Outfoxed (6 page)

CHAPTER 9

Sister was full of surprises. She walked out into the Sunday drizzle just as Cody Jean Franklin pulled into the kennels. Cody was furious about Doug dumping her at her door. She'd had a whole night to get even more angry.

“Cody,” Sister called out, Raleigh at her heels.

Cody turned, her baseball cap low over her eyes. She pushed the cap back. “Good morning. You must have gone to church early this morning.”

“Six-thirty service. I get claustrophobic sitting there with the eight o'clock rush. Where are you working now?”

“Freelancing. I catch a ride in the mornings and work at Shear Power in the afternoons. I quit waiting on tables.”

“I didn't know you could cut hair.”

“I'm the receptionist.”

“Cody, what's wrong with you?” Sister bore down. “Learn the print business. Your parents spent their whole lives building that business. It hasn't made them rich but they paid for their home and sent you to college, and Jennifer will go, too.”

“Jennifer can run the business.” Cody feared Sister, but then most people did have a touch of fear about the dynamic old lady. “I'm not cut out for that.”

“Well, what are you cut out for? You're twenty-five. You can't just do nothing.”

“Not quite twenty-five.”

“Don't quibble. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You must have a special interest.”

“Horses.”

Sister whistled to Raleigh, who had walked on ahead. He hurried back. “Hard way to make a living but if you love it, truly love it, then do it. You've only got one life and you spend most of it working. Do what you love. I did.”

“You had Mr. Arnold.” Cody showed some backbone.

“I didn't start life with Raymond. I taught geology at Mary Baldwin College. Of course, I graduated with a degree in English but they needed a geology teacher so I learned. Funny, it's helped me so much in hunting. Anyway, I worked. I taught even after Raymond and I were married. That was long before your time. I stopped when I had the baby. So there. Find something you like and stop wasting your life.”

“I wish I knew. You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy. You're waiting for someone to live your life for you, Cody.”

“I'm not. I'm a little, uh, rudderless right now.”

“I'm talking to you because no one else will.”

“Guess they're talking behind my back.”

“This is a small town. The time to worry is when they're not talking about you.”

Cody laughed. “That's one way to look at it.”

“There's a rabbit over there.”
Raleigh could see it hop off in the drizzle.

Sister put her hand on the sleek black head. “I don't have any cookies.” She returned her attention to Cody. “I'm glad you came out to help with the hounds.”

Cody pretended she was there for hound walk. “They need to go out.”

“Missed a day hunting. Do you know last year I only canceled twice. Twice. And here it is cubbing and I've already canceled once.”

“The weather is—” Cody shrugged.

“Have your parents talked to you? About direction, I mean.”

“Dad huffs. Mother is sympathetic.”

“I see.”

“I don't want to leave here. There's more opportunities in Richmond but I love it here by the mountains. I'd rather bump along than move there or go down to Charlotte.”

“Charlotte is totally unrecognizable to me.” Sister recalled the small textile town in North Carolina from her youth. “Here I've peppered you with questions but I haven't provided any answers. Can't, you know. Has to come from you.”

“Well, when Jennifer gets out of college I think we'll start our own business. Maybe if she really takes over Mom and Dad's business I could work with her. I'm hoping—” She broke her train of thought and couldn't quite get back to it.

“Will you go out Tuesday?”

“I'm trying a new horse for Fontaine. Could be a rodeo show.” Cody pulled her cap down again.

“Ride in the back of the field, then.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And Cody . . .”

“Ma'am?”

“You can't drown your sorrows. They know how to swim.”

CHAPTER 10

Chickens amused Peter Wheeler. He'd built a sturdy chicken coop with a pitched roof, bought steel broody boxes, and built little ladders for them to perch on when not nestled in the boxes.

He fed them in the mornings, then returned at sundown to count heads, refill the water bucket, pluck eggs from the boxes.

Long ago he ran cattle, kept a few sheep, had hundreds of chickens, and grew hay as well. He'd always kept four horses, since he loved hunting.

Children found their way to Peter. Doug Kinser wound up there. The Lungrun children would come after school, as they desperately needed a happy atmosphere. Children walked over from surrounding farms or hitched rides out from town.

Age wore him down. In his eighties now, Peter had only the chickens left and a well-built harrier named Rooster.

He'd sold his business, a tractor dealership, for quite a bit of money, so his declining years were not attended by that poverty sadly common among the elderly.

He stooped a bit but still had thick wavy white hair plus all his teeth.

Often “his kids” would drive down the country road to visit him. He'd go into town on Wednesdays to see old friends.

Like many old people, he looked forward to chatting with anyone who dropped in.

He heard a truck rumble up to the house.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called out.

“In the henhouse,” he answered.

The door pushed open; Sister hugged him. “You love these damn chickens.” She leaned over. “Hi there, Rooster.”

“Hi.”
He wagged his tail.

“Imelda, here”—he lifted up a plump chicken—“has turned into my best layer.” He gave Sister the egg basket.

“Wish it would stop raining.”

“Has been wet.” He handed her about a dozen eggs as he walked down the broody boxes. “I've got plenty. You take those home.”

“Thanks.” She reached in, feeling the warm brown eggs. “Peter, has Fontaine contacted you?”

“Wants to buy the place. Crawford, too. The numbers go up and up.”

“Fontaine doesn't have money anymore. Don't let him carry you fast.”

“Do I look like a fool?”

“No. In fact, you look quite handsome.”

“Bullshit. Fontaine says he has investors. Crawford has cold hard cash. Both say they want to save the farm from developers. I say they're both liars of the first water. What do you say?”

“Suspicious.”

“And then some.”

“Good money?”

“Yes. Crawford started at one-point-five million and is up to two-point-seven. Fontaine says to give him until November and he'll come up with three million.”

“Jesus.”

“For a nature conservancy. I asked for papers, contracts, conservation easements. Crawford had them. Now, sugar pie, they look good, but any decent lawyer will spot the loopholes. Sounds like Wheeler's Mill Estates to me.” He laughed.

“That's a lot of money.”

“I'm too goddamned old to enjoy it but I like the action. Used to love to make deals in my youth—my sixties and seventies.”

“Do they know they're competing?”

“They do.” He laughed louder. “Lord, it's fun. Those two boys hate each other.” He wrapped his arm around her. “Come on to the house. You look peaked, honey.”

“I was scared you might sell.”

“Come on.”

They went inside, drank a little sherry, and laughed at all the things people know about one another and their community when they've lived together a long time.

She checked her watch. “I'd better head out.”

“Janie, I still love you. I want you to know that.”

“I love you, too.”

“Ever wonder what would have happened if we could have married?”

“I'd be feeding chickens.” She laughed, then said, “Life's strange.”

“It is that.”

The fleeting image of the Grim Reaper jolted Sister. She said, “Peter, if I had to do it all over again I wouldn't change a thing. You know when Ray Junior died I thought God was punishing me for our affair. Then time passed and I thought differently.”

“God doesn't punish us for love. Only people do that.”

“Well, I loved you. I'll always love you. I guess I was a good wife but not a faithful one.”

“You were a good wife. I just wish I'd found you before Ray did. I never hated him. He was too good a man. He had his Achilles' heel. We all do. But he was a good man.”

“You, too.”

“I guess we took what we could. Maybe that's all anyone can do.” His voice grew stronger. “My time is coming. I feel well enough but I know my time is coming. I wanted you to know I love you.”

She kissed him good-bye and cried the whole way home.

CHAPTER 11

The rain finally stopped Sunday night. The grays emerged from their den, making straight for the cornfield on the east side of Hangman's Ridge. The year, rich in gleanings, kept everyone happy.

In a few weeks the young would disperse to find their own territory, their own mates. Males might travel as far as 150 miles. Females usually remained closer to their place of birth.

Butch and Mary Vey had a small litter this year, only four. One little gray male had been carried away by a large hawk its first time out of the den. The other was sickly and died. Inky and Comet, half-grown, stayed healthy. Both parents taught them how to hunt, what to hunt, how to dump hounds, how to cross the road. In preparation for leaving home they now hunted on their own.

Inky traveled to the edge of the cornfield. She'd eaten so much corn, she sat down. A rustling through the corn, not the light wind, made her crouch low.

A huge male red fox appeared, saw Inky, and said,
“Oh, it's you.”
Without further conversation he moved on.

Inky sat up and blinked. The red fox,
Vulpes vulpes,
as he preferred to be called, felt the gray inferior. This particular male, Target, had an especially splashy white tip on his tail. He was easily recognizable to humans, too. He'd been around for years.

Target's entire family, four kits, also half-grown, were out hunting, as well as his mate, his sister, and her mate. The reds—a numerous, querulous clan—kept themselves busy, so they rarely spoke to anyone else. They feared no one, not even the bobcats, mountain lions, and bears, quite numerous in central Virginia, since the Blue Ridge Mountains provided food and safety.

As to foxhunters and their hounds, not only did the reds have no fear, they delighted in exhausting and then maiming their foe. Few sounds were as lovely to a red's ears as the sound of a human breaking bones.

If the hounds picked up a gray fox, the reds generally ignored the chase, concentrating on sunning themselves or going into their den and sleeping.

The grays could take care of themselves. They ran in smaller circles than the reds, some of whom might run straight for miles. Grays also perfected a figure eight, a maneuver incorporating sharp turns and practiced dives into other creatures' dens. This confused the hounds and infuriated the animal receiving the unexpected caller. However, there was little choice but to entertain the gray until the hounds were called off by the huntsman and cast in another direction. Since the grays were smaller than the red fox, they could squeeze into all manner of hiding places. They also climbed trees, a trick the reds thought much too catlike. Reds intensely disliked cats, who competed for the same game but who also sassed them.

The grays weren't overfond of cats but a feline insult was shrugged off. The reds, proud of their position, felt most animals owed them obeisance.

Inky learned these things from her parents and from experience. She looked overhead as Athena, the large owl, silently glided by. Athena, a deadly hunter, would swoop down, talons outstretched, before her prey knew what hit them.

Inky didn't fear Athena. The owl was civil. Since the fox, red and gray, has no natural enemies, they didn't need to worry about anyone wishing to eat them. Only the small kits were game, and that was usually for hawks or vultures. In droughts or hard times the vultures became aggressive, even attacking newborn calves.

Athena's nemesis was St. Just, the king of the crows. They rarely saw one another, since the crow was a daytime creature, but if he caught sight of Athena, St. Just would harass her even though she was four times his size.

The person St. Just hated above all others was Target. The big red had killed St. Just's mate, eating her with a flourish.

Inky sat there, the moist earth filled with enticing messages. October kept all creatures busy. The bears would soon hibernate, so they were eating everything they could. The squirrels gathered more and more nuts, often forgetting where they stashed them. Everyone prepared for winter. Even the humans cut firewood, put up storm windows, and changed the antifreeze in their cars.

Although it was early, Inky considered going home to sleep. However, she thought an apple might be nice for dessert even though she was full. She nosed out of the corn, sniffed the wind, then headed at a ground-eating trot up to the top of Hangman's Ridge. From this spot she could see most of the valley. Even Whiskey Ridge, running parallel to the north, was a bit lower. The criminals hanged from the oak tree could have been seen from below. This must have proved a potent warning. The last hanging occurred in 1875, when Gilliam Norris was strung up. He'd killed his entire family—mother, father, two sisters, and a brother—with a service revolver. When the sheriff came to arrest him, Gilliam shot him, too. Took fifteen men, including the sheriff from the next county, to bring Gilliam in. People said he'd lost his mind in the war.

Inky heard that story, passed from generation to generation. The first victim of the tree was Lawrence Pollard in 1702. An intrepid man, an explorer and founder of towns, Lawrence indulged in land speculation, as did many colonists. He was selling acreage in the Shenandoah Valley, the deal went bust, and Lawrence's investors strung him up without judge or jury.

From her vantage point Inky could see the Arnold farm, the barn and kennels and the understated two-story brick house painted white with Charleston-green shutters surrounded by oaks and maples of enormous size. At the edge of the expansive lawn was a small apple orchard. Peach and pear trees were around the house for decoration as much as for fruit. The orchard, though, was laid out in neat rows.

Inky swooped down the ridge, ran across a downed log over Broad Creek, and was happily in the middle of the orchard in fifteen minutes.

Raleigh, whom she knew by sight, was in the house. Golliwog, however, was in the orchard.

“I'll tell the hounds you're here.”

“They can't get out,”
Inky replied.

“They can make a helluva racket. The humans will get up.”

“I'll be gone by that time, they'll be in a bad mood, and you're the one that has to listen to them,”
Inky sensibly said.
“I only want one apple. I'm not going to poach your game.”

Golly arched her long eyebrows.
“How can you eat fruit?”

“It's good.”

The cat shook herself.
“Well, get your apple and get out.”

Inky snatched a small, sweet apple that had just fallen, then darted out of the orchard, passing the kennel on her way home. The hounds were snoring.

She stopped, apple in her mouth. She put the apple down for a moment and turned. Golly had climbed up into one of the apple trees at the edge of the orchard. She'd heard that the house cat was smart and no friend to foxes. Figuring she was ahead of the game and not wishing further to irritate the calico, Inky picked up the apple. As she walked by the separate runs, Diana, sleeping outside since the rain had stopped, opened one eye, then both eyes, sitting up with a start.

She opened her mouth, but Inky dropped her apple and quickly pleaded,
“Don't. It will set everyone crazy.”

Diana walked to the fence.
“You're the black fox—“

“You stuck your nose into my den. I've come for an apple and I'll be on my way. I didn't even go near the chicken coop. All's well.”

“You know if I were out of here I'd chase you to the James River,”
Diana bragged.

“Ha. I'd run circles around you and you wouldn't even know it.”

Diana cocked her head to one side.
“I love the chase. Do you?”

“For about fifteen minutes. Then I have better things to do. The reds like it more than we grays, I think.”

“This is my first season. I guess I'll find that out.”
Diana blinked and lowered her head to be closer to the fox.
“I've been doing okay with cubbing, though, and last year, when I was a puppy, Shaker and Sister walked us every day and sometimes they laid down scent to help us. I think I know what to do if I can concentrate. I lose my concentration sometimes.”

“This is my first year, too, so I only know what my parents have told me and cubbing . . . I like cubbing. It was funny when you stuck your nose in the den. My brother wanted to bite you. He's like that.”
Inky giggled.

“Glad he didn't. My nose is very sensitive.”

Golly backed down the apple tree. She sauntered toward the kennel.

“I'd better go. She gave me a fair warning.”

Diana pricked up her ears.
“Golliwog can be very fierce. She scares me.”

“You know we will all be leaving our dens in a few weeks. Right about the time of opening hunt. There will be good runs then. You'll have fun. My dad says opening hunt is like a three-ring circus. I'm going to climb a tree and watch.”

“Where will you go?”

“Already found my place. On the other side of Broad Creek. There's so much corn and game, my father said it's all right to live close. He said if hard times come then I might have to push on.”

“I'm nervous about opening hunt,”
Diana confessed.

“Stay away from the people. And if you're on Target, the huge red with lots of white tip, be real careful. He's very smart. My father says he's incredibly smart but cruel. Target will try to lead you to your death. His son, Reynard, can be cruel, too.”
Diana shuddered so Inky added,
“Stick to a hound that knows what she's doing. You'll be safe then.”

“Thank you.”

“I'll wave if you go by.”
Inky giggled again, then picked up her apple and skedaddled, for Golly was bearing down on her, picking up speed.

The imposing calico stopped.
“Diana, you're loose as ashes. You can't believe one word from a fox's mouth.”

Diana dropped her head.
“Yes, ma'am.”

Satisfied that she had imparted wisdom as well as put that lower life-form, the hound, in her place, Golly strolled, tail swaying to and fro, back to the main house. The night was too damp for her. She was going in the house to snuggle up next to Sister, who was sound asleep. She might clean off her muddy paws and then again she might not. Walking across the old Persian carpets so prized by Sister would get the mud off fast enough.