Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Some Useful Terms
About the Author
Also by Rita Mae Brown
Copyright Page
Grab mane and kick on!
Dedicated to Mrs. Mary Tattersall O’Brien, M.D.
Honorary Whipper-in
Oak Ridge Foxhunt Club
CAST OF CHARACTERS
HUMAN
Jane Arnold, “Sister,” is the master of foxhounds of the Jefferson Hunt Club in central Virginia. She loves her hounds, her horses, her house pets. Occasionally, she finds humans lovable. Strong, healthy, vibrant at seventy-two, she’s proof of the benefits of the outdoor life.
Shaker Crown is the huntsman. He’s acquired the discipline of holding his tongue and his temper most times. He’s wonderful with hounds. In his early forties, he’s finding his way back to love.
Crawford Howard, a self-made man, moved to Virginia from Indiana. He’s egotistical, ambitious, and thinks he knows more than he does about foxhunting. But he’s also generous, intelligent, and fond of young people. His great disappointment is not being a father, but he never speaks of this, especially to his wife.
Marty Howard loves her husband. They’ve had their ups and downs but they understand each other. She is accustomed to sweeping up after him but she does this less than in the past. He’s got to learn sometime. She’s a better rider than her husband, which spurs him on.
Charlotte Norton is the young headmistress of Custis Hall, a prestigious prep school for young ladies. Dedicated to education, she’s cool in a crisis.
Anne Harris, “Tootie,” is one of the brightest students Charlotte Norton has ever known. Taciturn, observant, yet capable of delivering a stinging barb, this senior shines with promise. She’s beautiful, petite, African American, and a strong rider.
Valentina Smith is the class president. Blonde, tall, lean, and drop-dead gorgeous, the kid is a natural politician. She and Tootie can clash at times but they are friends. She loves foxhunting.
Felicity Porter seems overshadowed by Tootie and Val but she is highly intelligent and has a sturdy self-regard. She’s the kind of person who is quietly competent. She, too, is a good rider.
Pamela Rene seems burdened by being African American, whereas for Tootie it’s a given. Pamela can’t stand Val and feels tremendously competitive with Tootie, whom she accuses of being an Oreo cookie. Her family substituted money for love, which makes Pamela poor. Underneath it all, she’s basically a good person, but that can be hard to appreciate.
Betty Franklin is the long-serving honorary whipper-in at the Jefferson Hunt Club. Her judgment, way with hounds, knowledge of territory, and ability to ride make her a standout. Many is the huntsman who would kill to have a Betty Franklin whip in to him or her. She’s in her mid-forties, a mother, happily married, and a dear, dear friend to Sister.
Dr. Walter Lungrun, joint master of foxhounds of the Jefferson Hunt Club, has only held this position for a year. He’s learning all he can. He adores Sister and the feeling is mutual. Their only complaint is that there’s so much work to do, they rarely have time for a good talk. Walter is in his late thirties. He is the result of an affair Raymond Arnold Sr. had with Walter’s mother. Mr. Lungrun never knew or pretended he didn’t, and Sister didn’t know until a year ago.
The Bancroft Family. Edward Bancroft, in his seventies, ran a large corporation founded by his family in the mid-nineteenth century. His wife, Tedi, is one of Sister’s oldest friends. Tedi rides splendid Thoroughbreds and is always impeccably turned out, as is her surviving daughter, Sybil, who is in her second year as an honorary whipper-in. The Bancrofts are true givers in terms of money, time, and genuine caring.
Knute Nilsson is the treasurer of Custis Hall so he’s forever obsessing about the budget. He’s efficient, has kept the school in the black, and works well with Charlotte.
Al Perez combines two functions that dovetail, director of alumnae affairs and fund-raising. He’s well liked by everyone and a natural for the job. Others attribute his warmth and good nature to his Hispanic background.
Bill Wheatley nears retirement as head of Custis Hall’s theater department. The theater department (along with the riding program) is one of the best in the country for secondary schools. Bill has drive, imagination, and humor. But he’s seen education change drastically and he’s not sorry to be leaving.
Ben Sidel has been sheriff of the county for two years. Originally from Ohio, he sometimes needs help in the labyrinthine ways of the South. He relies on Sister’s knowledge and discretion.
THE AMERICAN FOXHOUNDS
Sister and Shaker have carefully bred a balanced pack. The American foxhound blends English, French, and Irish blood, the first identifiable pack being brought here in 1650 by Robert de la Brooke of Maryland. Before that, individual hounds were shipped over, but de la Brooke brought an entire pack. In 1785, General Lafayette sent his mentor and hero, George Washington, a pack of French hounds whose voices were said to sound like “the bells of Moscow.”
Whatever the strain, the American foxhound is highly intelligent, beautifully built with a strong sloping shoulder, powerful hips and thighs, and a nice tight foot. The whole aspect of the hound in motion is one of grace, power, and effortless covering of ground. They are “racier” than the English hound and stand perhaps two feet at the shoulder, although size is not nearly as important as nose, drive, cry, biddability. The American hound is sensitive, extremely loving, and has eyes that range from softest brown to gold to sky blue, although one doesn’t often see the sky-blue eye. The hound lives to please its master and to chase foxes.
Cora is the strike hound, which means she often finds the scent first. She’s the dominant female in the pack and is in her sixth season.
Diana is the anchor hound and she’s in her fourth season. All the other hounds trust her and if they need direction, she’ll give it.
Dragon is her littermate. He possesses tremendous drive, a fabulous nose, but he’s arrogant. He wants to be the strike hound. Cora hates him.
Dasher is also Diana and Dragon’s littermate. He lacks his brother’s brilliance but he’s steady and smart.
Asa is in his seventh season and is invaluable in teaching the younger hounds, which are the second “D” litter and the “T” litter. A hound’s name usually begins with the first letter of his mother’s name. So the “D” hounds are out of Delia.
THE HORSES
Sister’s horses are: Keepsake, a Thoroughbred/quarter horse cross, written TB/QH by horsemen. He’s an intelligent gelding of eight years.
Lafayette, a gray Thoroughbred, is eleven now, fabulously athletic, talented, and wants to go.
Rickyroo is a seven-year-old Thoroughbred gelding who shows great promise.
Aztec is a six-y
ear-old Thoroughbred gelding who is learning the ropes. He’s also very athletic with great stamina. He has a good mind.
Shaker’s horses come from the steeplechase circuit so they are all Thoroughbreds. Showboat, HoJo, and Gunpowder can all jump the moon, as you might expect.
Betty’s two horses are: Outlaw, a tough quarter horse who has seen it all and can do it all.
Magellan, a Thoroughbred given to her by Sorrel Buruss, is bigger and rangier than Betty is accustomed to riding, but she’s getting used to him.
Czpaka, a warm-blood owned by Crawford Howard, can’t stand the man. He’s quite handsome, not as quick as the Thoroughbreds, and when he’s had it, he’s had it. He’s not above dumping Crawford.
THE FOXES
The reds can reach a height of sixteen inches, a length of forty-one inches, and they can weigh up to fifteen pounds. Obviously, since these are wild animals who do not willingly come forth to be measured and weighed, there’s more variation than the standard cited above. Target, his spouse, Charlene, his aunt Netty and his uncle Yancy are the reds. They can be haughty.
A red fox has a white tip on the luxurious brush, except for Aunt Netty, who has a wisp of a white tip as her brush is tatty.
The grays may reach fifteen inches in height, be forty-four inches in length, and weigh up to fourteen pounds. The common wisdom is that grays are smaller than reds, but there are some big ones out there. Sometimes people call them slab-sided grays because they can be reddish. They do not have a white tip on their tail but they may have a black one as well as a black-tipped “mane.” Some grays are so dark as to be black.
The grays are Comet, Inky, and Georgia.
Their dens are a bit more modest than those of the red fox, who likes to announce his abode with a prominent pile of dirt and bones outside. Perhaps not all grays are modest nor all reds full of themselves but as a rule of thumb, it’s so.
THE BIRDS
Athena is a great horned owl. Horned owls can stand two and a half feet in height with a wingspread of four feet. They can weigh up to five pounds.
Bitsy is a screech owl and she is eight and a half inches high with a twenty-inch wingspread. She weighs a whopping six ounces and she’s reddish brown. Her considerable lungs make up for her stature.
St. Just, a crow, is a foot and a half in height, his wingspread is a surprising three feet, and he weighs one pound.
THE HOUSE PETS
Raleigh is a Doberman who likes to be with Sister.
Rooster is a harrier and was willed to Sister by her old lover, Peter Wheeler.
Golliwog, “Golly,” is a large calico and would hate being included with the dogs as a pet. She is the Queen of All She Surveys.
C H A P T E R 1
A shining silver shroud covered the lowlands along Broad Creek, deep and swift-running. The notes of the huntsman’s horn, muffled, made his direction difficult to determine. Three young women, students at prestigious Custis Hall, followed the creek bed that bordered a cut hayfield. A gnarled tree, bending toward the clear water as if to bathe its branches, startled them.
“Looks like a giant witch,” Valentina Smith blurted out.
They stopped to listen for hounds and the horn. Smooth gray stones jutted out of the creek, the water swirling and splashing around.
“Can you hear anything?” Felicity Porter, slender, serious, inquired.
“If we move away from the creek, we’ll hear better.” Valentina, as senior class president, was accustomed to taking charge.
Anne “Tootie” Harris, one of the best students at Custis Hall, was just as accustomed to resisting Valentina’s assumed authority. “We’ll get even more lost. Broad Creek runs south. It divides the Prescott land from Sister Jane’s land. If we keep going we’ll eventually reach the big old hog’s back jump in the fence line. If we turn right at that jump we’ll find the farm road back to the kennels.”
Angry that she hadn’t paid attention at the jump to where the rest of the riders disappeared into the fog, and now angry that she hadn’t paid attention to the flow of Broad Creek, Valentina growled, “Well, shit, Tootie, we could go into menopause before we reach the hog’s back jump!”
“One dollar, potty mouth.” Felicity held out her hand with grim satisfaction.
“Felicity, how can you think of the kitty at a time like this? We could be lost for days. Why, we could die of thirst and—”
“Val, we’re next to Broad Creek,” Tootie deadpanned.
“You two are ganging up on me.” Val tossed her head; her blonde ponytail, in a snood for riding, swayed slightly.
“No, we’re not.” Felicity rarely ran off the rails, her focus intense. “The deal when we started hunting with Jefferson Hunt was that each time one of us swore, one dollar to the kitty. I’m the bank.”
Valentina fished in her tweed jacket. “You’ll probably end up being a banker, F. I can see it now when you make your first million. You’ll count the money, put it in a vault, and not even smile.” She did, however, hand over her dollar.
Felicity leaned over to reach for the dollar, their horses side by side. She folded it in half, neatly sticking it in her inside jacket pocket. Felicity knew she wasn’t quick-witted. No point in firing back at Valentina.
With Felicity and Valentina it was the tortoise and the hare. With Tootie and Valentina it was the hawk and the hare, two swift-moving creatures with opposing points of view.
“Come on, I’ll get us back to the kennels,” Tootie promised.
In the far distance the hounds sang, voices ranging from soprano to basso profundo, from tenor to darkest alto. The heavy moisture in the air accounted for the variation in clarity. The girls would hear the hounds moving toward them, then it would sound as though the hounds were turning.
“Coach will tear us a new one.” Valentina did not reply to Tootie’s suggestion, speaking about the coach’s wrath instead.
“Coach? What about Mrs. Norton?” Felicity thought the headmistress’s disapproval would be more severe than Bunny Taliaferro’s, the riding coach, although Bunny naturally leaned toward censure.
“Wonder if they know we’re not with the field? I mean, it’s possible they’re still in the fog, too. Sister Jane would get really upset if she thought we were in trouble.” Valentina inhaled deeply. “If they don’t know, let’s swear never to tell.”
“The Three Musketeers.” Tootie half-smiled.
“All for one and one for all.” Valentina beamed.
“But you always manage to be first among equals, Val. It’s not exactly all for one and one for all. It’s all for Valentina and then maybe Val for all,” Tootie said, shooting a barb.
“Tootie, you can really be the African queen when you’re in a mood. You know?” Valentina raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, right.” Tootie, an exceptionally beautiful green-eyed African American, shrugged it off.
“Will you two get over yourselves? If we don’t find our way back, we’re in deep doo-doo. If we do find the field, we’re still in deep doo-doo but maybe not as deep.”
“Felicity, say shit and be done with it.” Val took out some of her discomfort on her sober classmate.
“One dollar.”
“I could learn to hate you.” Valentina fetched another crinkled dollar, fuming as Tootie hid a smile behind her gloved hand.
“Thank you.” This time Felicity snatched the money.
Hounds sounded as if they were swinging toward them; the notes on the horn played one long note followed by a series of doubled and even tripled notes, one long note, and the process was repeated.
“All on,” Tootie remarked.
Bunny Taliaferro drummed the basics of foxhunting into those students she selected as proficient enough to ride hard over big fences and uneven ground. The show-ring riders who panicked outside of a flat ring where they counted strides could never join the chosen few. This caused tensions because often the show-ring girls looked much prettier on a horse. Unfortunately, flying down a steep hill
usually meant they popped off their horses like toast. The sound of “ooff” and “ohh” punctuated the hoofbeats on those occasions.
Valentina, Tootie, and Felicity performed well in the show ring—they’d made the school team—but they excelled over terrain, so had earned the privilege to hunt. Each girl could handle sudden situations calling for split-second decisions, and each girl could usually keep a horse between her legs even when the footing was slick as an eel. What Bunny prized most about them was they were bold, keen, go-forward girls.
“All on and heading our way.” Felicity recognized the horn call, straining to make sure her ears weren’t playing tricks on her.
“Christ, they’ll all see us!” Valentina worried more about saving face than getting chewed out.
“One dollar.”
“Christ isn’t swearing.”
“Christ isn’t swearing. You are.” Felicity in a rare moment of dry humor held out her hand.
“Not fair.” Valentina bit her lip.
“Oh, pay up. You’ve got more money than God anyway,” Tootie half-laughed.
“Sure,” Valentina said sarcastically.
All of the girls came from wealthy families, but Valentina received the largest allowance and was the envy of the other students. To her credit she was generous.
She forked over the dollar bill.
“Look, they really are coming this way. Let’s slip back into the mists. We can bring up the rear right after they cross Broad Creek,” Tootie suggested.
“Fox could turn.” Felicity considered the gamble.
“Yes, but if he doesn’t, the crossing is up past the trees. We’ll hear them. If they turn, we’ll keep going until we find the hog’s back and then head toward Sister Jane’s.”
The kennels were at Sister Jane’s farm, Roughneck Farm. Jane Arnold had been master of the Jefferson Hunt Club for over thirty years. Her late husband had also been a master.
“Vote.” Felicity thought this would short-circuit Valentina’s protest since Valentina hated agreeing readily with Tootie.
“You don’t have to vote.” Valentina turned toward Tootie, the mist rising a bit, swirling around the beautiful girl. “It’s a good plan.”
The Hunt Ball Page 1
