Рита Браун - The Hounds And The Fury

Hot coffee, hot tea, hot soup, hot dogs, and hamburgers warmed everyone.

“Ronnie, that is the classiest thing any member has ever done.” Xavier held up a Styrofoam cup to toast him.

The others joined in.

Ronnie, shoulder to shoulder with Sister, asked, “Does Gray want my job?”

“No; do you want out of it come May?”

May 1 was the general meeting date on which master or masters were elected, along with administrative officers.

“No.”

“Are you baiting me?” She smiled at Ronnie, two inches shorter than herself, whose turn-out was always impeccable.

“A little.” He grinned, for he loved gossip, any manner of personal information. “Isn’t this his first day at Garvey’s?”

“It is,” she laughed. “You’ll notice Garvey is here, so he doesn’t have to deal with it.”

Jason, who had devoured an entire bowl of chili and was glowing from the warmth, joined the conversation, “I’ll probably have to prescribe tranquilizers for Iffy this afternoon.”

Ronnie’s eyebrows raised. “She’s always been high maintenance.”

Jason thought a moment. “Even people who aren’t high maintenance can become that way if they’re sick or injured.”

Sister agreed. “People need extra reinforcement.”

“Attitude.” Ronnie pronounced judgment. “Attitude is everything.”

“Medicine helps,” Jason wryly smiled.

Betty walked over. “Ronnie, spectacular idea!”

“Thank you.”

She turned to Sister for a moment. “The weatherman predicts the temperature will climb into the high fifties tomorrow. All this will start to melt, then freeze over every night. But he said it will be a short January thaw.”

“I know.” Sister frowned. “If it’s really bad, I’ll cancel Thursday’s hunt, but I’m not going to worry about it until seven Thursday morning.”

She put changes to the day’s hunting on the Huntline two hours before the time posted on the fixture card.

“This will take a long time to melt.” Jason looked around at the dazzling snow.

Ronnie noticed Xavier on the other side of the small knot of people. “His lordship commands my presence.”

“You’re awful.”

“Speaking of high maintenance.” He winked at Betty as he excused himself.

“Jason, I heard you’ve made an offer on Paradise?” Sister asked. Ben hadn’t said this was privileged information, so she felt free to bring it up.

“Put down the earnest money last night.” Triumph illuminated his face.

“Paradise? DuCharme’s Paradise?” Betty couldn’t believe her ears.

“The same.” Jason’s lad cap added a jaunty air to his presence.

“How did you ever get those two nitwits to come to the table?” Betty blurted it out.

“Well, one came to the operating table. He credits me with saving his life.” Jason tried to sound humble.

“That may explain Alfred’s cooperation, but what about Binky?” Betty’s curiosity flipped into the red zone.

“Milly worked on him. No contingencies in the offer. No financing. She knows they’ll never see an offer like this again. They can’t afford to run a place that big. Don’t think Margaret, when it passes to her, can afford it, either. The far fields are going down. The houses they live in aren’t in great shape, either. This is an answered prayer for the DuCharmes.”

Betty reached for a hot dog and hot coffee. She wasn’t sure it was an answered prayer. However, she simply asked, “Have you signed a contract?”

“Two weeks from now. Both parties wanted their lawyers to read it. Cut and dried, but we’ll go through the lawyer song and dance.” He paused, eyes down, then up quickly. “Both said Margaret had to agree. I made the offer New Year’s evening, and I haven’t talked to her yet.”

“Five thousand acres,” Sister said in wonderment.

“Plans?” Betty knew she was being nosy.

“I’m going to work from old photographs and restore Paradise.”

“Those stone barns are beautiful. The slate on the roofs held up.” Sister lusted after stone.

“What shell remains is better than I’d hoped, even though it looks like a war relic.” He laughed. “I know I can restore the outside of Paradise. The interior will be the challenge.”

“What a fabulous project.” Sister meant that, but she was equally glad she wouldn’t be doing it. She wondered exactly what was in that contract, noting he didn’t utter the dreaded word “development.”

“Meant to ask you”—Betty touched the blackthorn crop he carried on informal days—“where’d you get that?”

“A present from Iffy.” He paused. “She can be very thoughtful, but she gives me too much credit. She wanted to be well.” He paused again for effect, then smiled. “Do you two ladies believe the story about the treasure at Paradise? From the War of 1812. I’ve heard more than one version.”

“I do.” Betty flatly stated. “It’s there.”

“I’d like to.” Sister smiled.

“Which version do you all subscribe to?”

The two women looked at one another, then Betty spoke. “We always heard that Sophie Marques, a maternal I don’t know how many greats-grandmother, raided a pay wagon for the British somewhere on the Bladenberg Pike. Anyway, she came here rich as a queen and bought all the land we know as Paradise. Before Sophie it was virgin timber. She created every pasture you see, sited every barn and outbuilding.”

Sister interjected, “She built a little house on it, a two over two. She lived in it while she created Paradise. What she didn’t spend she buried.”

“Why?” He shrugged.

“Didn’t trust banks. She’d seen too many collapse,” Sister responded.

“You’re telling me that the ancestor of those two yokels was a highwaywoman?” Thus he revealed his disdain for Binky and Alfred, who weren’t exactly yokels.

“Well…yes.” Betty hedged a moment. “The story goes that she worked throughout Maryland during the war as a spy. A pretty woman, she used her wiles to extract information from British officers. After serving her country for no pay she made one big haul in 1814 and had the wisdom to repair to Virginia.”

“Make a great movie.” He laughed.

“I expect there’s a good story about every old place in Virginia.” Betty took it for granted.

Jason’s cell rang. “Excuse me.” He walked to his trailer. Amid the hubbub of conversation he could not be heard, but Sister noted the expression on his face.

He finished the conversation, closed the phone. “Iffy.” He sighed. “She’s feeling shaky. Says Gray is making her sick.” He paused. “I don’t know if one’s emotional state can trigger cancer. I doubt it, but I do know we all do better if we’re stable.”

“Can she truly recover from lung cancer? Excuse me. I realize a doctor can’t discuss a patient. I apologize,” Betty asked.

He waved it off. “Her tumor is gone. Starved, to put it in layman’s terms. The danger for Iffy is if the tumor was able to seed itself. Despite all our advances, we don’t always know that. It’s one of the reasons I continue to run tests on Iffy. But she has an excellent chance for survival. Her work now has to be with a physical therapist. The treatments debilitated her more than most people. But let’s face it; they’re unpleasant for anyone.” He waited a moment. “Speaking of time, I could begin walking out hounds in February. That gives me time to adjust my schedule. Will that work for you?”

“Yes.” Sister’s shoulders stiffened.

“Make me a whipper-in, and you’ll see Paradise.” He beamed.

She didn’t quite know whether this was an offer or a bribe. “Jason, I see paradise each time I hunt,” she said good-naturedly.