Ken told her not to dwell on it. They couldn’t change the past. Focus on the present, on their life together and their sons.
He was right, but she couldn’t keep her mind from playing Nola’s last day over and over again. Nothing unusual ever stuck out like a red flag. The day’s cubbing had put everyone in high spirits. The party that evening at the Burusses’ filled them up with food and spirits of a different, more liquid sort. Nola didn’t lean over and confess any “sins” to her. Actually, Nola confided in Sybil less once Sybil was married. She’d tease her by saying she didn’t want to upset a proper matron.
She shook herself. Concentrate on today. Listen for the hounds.
She wondered where the field was. Ken was with them.
At that moment they were moving, creeping, really, up the right side of the creek, heading upstream. Even Athena and Bitsy, who often enjoyed shadowing them, stayed in the rafters of the stable. Why fly around in the fog when mice scampered right under your talons?
Ralph Assumptio and Ronnie Haslip rode side by side. Everyone out that day wanted to ride next to a buddy and in view of the riders in front, if possible. No one spoke.
Sari and Jennifer rode together; Walter and Ken, Crawford and Marty hung right behind Sister, which irritated Ken, who thought Crawford had no business being up front. Bobby and Xavier brought up the rear, doing their best to keep the twenty-four riders from fading into the fog. That’s all they’d need today, someone out there riding around, turning foxes, getting in the way of hounds and finally hollering their damned head off because they were lost and scared.
Tedi and Edward, also furious at Crawford for his pushiness, stuck with Ken and Walter until the path narrowed as the creek forked sharply left, northwest. They scooted in front of the two men, who graciously nodded, “Go ahead.”
“Whoop. Whoop.” Shaker’s cry faded away up front.
Sister knew they’d be in the cornfield soon enough. The corn was planted north to south because of the lay of the land. If she hugged the end row, which she’d have done even if she could see, she’d come out on the farm road leading up to Hangman’s Ridge.
Cora and Dragon, brimming with drive, wanted to find a better line than the tattered trail they currently followed.
“If we could bolt Charlie, we’d have a run,” Dragon said. Charlie was Target’s son from last year’s litter who had a den close by.
“You might be able to bait him,” Cora said. She was glad that Asa, Diana, Dasher, and the others were close behind. The fog didn’t bother her as much as the humans and the horses, because she relied on her nose even in the brightest of weather. Still, it’s always reassuring to see one’s surroundings.
Charlie’s den had fresh earth scattered outside as he’d been housecleaning. It emitted the sweetish, skunky odor of fox. Charlie, an ego as big as his luxurious brush, wanted every male animal in the universe to respect his territory. He even intruded on Uncle Yancy’s territory and marked that. A loud lecture followed this insult.
Not only did he hear Dragon coming, he smelled the sleek hound.
Dragon crawled halfway into the entranceway before his shoulders proved too broad for further movement. “I know you’re in there.”
“So does everyone else in this kingdom.” Charlie thought of his territory as a kingdom. His mentality was truly feudal.
“Give us a run. I’ll give you a head start. How about if I let you get to the other side of the cornfield?”
“I wouldn’t trust you any farther than I could throw a dead mouse.”
Charlie, who was full of himself and eager to make Dragon eat his words, slipped out his back exit. Dragon, butt still in the air, continued hollering down the front entrance. It took Dragon about five minutes before he realized he’d been had. Then he put his nose to the ground. “Hot! Hot! I’m right.” His rich baritone reverberated throughout the woods, echoing deeper as the hound was engulfed in the thickening fog.
The rest of the hounds sped over to Charlie’s den. Dasher could see Dragon’s pawprints. He followed the prints as well as his nose to the exit hole.
His sister was right behind him. He spoke low, then she spoke louder. “It’s good!”
Cora called to the others moving through the fog. “Burning scent! Burning scent!”
“Hurry hounds, hurry,” Asa encouraged them. “All on. We want to be all on.” Then under his breath he whispered to Diana, “Especially in this pea soup.”
Within seconds the hounds converged on Charlie’s den, picked up the escape route line, and flew on it. All could hear Dragon up ahead by perhaps a quarter of a mile, too far ahead.
Charlie, flying fast and low, wanted to put as much distance as possible between himself and Dragon.
Shaker couldn’t see anything, but he blew “Gone Away” as he recognized Dragon’s voice, then Cora’s, Diana’s, Asa’s, and the young entry who yelped as much as sang. Sounded like the whole pack, to him. He heard no stragglers.
The first problem was to get through the woods, over the coop in the fence line, through the corn to get up with his hounds. Like most huntsmen, bravery came naturally to him, but he was old enough not to be stupid. This was a day to let Gunpowder pick his way. He trusted his horse more than he trusted himself.
Betty, already in the cornfield, as she’d had the presence of mind to move forward while hounds were picking at the old line, cantered through a line of corn, the long green leaves swishing. She knew she couldn’t get into too much trouble if she stayed in a row. Once out of the field, the old zigzag fence between the corn and the farm road was easy enough to jump even in the fog.
That couldn’t be said of the coop between the woods and the cornfield. Shaker and Gunpowder found it and got over because Gunpowder, long-strided and with the élan of a thoroughbred, trotted two steps and arched over effortlessly.
Sister heard her hounds, then the horn. She’d fallen farther behind than she realized.
Sybil, too, was jolted out of her reverie. She pushed along the low ridge, leaving Nola’s grave behind her, but she knew she’d gotten thrown out. Right now she was utterly useless to the huntsman. She cursed herself, then the fog as she tried to make up the ground without breaking her neck.
Sister hugged the creek bed and crossed where the smooth rocks led down into the creek and where Snake Creek fed into Broad Creek. The footing, still slick and deep, was better here. Aztec, his light bay coat oddly translucent in the strange muted light, reached the other side of this part of Broad Creek with no problem. When Sister looked back to see if the person behind her, now Tedi Bancroft, had made it across, she couldn’t see anyone. And she could only hear her when Tedi appeared by her side.
“We’ve got to kick on, Tedi.”
Edward charged out of the fog, then held hard, pulling sharply back on the reins. “Sorry, Master.”
“Can’t see the hand in front of your face. I was telling Tedi, we’ve got to kick on and hope for the best.” She cupped her hands. Normally she wouldn’t speak much during a run, but the hounds were well ahead. She wasn’t going to cause any hound heads to come up and she wasn’t going to turn a fox, either. “If you can hear me, listen for hoofbeats. We’ve got to move out. If you can’t hear the hoofbeats, ride to cry.”