Рита Браун - The Tell-Tale Horse

“Yes, but you know how that goes.”

He did. A hunt might have a litter of six really good hounds. One would get stolen, another lost in some fashion. One might develop an unexpected illness. Before you knew it, not much of that blood was left. “It’s a strong line, that D line. Delia put some wonderful puppies on the ground over the years. Cross with Asa was the best, I think.”

“Archie.” She named a hound killed by a bear, a hound dipped in gold, he was so superb.

“Right. Tell you what, we’d better never lose that Archie blood.”

“You know it goes all the way back to Piedmont blood through old Middleburg. Quite a journey through time, those bloodlines.” She cited two great northern Virginia hunts, each having made contributions to the upgrading of hounds and each still hunting outstanding packs of hounds to this day over some of the most beautiful country in the world.

One of the great things about Virginia was the depth of the hunting bench. Old Dominion, Fairfax, Loudoun, Warrenton, Casanova, Orange with their ring necks of Talbot tan, Deep Run, Farmington, Keswick, Rockbridge, Bull Run, to name a few ripping good hunts. A person could fall out of bed and land near a thunderous hunt.

“Plan’s a good one. Try tomorrow.”

“You bet.” She left the kennels and looked in at the stables where Tootie, Val, and Felicity worked.

“Good morning, Master,” all three sang out.

“Good morning, ladies.” She closed the barn doors behind her. “Aren’t you glad your father bought you that Jeep?” She addressed this to Valentina.

“Yes, ma’am. Otherwise we’d have to walk and it’s a hike.”

“We could hitch rides.” Tootie winked.

“Sure.” Felicity was filling the water buckets.

After a brief chat there, Sister walked back to the house. She invited the girls up for breakfast each day specifically, because they would not come on their own. Charlotte Norton drilled manners into her students. And many of them had endured the drill at home too. It would be presumptuous simply to arrive in Sister’s kitchen—although their presence was a daily delight to her.

“Good morning, darling.” Gray beamed at her.

“Back at you. A fresh pot.”

She poured her second cup. “The girls will be up in about forty minutes. I’ll start on cream of wheat now. I’m assuming you’ll want some.”

“Yes, ma’am. With orange-blossom honey.”

He continued to read the paper. No need to pull out honey and jams just yet. He’d set the table too. Gray liked small chores as well as big ones, and he wasn’t fussy about what was supposed to be women’s work or men’s. Work was work.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?” She ran water in a large saucepan.

“I’m not cut out for retirement.”

“You’re hardly retired, honey. You ran a special audit at Aluminum Manufacturing last month, and you just had a meeting with the Number Two guy at the IRS, most hated government agency in America.”

“For a while the Defense Department was running neck and neck,” he remarked. “I’ll always do consulting. But you know, accounting is what I’ve done all my life.”

“You’re the best. Why else would you receive the calls you do?”

He shrugged. “Thanks.” He paused. “I thought I’d start a small restoration business. Since Sam and I have been working on the old home place, I’m reminded of how much I love construction, especially historical places. Even one as simple as ours. The work is outstanding. Those heavy hand-hewn beams, does anyone do that anymore?”

“Well.” She considered this as she set the flame underneath the cream of wheat. “You have an eye. I guess finding a crew of artisans—I mean, they’d have to be more than construction workers—will be critical.”

“Will.”

“What about Sam?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you go into business with him?”

“No.” The reply was swift but not loud.

“Oh.”

He folded the paper in quarters, longways. “He’s a horseman. He should stick to horses.” He picked up his coffee cup, then put it back down. “He’s been really good at the house. We’re doing okay but, but Janie, I don’t know as I will ever trust my brother one hundred percent.”

“He’s been sober a year and a half—”

“I know.” Gray ran his forefinger over his salt-and-pepper military mustache. “He’s my brother. I love him but he’s an alcoholic. They slip back.”

“Gray, he drank Sterno down at the railroad station when he couldn’t get Thunderbird. He hit bottom. Showing him the way to Fellowship Hall was a great kindness on your part. He came through. Like many in recovery, he’ll probably never touch another drop.”

“I know.”

“Why am I standing up for him?” Sister pulled homemade bread from the breadbox. “He might not want to run a business.”

“That’s the other thing. I don’t know how much stress Sam can handle. Trying to make payroll during a lean month or two makes you sweat. I wouldn’t want to put him in a position where he might weaken.”

“Makes sense. So you’d do this by yourself?”

“Right now that’s my plan, but I’m still thinking it through. Tell you one thing. I’ve been researching software, cell phone contracts, and the like; my God, how does anyone cut through the bullshit?”

“I stick to my iMac and Alltel, which works except for some pockets and some days.”

“That works for you, but for a business I need something more sophisticated. Something different from what I use for accounting jobs. For reconstruction I need to see things in three dimensions; I need graphic capabilities as well as engineering.”

“Don’t look at me.” She laughed, then stopped herself. “You know who might know? Marion. She has a store computer system, but she bought a different one at home. She’s arty, you know, so I bet she can draw and do everything on her home system. Just an idea.”

“Good one.” He plucked out the news section. He’d been reading the sports page. “Look at this.”

A photo of our beautiful Lady Godiva was in the middle column. “My God, she was stunning.” Gray whistled. “She worked for Craig and Abrams, Washington office.”

Sister put her hand on his shoulder. “Craig and Abrams. That’s High Vajay’s old firm.”

“Wonder if he knew her. He’d be upset.” Gray continued to read the column.

“Does the paper say what her job was?”

“Research.”

“That covers a multitude of sins.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?”

CHAPTER 7

No.” Felicity clamped her lips tight.

Val, irritated, scrubbed harder at the bit, fine English steel, with a toothbrush. “You think they won’t find out.”

Tootie, weary of Val’s badgering, answered for Felicity. “She won’t see them until spring break. By then she’ll have it figured out.”

“By then she’ll look like she swallowed a pumpkin,” Val shot back.

“Shows what you know.” Felicity smiled slightly. “I’ll have a little bulge, but it won’t be bad. I need time to think.”

“You need to get to the doctor in the first trimester, I know that.” Val thought having a baby at seventeen was the most ridiculous, stupid, backward act in the world.

Tootie thought otherwise, although what mattered was what Felicity thought. “She’d need parental consent for an abortion.”

“We can forge their names. Show me a letter from your mother and father and I’ll start practicing. I’m good at art; this can’t be so different.”

“Val, you can’t mean that.” Felicity was scandalized.

“Of course I mean it. We’re all three going to Princeton together, and that’s that.”