Рита Браун: Homeward Hound

Dewey, single malt scotch in hand, returned to the weather. “You know, Cecil, I think you’re right. My broken bones are more accurate than the radar. I’m riding though. Wouldn’t miss Christmas Hunt.”

Yvonne smiled at Dewey. “My daughter told me you broke your leg last season protecting Freddie Thomas.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” He demurred.

“Tootie said Freddie, who is a good rider, skidded into a big jump, her horse lost his footing, and she sailed over the jump as everyone was galloping to it. She said you hauled in your horse, leapt off to turn people away and to see if Freddie was okay when another rider’s horse skidded and you were pinned to the jump. The horse kicked your leg. She said it was awful.”

“Ah well, that’s hunting. We were all lucky it wasn’t worse. Freddie was on her feet. I was not.” He joked.

Gregory Luckham joined in. “Hunting is not for the fainthearted. My wife worries about me but I tell her golfing can be dangerous, too. A mis-hit ball or a tossed club can do damage.”

They all laughed politely.

Charlotte, in her late twenties, leaned toward Gregory. “Ronnie may have told you, but I am researching the history of Old Paradise. It’s fascinating, encompasses so much of not just Virginia’s history but our nation’s. We will be using ground-penetrating radar once the ground thaws a little. There must be many bodies buried out there, unmarked.”

“Some might be Monacans. They lived there before we moved this far west. Dolley Madison mentioned the Monacans.” Violet, who was an avid reader and a member of The Colonial Dames, evidenced an interest in tribal Virginians.

Gregory, knowing what such a finding could do to the projected pipeline route, replied noncommittally, “I’ll eagerly await your findings.”

“I often wonder what’s under the ground at our place?” Cecil spoke for Beveridge Hundred, his estate, which had started as a log cabin after the Revolutionary War.

Crawford looked at Gregory. “If we find bodies, you’ll wind up with miles of rerouting. Isn’t the pipeline now six hundred miles?”

“It is. You know the Army Corps of Engineers, the Virginia State Water Control Board, other agencies will review every inch.”

“Doesn’t that depend on how much Soliden pays them under the table?” Crawford threw down the gauntlet.

Gregory reddened. “Soliden would never do that.”

“At five million eight hundred thirty-three dollars a mile, the hell you wouldn’t.”

“Crawford.” Marty placed her hand on his forearm.

“Marty, we’ve poured seven million dollars to date on Old Paradise’s restoration. I’ll be damned if I’m going to see it torn up. Plus that doesn’t consider what I paid for it initially.”

“I heard you stole it.” Gregory was now angry.

“Let me tell you something, asshole. If you try to put that pipeline through Old Paradise, I won’t shoot your surveyors or workmen. I’ll shoot you and that’s a promise. Come on, Honey.” He grabbed her hand, lifting her out of the chair.

As Crawford and Marty charged out, Charlotte excused herself to follow. The other diners, breathless with suppressed excitement, were already texting their friends.

Gregory, motionless for a moment, then knocked back his drink. “I apologize. I should never have let him get to me. I don’t need to tell you how volatile a subject the pipeline is. That man may be rich and smart, wanted me to know he’s spoiling for a fight. He’s a bully, which means maybe he isn’t all that smart.”

“He reminds me of my ex-husband, a driven man with no sense about other people. People like that only see their goal.” Yvonne paused. “Mind you, Mr. Luckham, although I am a newcomer, the pipeline does seem extreme. Surely there has to be a way to accomplish what you need to do without so much, well, drama.”

Dazzled, Gregory took a deep breath. “I hope so. I don’t get up in the morning and say, ‘How can I upset people today? How can I ruin Virginia’s environment or heritage?’ But we need to cut our dependency on foreign oil. The pipeline is a way to do that, I truly believe this or I wouldn’t push for it. As president of Soliden I may be able to sway the board regarding routes, but one way or another the pipeline will be built, all six hundred or more miles of it. One of the reasons I came here apart from wanting to hunt behind Sister Jane was I wanted to see this territory with my own eyes. I’ve pored over U.S. Geological Survey maps, Googled everything including Old Paradise. It’s not the same as hunting where you truly see the spine of the land, so to speak.” He kept his left hand under the table as he had cut his palm yesterday, so he wore a thin cotton glove over the bandage. No one asked about it, although they noticed. The outline of a pinky ring could be seen.

“You will see it indeed,” Ronnie promised.

“I am so glad to hear you say that,” Violet quietly said. “You see a bit of your pipeline, the northernmost route, would traverse our land.”

“You have been kind not to be angry with me.” He smiled at the lovely older woman.

Dewey spoke. “The Van Dorns own Beveridge Hundred, which is seven hundred acres. It’s impeccably preserved. I call upon Cecil and Violet for their excellent company but also to hear the stories of the place. And, I believe, Yvonne, you rent the dependency?” He knew she did, of course.

“I do,” she affirmed.

“Seven hundred acres is quite a lot to manage.” Gregory nodded to the Van Dorns. “More power to you.”

“Truthfully, it’s getting to be a bit much,” Cecil confessed. “Crawford has five thousand acres across the road plus the land he owns east of here, another five or six hundred acres. And as you also probably know, Kasmir Barbhaiya owns two thousand acres, which abuts Beveridge Hundred. Chapel Crossroads is one of the last places in this country where large estates remain intact.”

Dewey, second drink in hand, then added, “You can understand why the Chapel Crossroads area is of such importance.”

“Yes, I can.” Gregory reached for his second drink being handed to him from the tray. “Ronnie, you’ve put me in the lion’s den.”

“No,” Ronnie quickly rejoined. “I work for you. We will defend you in court and you know there will be lawsuits, although I hope no need for any here. I wanted you to sit with my neighbors. Of course, you can understand there is emotion, but then again, the final route is not yet agreed upon. As for Crawford, I actually thought he would behave. He’s not going to have another opportunity like this.”

“Well, perhaps neither am I,” Gregory ruefully said.

“Surely, you’ll return. For one thing, you haven’t met Aunt Daniella.” Yvonne smiled at him.

“Aunt Daniella?”

“A great beauty in her day,” Ronnie told him.

“And still not bad to look at. She admits to being ninety-four.” Yvonne threw that in. “But she knows so much of the real history of these places. The stuff that doesn’t make it into the history books. The stuff that young research lady will never uncover.”

“Ronnie, every old place has a story about treasure or murder or both.” Violet looked up as her first course was delivered. “Beveridge Hundred is supposed to contain a fortune in silver stolen from Mexicans during the Mexican-American War. I suppose even then Mexico was famous for its silver and silversmiths. Mind you, Cecil and I have never found so much as a fork.”

They all laughed. Conversation, more relaxed now, included the latest on the news, what films they had seen, books read, as well as hunting in central Virginia.

After dessert, as they walked through the anteroom, Gregory promised them. “Please call upon me anytime. Don’t think of me as a bad guy or your enemy. I will listen to everything you say and we are not committed to this being the final route. I will do my best to help you preserve your estates, to keep the beauty of this place.”