A brand-new Land Rover drove at the edge of the course, its midnight blue shining in the November light. Harry couldn't imagine being able to purchase such an expensive vehicle. She was saving her pennies to replace the '78 Ford truck, which despite its age was still chugging along.
Dr. Larry Johnson stuck his head out the Land Rover's passenger window. "Everything shipshape?"
"Yes, sir." Harry saluted.
"Hello, Tucker." Larry spoke to the sweet-eyed dog.
"Hi, Doc."
"We've got about ten minutes." Larry turned to Jim Sanburne, Mim's husband and the mayor of Crozet, who was driving. "Don't we, Jim?"
"I reckon." Jim leaned toward the passenger window, his huge frame blotting out the light from the driver's side. "Harry, you know that Charles Valiant and Mickey Townsend are fighting like cats and dogs, so pay close attention to those races where they've both got entries."
"What's the buzz?" Harry had heard nothing of the feud.
"Hell, I don't know. These damn trainers are prima donnas."
"Mickey accused Chark of instructing Addie to bump his jockey at the Maryland Hunt Cup last year. His horse faltered at the sixth fence and then just couldn't quite pick it up."
"Mickey's a sore loser," Jim growled to Larry. "He'll break your fingers if you beat him at checkers—especially if there's money bet on the game."
"Goes back further than that." Harry sighed.
"You're right. Charles hated Mickey from the very first date Mickey had with his mother." Jim ran his finger under his belt. "Takes some boys like that. But you know Charles had sense enough to worry that Townsend only wanted her money."
"Chark couldn't understand how Marylou could prefer Mickey to Arthur." Larry Johnson recalled the romance, which had started seven years ago, ending in shock and dismay for everyone. "I guess any woman who compares Arthur to Mickey is bound to favor Mickey. I don't think it had to do with money."
"Off the top of your head, do you know what races—"
Before Harry could finish her question, Jim Sanburne bellowed, "The third, the fifth, and the sixth."
"Nigel Danforth is riding for Townsend," Larry added.
"Addie told me," Harry said.
"You heard about them too." Jim smiled.
"Kinda. I mean, I know that Addie is crazy for him."
"Her brother isn't." Larry folded his arms across his chest.
"Hey, just another day in Virginia." Harry smacked the door of the Land Rover.
"Ain't that the truth," Jim said. "Put two Virginians in a room and you get five opinions."
"No, Jim, put you in a room and we get five opinions," Larry tweaked him.
Jim laughed. "I'm just the mayor of a small town reflecting the various opinions of my voters."
"We'll come by after the first race. Need anything? Food? Drink?" Larry asked while Jim was still laughing at himself.
"Thanks, no."
"Okay, Harry, catch you in about a half hour then." Jim rolled up the hill as Larry waved.
Harry put her hands on her hips and thought to herself. Jim, in his sixties, and Larry, in his seventies, had known her since she was born. They knew her inside and out, as she knew them. That was another reason she didn't much feel like being the Queen of Madison Avenue. She belonged here with her people. There was a lot that never needed to be said when you knew people so intimately.
This shorthand form of communication did not apply to Boom Boom Craycroft, creaming over the top of the hill like a clipper in full sail. Since Boom Boom had once enjoyed an affair with Harry's ex-husband, the buxom, tall, and fashionable woman was not Harry's favorite person on earth. Boom Boom reveled in the emotional texture of life. Today she reveled in the intense pleasure of swooping down on Harry, who couldn't move away since she was the fence judge.
"Harry!" Boom Boom cruised over, her square white teeth gleaming, her heavy, expensive red cape moving gently in the breeze.
"Hi, Boom." Harry shortened her nickname, one won in high school because her large bosoms seemed to boom-boom with each step. The boys adored her.
"You're dressed for the job." Boom Boom appraised Harry's pressed jeans and L. L. Bean duck boots—the high-topped ones, which reached only nine inches for women, a fact that infuriated Harry since she could have used twelve inches on the farm; only the men's boots had twelve-inch uppers. Harry also wore a silk undershirt, an ironed flannel tartan plaid, MacLeod, and a goosedown vest, in red. If the day warmed up, she would shed her layers.
"Boom Boom, I'm usually dressed this way."
"I know," came the tart reply from the woman standing there in Versace from head to foot. Her crocodile boots alone cost over a thousand dollars.
"I don't have your budget."
"Even if you did you'd look exactly the same."
"All right, Boom, what's the deal? You come over here to give me your fashion lecture 101, to visit uneasiness upon me, or do you want something from Tucker?"
Tucker squeezed next to her mother. "She's got on too much perfume, Mom. She's stuffing my nose up."
Boom Boom leaned over to pat the silky head. "Tucker, very impressive with your official's badge."
"Boom, those fake fingernails have got to go," the dog replied.
"I'm here to visit and to watch the first race from the back."
"Have a fight with Carlos?"
Boom Boom had been dating a wealthy South American who lived in New York City and Buenos Aires.
"He's not here this weekend."
"Trolling, then?" Harry wryly used the term for going around picking up men.
"You can be so snide, Harry. It's not your best feature. I'm here to patch up our relationship."
"We don't have a relationship."
"Oh, yes, we do."
"They're lining up, the starter's tape is up,"—the announcer's voice rang out as he waited for the tape to drop—"and they're off."
"I've got to work this race." Harry moved Boom Boom forcibly back, then took up her stance on the rail dead even with the jump. If a rider went down, she could reach the jockey quickly, as soon as all the other horses were over the fence, while the outriders went after the runaway horse.
The first jumps limbered up the horses and settled the jockeys. By the time they reached Harry's jump, the competition would be fierce. The first race over fences covered a distance of two miles and one furlong; competitors would pass her obstacle only once. This race, and in fact all races but the fifth, the Virginia Hunt Cup, were run over brush, meaning the synthetic Grand National brush fences, which had replaced natural brush some years ago. The reasoning behind the change was that the natural brush varied in density. Because steeplechase horses literally "brushed" through the top of these jumps, any inconsistency in texture or depth or solidity could cause a fall or injury. The Grand National fences provided horses with a safer jump. Timber horses, on the other hand, had to jump cleanly over the whole obstacle, although the top timbers were notched on the back so they would give way if rapped hard enough. Even so, the last thing a timber trainer or jockey wanted was for one of their horses to "brush" through a timber fence.
Harry heard the crowd. Then in the distance she heard the thunder. The earth shook. The sensation sent chills up her spine, and in an instant the horses turned the distant corner, a kaleidoscope of finely conditioned bays, chestnuts, and seal browns, hooves reaching out as they lengthened their stride. She recognized the purple silks of Mim Sanburne as well as Addie's determined gaze. The Urquharts, Mim's family, had registered the first year that the Jockey Club was organized, 1894, so their horses ran in solid color silks. Harry also saw the other silks: emerald green with a red hoop around the chest, blue with yellow dots, yellow with a diagonal black sash, the colors intense, rippling with the wind, heightening the sensation of speed, beauty, and power.