“Gilbert Blevins called and asked if he might come see you,” Joanne said to Ben Reach on his return to the office from lunch at Millie’s Diner.
“When will he be here?” Ben asked.
“At three, today is his day off.”
“Good.”
Gilbert Blevins was hunt wagon driver on Leaning Pine Plantation. He was Ben’s age, at least. In earlier years he had been assistant dog trainer, head groom, bartender, passenger van driver, and a half dozen unnamed tasks master on the storied quail plantation that, since its founding by a Cleveland Robber Baron, had hosted Presidents, Princes, Bankers (investment and commercial), Venture Capitalists, Hedge Funders and others called collectively by the help, “rich white folks.” Gilbert was also the man in charge of Leaning Pine’s bream pond (his cabin was set on a rise just east of it and he maintained its boat house and the craft within). He often paddled for Ben and Sam, for which he received half or more of their catch and a Portrait of Hamilton from each.
“How are you Gilbert,” Ben said as he grasped Gilbert’s right hand in his own and ushered his old friend into the library-conference room.
“I’m fine, Mr Ben, and I hope you is.”
“Yes, Gilbert. How can I help you?”
“Not me. My great nephew. He was working as horse holder and he got fired for doing the right thing.”
“Tell me about it?” Ben said.
“Well, it started like this.
“The Boss Man had assigned a hunt day to his grandson, he’s a student at some University, about nineteen I think. He brings three of his buddies, my great nephew picks them up at the airport in the van. They are all loaded up on beer and marijuana. He gets them to the Big House about three o’clock and they go to their rooms. He tells Mr. Bill about their condition.” (Mr. Bill is the dog trainer and hunt master on Leaning Pine).
“Next morning the hunt team arrives at the Big House a nine, same as always. My great nephew takes the guns from the porch and loads them on the racks on the wagon—I’m driving it. My great nephew nods toward one of the lads— a signal to me I should keep a sharp eye on him. None of the four is going to hunt horseback, thank goodness I say to myself. They load up in my wagon. Mr. Bill gives the safety talk.” (Every plantation quail hunt is preceded by a lecture on the rules and traditions of the hunt, designed to assure every ones, and every animal’s, safety)
“We start for the course. The lads are talking and laughing the way they do these days. In ten minutes we reach the course and Mr. Bill tells my great nephew which two dogs to put down. Mr. Bill had drawn pegs for the shooting order and we know the Boss Man’s grandson and the lad to watch are going to shoot the first rise.
“Pretty soon Mr. Bill lifts his cap and I stop the wagon and the Boss Man’s grandson and the lad to watch get down and reach for their gun’s on the rack. My great nephew has dismounted and is between them and helps the lad to watch get his gun off the rack. Mr. Bill is waiting dismounted to flush and directs the lads where to walk to the point. My great nephew is watching from behind them. He sees the one to watch stumble and almost fall, then regain his feet. The birds flush and the one to watch swings across the line and shoots way too close to Mr. Bill and it’s a low bird which Mr. Bill has in his safety talk said not to shoot.
“My great nephew takes the pointing dog and the backing dog by their collars and leads them to the wagon to chain and I send the retriever off the wagon. My great nephew takes the one to watch’s gun but in stead of putting it in the wagon rack puts it in the scabbard on his horse.
“The next find goes smooth and then it’s the turn again of the one to watch and the Boss Man’s grandson. In stead of handing the gun to the one to watch at the wagon my great nephew walks with it up to where Mr. Bill is standing, waiting to flush. The one to watch walks up, visibly unsteady on his feet, then my great nephew hands him his gun but stays beside him and then close behind him when he walks to the point. The birds rise and one flys back toward the wagon and I see the one to watch start to swing around on it but my great nephew standing behind him is there to reach out and prevent it. Mr. Bill is watching in front for down birds and does not see this.
“The Boss Man’s grandson shoots a double, I send the retriever and soon we are moving again. My great nephew still has the one to watch’s gun in his saddle scabbard. He rides up and talks to Mr. Bill who nods agreement with whatever he said. We stop to switch dogs and Mr. Bill asks the Boss Man’s grandson to come speak with him private. When the grandson comes back to the wagon I can see he is upset. A few minutes later he says he’s got an upset stomach and needs to go back to the Big House and wants to cut the morning hunt short, so I radio Mr. Bill and we all head in.
“Next thing I know the four lads have asked for a van to drive them to Tallahassee to catch a plane back to their University.
“And the day after that Mr. Sam (manager of Leaning Pine) calls my great nephew in and tells him he is no longer needed at Leaning Pine. I don’t know this but I think the grandson called his grandfather, the Boss Man, and complained about my great nephew. All he did was tell Mr. Bill what the one to watch had done and Mr. Bill was going to tell that lad he could not shoot again that day.”
“Let me make a call or two Gilbert. I’ll have Joanne bring you a Coca Cola,” Ben said, and walked to his private office, on the way asking Joanne to give him the numbers for Mr. Bill and the owner of Leaning Pine.
An hour later after a series of calls, Gilbert Blevins’ great nephew had been reinstated at Leaning Pine. Ben had first called Bill, who confirmed that he was about to enjoin the one to watch from further shooting for safety reasons when the grandson called off the hunt. He had next called Leaning Pines’ owner who had ordered the firing on the basis of a call from his grandson who had complained that Gilbert’s great nephew had been “surly.” Seems the one to watch held the key to the grandson’s getting a bid from a fraternity he wanted to pledge. Ben did not know but suspected the grandson got an earful from the Grandfather, owner of Leaning Pine.