Fox River (36 page)

The success of the opening meet itself was even more important. When Christian returned from seeing Pinky, Peter was waiting for him.

“You don’t need to tell me this is overkill, but I’m going to ride the land we’ll be hunting. Check the jumps one last time and see if there are any trouble spots we haven’t planned for.”

Christian was sure Peter knew every inch of the area the way a man knows a cherished lover’s body, but Peter was the successful man he was because he never left anything to chance. “Want some company?”

“I was hoping you’d volunteer.”

He caught Night Ranger and saddled him, then joined Peter in the stableyard. Peter Claymore, on a rangy bay named Jack’s Knife, was the quintessential horseman, straight yet relaxed in the saddle, his clothes casual but elegant, his tack glowing from hours of saddle soap, Neats foot oil and plain old elbow grease. He took exquisite care of his mounts and his own equipment. He never left important details to another living soul.

They rode in silence to the area where the opening breakfast would be held. Then they turned south from that point, passing beside newly plowed cornfields to follow a wooded trail that opened into a meadow replete with chicory and Queen Anne’s lace. They had purposely diverged from the course for the hunter’s pace. Having just ridden that way, the club expected and deserved a new venue. In the weeks to come they would hunt all over their territory.

“Once you finally taught Robby to enjoy riding, we often came this way,” Peter said. “Just the two of us.”

Christian doubted that “often” was accurate. Robby and his father had coexisted, but never with real warmth. He wondered if Peter had learned to accept his son’s death by deceiving himself about Robby’s life.

“I always thought Robby would succeed me as Master of Foxhounds,” Peter said. “It was the one thing I really wanted. My father was master, you know.”

Christian supposed he had known, although he hadn’t thought about it in years. “And after him Julia’s father.”

“Harry Ashbourne took over when my father died unexpectedly. And what a master Harry was. I wasn’t living at Claymore Park then, but I would come home to hunt as often as I could. And as good as my father was, Harry was that much better. He would take a jump and not a hair on his head would move. But he could be ruthless, too. He was a tyrant, our Harry. He could rant and rave, but he was always right, and we were better for it. An emotional man encased in steel.”

Christian wondered how much of her father Julia had inherited. “In those days Maisy rode with Mosby Hunt, didn’t she?”

Peter smiled. “She was an unlikely choice for Harry. Small-boned and delicate—”

“Maisy?”

“Oh, yes. She gained all that weight in later years. She was a lovely girl. More than a few young men wished they’d seen her first, I’ll tell you.”

Christian had to smile at that. So Maisy had been the belle of her day. He was glad to hear it. “Why was she an unlikely choice?”

“Well, Harry was older. A stern man, in his own way. A hawk. And Maisy was a butterfly. But for all their differences, they were perfectly matched. He adored her, although her riding skills exasperated him. She was a good rider by most people’s standards, but, of course, Harry’s standards were that much higher. I remember the way he used to watch her when she wasn’t looking at him. There was such pride, such devotion, in his eyes. He clearly would have given his life for her.”

Christian liked the idea of Maisy having a great love. Her marriage to Jake was solid and warm, but he was glad that early, in the bloom of youth, she had been swept off her feet.

“It was the saddest day in the history of Mosby Hunt when Harry was found dead in the woods,” Peter said.

A lot of years had passed since Christian had heard that story. He tried to remember. “He was riding alone?”

“Yes, and when he didn’t come home, his stablemen went out looking for him. His horse didn’t come home, either, but they found him, a big gray like Night Ranger, with his reins tangled in a thicket. He was wild with distress. It took three men to free and settle him. They knew then that something had happened to Harry. It took hours to track him down, even when they put the foxhounds to it. That’s not what they’re bred for, but one of the dogs finally did find him in the woods by the creek. He was lying on the other side of a particularly vicious jump on Ashbourne property, a jump most of us never tried when we hunted that way. But Harry always took it and always as if he were floating on air. His neck was broken. He must have died instantly.”

“That must be why Maisy closed Ashbourne.”

“Understandable, but not a suitable memorial to her husband.”

They rode for a while in silence along the remnants of an old logging road and beside a creek that fed into Jeb Stuart farther up the line. Peter got down to check a coop—a jump that really resembled a chicken coop—to be certain it didn’t need repairs. Christian didn’t know what Peter was thinking about as he examined the sturdy boards, but Christian was thinking of another ride with Peter.

“There’s a den not far from here,” Peter said when he got back into the saddle. “That’s one of the reasons I want to cast down by the creek at the opening meet. Would you like to see it? You should know where it is.”

“Do you have time? Didn’t you say you were going out this afternoon?”

“I have to ride back. But you go ahead.” Peter gave him directions. “I saw three cubs in the spring, but I never saw them again. I don’t know if they just didn’t make it or if they were moved to another location.”

“I’ll see if I can spot the den.”

Peter lifted his cap in salute, then started back toward Claymore Park. Christian turned and followed Peter’s directions, riding for another fifteen minutes beyond the coop.

He halted at the edge of the woods and dismounted, tying Ranger to finish the trip on foot.

At first he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The terrain was wooded and gently rolling, and he followed a path through brush and alongside the creek for a quarter of a mile until he reached a stand of luminous birch trees that Peter had told him to watch for. He scanned the immediate distance. Just as he was about to push forward again, movement fifteen feet to his right caught his eye.

A young gray fox—a teenager in fox years—was shifting sleepily on a flat rock bathed in sunshine, its sleek coat glistening. Christian drew a silent breath, but it was enough to alert the animal. It rose to all fours and stretched out its lithe body. Then it looked directly at him. Christian stood perfectly still. The fox waited; he waited. At last the fox turned and disappeared into the forest.

The last time he had seen a fox at such close quarters had been on the morning of Fidelity’s death. He and Peter had taken a ride together that day, too. And on the way they had come upon a younger fox than this one. At the time he hadn’t thought much about it. He’d expected small miracles in his life. He hadn’t known then that his trip with Peter that day would be his last ride as a free man for many years to come.

“I’ll have to remember this place,” Peter had said that day, as the young fox turned and scurried behind rocks. “Looks to me like a family’s living here somewhere.”

Christian and Peter had set out early for South Land, where Fidelity’s father had a mare he wanted to sell. Christian had been asked along for company and advice. He had taken the mare out for a ride while Frank and Peter discussed a price, then started back with Peter after the closing of the deal.

“They’re beautiful animals,” Christian said, hardly thinking about his own words. He was looking forward to a date with Julia that night. He had a million things to think about, but somehow Julia Ashbourne was always at the top of his list.

“Speaking of beautiful animals, did you know Miss Sutherland was out riding with my son this morning? On Firefall? Frank mentioned it. He was surprised you’d allowed it.”

“Firefall?”

Peter gave a dry laugh. “I see you didn’t know.”

Firefall was Christian’s newest project, a fiendish chestnut who had vast potential as a chaser and none at all as a pleasure mount. “Fidelity knows she’s not supposed to ride him. She’s seen me training him. She knows he’s green as grass.”

“Apparently that’s what appealed to her. And apparently my son didn’t know any better.”

“I’ll be sure to talk to her. Today.” Christian wasn’t surprised Fidelity had conned Robby into letting her ride the big hunter, but he was steaming silently. She’d risked both her own safety and Firefall’s, as well. If something had happened to Firefall, all his months of work with the hunter would have been for nothing. And if something had happened to Fidelity…

They were almost back to Claymore Park when Peter asked a troubling question. “Christian, did you ask Fidelity to have her father talk to me?”

Now Christian was completely in the dark. “About what?”

“Frank tells me you’ve been accepted to the University of Michigan for your final two years.”

In the spring Christian had begun to grow weary of working full-time and attending night classes, so he had applied to several universities. He had a 4.0 average and glowing recommendations from all his professors. One of them had highly recommended Michigan.

“It’s just one place I’ve been accepted,” he said. “I’m really hoping to go to the University of Virginia. I applied too late for scholarships, so now it’s just a question whether anyone who got one gives it up to go somewhere else.”

“Frank suggested that I write the Dean of Admissions at Michigan and give you a recommendation for complete financial aid. I’m an alum, you know.”

Christian did know, but he had purposely never brought up his future. He was determined to make it through college without anyone’s help. He had repeatedly turned down Peter’s offers of financial assistance, and even a recommendation had seemed like interference.

“I know my dad was a troubled man,” Christian said. “But one thing he taught me was to make it on my own. He never asked anyone for help, and neither will I.”

“If Gabe had asked for help, he might be alive today.”

Christian was surprised. It wasn’t like Peter to be so direct or personal.

“I’m going to write the dean,” Peter said. “Unless you tell me not to.”

Christian didn’t know what to say. Through the years Peter had been good to him. He had allowed Christian to stay on at Claymore Park, and even though Christian had worked in the stable when he wasn’t in school, he knew he could never make up his debt. He had been treated almost like family, and he didn’t want to offend Peter now.

“I like a man with pride,” Peter said, when Christian still hadn’t answered. “There’s too little of it around these days. Pride and honor are worth dying for. A man’s good name is all he really has.”

“Sir, I appreciate the offer more than I can say, but I guess I’m worried that with your help I might just get that money. Then I’d have to take it.”

Peter chuckled. “It’s Julia Ashbourne, isn’t it?”

Christian could feel his cheeks turning red. “Yes, sir.” And now that he thought about it, it surprised him Fidelity would try to ensure his admission to a distant university. If he ended up in Michigan, he would see little of Julia except for summers.

“I won’t write the dean, then. It sounds like Miss Sutherland’s been misled.”

“Misled?”

“Well, Frank conveyed to me that you and Miss Ashbourne were ready for a bit of a vacation from each other.”

Now Christian truly was mystified. “No, sir, we aren’t.”

“I have connections at UVA, you know.”

Christian was tempted, but in the end, he shook his head. “Thank you, but it will mean more to me if I get a scholarship on my own.”

“Everything comes too easily to most young people around here. No one can say that about you. I’m proud of you, Christian.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They had ridden the rest of the way back to Claymore Park in silence, and Christian had spent those minutes wondering what Fidelity had hoped to accomplish with her interference. He’d been angry to discover she’d taken Firefall without his permission. Now he was growing angrier.

He mulled over her interference for the rest of the day. Once he had taken care of the horses he still had chores to do in town, but afterward, he decided to swing by South Land and find out what was going on. Fidelity was up to something. And Fidelity, when she was up to something, was as unpredictable and dangerous as the horse she’d ridden without his permission.

He had been young and impatient. He had been anxious to see her and find out exactly what she was doing, so he could put a stop to it.

He hadn’t known, of course, what he would find instead.

M
idway through the afternoon, Julia sat in sunshine on the front porch, a ball of clay in her hands. Callie and Tiffany were playing with Clover in the yard, and between the children’s delighted squeals and the puppy’s vocal serenades, Ashbourne rang with music.

The screen door banged, and Maisy spoke from that direction. “They are having fun, aren’t they?”

“That puppy was the best present anyone’s ever given Callie.”

“May I join you?”

“Of course.” Julia could tell by the creaking of chains that Maisy had lowered herself to the porch swing. Julia had told Maisy early that morning about Christian’s discovery. Maisy had been relieved and uncharacteristically tactful about asking for details. Julia was glad, because last night’s scene did not bear repeating.

“What are you working on?”

“I don’t know.”

“A bust of someone?”

Julia smoothed the clay into a ball. No matter what she did, it seemed to form itself into a man’s head and face, at least in her mind. “I’m just keeping my hands busy.”

“How did your session go this morning?”

Karen had taken Julia to Warrenton for another go-round with Yvonne. Julia had let herself be hypnotized again, with the same results. She had been remarkably relaxed, and memories had flowed.

“We talked about Fidelity and the way I felt when I found out she’d been murdered.”

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound easy.”

Julia slapped the clay from side to side. “Do you know that Fidelity and I quarreled the night before she died?”

“Did you ever tell me?”

“It took hypnosis to make me remember.”

“Do you remember what you quarreled about?”

Julia began to mold the clay. “Christian and Robby.”

“That’s not uncommon, is it? Young women arguing about young men.”

“She thought I was stupid to tie myself down. I should be playing the field, the way she was. She told me Bard was interested, and she thought I ought to go out with him and see what happened. She just couldn’t understand that it was different for me, that I’d found the man I wanted.”

“Was it a serious argument?”

“Serious just wasn’t in her makeup.”

“Why were you quarreling about Robby?”

“Fidelity thought Robby needed more confidence.”

“That was certainly true. For a boy as smart as that one, he was remarkably inept around people.”

“Robby was so involved in his thoughts that when he came out of them once in a while, he’d missed a lot and didn’t know how to pick up the pieces.”

“A good analysis. But what was wrong with Fidelity building his confidence?”

“She was flirting with him. Nothing big time, but she said she thought if she made a fuss over him, he’d feel better about himself. Fidelity had no reservations about her own powers.”

“You can’t see me, but I’m shaking my head.”

Julia realized she was molding a man’s face again. She had pinched out a nose, smoothed spaces for eyes. She rolled the clay in her hands and dropped it on the table beside her. “We all knew Robby was trying to find his place in the sun. Fidelity believed in simple solutions, that’s all.”

“That girl needed a job.”

“She was after Christian, too, nagging him about going to a better college.”

“And that’s what you quarreled about?”

“She was like that all summer, making waves whenever she could to liven things up. I just got sick of it and told her to leave us alone.”

“So that was your last conversation.”

“She laughed it off. But I was angry when I left that day, and I told her so. I left in a huff. I wish I hadn’t. That’s not the way I want to remember our friendship.”

“How many times did you quarrel with old Fiddle-Dee-Dee?”

“Not often. Who could stay mad at her?”

“And what kind of impression did your anger make that day?”

“Not a bit.”

“So you don’t really think she lost sleep on the last night of her life over this?”

Julia felt her throat closing. “Maisy, why don’t we ever have a chance to tell the people we love goodbye?”

“We do, sometimes.”

“I never have.”

Despite a sleepless night, Christian threw himself into physical exercise for the rest of the afternoon. He washed horses and walked miles with the hounds. By evening he should have been exhausted, but he wasn’t.

After an early dinner of Rosalita’s fiery tacos and the prospect of another long night, he knew what he had to do.

He had a daughter, and he needed to see her. Not to tell her who he was. Not to begin the long process of turning himself into a real father. Just to see her and know, for the first time, that she belonged to him.

The puppy was his excuse. Amazingly enough, like all dogs, it seemed Clover was good for something after all. He decided he would stop by for just a few minutes to see how the puppy was getting on.

He called ahead to avoid trouble and got Maisy on the line. She assured him that they were all there and would be glad to see him.

He started to hang up, but decided to add something while it was still only the two of them.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me about Callie,” he said gruffly.

“I’m glad.”

“I’ll be there in a little while.”

He showered and shaved as if he was going on a date. But this date was with a little girl. He wondered if he would know what to say to her tonight. He changed into clean clothes and new hiking boots. Then he set out for Ashbourne.

Callie was outside with Clover when he drove up. He parked a distance from the house and got out, but he didn’t walk up the driveway. He watched her throwing sticks for the puppy, who gaped as they sailed overhead. Obviously Clover thought Callie was providing some canine version of fireworks, because the puppy didn’t move so much as her tail.

The sun was on its way down, and Callie was dressed accordingly. Blue jeans, blue sweater with a bright yellow jacket over it, sneakers with soles that lit up like fireflies every time she moved. She caught sight of him and came running, sneakers twinkling.

“Hey, Christian!”

He caught her just before she plowed into him. He didn’t want to let her go. He thought he could hold her for the rest of his life, just this way.

But he did let her go, and she jumped back, laughing. “Did you see that? Clover watches the sticks. Next time, she’ll catch ‘em!”

“Think so?”

“I know it. Did you come to see me?”

“Sure did.”

“Cool! Come on!” Callie dashed back to the puppy and Christian followed. “Wanna see what else she can do?”

“I can’t wait.”

“Watch this!” Callie got right in front of Clover and stared into her eyes. “Sit, Clover.”

The puppy wagged her tail but stayed on all fours.

“Sit, Clover,” Callie repeated.

Christian was about to warn her this particular command might take some time when the puppy dropped to the ground.

“Wow!” He really was impressed. He wondered what the child could do with a smart dog.

“You just have to get her attention,” Callie said. “I don’t like to pay attention in school, so I know how it is.”

Christian squatted down to pet Clover. “I had trouble learning to read, so I didn’t pay attention in school, either.”

“Really? Me, too.”

“You want to hear some good news?”

“What?”

“I did learn. Now I like to read.”

Callie was definitely interested. “What? What do you read?”

“Books about dogs, for one thing. All kinds of books about dogs. And horses. Newspapers. Magazines. Novels. I like mysteries, because that’s solving a puzzle.”

“Reading is like solving a puzzle for me.”

Again he was impressed with her intelligence, but this time pride followed closely. She was his daughter, and bright as polished brass. “It
can
be. But once you’ve solved it, it’s worth it.”

“I’m good at math. I can add anything in my head.”

“I’ll just bet you can.”

“And I can draw. Like Mommy.” She lowered her voice. “Before, when she wasn’t blind.”

“I remember how well she drew. She drew pictures of me a long time ago.”

“You were friends.”

“Yes, we were.”

“Are you friends now?”

That was harder to answer. “A lot of sad things happened, Callie.”

“Like Fidelity dying.”

“Yes. That was very sad.”

“Very sad,” a voice said behind him.

Christian got to his feet and saw that Julia had joined them. He had been so fascinated by his daughter that he hadn’t heard her footsteps. “Julia,” he said in greeting, following it with a nod she couldn’t see.

“Christian.” Her arms were crossed over a fuzzy purple jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a braid exposing the same horse head earrings he had noticed at the hunter’s pace. She carried a gnarled branch she probably used like a cane in the yard, to test her path.

“I guess I’d better be going,” he said, looking down at Callie. “I just popped by to see if you and Clover were still doing all right.”

“Christian.” Julia stretched out her hand and found his arm after a moment of trial and error. “I want us to do something together. The three of us.”

His heart was beating faster. He saw Callie’s expectant expression and knew she was hoping to drag the evening out a little.

“What’s that?” he said.

“I want to take flowers to Fidelity’s grave.”

Callie looked interested. He was surprised. “Now?”

“You missed the funeral.”

At the time he had been in jail. Two months had passed after his arrest before Peter pulled enough strings to get him out on bail. But even if he had been free, he would have been the last person anyone wanted to see at the service.

Julia seemed to understand. “You never got to say goodbye. In a way, neither did I. I’d like us to do this together. Callie can bring Clover. It’s a beautiful place. There’s lots of room for them to run. Has the sun set yet?”

“Nearly.”

“Then we ought to hurry. Will you do it?”

He couldn’t say no. He decided not to lie to himself. He couldn’t say no to Julia. “You have flowers?”

“Maisy’s cutting some. Chrysanthemums, asters, whatever she can find. Of course Fidelity would prefer orchids, but this will have to do for tonight.”

“Callie, you’d like to come?” he said.

“Me and Clover.”

“Clover, of course. Maybe she’ll find a fox.”

“Really?”

“No,” he said with a smile.

She grinned back at him, and he saw that one of her bottom teeth was missing. It nearly broke his heart.

Maisy came out with the flowers and offered the keys to the new red pickup. They piled in, dog and child in the middle, pressed against him, Julia on the passenger’s side. The truck started with a lion’s robust purr.

Christian knew where the Ridge’s Race cemetery was, but Julia instructed him to turn in at South Land instead. “They buried her in the family graveyard,” she said. “No one told you, I guess.”

“They didn’t ask me to do a eulogy, either.”

“It was the hottest day of the summer. Tears dried on people’s cheeks. Some girls from Foxcroft sang ‘Amazing Grace.’ A friend from Swarthmore played the flute. The priest refused to make sense of it. He said there was no sense to it. It was the kindest thing he could have said.”

Christian was glad he had been in jail.

“Mommy, do you believe in ghosts?” Callie said.

“No, why?”

“Fidelity might be a ghost. She might be waiting there to scare us.”

“Fidelity is an angel,” Christian said, before he thought about his words.

“An angel?”

Julia laughed a little. “Fidelity would be the first to disagree.”

“She was our friend,” Christian said, “and now she’s Callie’s guardian angel.”

“I have a guardian angel?” Callie sounded thrilled.

“I don’t see why not,” Christian said. “Fidelity is your middle name, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then she has a special interest in you.”

“I have my own guardian angel,” Callie told Clover. She looked up and aimed her next remark at her mother. “Christian says I’ll learn to read like he did.”

He hadn’t said that exactly, but he didn’t disagree.

“Christian can read anything,” Julia said.

“Maybe Fidelity will help me.”

It was a new take on guardian angels, but Christian figured the idea wouldn’t hurt. He slowed as they approached the entrance to South Land. He told Julia where they were as he turned.

“The graveyard is off to the left, up a steep hill,” Julia said. “The road runs between two weeping willows.”