Lost & Hound, page 10
“Lawyer. Made his bundle and walked away.”
“Maybe he didn’t walk away far enough.”
“He made more money than Cameron. But Cameron is like a small FedEx. He flies packages everywhere. Has to be lucrative.” She happily took her fresh drink. “Do you think Barry made a lot of money?”
“Enough to start a nonprofit. Funny, how you see people who make a great deal of money, when they quit, they often want to do good works. Athletes do it during their career. It’s good publicity, but once their career is over, they often continue.”
“People have to have a goal.”
“Mercer’s stamp collection,” he prodded.
“Oh yes. I have it. It’s in the safe. I have no idea of its value. It was important to him. I can’t let it go.”
“When we were kids he’d tell me about famous stamp collectors. There is a national organization, the American Philatelic Society. He joined at sixteen. I razzed him about it. He said there were good lectures. He’d go on about what a stamp can tell you. I’m sorry to admit it went in one ear and out the other.”
She giggled. “Me too, but he just loved it.”
“As long as it’s safe.”
“It is.”
He put his feet up on the hassock. “Ah.”
“Shoes tight?”
“At the end of the day, my feet are tired. Oh, before I forget, you know that you and Kathleen Sixt Dunbar are our guests at the Waynesboro Symphony Orchestra.”
“I do. I so look forward to it. Who else is going?”
“Much of the hunt club. Sam asked Yvonne. She said yes.”
A long sip, then the nonagenarian low voice said, “Tell him he has a lot to offer a woman, especially a woman like Yvonne. Forget the money. She’s thrilled with her first foxhunt. Well, why not? Tell him to make her laugh. You know when she came here she had forgotten how to laugh. Little by little, she has moved on from that fractious divorce. She is close to her daughter. Really. Keep her laughing, help her with her goals. Underneath that gorgeous, somewhat bitter exterior with men is a truly beautiful woman. She needs love. She needs a real man. She needs to give love.”
Startled at this outburst from his aunt Dan, Gray stuttered, “I will. I mean, I’ll try. He’s not always easy to talk to, Sam. I had no idea you were so close to Yvonne. I knew you all got along. I…” He thought, “I’ll try.”
“I have grown to love her. I understand her. Once I was that beautiful woman. You think life will be easier for such a woman. In some ways it is. In other ways, no. And I love Sam. And I love you. I don’t want to leave this earth without seeing her and my dear beaten-up Sam happy. You are happy and I take comfort in that.”
“Aunt Dan, you aren’t sick, are you?” His face was stricken.
She laughed. “No. I’m having an emotional moment. I’m closing in on one hundred, Gray. I can’t live forever.”
“Aunt Dan, I can’t imagine life without you.”
“Oh, I’ll be here. I simply won’t be here in physical form.” She smiled at him, a warm enveloping smile. “Help your brother.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he promised.
CHAPTER 13
October 6, 2022, Thursday
Driving back from the hunt, which was held at Skidby on South Chapel Cross Road, Sister and Betty didn’t mind the slow pace.
Following six trailers, they weren’t going anywhere fast. The field members left ahead of them, so staff trailers, Sister, Weevil, Tootie, and Bobby were in the rear. Yvonne and Sam drove behind Kasmir and Alida in the lead.
Once at the crossroads, the lovely chapel before them, everyone turned right toward the east. Kasmir and Alida turned right again into Tattenhall Station. Each truck and trailer passing honked. “Goodbye.”
“Yvonne rides with Sam to Beasley Hall. You’d think she’d just go home to Beveridge Hundred,” Betty noted.
This was the estate Yvonne had purchased from Cecil and Violet Van Dorn on Chapel Hill’s South Road. The older couple had a life estate so they lived in the large clapboard house while Yvonne lived in the dependency, more than large enough for her. If the Van Dorns moved to assisted living, she’d take over. She had glorious plans for the interior of the Federal home built in 1832. Beveridge Hundred abutted Kasmir’s Tattenhall Station.
“She says she wants to untack Buster, wash and dry him, check his hooves, and give him treats.”
“Ah so.” Betty sounded like a German.
“Back at you.”
“You’ve visited Germany. You visited before Bobby and I went in 2022. Loved it.”
“Ray and I first flew over in ’90.” She sighed. “Where did the time go?”
“I’m saying that more and more these days.” Betty wiggled her toes in her brown boots, informal attire. “My feet got cold.”
“Mine always do. Won’t be too long before Opening Hunt. My black formal boots are bigger, so I can wear two pairs of socks. In my bye-day boots I can’t.” She mentioned the hunting term for informal days.
“You figured you’d only wear them during cubbing?”
“No. But my brown boots and those oxbloods that I love are pushing forty. Given the expense of bespoke boots and our tack, I take good care of things. But they can only last so long.”
“We’ll only last so long.” Betty laughed.
“What a happy thought,” Sister rejoined.
“Back to Yvonne cleaning Buster. I would have thought she’d pay Sam to do all that.”
“Tootie says her mother wants to know about horses and Yvonne has fallen desperately in love with Buster. Sam is trying to get Marty to sell the golden child.”
“That he is.” Sister avoided a pothole. “If every new hunter rode a Buster, they’d learn so much faster and we wouldn’t be holding our breath. Oh hey.” Sister slowed then stopped. “There’s a box turtle by the side of the road. He should be in his winter quarters.”
“Don’t get out. I’ll get out.” Betty knew Sister would pick up any animal looking as though it needed help or was lost.
“Rooster’s towels are in the backseat.”
“Right.” Betty hopped out, opened the small door behind her door, grabbed the towel, which evidenced Rooster’s chewing.
She put the towel around the creature, who ducked his head in. Then she got back in the truck, placing the turtle on the floor in the back, carefully removing the towel.
“Thanks.”
“He won’t stick his neck out and look at me.”
Sister laughed. “I could be so hateful.”
Betty having closed that door used the chrome rail between the doors to help hoist her in the front. “Damn, these trucks are too high. Glad you put the Jesus strap on.”
“Even Gray has to use one, and he’s six two. You buy a new truck, you need handrails on the outside, Jesus straps on the inside.”
“Who can afford a new truck?” Betty sounded dolorous.
“That’s the truth. This baby is 2006. Like my boots, I’ve taken care of it, but the day will come. Duallys, without a lot of goodies, cost, what, seventy-two thousand used? Load them up with goodies and you can go over ninety thousand. It’s lunacy.”
“It’s inflation.” Betty settled in the seat as Sister pulled back on the road. “I can smell the turtle.”
Sister agreed. “They do have a distinctive odor. Is it male or female?”
“Damned if I know.”
“I’ll look when we get home. Better yet, I’ll call Barry Harper to see if he’ll take our passenger.”
“You know, I should give something to his foundation. I give to the Wildlife Center of Virginia.” Betty continued to hold on to the Jesus strap.
“Last year, Gray and I gave two hundred and fifty dollars. Neither of us is big on amphibians nor reptiles but we wanted to show support for all wildlife.”
“Mmm. Wonder if Ben’s found out anything about Timothy Snavely.” Betty shivered slightly. “I don’t know, gives me the willies.”
“The corpse has been identified. That’s a start. Snavely was in the import-export business. Now, there’s a business ripe for crime.” Sister turned off the two-lane state highway onto the long gravel road to her farm.
“Like drugs?”
“Yes. That’s obvious. Or homemade liquor. But what about smuggling, say, some copper.”
“Be heavy,” Betty posited.
“They’d find a way to cover the weight. Like watermelons. I don’t know, a thought?”
“Maybe not watermelons.” Betty smiled.
“If we had criminal minds we’d figure this out. Well, my first priority after we take care of the horses is to get the turtle settled.”
Betty replied, “What is that saying, ‘Behold the turtle. He only makes progress when he sticks his neck out.’ ”
“Ending sentence with a preposition.” Sister cut the motor.
“Don’t start with me.”
“Oh. I’ll remember that, but ‘Behold the turtle. He only makes progress when he sticks out his neck.’ ”
Grammatically correct or not, it was true.
CHAPTER 14
October 7, 2022, Friday
“This fellow is young.” Barry examined the box turtle in the makeshift box where Sister had placed him with greens and a low pan of water.
“How can you tell?” Sister asked, while Golly sat on the kitchen counter, appalled that her human was focused on a turtle.
“This isn’t perfect but you count the rings on the shell and divide by two. So he’s about three. Box turtles mature at about five.”
“I’ve always liked the design of their shells.”
“Turtles and tortoises can be beautiful. This guy seems healthy. He may have gotten confused, it’s beginning to get cold, or he may have wanted to cross the road, thinking food and shelter would be better on the other side. But I’ll take him with me and have my vet look at him to be sure. There are vets specializing in amphibians and reptiles. I use Audrey Simpson.” Barry looked down at the young turtle, who was looking up at him. “In time they know who you are.”
“One doesn’t think of a turtle coming to your call.” Sister felt a bit of affection for the young fellow.
“They know you bring them cantaloupe, grapes, oranges, vegetables. And in time, if you put him on the floor for extra exercise, he might follow you.”
Rooster, curled in his sherpa bed in the corner, announced, “Sister, Golly doesn’t come to your call.”
“Peon.” Golly sniffed.
“Do they like attention?” Sister asked.
“Not so much. You can brush their shell or gently rub the top of their head, but turtles are loners mostly.”
“Barry, how did you get interested in amphibians and reptiles?”
“As a kid, snakes never frightened me. I read about them, learned to recognize how a poisonous snake’s head is different, more triangular than a regular snake’s. Then as I learned about amphibians I became fascinated with creatures living on land and water, being adept at both.”
“It is a good survival mechanism, I would think.”
“Indeed.” He smiled. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll take this fellow to the compound, what I call the compound. He is male. Has red eyes, his shell underside is a little concave.”
Sister waited then spoke. “Only if you don’t give him away.”
Barry blinked, surprised. “No. Of course not.”
“I get very attached to animals. I even had a pet possum as a child. Drove my parents crazy, but I watched him eat. The turtle has crawled under the small branches I’ve put in this makeshift box. And he’s dug in the dirt I put in, too.”
Barry beamed. “They like cool nights, not cold. Say low sixties. They’ll dig a shallow little spot or wedge under a log. They can’t take harsh cold.”
“Deeper or better insulated dens? Is den the right word?” She, too, was becoming fascinated.
“They’ll find warmth. Even human outbuildings can provide protection. You’d be surprised at how they can tuck themselves away.” He smiled. “I’ll talk all day. This is my passion and I thank you and Gray for your contributions to my nonprofit.”
“It’s a small amount, but when we both learned of your organization’s name, we just had to.” She laughed.
“Oh. Stick Your Neck Out. Thought it would get attention. And when classes come from the grade school, it attracts the children, a bit different. The kids will stick their heads up then down. Now, not all the kids like the snakes but most all like the turtles.” He brought a large carrier with towels, some food, and a tiny drinking fountain that he could press if the turtle looked parched.
He didn’t.
“Good.” Golly sat up, the tip of her tail flicking.
“If you jumped in the box, I’d hope the turtle would pee on you,” Rooster unchivalrously said.
“Turtles don’t pee on others.” Raleigh’s deep voice always sounded authoritative.
“How do you know?” Rooster challenged.
“Because while you were talking, Mom asked the same thing when he picked up the turtle to put him in the carrying case.”
“Oh.” Rooster had been looking forward to an argument.
“Why don’t you come to see my place. I’d love to show you around. I have turtles older than we are. Some can live past one hundred.” Barry carefully placed the turtle, now head shut in his shell, inside the carrying case. “This fellow should easily make it to thirty-five.”
“I will come and I’ll bring Betty.” She picked up the turtle. “Maybe Ronnie. He likes learning about animals.”
“When you all set your schedules, call or text me.”
As Barry walked to the door with the turtle, Sister walked with him. “Any news on your stamps?”
He stopped. “No. Such a small collection. I must be the odd duck in the hunt club, turtles and stamps.”
She laughed. “Barry, if you only knew.”
CHAPTER 15
October 8, 2022, Saturday
Cubbing weather excelled at variety. One day the temperature would just make the mid-fifties, warmish but not bad. The next day at ten the thermometer climbed to the mid-seventies. Big temperature bounces diminished the chances for a good hunt. Everyone had a theory as to why but no one really knew. The second day after the temperature bounce often turned out good. Then again, it snowed briefly a few days ago, a few twirling flakes. That was central Virginia.
This Saturday was the second day after a drop. However, the winds picked up.
Hounds moved through the wildflower field, what was one year of milkweed pods finally blown to bits.
Weevil cast hounds crosswind, moved northwest, the usual direction of wind. Members of the field tucked their heads down, as the wind made their eyes water.
Buddy Cadwalder, visiting from Philadelphia, pulled his cap down, hoping the brim would deflect the wind. Didn’t work. He had been visiting Jefferson Hunt for a year now when he could manage the time. From the City of Brotherly Love, the trip took about five hours. Wisely, he rented a stall at the Bancrofts’. His hope was to see Kathleen Sixt Dunbar on a regular basis. She enjoyed his company, he felt hopeful. But she could only enjoy his company if he made the trip.
Kathleen, wearing a hunter green turtleneck, which set off her auburn hair, drove her BMW X5 with Aunt Daniella in the passenger seat.
“Think I should head for the Bancrofts’?”
Aunt Daniella answered, “Sit tight for a little bit. They could head back this way.”
“It’s windy. Sister says wind is a form of torture.”
Aunt Daniella rubbed her hands together. “It is unless it’s blowing scent right to them.”
“If your hands are cold, turn up the heat on your side.” She pointed to a knob. “Right there. Your temperature now is seventy degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Think I will, seventy-four degrees Fahrenheit.” She turned the knob to the right. “Cars are so complicated now. Oh, that feels warm already.”
Motor running, Kathleen popped the SUV into gear, slowly driving toward the main road as the field took the hog’s back jump into the Bancrofts’ property.
“Weevil decided to get out of the wind. Once he’s in the woods, there will be some protection.” Kathleen crawled along.
“You have been listening when we drive,” Aunt Daniella remarked. “Let’s see, three years now.”
“Has it been that long?” Kathleen wondered.
Abdul, her Welsh terrier, sat in the backseat, alert. Human concern over time baffled him. You only have the moment you’re in. Why dredge up the past or worry about the future?
Reaching the state road, Kathleen turned left, drove the mile and a half to the entrance to the Bancrofts’ farm. She slowed halfway down the drive, not knowing if hounds and horses would appear.
“The horn sounds distant.” Aunt Daniella put her window down. “Like he’s staying in the woods but heading north. I think you can go through the covered bridge. If they come out behind you, you can pull off the road.”
Kathleen motored to the bridge.
The rumble intensified against the walls. She had her window down now as well.
“Hmm.”
Kathleen replied, “Quiet out there.”
The silence was due to hounds trying to pick up a line. They were still on the other side by the creek, the west side.
Cameron Aldron flipped his tweed collar up, as did Walter Lungren behind him. No one spoke but if they did they would have noted the temperature was dropping. Usually the temperature would rise as the morning progressed. Not today. A cold front was moving in.
Weevil blew encouraging toots on his horn, which belonged to a huntsman from the 1960s. The sound, rich and mellow, captured human and hound attention.
