As he said this, eyes widened. No one expected Bobby Franklin to pass the torch to a man he loathed.
“This is more interesting than I thought it would be,” Golly purred.
“Crawford has drive, experience in the world of business. He also has a vision. He’s not afraid to express himself directly and—” Bobby held up his hand and smiled. “—we Virginians can’t always do that. Or at least this Virginian can’t. And I don’t pretend I always like that, butI have learned that when Crawford says something, he believes it. He doesn’t try to ruffle feathers; he tries to get the job done. At this point in our club’s history, I believe that Crawford Howard is the president we need.” He turned to the surprised Crawford. “Do you accept my nomination of you as president?”
Crawford understood that this meant he would not be joint-master, at least not for a while. What a disappointment. On the other hand, this was a chance to prove himself as a leader.
“I accept. And I want to pay tribute to a president with whom I have come to blows, physical blows. Much as we have disagreed, and violently, I have never doubted your commitment to what you believe is best for the Jefferson Hunt. Over time, I have learned to somewhat temper my ways, thanks to your example. Yours are big shoes to fill.”
“Hear, hear!” all spoke.
Bobby patted his ample girth.“Big pants, too.” He laughed at himself. “Do I have a second?”
Edward Bancroft, himself no fan of Crawford’s, who also had learned to work with him and appreciate his acumen, said, “I second the nomination.”
“Are there nominations from the floor?” Bobby waited an appropriate time. “If there are no further nominations, then I move we vote on our candidate for president. Because there is only one, we can do this with a voice vote. All in favor, say ‘Aye.’ ”
“Aye,” came the unanimous chorus.
“Crawford Howard is our new president, term effective as of the February board meeting. Congratulations, Crawford.”
“Thank you.” Crawford stood up. “Thank you all for your confidence in me.” He sat down.
“One last item: the election of our master.”
Before Bobby could continue, Ronnie called out,“I nominate Jane Arnold.”
“Second,” Clay said.
“Any nominations from the floor?” Bobby waited. “All in favor of Jane Arnold continuing in her duties as master, signify by saying ‘Aye.’ ”
Everyone said“Aye.”
Sister smiled.“Well, I guess you’re not tired of me yet. Thank you.” She waited a moment. “As you know, I have been your master since 1957. I hope I die in the saddle, literally. I have never done anything I love as much as being master of the Jefferson Hunt Club, proudly wearing our colors of Continental blue piped in buff, what our forefathers wore when they beat back the British in the Revolutionary War.” She took a deep breath. “And I am sure for some of our younger members, they must think I’ve been master since the Revolutionary War. It’s time to bring along a joint-master, dear friends. It’s time for me to ensure when my day has ended that this club will have a master who knows our hounds, cherishes our heritage, and ensures that our grandchildren and great-grandchildren have available to them what we have had available to us: open land, a respect for all living creatures, an understanding of our place in nature, and a love for the fox, our most worthy adversary.” People held their breath as she then said, voice firm, “I would be grateful to this board if you would elect Dr. Walter Lungrun to serve as our joint-master.”
Silence followed. Then Edward, in his patrician accent, said,“Janie, that is an inspired choice. Walter is young, vigorous, dedicated to foxhunting, and eager to learn. I believe you two will make a wonderful team. I wholeheartedly support this idea.”
“Walter?” Bobby realized the handsome man needed to indicate his willingness to serve, even though Bobby knew what was afoot.
“This is an honor I could never have imagined.” Walter meant it, too.
Betty spoke up.“Yes. Yes.”
Her simple affirmation allowed everyone else to speak at once, but the consensus was favorable, despite the twofold shock. The assembled thought Sister would go through one or two more terms alone, and many feared Crawford’s ambition to be master would, in time, split the club.
“Can we have a vote on this?” Bobby asked.
“I second the nomination,” Ronnie said.
“All in favor—”
Everyone said“Aye” before Bobby could finish his Robert’s Rules of Order drill.
“Congratulations.” Bobby got up and shook Walter’s hand, then walked over and shook Crawford’s hand. “Oh, I forgot,” he said as the board members got up, “any unfinished business?”
“Meeting’s adjourned,” Sorrel called out.
Betty hugged Sister. One by one other board members also hugged and thanked her.
Then they all hastened to the bar or the coffeepot in the kitchen, breaking up into small groups. Everyone congratulated the new joint-master and the new president.
Neatly stacked on her desk were the proofs Jim Meads had sent of all the photographs he had taken at Mill Ruins. Sister had put them out for board members to peruse. Order forms were next to the proofs.
She had prudently taken the eight-by-ten glossies of the fight at Chapel Cross up to her bedroom. She’d glanced at them briefly and thought she’d look at them more closely later.
When the gathering finally broke up, Walter, the last to leave, hugged and kissed Sister.
“Any words of advice, Master?”
She kissed him back.“Produce the pumpkins. Pies will follow.”
Later, snuggled in bed, Golly at her elbow, she congratulated herself on how smoothly the meeting had run. She sighed with relief. Walter would make a fine master. She felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders; broad though they were, she had felt the weight of ensuring a proper succession.
She opened the nightstand drawer, bringing out the photos.
“Roll over!”Golly yelled as Rooster snored.
“Golly, you’ll split my eardrums.” Sister petted the spoiled cat with her left hand as she flipped over the photographs with her right. “Those boys meant business.” She studied the scenes of Xavier and Sam. “Hmm.” She peered at one photograph in particular. Dalton and Izzy sat side by side, looking at each other. It did not appear to be the social eye contact of acquaintances. There was heat in that gaze. She rushed through the other photos to see if any more contained a clue to Dalton and Izzy. They didn’t.
“Shut up, Rooster,”Golly again complained.
“Maybe I am reading too much into this.” Sister ignored the cat’s yowl. “But, Golly, I’ve been around long enough to know a carnal look when I see one.”
CHAPTER 21
Turning slowly, the water wheel fed a stream of clear water from the upper pond into the lower pond. Buried beneath the frost line, the pipes stayed clear. That portion above the frost line was wrapped in heat tape. Cindy Chandler hated draining pipes in winter. Her expensive solution worked. It worked for the fish, too; as a constant source of oxygen, freshening water poured into the hole in the ice.
Another warming trend sent fissures throughout the ice in the pond, looking like dark veins. The creeks, running strong, had ice crystals embedded along the sides. Thicker ice, melting, raised the water level.
The earth at ten that Thursday morning had a thin, slick coating as the frost turned to dew. Ground was softening.
Dana and Diddy, eager to make a good showing, opened when they caught scent of Grace. She frequented the ponds nightly, and sometimes even in broad daylight.
Cora chided the two young ones for being overeager. Grace’s line, old, would lead only to her den. Patience might yield a better scent. Cora hoped they’d hop Uncle Yancy. He liked to dash to the rehabilitated old schoolhouse at the edge of Foxglove Farm.