Рита Браун - Crazy Like A Fox

“Perhaps not so dumb, Yvonne.” Sister couldn’t help but smile.

“That hypocrite.”

“Undoubtedly, but so many men think they are only as old as the woman they are sleeping with.”

“It’s beyond that. He’s set one up as his primary mistress. He gives her twenty thousand a month for spending money! Her apartment is in one of the best buildings in Chicago, overlooking the lake. Well, half of that twenty thousand is mine and, fortunately, my name is on everything.”

“Do you want to sue him for what he’s spent on the women?”

“I’ve thought of it. I want half of the empire now. I’ll sell off my half. Of course, I want half of what’s in the bank. He can keep our apartment, the summer house in Door County, he can keep the goddamned cars. I want what’s mine and I want out. If I fight for what he’s blown on those women it will take longer.”

“What about Tootie?”

“He’s disinherited her.”

Sister frowned. “I knew he threatened, but I didn’t believe he would do it.”

“His own daughter. Why? Because she won’t bend to his will. She actually has a will of her own. And I would argue with her about that. My daughter was smarter than I was.”

Sister touched Yvonne’s hand. “Tootie is smarter than most of us. Sure, she has a lot to learn about life but she knows who she is. What can I do for you and for her?”

“Teach me to ride?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Teach me to ride. Tootie loves hunting. I want to learn about it and be out there with her. Well, I know she has a special job out there. She’s told me about whipping-in but I don’t really know what she’s talking about.”

Regarding this, weighing her words, Sister replied, “What I will do is send you to Sam Lorillard, a wonderful teacher. You’re coming to horses in your middle age, a beautiful middle age but you will have more fear than if you were eleven. He will shepherd you through the fear, teach you about horses and hunting. If I do it then I’m the authority. Sooner or later you wouldn’t like that. Sam will be perfect, and you will like him.”

“Lorillard?”

“Gray’s younger brother.”

“Is he as handsome as Gray?”

“Same strong face. It’s the maternal blood, the Laprades. Sam is thinner. Harvard. Bombed out due to drink and probably drugs. Cleaned up after years of self-destruction. He’s so damn good on a horse and he truly is a good man.”

“Are you sending me to him because he’s black?”

“No. I’m sending you to him because he is that good, because he’s part of the family, and because Tootie respects him. He works for a man who is ever competitive against me, but that won’t affect you. If you meet with Sam, feel he’s not for you, then I suggest Lynne Beegle Gebhard. She’s fabulous. The only problem with riding with Lynne is you will fall in love with her father, Dr. Chuck Beegle. Every woman does.”

Yvonne’s eyebrows lifted, the corners of her mouth turned upward. “Really?”

“He’s eighty-six, handsome as the devil, and just sweeps women off their feet. He’s also the kindest man I’ve ever met and a marine. My hunt is filled with military people, but we do seem to be heavy on marines.”

A pause followed this. “How do you know I won’t fall in love with Sam?” Then she quickly added, “I am through with men. I’m not falling in love with anyone.”

“We all say that.” Sister let it lie. “More tea?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, too, for putting me in touch with Betty Franklin. We spent most of the day looking at rentals. As many times as I have visited Tootie when she was at Custis Hall, I never appreciated how extraordinary this part of the world is. I do begin to understand why she came back to Virginia.”

“Any ideas?”

“I love Chapel Cross. All those wonderful places and the names, Old Paradise, Tattenhall Station, Mud Fence, Orchard Hill, Tollgate, and then if we turn left at Chapel Cross, Beveridge Hundred, Little Dalby. Betty mentioned other fixtures in other parts of the country, also charmingly named, all historic. Let’s see, Mill Ruins, she showed me that. Impressive, that old huge mill with the wheel turning just spraying water everywhere. Close Shave. Loved that name. Litany Brook. Prior’s Woods.”

“Our ancestors pretty much named things as they were. Mud Fence really started with mud fences back in the mid-eighteenth century. Couldn’t afford anything else.”

“Yes, Betty told me all that. I’ve rented a what-do-you-call-it, a dependency at Beveridge Hundred. I’ll be smack in the Chapel Cross area.”

“Good. That was fast.”

“I’m not wasting any time.”

“You are in the perfect position to see the resurrection of Old Paradise, finally bought by Crawford Howard. Sam will either give you lessons there—the stable is spectacular—or at Crawford’s Farm just down the road from mine. Or both. If you like Sam, that is.”

“I hope I do. I’m eager to ride.”

“Do you need help moving in? Furniture, towels, all that stuff.”

“It’s fully furnished. I’m close to Tattenhall Station, so I assume if I need a cup of sugar I can borrow it from Kasmir. I do remember him.”

“Such a sweetheart. He’s given Jefferson Hunt so much. He says we brought him back to life. He visited here shortly after his wife, much beloved, died. One of our family members came from India, and Kasmir and Vijay met at public school in England, thence on to Oxford.”

Yvonne breathed deeply. “I think I have a lot to learn.”

“Well, riding and hunting takes some time.”

“No, about people. I assumed everyone here was a redneck. Not you and Gray, that was obvious, but I really did think this was the sticks.”

“It is.” Sister smiled.

“Some sticks.”

CHAPTER 9

Roughneck Farm, a sizeable holding although not nearly the two thousand acres of Tattenhall Station nor the vast five thousand acres of Old Paradise, offered beautiful views of the Blue Ridge Mountains, with one northern interruption. The lands included Hangman’s Ridge, a nine-hundred-foot ridge, flat on the top. The north side dipped down to wild meadows lapping Soldier Road. On the other side of this road reposed Cindy Chandler’s Foxglove Farm. Had it not been for the ridge the two neighbors and dear friends could have observed the lights at night in each other’s homes, although those homes were actually miles apart. Light travels as does sound, especially the sound of wind.

The hounds, walking briskly at seven-thirty on Wednesday morning, September 20, heard the trees groaning as they bent on the ridge. Depending on the ferocity of the wind, you could tell how long before the wind, the rain, or the snow would hammer down the south side of the former execution spot. The enormous hanging tree, a trunk so thick now it would take four men to reach around it, stood where it always had, close to the middle of the flat top.

“Five minutes,” Dasher predicted.

“Never good for scent, wind,” Asa grumbled.

The long slanting rays of the just risen sun cast a reddish gold glow on everything. You might think that sunrise is the opposite of sunset but no, the quality of light is different. Hounds, foxes, horses were sensitive to light. Some people were, too.

Shaker walked in front of the pack, Sister on the left, Tootie on the right, with Betty and Yvonne about fifteen yards in the rear. Betty chatted with Yvonne from time to time, explaining why they walked hounds, the different hound personalities, and how gifted her daughter was. Betty never mentioned the divorce or the subsequent publicity.

Yvonne, coached by Tootie, wore sturdy walking shoes. Mother and daughter had the same size foot, 7½. Her designer jeans, too expensive for this activity, nonetheless were jeans. A thin cashmere sweater was pulled over a crisp white blouse. Yvonne was walking hounds, but she still looked like a model.