Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

“I’ve been so busy this season, I haven’t been out once.”

“Freddie has reached that critical juncture in her practice where she needs to either take a partner or partners or cut back on work so she can enjoy life—which of course means foxhunting.” Sister leaned toward Freddie. “I mean it.”

Freddie was a certified public accountant. Gray thought highly of her.

“I’m sitting at the crossroads being a big chicken.” She sighed in agreement.

“If you don’t get off the crossroads you’ll be squashed. Listen to the sage of Roughneck Farm,” Sister teased.

“Funny, my image of accountants is of someone dull. I was wrong.” Jason assiduously avoided staring at her cleavage.

“I love accounting. I get to study businesses from the inside. I guess I’m a little like Sonny Shaeffer.” She nodded toward the florid-faced banker. “I know a little bit about every business, but perhaps not enough to run one.”

“Freddie, you could do anything you set your mind to because you’re so intelligent.” Sister meant that. She turned to make her exit so these two could discover one another but was nearly run over by Iffy, who hit her brakes.

Sister was pinned between Iffy on one side, Jason and Freddie on the other.

“Happy New Year.” Iffy appeared festive, although resentment bubbled beneath the surface.

“Happy New Year,” the others replied.

“Freddie, did you know that Jason is my doctor?”

“I did.”

“He saved my life. If you ever feel a lump anywhere, go to him.” She stared at Freddie’s bosom.

“I’ll bear your advice in mind, although I hope I never need it.”

Jason put his hand on Iffy’s shoulder. “I’ve never seen you so lit up.”

“How do you mean that?” Iffy sounded a little testy.

“The lights.” He pointed to her wheelchair. “If you all will excuse me, I’m going to find Gray.”

“He’s with Garvey.” Iffy’s lower lip jutted out. “And I’m mad at both of them.”

“Don’t stay mad long, Iffy; it’s New Year’s Eve. And I need you to back up.”

“Oh.” Iffy turned her head, beeped her horn, and backed up a tad as Binky and Milly DuCharme moved out of the way.

“Happy New Year,” Sister greeted husband and wife.

Binky, golden hair laced with gray, wrapped his arm around her waist. “Here’s to the two-faced god, Janus. He looks to the past; he looks to the future.” With that he gulped his champagne.

Milly, a less enthusiastic drinker, clicked glasses with her husband and Sister. “You look divine in that color.”

Sister, in royal blue, laughed. “Thank you, but I’m not divine, or I guess I’d be like Janus.”

Leaning very close, Milly whispered, “I don’t want to see the future.”

“Me neither,” Sister agreed.

“What’d you say, Honeybun?” Binky hadn’t caught the whispered conversation amidst all the noise.

“That it’s best for us not to know what tomorrow brings,” Milly chirped.

“We know to not count our chickens before they’ve hatched.” He laughed, then stopped. “One thing is consistent: Alfred.”

“Sometimes old wounds are lovingly tended.” Milly had lived with the situation since the middle seventies and felt justified in speaking her mind.

Sister, not wishing to criticize either brother, kissed both Binky and Milly on the cheek. “Whatever the year brings, I hope we stay healthy and thankful for our friends.” As she sidled through the crowd she thought to herself that the statute of limitations on youthful traumas had run out.

When she reached Gray and Garvey she noticed Iffy doing her best to butt into everything Jason and Freddie had to say to one another.

Garvey noticed, too. “I think she’s like a lot of women. She fell in love with her doctor.”

“Perhaps,” said Sister. Then she added, “Iffy’s motto is, ‘If I have made just one life miserable, I have not lived in vain.’”

Gray and Garvey laughed, for the sting of truth was in it.

“I’ll get my share.” Gray smiled.

“Hey, take mine, too. I’ve been on the short end of her stick for the last week.”

“Hopefully Iffy will bow to the inevitable. She’ll have her nose out of joint for a while about the audit, but it takes too much energy to stay angry,” Sister sighed. “She needs a positive outlet.”

“I thought Alfred was an outlet. Course he’s not here tonight, since Binky is.” Garvey looked over the room. Gray succinctly summed it up. “Iffy and Alfred are so used to being unhappy they don’t want to upset the status quo. They’re perfect for each other.”

Sister held up her champagne flute. The men touched theirs to hers, and the crystal chimed, a high, clear note. “Here’s to a New Year filled with new ways and old ways. Over solid bedrock the earth keeps shifting.” She knew the Blue Ridge bedrock was granite more than one billion years old. However, no need for her to be pedantic.

“Hear, hear,” the men toasted.

Then Garvey laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a geological toast. Makes me wish I’d been in your geology class at Mary Baldwin.”

“How about a toast from your profession?” Gray teased him.

“Put the pedal to the metal.” Garvey raised his glass.

“That was too easy!” Sister laughed at him.

“You didn’t say it had to be hard.” Garvey then looked to Gray. “Your turn.”

“Put your money in your head; no one can steal it from you there.”

Sister and Garvey clicked their glasses once more.

Meanwhile, Iffy drove right under Freddie’s bosom as if to find shade. It’s doubtful Iffy could have found a toast for the occasion, but she could have wedged her champagne flute in Freddie’s cleavage. Of course, Freddie could have used Iffy as an end table.

Ben Sidell, sheriff of the county, his back to Freddie, half turned and caught Jason’s eye. “Dr. Woods, Happy New Year. Iffy”—and he included Freddie when she turned round—“Happy New Year.”

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” Iffy blurted out, oblivious to the fact that the sheriff was entitled to a private life.

“I worked Christmas Eve and Christmas.” He smiled broadly. “Interesting hunt this morning.”

“Interesting hunt tonight.” The corner of Jason’s mouth turned upward.

Ben looked at Jason, then Freddie, then Iffy, and thought this a strange triangle. “I was wondering if any of you could introduce me to the lady standing by the fireplace.”

Champagne flute in hand, Dr. Margaret DuCharme leaned against the end of the fireplace.

Jason, unwilling to surrender his spot with Freddie, didn’t move.

Nor would Iffy.

Freddie, happy to ditch both of them, took Ben’s hand for an instant. “I’d be happy to.”

Iffy and Jason were abandoned to one another.

Iffy smiled. Jason’s eyes followed Freddie.

Meanwhile, Freddie, voice low, said, “She’s a sports medicine doctor. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but she must be very good because the Washington Redskins send her their wounded. Professional golfers fly in to see her, too.”

“Married?”

“To her work.”

As they drew closer Freddie stepped forward.

Margaret, diminutive and attractive, extended her hand to Ben. “I didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

The touch of her hand befuddled him. He stood there speechless.

Freddie, wise in such matters, chatted for a moment. “Everyone knows our sheriff.”

Ben recovered, dropping Margaret’s hand. She smiled. “If you two will excuse me.” Freddie skillfully slipped away.

Jason watched her every move from behind Iffy’s wheelchair.

People are like colors: they complement each other or they clash. Ben and Margaret complemented each other. Once Ben had regained his composure they talked easily, lighting up like the sparks flying in the fireplace. And the conversation veered from the superficial immediately. Their physical attraction was obvious. What a partygoer observing them couldn’t have known was that their minds were on fire.