something cultural, Mother took me.”
“Our culture has fragmented. Part of it is the pushing upwards of people who aren’t WASPs. Maybe part of it is just the change that occurs at any time in history, but I believe, sooner or later, some kind of cultural consensus will emerge. We’ll see more cohesion. I hope so.” Edward, a man of his time, thought long and hard about large issues.
“Just as long as foxhunting is part of it.” She put down her cup and saucer, an attendant smoothly picking it up.
“More, Sister?”
“Oh, thank you, no.” As the white-coated server left, she turned her attention back to Edward. “We’re old, Edward. Our memories encompass things the young can’t even imagine, such as being expected to dance, shoot, ride. And yet … and yet—” She burst into the biggest infectioussmile. “—I feel young. I feel better than I have felt in years.”
He put his arm around her shoulder.“Honey, you’re a twelve cylinder engine that’s been running on six cylinders since 1991.”
Startled, she said,“What?”
He kissed her forehead.“How long have we known each other?”
“Good God, Edward.” She thought. “Forty years. More.”
“More. Time is jet-propelled. I saw how you handled Ray Jr.’s death in 1974. You grieved, then in time you came back to us in spirit. You had Big Ray and the two of you pulled each other along. But when Big Ray died in 1991, who was there to pull you along? Who was there to say, ‘Sugar, it will be all right. We’ll get through this’?” She started to say something, but Edward held up his hand. “I’m not saying you moped around. You carried on. That’s your nature. And Archie’s and Peter’s deaths were blows. But remember, I knew you before all those losses, just as you knew me before Nola died,” he said, referring to his beloved daughter. “Such blows take something out of us even as they give us depth and heart, more heart.”
Quietly, she replied,“Yes.”
“For whatever reason, your other cylinders have fired up again. I’m happy for you.”
“And I’m happy to have such a good friend.” She hugged him.
As she looked for Walter to thank him for the breakfast, Jim Meads touched her arm.
She turned around.“Jim. I hope you’re having a good time.”
“Wonderful, Master. I’ll have proofs for you to look at tomorrow.”
“That fast?”
“Now, I don’t know how I should take a lady calling me fast.” He winked.
Clay Berry, back to Jim, twisted slightly.“Fast. Is it beautiful horses and fast women, or fast horses and beautiful women?”
“Clay, you should know.” Sister laughed, as Clay was known to stray off the reservation.
“Oh, I took your silver fox fur out of storage. You forgot to pick it up this winter, and I know you’ll want it. In fact, I put it in your truck.”
“Thanks. I did forget. This hunt season has been jam-packed, and I think I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached to my body.” She then said to Jim, “I’ll come by tomorrow morning if that’s a good time.”