“Right.” Marty nodded.
“That’s what I’m saying. Put on your oxygen mask first. And now, after that piece of unsolicited and probably unnecessary advice, I’m going down to your stable.”
Marty watched Sister walk through the slush down to the extravagant stable. Sister didn’t seem like a selfish person. She had always thought of the tall older woman as generous and kind, but what Sister had said to her seemed selfish. She would need to think more on these things. Instead of diminishing her feelings for her master, their conversation only made the older woman moreintriguing. It occurred to Marty that there was a great deal to Sister that she didn’t know.
As Sister reached the racing barn, she marveled at its organization. The hunting barn was well run, too. Fairy Partlow was no slouch. Sam had transformed the beautiful racing barn into a true horseman’s stable. The twenty-four-stall stable was built with a cross-center aisle in the middle, two wash stalls on each side, and a huge feed room. In the cross aisle, Sam had a long scale; each day he would have his assistant, Roger Davis, weigh each horse on the scale, recording its weight in his logbook. Also in the book was each horse’s food for the day, turn out, work notes if they were breezed or jumped. Medical notations were there, too, as well as in an extensive color-coded file for each horse in the big oak file cabinets in the cavernous tack room. This information was also entered daily into the computer. Crawford adored technology: buying the latest, the fastest, the most expensive stuff. Sam took no chances. He used the computer, but everything was duplicated in the hard-copy files. He found it a lot easier to grab a color-coded file than to sit down and punch it up on the computer. Sam was middle-aged.
He smiled when he saw the master.
“Sam, this place runs like a clock.” She glanced at the large railroad clock on the tack room wall.
Sam had just been double-checking the files on Cloud Nine, the timber horse he had purchased for Marty.
The paneled pecan-wood walls—unusual for Virginia— bore gilt-framed photographs of past great chasers. As Crawford was only now entering the game, no photographs existed of his winners, but he had felt the walls needed something. In time, his winners would grace these walls. Encased in Lucite on one wall were his racing colors: red silks with two blue hoops on the chest and three on the sleeves, and a red cap with a blue button.
“Please sit down.” Sam stood as he motioned to the leather club chair.
The tack room was so large that the big sofa, two club chairs, and a large coffee table took up only one corner. The carpet, red and blue stripes, mirrored the silk colors.
Sam sat opposite Sister.
He offered refreshments, but she’d already drunk so much tea she was afraid her kidneys would float away. As this barn’s bathroom had a big shower, makeup mirror, and toilet, she didn’t worry too much about her kidneys. In many barns, if you had to go, you used a stall, same as the horses.
“Sam, I know you didn’t provoke the fight yesterday; I’m here to tell you that, and to tell you I am genuinely happy you are back in the hunt field. This is a good place for you.”
“Thank you.”
“As you know, you’ve made enemies, you’ve disappointed many people. Some of them, like Xavier, boil over. It’s not really like him, and, of course, I’ll talk to him, but I was wondering if you could help me?”
“How?”
“Exactly what did happen back there in, was it 1987?”
“Yes.” Sam looked away, out the big picture window, then looked back. “I was out of my mind on booze and drugs, and I stole from him.”
“He says you cost him a lot of money.”
“I did. I made purchases at the feed store in his name and used stuff myself or sold it. I sold tack out from under him and lied that it was being repaired. I stole money from the kitty and said it had been lost. I wrecked his new F350 Dually and said it had a bad U-joint.”
“And?” Shrewdly, she pressed on.
“I slept with his wife.” Sam exhaled. “That was worse than the money.” He leaned forward. “When someone works as hard as Xavier, it’s easy to jive him, jam him. He’s tired when he comes home. If everything looks good, he doesn’t dig up the dirt for months and sometimes even years, but Xavier kept his own books. He figured it out sooner rather than later.”
“But that wasn’t really what set him off, was it?”
“No, it was his Dee.” The lines around his dark brown eyes deepened. “I guess they went into couples therapy or something, because they’re still together. By that time I was down the road at the next place. They handled it better than most. The other women I slept with screamed about being played or their husbands beat me up, and the whole county watched the show.” He stared at her. “I have never told anyone about Dee, but you asked, and I know I can trust you. I expect one or two other people know, though. People can’t keep their mouths shut.”
“Thank you.”
He tipped back in the deep chair.“You’d be amazed at how many bored women there are out there. They feel ignored by their husbands. Translates into feeling unloved. It was just all too easy all those years.”
“I’m not surprised.”
He blinked, his shoulders rising.“I guess not. People confide in you.”
“Well, I have my eyes wide open. And I don’t rush to judgment.”
“I know.” He compressed his lips. “Would it be easier for you if I didn’t hunt? I can put Roger on some of these guys—Fairy, too—although she’s got her hands full with the hunters. I like chasers to hunt a bit, the greenies.”
“It might make it easier, Sam, but it wouldn’t make it right. The hunt field is open to all who pay their dues and respect the ethics of hunting. That means hounds have the right of way, you do not turn a fox,ever, ever, ever,and you do as the landowners bid you. When you swing up in the tack, your mind should be on hunting. Whatever else is going on in your life is left behind. You don’t have to like everyone in the hunt field, but you can’t express it while hunting.”
He nodded, knowing the ethics as well as any true foxhunter.“Yes, ma’am.”
“Xavier knows the rules of the road as well as you or I. I can only surmise that years of pent-up emotion affected his reason. As I said, I will speak to him.” She drew in a deep breath. “Sam, I don’t want to remove anyone from our club, and I do think this can be ironed out. Hunting is such a joy, a religion in a way. Nothing should tarnish that. If you drop down to nuts and bolts, people pay a lot of money for horses, trailers, trucks, tack, you name it. They should have a peaceful experience, if not an exciting one. Depends on the fox.” She smiled.
“Good one yesterday.”
“Yes, I didn’t know that fox. Usually I do.”
“Sister, you study the game trails. You know where the fox is, the turkeys, the deer. People don’t realize how much thought and knowledge goes into your job. Of course, there are masters who don’t know these things.”
“All serve, even those who stand and wait.” She slightly misquoted Milton.
“Would you like to see the new timber horse?”
“Love to.”
They walked outside into the cold air, down the long aisleway, stopping in front of a freshly painted stall. The nameplate read“Cloud Nine.”
“Nine’s her barn name.” Sam leaned over the opened top of the Dutch stall door. “16.2 hands, incredible stride once she gets into it. Tucks those front knees right under her, just folds ’em.” He imitated her form over fences.