A Poacher Forgiven

Albert Cole felt jubilant this opening day of quail hunting season in Thomas County. He had recently concluded successful negotiations to purchase a tract of 300 acres adjoining his Cedar Creek Plantation, rounding out the acreage of his quail shooting estate at 5,000 acres, its original size when assembled for $6 an acre by his great grandfather, a Robber Baron of the Gilded Age, from desperate turpentiners and cotton farmers in two stages, the first beginning in 1893 with a financial panic that led to a Depression lasting until 1897, the second with a Boll Weevil attack on cotton in 1915. 

Albert had continued the success of his forebears for four generations in business and investments, a rare thing Ben Reach and Sam Nixon MD knew too well. They had observed first hand how often progeny of acquirers became unproductive after inheriting wealth that eliminated the need that they work to survive. The curmudgeon’s native country known as the Quail Belt and stretching from Albany to Tallahassee nurtured a plethora of non-working heirs of the rich, but Albert Cole, such an heir, was far from non-working. He hustled as hard as his illustrious great grandfather, though he had few true friends, his acquaintances being mostly folk looking to profit or enjoy shooting sport from his acquaintance. 

Albert had negotiated this 300-acre purchase from the sons of the owner, Josh Givens, who had farmed in many years but was recently retired from farming. The closing had been on the last day of August, just in time for Albert to host on the acres for an opening day dove shoot which proved most productive for him and twenty guests, most customers of his Boston based investment bank. He had seen several coveys of quail  while dove shooting so had his hunt team incorporate the land in a quail hunting course. 

Today was opening day of quail hunting season, and Albert looked forward to a first quail hunt that would include the 300 acres. He was naturally incensed when he met there Josh Givens, hunting alone and on foot with a low tailed setter that appeared long in the tooth but had a covey pointed when Albert first saw Josh walking up to his dog to shoot. The covey rose and Josh dropped a double as Albert was riding his Walker to him at a slow lope to indignantly ask, “What the hell you doing hunting here, Josh?” 

Josh responded, “And what in the hell are you doing Albert, riding that damned fancy horse on my farm.” 

That’s when Albert knew Josh did not know of his purchase from Josh’s sons, acting as attorneys-in-fact for their father. Albert, realizing Josh was armed with a humped back Browning 12 gauge, its stock held together with piano wire, wisely turned in the saddle and motioned for his dog handler and hunt wagon driver to head back to long-held Cole ground. 

Next day Albert called his lawyer for quail belt maters, Ben Reach. Ben suggested he come in to his office to confer. Albert arrived at 4:30 that afternoon, still mad as a hornet. Sam Nixon was waiting in Ben’s library-conference room when Ben ushered Albert in. 

Sam was Albert’s quail belt personal physician as well as Josh Givens’.  

After offering Albert a dram of The Macallan (Ben and Sam already had theirs poured in short thermal plastic glasses), Ben poured and Sam spoke: 

“Albert, Josh has dementia, early stage. His sons sold you the 300 acres to finance his admission to a retirement facility offering “memory care” which should be called “lack of memory care.” This will be the last season Josh will be quail hunting. 

Sam had to say no more. Albert had watched Josh toil farming his property adjoining Cedar Creek Plantation with admiration three decades. That summonsed a deeply hidden instinct of compassion in Albert, as Ben and Sam had hoped Sam’s presence would. (Sam had tended Albert’s deceased wife through a decade of dementia ending with her death three years before.) 

The three men sipped their The Macallan 12 in silence a few minutes, then Sam inquired of Albert’s grandson, for whom Sam had written a letter of recommendation to Harvard Medical School. “He’s on their wait list,” Albert said. 

“That means he will be offered admission,” Sam said. He had earlier called the Dean, a classmate of Sam’s.