She wasn’t sure what her plans were and found herself back in her house and in the office. The office was hardly more than a cramped little room with a desk, chair, some filing cabinets and a phone. Through the years the office had acquired an assortment of horse paraphernalia in varying degrees of disrepair, and papers, lots of papers. The desk was littered with race periodicals and old tout sheets that no one had bothered to throw out. An old adding machine was nearly hidden by the stack of catalogs for everything from specialized feed to imported silks for jockey jerseys. Pictures of the farm’s various winners and champions throughout the years hung on the walls. On top of the filing cabinet was an array of loving cups and ribbons symbolizing the skill and luck of the horses over time. The drawers of the cabinets were stuffed with records of breeding successes or failures and receipts of boarders and feed bills. A small closet to the left of the desk held long forgotten jackets and sweaters and additional foul weather gear.
Jessica rummaged through the closet and found an old backpack, sweater, and a pair of tattered trousers someone had left behind long ago. Throwing these on over her clothes, she grabbed a horse blanket that was missing a couple of buckles and a rain slicker, and stuffed these into the backpack. She rifled through the file drawers and found the battered metal box used to hold paychecks and petty cash for the stable hands. Using a letter opener, she forced open the lid. She was gratified to find about $300 in cash mixed in among the check stubs. Shoving the bills deep into her pocket, she walked over to the small locker in the far corner.
The locker contained the multitude of liniments, wraps, poultices, salves and other goop that were essential to the animals care at one point or another. On the top shelf, a cracked coffee mug held small files, scissors, even an extra horseshoe nail or two. She dug deep into the back of the locker and felt around for a small round jar. She was surprised when her efforts produced a handful of syringes she had never seen before. After several more attempts at feeling around the back of the shelves, she peered at the smeared label of a compact jar. Jessica was barely able to read the words on the label because of the thick black smudges of dye which covered its surface. It was the dye frequently used to darken the horses’ manes and tails for a show or auction to give them a more polished look. Grasping the jar in victory, she grabbed the scissors and returned to the desk.
Jessica grabbed her hair into a ponytail with her left hand and with her right hacked away at the thick rope of hair with the dull scissors. She sawed a line of hair across her forehead to give her what might be taken as unruly bangs. She cut the rest of her hair to be about one inch long. Finally satisfied with the assault, she scooped out the contents of the jar with her fingers. She vigorously rubbed the black goo onto her hands and into her hair. Using her index finger, she gently followed the arch of her eyebrows and stroked the traces of remaining dye onto her eyelashes. She appraised the result in the smudged reflection. The change was dramatic.
Satisfied, she glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning. Jessica knew that the first hands would be arriving shortly to begin the day’s rounds of feeding and training. Turning her attention back to the desk, she quickly looked through each drawer. After Jessica had placed the office back to the disarray in which she found it, she wrapped up her hair in an old newspaper and shoved the bundle into her backpack to discard later. Finding nothing more of interest or use, she grabbed the spare set of keys for the farm’s pickup and bolted for the door. She knew the truck would not be missed for a couple of hours—until somebody realized that the other guy did not have it. It was just enough time to get her to a train or a bus station in New Hampshire or southern Maine. Not a lot. Just enough.
Plans for her escape were barely forming in her panic and she tried to think of things she would need. Something, somewhere was keeping her in one spot. She was missing something, forgetting something that she would need. It was not a clear memory, but more of an intuitive sense that kept her rooted. She cocked her head to one side trying to force clarity on the nagging doubt. Instead, the room filled with memories and fragments of conversations. Images and laughter crowded out the checklist she was desperately trying to run through.
“Are you sure you have everything, Jessie?”
Jessica gasped when she heard Aunt Bridget’s voice. “What? Aunt Bridget?”
“I’m disappointed in you, Jessie. After all I did for you.”
Jessica looked wildly around the empty house to find the source of the voice. Terrified, she knew she would not find it. What was her aunt trying to tell her? What was it that her aunt did for her that was so important? Then, in a moment she remembered the papers her aunt had so carefully prepared and the many conversations about them. Jessica had already gone through office and knew they were not there. Desperate, she cried out. “Aunt Bridget! Please! Help me!”
Jessica walked out into the main hallway. Just as she came around the corner, she thought she saw a wisp of a figure go up the stairs. Shaking, she walked over to the stairwell and put her hand on the banister. Jessica was not sure if she was remembering what was said or recollecting times where she might have spied on her aunt. It really did not matter. The gap under the molding of the newel post was just enough to make her grab the top finial and pull the section off. She retrieved the rumpled envelope from its hiding place and shoved it into her backpack.
The cool pre-dawn stillness was barely disturbed as Jessica walked out into the night. The moon was just setting behind a distant hill and the stars glistened in the clear sky. The air was fresh and clean and mixed with all of the smells she was so familiar with and had loved with all of her heart. She stood out in the middle of the driveway and slowly turned in a circle, drinking in every detail of her home. The huge farmhouse with its wide porch welcomed her to come and sit for a while. Even with its windows dark and shades drawn, the house still exuded a warmth and safety that now grew foreign to Jessica.
With an acute feeling of emptiness, Jessica took one last look at her home. Her eyes were dry as she climbed into the pickup. She put on an old pair of gloves she found on the dashboard and drove off. She looked at the distant small houses which were home to the men who would care for the horses until their owners came for them or they were sold. Without her or Gus, the farm, her home, would be sold. With everyone and everything that had meant anything to her, Jessica was cut free from her life. Like Jason had said, Jessica Wyeth was dead.
PART TWO
Hamilton, Massachusetts
Perc, Kentucky
March 1995
PERC, KENTUCKY, WAS the kind of town that took a casual passerby by surprise. Nestled in the Pine Mountains, it was protected by its geography and its people from outside influences that had corrupted the beauty of other towns farther up the valley. The mountains opened just enough to allow for a river to meander for miles along a broad, gently rolling valley floor. This expanse was punctuated by fertile pastures of crops and horses and tree-lined drives leading to stately homes. The mountains on either side provided a dramatic backdrop to anyone driving through the towns along the edge of eastern Kentucky. The main road ran parallel to the Pine River and was interrupted with an occasional bridge and a handful of smaller roads that snaked up into the hills. Perc was situated in a half moon of mountains that served to ensure that only the most determined found it.
Travelers lucky enough to find Perc always felt that they were the first to discover this time capsule of a village. The main street was flanked by clapboard and brick buildings which had stood their ground for over two hundred years. Perc was remarkable in its original beauty and its insular charm. Hardly a trace of the outside world filtered into this oasis. It was just as its residents wanted it.
Perc was a secret of the wealthy who wanted to enjoy themselves in privacy and quiet. During certain seasons, the town would be full of the temporary residents enjoying the thrill of a hunt on horseback throug
h its varied and remote terrain or simply the parties that came with it. They made sure they took the best of what the modern world had to offer and milked it for all it was worth. Tastefully, of course.
The full time citizens of Perc did the work that supplemented the natural protective boundaries with zoning laws and historic commissions which prohibited unwanted tampering with nature. Coal mining, logging and other endeavors that caused unsightly blight in other towns were banned by citizens who were hell-bent on keeping Perc the way they had always known it. The constituents of Perc would never stymie growth to the detriment of themselves, however. Reluctantly, certain old homes in the area had been converted to bed and breakfasts. These inns were filled with people of lesser means and connections who just wanted to enjoy the phenomenal scenery and hike its mountains or cruise its river.
The gracious manners of the town’s residents hid their inherent dislike and distrust of outsiders. Their town was how they liked it. If you could make it a more enjoyable place to be for them, then perhaps you could stay. They hardly considered themselves to be snobbish, but simply highly protective of what they were accustomed to. They prided themselves in their roots.
Jessica maneuvered the Jeep into a parking space. She had been driving for hours and was relieved that her journey was almost over. There was a damp chill in the spring air as she got out and stretched her back and legs. Reaching for her coat in the back seat, she looked at the garbage strewn throughout the vehicle. She had been living out of it for the past few days as she traveled back across the country. Coffee cups, road maps, and potato chip bags were mixed with her other belongings which had worked themselves out of the boxes and bags they had been hastily packed in.
She secured the top button of her coat and used both hands to flip her hair free from the collar. She used the moment to take a better look at her surroundings. Perc had a nice feel to it, she decided as she reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a rumpled sheet of paper. In her own scrawled handwriting was the address and description of a small horse farm located on one of the mountains in the outskirts of town. Jessica accidentally found out about the farm through the foreman at the ranch in Utah she had worked at on and off for the past few years. And there was something about the location of the town in the middle of nowhere that she liked. It sounded too good to pass up.
After a brief round of good-byes to the acquaintances she had met at the ranch, Jessica packed her belongings and headed out across the country. Her migrant existence for the past seven years wore on her, and this opportunity struck at the right time. She wanted to feel what it was like to put down roots again.
She had taken on the identity of Tess White since going to Saddle String Ranch in Utah and used “Tess” continuously. The consistency of one identity felt good after using so many. When she first began running, it was easy not to feel anything for any one place or person. It became a primal reflex that the slightest glance or admiring gaze would cause her to disappear again. She had lost track of how many hair colors and personal styles she went through to keep herself hidden. It was amazing how easy it became to change identities.
Her first styles were wild. Usually she dyed her hair, sometimes she just cut it. She became adept at stopping at thrift stores and buying clothes that typified a current trend or style. Spiked hair, tough clothes, and a bad attitude were all tools she used to distance the characters she hid within from who she really was. Running became a skill. But she did not want to run all of her life. Jessica knew she needed to hide, so she took on the identity of Tess and lived as far apart from others as she could.
“What can I do for you, Miss?”
Jessica stopped her musings long enough to answer the inquiry from the distinguished and slightly stooped gentleman who stood behind the reception desk of the small inn.
“Hello. I believe you have a reservation for me. My name is Tess White.”
“Mmm, now. Let’s see.” The bespectacled old man tilted back his head and peered down at the registry book through his glasses. “Ah, yes,” he drawled with great ceremony, “Of course. Miss White. How nice of you to join us. My name’s Tabor Garrison. Pleased to meet you.” He extended his hand in greeting.
Jessica took his hand and shook it with feigned warmth.
“Have you decided on how long you’re going to be with us?”
“Oh no, no. Not yet.” Jessica let out a long sigh. “If it is not too much inconvenience, I’ll know in another day or so. Can I let you know then?” It was a conversation she had countless times before—an innkeeper or a landlord wondering how long they could count on her rent coming in or a room being taken. Jessica always jockeyed for the most freedom by divulging the least amount of information. It was another facet of the game she executed with skill.
“If it’s okay with you, I would just like to pay for a couple of days now. As soon as I find out more about my schedule, I’ll tell you.” Jessica peeled off several bills and handed them to Tabor.
“Well now, that’s not a problem at all. You just let me know whenever you get your plans confirmed. We are in a bit of a lull here until the season begins. Then the summer residents will come back, and the town’ll fill up with people and horses. Things’ll get hoppin’! But that won’t be for another few weeks. Do you ride?”
Jessica paused for a moment calculating her response. “Yes. Yes I do.”
“Well now, you should feel right at home here.”
“Oh. Well, thank you. Actually I’d heard about a farm.” She produced the sheet of paper and showed Tabor the details.
“Why yes! I know that farm. It’s been for sale for quite a while. I think it’s just too remote. Most folks who come here don’t like being so far removed from town and all. Price has come down a bit, too.”
“Oh? How do you know that?”
Tabor laughed. “Perc is a small town. Everybody makes it their business to know everybody else’s. In fact, a realtor in town is the niece of the folks who owned it.” He rummaged through the front desk and produced a card. “Here you go. Give Miss Lainely a call and I’m sure she’ll be pleased as anything to help you. So you think you might be interested?” Tabor pressed for more information.
Jessica had the feeling that he would stop everything and chat with her for hours if she gave him the slightest inkling of a conversational opening. She adopted a friendly but abbreviated air. “I’m not sure.”
“Oh, Miss. We are just pleased to offer you our hospitality. Don’t trouble yourself with the details right now. You must be exhausted from your trip. Allow me to show you to your room.”
Jessica slung her backpack over her shoulder before the innkeeper had a chance to help her with it. She followed him up the creaking flight of stairs and down the broad hallway. The older gentleman fumbled a bit with the key in the lock and was finally victorious. He reached his hand in the door and flicked on the light switch on the wall.
“Oh, thank you. I can see that I’ll be quite comfortable here.” Jessica quickly stepped inside the door, blocking the innkeeper’s progress into the room. “I’ll let you know the minute I need anything. Thanks again.” Flashing her brilliant smile, she gently closed the door before any gracious protest could be mounted.
She walked straight to the cherry wood desk in the corner and grabbed the phone book and scanned the Yellow Pages for local real estate agencies. She compared the ad in the phonebook to the name on the business card Tabor produced for her. She was pleased to see it was the smallest on the page. Jessica thought Lainely Smythe, Realtor, would be sufficiently motivated to make a sale and knowledgeable enough of the area to make an excellent guide for the next day or two.
Jessica picked up the receiver of the phone and held it to her chest. “Whelp. Here it goes,” she muttered as she quickly dialed the number.
A cheerful voice with a thick southern drawl answered the phone. “Good Afternoon. Lainely Smythe. How can I
help you?”
“Lainely? Hello. This is Tess White. I hope I’m catching you at a good time for you to talk. I just have a couple of questions on a small horse farm I recently learned of. I’m interested in learning more about it. I think the name of the road it’s on is Gap Road. Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Well now Miss White,” Lainely drawled, “I am more than happy to answer any questions you have on that property. Ya see, that fahm belonged to my Uncle Milliard Smythe, long since passed from this earth but not forgotten. That sweet gem of a man poured his heart and soul into that farm and worked it by himself day and night. His wife, bless her heart, never gave him a child, so they just buried themselves in that farm. Her heart gave out before his did.”
“Is it still on the market?” Jessica was amused at the languished tone of Lainely but wanted to get to the point. The real estate business must not have been too busy as it seemed like Lainely had all the time in the world to talk to anyone who happened to call.
“Well, yes, Dahling! Yes! Uncle Milliard was a hard working man, but he liked his privacy. That farm is just waiting for the right person to come along. We could have had that farm sold six times over if this silly ol’ town would just loosen its grip on the past. That is a beautiful piece of land that would just be perfect for a few more stately homes to be built there, but the town fathers will just hear nothing of it. They like looking up at the hilltop and seeing horses graze, no houses, just horses. You’d a think that the devil himself was going to settle down here if we built one more house.”
“I would like to see it, if I could. Would you be kind enough to show it to me?” Jessica had a hard time getting a word in edgewise through Lainely’s meandering conversation.
“Surely, Dahling, surely! I would be most pleased to show you around Uncle Mill’s farm. You’re not one of those Louisville or Richmond folk coming to see if you can develop it are you? Because I can tell you right now that there is no way no how that anyone is going to be splitting up that land. That’s the way Uncle Mill wanted it and that’s what the town wants, too. In fact, I...”
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