Aunt Tally sat at her niece’s right hand, where she proceeded to direct people and events. Mim gave up reining her in and let her go, which pleased the elderly lady.
The other guests had been selected for conversation or for their equine connections, since Mim was preparing yearlings for the big Saratoga sale in August.
Her husband, Jim, sat at the head of the table. On his right sat Tavener Heyward and on his left was Miranda Hogendobber, whom Jim adored. The other guests—Fair Haristeen, Harry Haristeen, Tazio Chappars, Dr. Bill Langston, BoomBoom Craycroft, Little Mim, Blair Bainbridge, and Rev. Herb Jones—rounded out the party billed as “impromptu.” Of course, nothing Big Mim did was impromptu, but the fiction was preserved, especially since the guests’ various house pets played outside with Mim’s English springer spaniels, two liver-and-white beauties.
Ever the Cupid, Mim thought that Bill Langston might find Tazio Chappars attractive. As she was brilliant and lovely, he did, but he found BoomBoom Craycroft even more attractive, although, being a gentleman, this was not apparent.
Few men could resist BoomBoom, the result being she toyed with them.
“. . . Tom Fool blood.” Tavener Heyward was holding forth about thoroughbred bloodlines.
“One can never study pedigrees to one’s satisfaction,” Herb said. “The Bible is full of pedigrees, starting with the sons of Adam and Eve, and everyone lived eight or nine hundred years.”
“Doesn’t really count until Noah’s sons.” Tavener, a keen reader, smiled. “Shem, Ham, and Japheth. They all lived to a ripe ole age, too. Noah made it to nine hundred and fifty.”
“I don’t know if my knees would hold out,” Jim remarked, as the others laughed.
They talked about the computer programs to study thoroughbred bloodlines, then eased into Mim’s plans for a new stable.
“I love walking through stables. You know, at Red Mile”—she mentioned a harness-racing track in Lexington, Kentucky—“there’s a round barn, and it makes wonderful sense.”
“There’s a kind of round barn right up the road in Orange.” Fair mentioned a town northeast of them by about thirty miles, give or take.
“A lot of Washington money moving into Orange,” Herb said.
“And Madison and Greene counties. They come on down here and we’re glad to see the bump up in the tax revenues, but they don’t all ease into country life as we would like.” Jim stated the problem succinctly.
“By the end of this century, we’ll be lucky if anyone remembers country life,” Harry predicted.
“Oh, Harry, don’t say that. They can learn.” Little Mim kept a positive attitude.
“Well, I hope so,” Harry said. She was in a good mood since her tests had come back negative for exposure to rabies.
“I’m not a born country person but I’m trying,” Blair said, his warm hazel eyes solemn.
“No fair.” Fair laughed at his little play on his name. “You live next to Harry, and you’re being well trained by Little Mim. You’re doing just fine.”
“A thorn between two roses.” Blair laughed.
“Or a rose between two thorns.” Big Mim smiled.
“Tazio, you were raised in St. Louis; what do you think?” Bill politely asked the architect.
She blushed slightly. “It’s like learning a new language. And I thank Brinkley for helping me.” She named her yellow Lab. “He always knows where the deer are or the hawks. I find the quieter I am, the more I learn.”
“Isn’t that the truth!” Aunt Tally, who liked the young woman, said. “To live in the country you have to use all your senses. Can’t just depend on one. So if you smoke,” she cleared her throat and stared at Little Mim a moment, since her great-niece was known to puff sometimes, “you’ve already lost one sense. And speaking of senses—taste—Mim, dear, this has been the most delicious supper, and I am longing for dessert.”
Big Mim cast her eyes down the table. Everyone had finished the main course, a pork tenderloin lightly brushed with a chutney. Fresh, large white asparagus and wild rice filled out the plate. Of course, she always had fresh breads, including corn bread. Couldn’t have a Virginia dinner without corn bread or spoon bread.
Jim said, “Honey, just bring in the cherry cheesecake and put it in front of Tally. She’ll eat the whole thing.”
“I will. I’ll drink what you put in front of me, too.”
Big Mim tried to keep her aunt on sherry this evening. A crisp white wine during dinner was acceptable, too. If Aunt Tally got her hands on the clear spirits like gin or vodka, she became more animated than usual.
The rules of dining had relaxed considerably since Big Mim’s youth. Not that Aunt Tally approved of any of this, but she adored company, so if one no longer dressed as was once proper, she’d pay that price.
The cheesecake, rich and covered with the most delicious cherries, met with approval. Even Miranda, who had been very careful about her diet, couldn’t resist.
After dinner, the small gathering repaired to the lovely back lawn, where small tables and chairs had been set up for this purpose. A portable bar was also there, along with a humidor of cigars: Cohiba, Tito, Macanudo, Romeo y Julieta, and Diplomatico.
Herb, eyes half closed with intense pleasure, puffed on a Tito. “This is new to me.”
Tavener, who couldn’t pass up an exorbitantly expensive Cohiba, said, “Perfect.”
Jim, favoring a Diplomatico, answered Herb. “Tito. The tobacco store by Giant Food carries them. Don’t know if the tobacco shop in Barracks Road has them. I’ll have to check. Quite a good smoke, isn’t it?”
“And I imagine expensive?” Herb admired the dark wrapper leaves on the Tito.
“Eight dollars and forty cents. Granted, that’s not your White Owl”—he mentioned a very cheap cigar but a consistent one in that you always knew what you’d be getting—“but when you think of the inflated cost of these contraband Cuban cigars, the Tito is good. I think it’s a spectacular cigar, myself.”
Blair, not really a cigar smoker, bravely puffed away on a mild Macanudo and said, “How much is a Cuban cigar?”
“Depends on the size.” Tavener held out the Cohiba with the distinctive yellow, white, and black band. “Depends on your source. Hazarding a guess, this cigar probably runs between seventy-five and one hundred dollars.”
“That bad?” Fair had selected a Diplomatico, a cigar with an enticing flavor and also a Cuban.
“Well, I have my sources, which I will never ever tell, but I pay a little less,” Jim responded. “Now, off the record, since I’m an elected official, this damned embargo is a crock. Hell, even when the embargo was first enacted, Jack Kennedy was sitting up there in the White House smoking Cuban cigars. For one thing I don’t like paying way more than something is worth, and for another thing I don’t like breaking the law.”
“The same argument could be used for legalizing drugs,” Tavener said.
“It could.” Big Jim exhaled a tongue of blue smoke. “Can’t enforce the law, so what good is it?”
“Meaning you can’t control human behavior.” Herb watched the women walking among Big Mim’s roses.
“Precisely,” Tavener replied.
“Sets me to thinking of old man Noah again.” Herb smiled at Blair, who was clearly not enjoying his too-strong cigar. “Son, put that thing down. We won’t tell.” He then returned to Noah. “The Lord put up a rainbow as a covenant and said He wouldn’t send another flood to destroy mankind again. And He knew it wouldn’t do but so much good.”
“Meaning we were all at it soon enough.” Fair nodded.
“Wickedness. What’s interesting about wickedness is how it differs from century to century and from culture to culture,” Herb said.
“Killing has always been regarded as wicked unless committed during war, and even then one is only to kill the uniformed enemy.” Blair put the cigar in a big crystal ashtray.