Рита Браун - Crazy Like A Fox

“Tallyho,” Tootie whispered, and laughed.

“Miss Harris, I need to get back, untack, and turn out. But I wanted to see you and I hope I haven’t frightened you. I can’t very well call upon you until I get this thing settled.”

“Well, you can call me Tootie.”

“Weevil.” He grilled a rakish grin. “But I promise you will know everything.”

“You aren’t going to kill anyone, are you? This is so peculiar, unnerving.”

“Well, that’s the point—and I will draw out the game. Not much longer. You have no reason to do so, but trust me.”

She looked into his eyes. “I do trust you. I owe you, and if I can help you, I will.”

“You don’t owe me anything and I truly pray you don’t have to help me. You said you trust me and that lifts my heart.” He grinned again. “Good hunting.”

He melted back into the path, asking for a trot. He was the most relaxed, fluid man on a horse she had ever seen.

Then hounds rushed up the road, now out of the woods, right on Uncle Yancy’s line. Tootie drew near the graveyard; she stayed well away from it, but where she was pleased Shaker. Sure enough, hounds ran the circle around the house, ran to the graveyard, leapt up the wall, leapt down, moved through the graveyard and back out again, and then were stymied.

She smiled. How smart of the fox to draw them out, then retrace his steps. She heard Weevil’s voice in her head: I will draw out the game.

When? Where? How? And what was the game?

CHAPTER 29

Crawling along in the Continental, Yvonne driving, the two women listened intently.

“Heading toward the old home place.”

“Yours?” Yvonne inquired.

“Um-hum. The Lorillards were free blacks, and way back in 1790, the men all became blacksmiths, much in demand. After All wasn’t much at the time. We worked in Pattypan Forge as well as traveled to stables. A skilled metalworker commanded good money and respect.”

“Can you imagine life without cars, airplanes, trains? Not much noise. Well, birds and stuff.”

Aunt Daniella smiled. “And a blacksmith’s hammer. Things were different down here from Chicago. We—the Lorillards, the Laprades, the Davises whom you haven’t met—descend from families older than most of the white people’s. They might have seen us as beneath the salt but we certainly didn’t feel that way.”

“Do you think we will ever know our history? The true history of our country?”

Aunt Daniella, ear tuned to the outside, murmured, “No. History is twisted by whoever is in power or wants power. That’s why it’s important to know your family, your people, your neighbors.”

Yvonne considered this. “Yes. Even in a huge city like Chicago, once the second largest city in America, you have your family.” She sat up straighter. “Who is that? Someone leaving early?”

Aunt Daniella recognized Weevil, although she didn’t recognize Clipper. “Heading back to the stables. Maybe the horse threw a shoe. Happens. He’s an old friend.”

Yvonne smiled. “He looks like a young friend.”

Aunt Daniella folded her hands in her lap. “Honey, it’s a long story for a snowy night. Move on a bit, they’re going to swing out from Pattypan Forge, and you’ll see my childhood home. Has a charm to it.”

Yvonne rolled along in second gear as Aunt Daniella turned and watched Weevil stop at the stables, dismount, and whip the tack off Clipper in the blink of an eye.

What’s he up to? she wondered, then spoke: “Stop. They’ll pop out in front of you. There’s a little trail.”

Yvonne stopped. Sure enough out came hounds, moving briskly. She saw Betty out of the corner of her eye, moving on a trail to the right in the woods. Then those woods ended, and Betty took a coop into a well-kept pasture, a few big hay rolls dotting the green.

“How old is she?”

“Betty? Fifties. Early fifties. A low-key rider. Draws no attention to herself, but she gets the job done.” Aunt Daniella said this with praise. “Here comes Shaker.”

All business, Shaker reached the road and turned left, moving at a collected canter. Hounds were speaking but not screaming. The line, good, wasn’t red hot.

“Where’s Tootie?”

“She should be on our left. She might have moved on, since it’s best to clear the woods on the left. Someday, get your daughter to take you back to Pattypan Forge. Quite interesting, and the heavy enormous furnace from 1792 is still there, along with some old tools hung on the walls.”

“I’d like to see it. I must say being here I’m not always sure what century I’m in.”

Aunt Daniella laughed, then ordered, “Okay, last of the field has passed us. You can creep forward.”

The blue car inched forward, the Lorillard house came into view, and the hounds circled the house, hopped on the graveyard wall—did exactly what Uncle Yancy planned for them to do. Tootie sat quietly on the other side of the graveyard.

“What a lovely house.” Yvonne admired the white clapboard home, old slate roof intact, front door painted marine blue, as were the shutters.

“Memories.” Aunt Daniella smiled. “All of us rest in that graveyard. Mother. Father. My sister Graziella and my son Mercer. I expect soon it will be my turn.”

“I hope not” came the swift reply.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Aunt Daniella asked as hounds leapt back out of the graveyard.

“People have spoken of them for thousands of years in every culture. There must be something to it. I’ve never seen one.”

Having just seen Weevil ride out of the woods, Aunt Daniella smiled. “Not that you know. Here’s what I think—oh, look at young Pickens. Head under the front porch, butt in the air.”

“You know the hounds? How can you remember them?”

“I know some of them, thanks to Gray or Sam occasionally driving me along a hunt. Where was I? Ghosts. Yvonne, there is so much we don’t know, but we’re a nervous lot. We want answers. We want things tied in a bow, so whoever comes up with a convincing answer pacifies the rest, even if it’s false.”

“God help anyone who disturbs the status quo.” Yvonne enjoyed watching Shaker dismount, speak to his hounds, and convince Pickens to leave the front porch. “Think of Galileo.”

“Well, here’s the thing. Galileo. Copernicus. Men who shook up the status quo. Yes, the earth moves around the sun. Big deal. We can plant, plan, live just as well thinking the sun revolves around the earth.”

“Can’t do space travel that way,” Yvonne answered.

“Honey, firing men up in rockets seems an expensive way to get rid of them.” Aunt Daniella’s eyes twinkled.

Yvonne laughed, happy to be in irreverent company.

Then the old lady remarked, “Gray and Sam have repainted the house, done quite a lot of work inside. Speaking of men, they are good men, but I’m prejudiced.”

“Good men and good-looking.” Yvonne smiled.

“Never hurts, does it?”

“That fellow riding back to the barn. Good-looking.”

“Oh, Yvonne, that he is.” She took a deep breath. “Now Shaker has to figure out what to do next. Temperature is rising. The fox is in his den. What next?”

Shaker drew back along the road but scent proved spotty. Really the day was done, but he stayed out another hour, hunting and pecking, then finally rode back to the trailers.

Clipper, in his pasture, wished he could have finished the hunt. His coat, a rich dark bay, shone in the sunlight. Weevil had wiped him down, picked out his hooves, and turned him out.

And, as usual, Weevil vanished, but not before blowing “Going Home.”

Tootie and Betty loaded hounds on the party wagon with Shaker. Sister, being Master, fielded chat, inquiries from members, as did Walter.