Free The Big Steal by Emyl Jenkins Page A

heartily. “Nor did they know Tate’s recent break with his family and why he was a ‘fur piece,’ as they call it, from home.”
    Worth eyed his glass, picked it up and swirled the remaining ice and whiskey around. Seeing it was close to empty he put it down as if to save it. “You see, Tate’s grandfather, Major Wyndfield, who, incidentally, was no saint himself, had died not too long before. It was an easy bluff. Tate just put up his share of the family land. Whether he actually had any claim … who knows? Little matter. Tate signed a piece of paper
saying
he did. Next morning, it was Tate Wyndfield’s bacca that was headed to Richmond for auction on the bateau.”
    Worth slapped his knee. “Those Southside guys got what they deserved.”
    I gave Worth a politely impatient look. “So, did Tate come back to Orange County after that?”
    â€œNo, no. Tate had learned where the
real
money was. He sold the tobacco, took the cash, and headed straight down to Pittsylvania County. Chatham and Danville. Bought land andgrew Bright Leaf. Made quite a haul over the years. Built a fine home on the Dan River. But Edward’s folks stayed put, except for fighting in the War, of course.”
    There was no doubt which war Worth was referring to.
    â€œHoyt never left these parts till he went to Virginia Tech. You know,” Worth said, “I don’t know that Hoyt ever gambled, at least not like Tate, but there is a fine game room in Wynderly …”
    â€œAnd Tate and Hoyt … what kin were they,” I said, to keep Worth on track.
    Worth reached in his inner coat pocket and took out a small leather bound notebook and mechanical pencil and began to write.
    â€œSee,” he said, sliding the notebook to me.
    The Wyndfield Brothers
1830 Tate Wyndfield (Southside) Edward Wyndfield (Orange)
1890 Whitey Wyndfield    Hoyt Wyndfield
    â€œIn 1830, it was the Wyndfield bothers, Tate and Edward. Then in 1890 you’ve got Tate’s grandson, Whitey, and Edward’s grandson, Hoyt.”
    I nodded.
    â€œNow remember, too, there had been bad blood in the Wyndfield family when Tate left. The Orange County Wyndfields never had anything to do with the Southside Wyndfields. But two generations later when the cousins ended up at Tech over in Blacksburg in the 1910s, Hoyt to study animal husbandry and Whitey to study agriculture—well, having the same last name, they started up a conversation. In no time they realized they were distant cousins and became fastfriends. When World War One came along, they both went overseas—Hoyt in the trenches, Whitey behind the lines in an office job. There Whitey made a simple observation. Everybody was puffing away on cigarettes, troops and civilians alike,” Worth said.
    â€œBy the time Whitey was back home, he was raring to go—ready to expand his tobacco holdings. Timing couldn’t have been better. Whitey got Hoyt to team up with him, and soon they were traveling the world over, piling fortune on top of fortune. When the Roaring Twenties came and glamorous women and handsome men took up the weed, the Wyndfield cousins were set for life.”
    â€œAnd Mazie was one of those glamorous women, I’m willing to bet,” I said.
    â€œCan’t you just see them? Hoyt Wyndfield, tall and straight, polished and genteel. Mazie Bontemps, petite and lovely, sugarcane oozing out of every Cajun pore. She was as vivacious and colorful as Hoyt was handsome.”
    I thought I caught a hint of that same adoration for the Wyndfields I had heard from Michelle Hendrix.
    â€œYes, Hoyt and Mazie had it all—his old family estate, the old furniture, the old name, the old money. What they thought they needed was the
new
style.” Worth laughed. “Know what was funny about that? The new style shown in all the magazines
was
the old style. But
not
the old
Virginia
style. The old
European
style—gilt