Рита Браун - Scarlet Fever

“Maybe he was lurking in the store.” Betty was not giving up.

“Betty, for God’s sake, what would Harry Dunbar be doing hiding in Horse Country while Roni locks up? What’s he going to do? He’s rich enough. He doesn’t have to steal a thing.” Sister wanted to get their lunch meeting going, and try to forget this terrible news if only for a short time.

The meeting, short, hunt club odds and ends, followed lunch, which Sister couldn’t eat. Betty realized her friend was truly upset about Harry’s death.

After a half hour of discussing the budget, a shortfall thanks to the terrible weather, they adjourned, promising to think of ways to raise money.

Once home Sister sat next to Gray on the sofa in the library. He put his arm around her.

“You never know, do you?”

She wiped her tears with a Kleenex. “No. Honey, I believe a swift death is a blessing to whom it befalls. For the rest of us the shock is fierce. He was so full of life.”

“That’s the wisdom that comes with age.”

“I qualify.” She weakly smiled.

“Never.” He kissed her cheek. “These last years the hunt club has lost many older members. It was their time. I’ve lost a few of my old college buddies. Again, it was their time.” He pulled her a little closer. “Do you ever find yourself looking for old friends in the hunt field?”

“Often. There are times when I think I’ll see my son, and he’s been gone since 1974. A movement out of the corner of my eye, a nicker. I don’t know what it is but it startles me. It doesn’t really depress me.”

“I have no idea how you recovered from such a loss. How does anyone?”

“You just do. Look at Aunt Daniella. You know she misses Mercer. The two of them were inseparable, but you go on.”

She mentioned Aunt Daniella’s late son, a bloodstock agent who died in his late fifties. Unfortunately, in his death he had help.

Gray shook his head. “Those two fought morning, noon, and night and loved every minute of it. Every evening the two of them sitting in her living room with huge glasses of bourbon in their hands. No one knew bloodlines like Mercer. When you think about it, that’s what killed him. He knew too much.”

“That’s one murderer who will never get out of jail.”

“Idiot,” Gray said. “Why do people think they can lie, cheat, steal, murder, and get away with it?”

“The delusion of the criminal mind. I won’t get caught. Even the crime bosses, worth multimillions, either get caught or killed. Maybe this comes down to people never learn.”

He rested his head against hers. “Sometimes I wonder how it would be if Mother had lived. She was beautiful like Aunt Dan, but reserved. Mom was devoted to me and Sam.”

“Mothers and sons. It’s an ancient dialogue.” Sister smiled. “Fathers and daughters. Incredible bonds for the most part. I mean, I love Tootie like a daughter. She’s been with me since seventh grade when she boarded at Custis Hall. I love her but it’s quite different with a girl.”

“Seems to be. I love my son, I see him maybe once a year, but I relish his success. And I can understand why he wanted a veterinary practice in Colorado once he finished up his residency in Nebraska. If I had a daughter I think she could wrap me around her little finger.” He laughed. “Even Aunt Dan can do that.”

“What about me?”

“I’m putty in your hands.”

“I’m glad to know that,” she truthfully confessed.

He changed the subject. “Would you want to know when you would die?”

“No. Never. Would you?”

“If it would give me time to tell people I love them. I’m not so good at that. I try. I tell Aunt Dan. I sometimes tell my brother. Not often.”

“You tell me.”

“That’s different. You’re the woman I love. I can say things to you I’d never say to anyone else, even Sam.”

“What about Mercer? He was gay. Didn’t that make it easier?”

He shook his head. “No. Loved him. He was my cousin but his being gay didn’t mean I’d tell him more than another man. God, when we were kids we would beat the crap out of each other. Sam, too. Mercer had such an eye. Like his mother. He and Aunt Dan can pick the perfect colors for people, fabrics. I can’t.”

“You always look good,” she complimented him.

“Mercer taught me a few things but I have to work at it.”

“Mercer and Harry were friends.”

“A lot in common. Funny, because Harry had a sort of artistic streak, I don’t know what else to call it, people thought he was gay, especially because he was friends with Mercer. He wasn’t. Harry was a gentleman but he used women.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, he’d pay attention to those with means, with fabulous houses.”

“Gray, I never heard of him behaving in a low fashion.” She turned to look up at him, he was slightly taller than she was.

“He didn’t, but I think many of those women, older and widowed, fostered hopes. But I can’t say as I ever saw him, um, make promises. I do think Harry Dunbar escorted more widows and single ladies to hunt balls than any man living. I often wonder how many sets of scarlet tails he wore out.”

“Which reminds me. Men love evening scarlet and so do women. Would you ever wear evening scarlet to a white-tie affair?”

Gray replied quickly. “Of course not. Honey, you know the invitation cards have to have evening scarlet on it. If it is white tie only then you wear regular tails. Granted, evening scarlet is expensive but…” He paused. “We all want to show up in our evening scarlet with our girl on our arm.”

“How would you feel about a woman in evening scarlet?”

“Hmm, if a master I’d get used to it but that’s as far as I would go.”

“I agree. Half the fun of a hunt ball is to see the men who have earned their colors in scarlet and the women in black or white evening gowns. Nothing looks like that.”

A silence followed this as they snuggled into each other.

“Honey, I am sorry about Harry. You two could make each other laugh and he was good in the hunt field.”

“Bold.” She inhaled deeply. “I’ll miss him.” She wiped her eyes with another Kleenex. “I realize what wonderful people are in my life and Harry was one of them. But these are tears of joy. I know how lucky I am. I hate to think of anyone leaving life but my life really began the first time you kissed me. The sun came into it. I couldn’t live without you.”

His eyes glistened then he laughed. “Don’t make me cry.”

Then they both laughed.

CHAPTER 7

February 28, 2019 Thursday

A long wide pasture alongside a wide hard-running creek set off the house at Heron’s Plume. As it was, this southernmost fixture proved rich in scent, soil, architecture, and owners. Over the last two hundred and thirty years the bottom land made a fortune for Robert Pickett, the first owner of what was then two thousand acres. Growing hemp, corn, wheat, and pumpkins, Pickett made enough money in those early years to throw up good brick barns and a two-story brick house flanked by brick outbuildings. Brick, easy to come by with all the clay in central Virginia, stood the test of time. So did the Picketts, the last male perishing in 1932. However, Madelenine Pickett had married a railroad baron by the name of Ingram. As the male Pickett line died out, the female surged ever onward. The family gave generously to nonprofits, especially those of a medical nature, the county rejoiced in the longevity of the blood. Proto-feminists, subsequent female Ingrams took the Pickett surname.

The brick gates into the estate, white topped with a flat pediment, had a large brass square on the right gate with script saying “Heron’s Plume.” The left gate, another polished brass square, simply announced “1789.”