Рита Браун - Homeward Hound

“Were people riding in twos or in groups?”

“Twos, groups, whatever. Heads down against the wind. The snow became so thick but there were no stragglers and Bobby Franklin brought up the rear with Second Flight. How he did it, I have no idea. Everything seemed to be in order.”

“What about the whippers-in?”

“They had moved close to the pack. By then we couldn’t really see. A hound could get swallowed up so all three whippers-in rode up close to hounds to make sure they packed up, but Ben, by the time we reached the chapel we couldn’t even see the cross on top. I could barely see Shaker and I could just see Weevil, who rode at the rear of the pack.”

“No shouts or anything like that? Anyone falling off?”

“No. Everyone realized this could be dangerous and everyone wanted to get on the road and home before trees came down, accidents. We made it to Tattenhall Station. I could see trailers once I was upon them. It was a blizzard. A true blizzard.”

“Then what?”

“Blankets on horses, loaded, people began to pull out. Shaker and Tootie got the hounds up. Betty and I loaded staff horses. Shaker loaded Showboat”—she mentioned his horse—“onto the hound trailer. Weevil rode in the truck with Shaker. Ronnie, Tootie, and I would drive back in the horse trailer, but before I climbed into the rig, Ronnie came over, upset. Now Ronnie is usually a cool customer, as you know. His guest was missing but the horse came back.”

“And he just noticed?”

“Yes. He said the horse was right behind him. He didn’t turn to see if Gregory Luckham was on but he said even if he were, he might not have seen him.”

“Wouldn’t he have heard him if he fell off? Or perhaps someone behind hear?”

“I actually don’t think anyone would have heard a thing because of the wind. I had to shout just to try to talk to Weevil as we crossed Chapel Crossroads. And Weevil really couldn’t hear me. If Gregory fell off and was hurt or knocked unconscious, no one would have known.”

“And if so he’s dead by now.” Ben spoke honestly, but he could to Sister.

“I don’t see how anyone could live in that blizzard. Even if he wasn’t hurt, was mobile, he wouldn’t see where to go. You couldn’t see the hand in front of your face.”

“Let me be clear, you or Ronnie last saw him where?”

“I last saw him with Ronnie when hounds threw up at Old Paradise, the columns in the distance. Then I turned for Chapel Cross. I didn’t look behind.”

“Did Ronnie say where he last saw him?”

“Around the same place. He couldn’t pinpoint it and he faults himself. No one was riding holding hands. He’s, well, you know, he’s beating himself up.”

“I’ll need to talk to him. Did he go home?”

“No. No one did from those last two trailers, well our last two trailers and then Ronnie’s. Everyone is here still asleep except for Betty and me.”

“Once he’s awake, have him call me on my cell.”

“I will.”

“Everyone else okay? Hounds? Horses?”

“Yes.” She hung up the phone. Betty, hearing the conversation, asked no questions, as she cracked eggs.

Sister hovered over the second skillet. “Betty, I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

She waved her hand. “I know, I know, but I don’t know what to do for Ronnie.”

Betty walked over and placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “We’re here. That’s the best we can do.”

“When RayRay was killed, Ronnie and Xavier”—Sister named another of her deceased son’s best friends—“visited me. Came to the house, did chores. Stacked the hayloft, and then, as they moved through high school, they invited me to their football games, to their graduations.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what’s got into me. I hate to see Ronnie upset.”

“Ronnie and Xavier look on you as another mother, I think, and you, well, you love them. You think of them as your boys.” Betty smiled. “Your boys who are now in their mid-fifties.”

Sister, too, began to crack eggs. “Betty, where does the time go?”

“I don’t know but if I find out, I’ll go bring some back.”

Sister leaned over and kissed Betty on the cheek.

The smells were bringing everyone down. Whatever happened, they’d face it together.

CHAPTER 5

“Honey, drink your coffee and eat your eggs. You’ll feel a little better. Your mind will wake up.” Sister sat across from Ronnie, normally fastidious but today with morning stubble.

Gray sat next to him after putting a plate of biscuits on the table.

The old friends ate. Ronnie gulped his coffee, hoping it would help. Betty rose and refilled his cup.

A lovely small bone china creamer sat on the table filled with real cream. Sister always put the heavy-duty stuff on the table. Her theory was if you eat or drink fat in the morning, rich stuff, you won’t get so hungry the rest of the day. Sure worked for her.

Gray glanced out the wavy glass windows, from the late eighteenth century. “This won’t let up.”

“At least it’s not so heavy,” Betty replied. “Spoke to my best husband this morning. He said the drifts were piled against the door.”

“Do you have a second-best husband?” Sister teased her.

“Oh, there are days.” Betty smiled. “I don’t know how he shepherded Second Flight back yesterday. We have a few nervous Nellies in that group.”

“Well, I was in First Flight and felt like a nervous Nellie,” Gray confessed. “I don’t know what it is, but I think of the times we have run into trouble at Old Paradise.”

“Given that it’s five thousand acres, I suppose that increases the chances for trouble.” Sister nibbled sausage, succulent farm sausage, a bit browned on the edges.

“Oh, I sometimes think Sophie Marquet cursed the place.” Betty also savored her food. “Dashing as her life was in wartime, peacetime had to be one problem after another, especially after she married.”

“Didn’t she shoot him?” Gray wondered.

“He lived. She caught him in flagrante delicto.” Betty did so like gossip, especially old gossip, because no one would fuss at you for retelling it. “She swore she forgave him and he wandered no more.”

“Would you?” Ronnie livened a bit.

“That’s a very loaded question.” Gray got up to refill everyone’s cups, tea for Sister.

“Do you think people can truly forgive?” Betty asked. “I mean especially something like that, something where you are publicly humiliated? I mean sooner or later it always comes out.”

“I don’t know, Betty, Aunt Daniella has held her cards close to that famous bosom for decades, must be seven decades now because she sprang into action in her late teens.” Gray smiled. “If anyone can understand the long departed Sophie, it’s my aunt.”

“You’ve got us there but”—Sister drew this out so they all leaned toward her—“she came close to spilling some of the beans when she saw Weevil. Melted. Just melted. He is the spitting image of an old flame.”

“Most women melt when they meet your newest professional whipper-in.” Betty thought him gorgeous.

“Well.” Sister shrugged. “My only paid whipper-in. You have done unpaid service for over thirty years.”

“Yes, I started whipping-in to the Jefferson Hounds at age six.”

This brought a roar of laughter. Even Ronnie, distracted as he was, appreciated and loved Betty. Old friends, dear friends, age gaps between them only tightening the bonds. Gray and Sister had known each other for most of their adult lives although Gray, after graduate school, spent the weeks in D.C., married to a socially conscious woman who felt central Virginia much beneath her. After producing a son, they both raised him. She decamped to New York City where her light would shine more brightly. The son, a bovine veterinarian in Colorado, had started practice in Nebraska, and was considered one of the leading veterinarians in the country. So whatever the then married Lorillards did, they raised a good son. The lightning struck Sister and Gray twelve years ago. A surprise to all, especially them.