The Prophet of Paradise

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

THE MCKENDRICK FARMHOUSE, a sprawling two storey wooden frame building, sat nestled on a low rise along the eastern base of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Although substantial by most standards, the acreage of Fair Enough Farm was barely a fourth of the Montfair property. Located about five miles outside the village, it was still a working farm but those doing the farming were no longer McKendricks. Contractors leased parcels of arable land throughout the area. They had the specialized equipment and access to the crop and livestock markets to make for a profitable venture. Most years anyway.

An old wooden barn, sorely in need of a fresh coat of paint, housed five horses: Ryman’s two Thoroughbreds (including the newly arrived youngster Colby), Fergus’s two Thoroughbred/Percheron crosses, and Nardell’s feisty little Arab/Quarter Horse cross, the sole mare of the herd. Several other outbuildings were in varying states of disuse and decay. A small stone cottage located at the base of the rise below the main house served as home for Ryman McKendrick, Nardell Raithby, and an old retired hound named Wycroft, whose blood ran strong through some of the best hunters in the current Montfair pack, the highly praised W line.

The interior décor of the main house represented “country” in the genuine sense, not the imagination of a city-raised designer with a vision of what “country” should be. “Country” in Crutchfield County meant old, battered, stained, wobbly, and mismatched. Any given piece of furniture had likely been around so long no one could recall its exact provenance. “Redecorating” was a foreign concept. Rooms were furnished over time not so much by intent as by accumulation.

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One item that stood out among the clutter was an eight-by-ten color photo in an ornate antique gold frame. It showed a man in his Marine dress blues, a slew of medals on his chest. Every eligible young fellow in Crutchfield County spent two years fervently praying that Fergus McKendrick would not come back alive from Korea, leaving Rhetta a widow in need of a man to care for her. Their hopes were crushed when the big man returned and took up family life with his beautiful bride and young son, Tavish Dougal (always referred to by his initials, hence “Teedy”). Soon thereafter a second son, Ryman Hamish, arrived.

Rhetta and Thumper entered the living room to find the first wave of mourners already assembled: Crispie O’Rourke and Patti Vestor; Mildred Preston, Montfair Hunt’s third and most junior joint-master, and her husband Doctor Josh Preston; club secretary Marva Henderson; Muriel Hudkins (looking extremely prim, proper, and uncomfortable); and The Reverend Doctor Daniel T. Davenport, pastor (or “vicar” as he preferred to be called) of St. Cuthbert’s-in-the-Woods Episcopal Church.

Rhetta found herself assaulted by a barrage of hugs and expressions of condolence. She accepted the gestures stiffly, a reaction not unnoticed by the assembled grievers who took the cue to allow her space.

Patti, Mildred, Marva, and Muriel had brought snacks. Light munching and awkward conversation filled the time until Ryman and Nardell arrived, their delay caused by the need for her to drive him back to the shop to retrieve his truck. While there, he made up a handwritten sign and hung it on the shop’s front door: “Closed Due to Death in the Family. Will reopen for business soon.”

Once they were settled in, Thumper called for everyone’s attention. “I’m sorry to have to trouble you all with this, especially you, Mrs. M., but we need to decide on our plans for tomorrow. Thanks to Marva’s diligent work the word has already gotten out to the hunt members and,” he glanced over at Reverend Dan, “apparently to the community at large. I’m sure everyone’s wondering if we’re still going to hunt in the morning. We need to make that decision now, get out an email, and update the message on the phone monitor. Crispie and I have already discussed our thoughts, but we need to hear from you, Rhetta. Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s what we’ll do. Everyone agree?”

All heads nodded.

Rhetta looked at those before her, one by one, her face stern, her eyes steady. “Y’all want to hunt? Go ahead and hunt. Makes no difference to me.” She turned to Thumper and added, “I have to use the ladies’ room. May I be excused?”

“Of course.” When she was gone, Thumper turned to Ryman. “Sweet as ever, Ry. And we were afraid your father’s death might cause her to go to pieces.”

Ryman tried to avoid eye contact with anyone else. He looked out the window and said, “Not much daylight left. I’ve got to squirt some ointment in Token’s eye. He got himself a scratch the other day. I’ll be right back.”

“Real quick before you do that,” Thumper said, “what are your thoughts about hunting tomorrow? You’ve got as much say in this as anyone. Certainly as much as her.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the hallway down which Rhetta had gone.

There was a murmur of agreement among the others.

“Ah, gee, I guess…lemme think.” He paused for a moment, sorting through the pros and cons in his still-rattled brain. Then a memory floated to the surface. “It was during hunt season when the news about Teedy arrived. Damn, now that I think about it, it was the day before Blessing of the Hounds. You remember that, Thumper?” Billington nodded. “Daddy never flinched. He said his son had done a Marine’s duty and paid a Marine’s price. He’d died to keep us free and we should honor his sacrifice by exercising that freedom. I wasn’t sure what my brother dying was keeping us free from. Still ain’t, really. Anyway, my old man and yours went on ahead with the Blessing and the day’s hunt.” He looked down the hall. “Ma wasn’t too pleased about that. Ain’t been too pleased about much since.”

He glanced out the window again. “I’m losing daylight. Gotta get that horse’s eye doctored.”

Nardell jumped up. “I can do it, sweetheart. Just tell me where you left the ointment.”

“No, that’s okay, darlin’. Easier for me to do it. I reckon the question is what would my old man want? Well, he did a tractor salesman’s duty and paid a tractor salesman’s price. He died to keep our fields bush-hogged and our crops harvested. We should honor his sacrifice by riding our horses over those fields tomorrow. I say we go hunting.”