The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  “Yeah, you’re right. I mean the Charity was organized for and run by terrorists. I never really thought that what happened to Gus or my family would be part of a larger scheme like that. All I knew was that it was more than I could understand and that I had to stay away from it.”

  “So, what about the Charity now?” Electra placed the wine glass to her lips, her eyes watching Jessica carefully.

  In spite of the imbibed lubrication, she chose her words deliberately. “Well, it’s collapsed now, I guess. With Magnus on trial and their inner dealings exposed, I don’t see how it could keep going.” Her words trailed off and her eyes told her listener that she was very deep in thought.

  Electra tried to bring her back to the present conversation. She was not done gathering all of her information. “Child! I just can’t imagine ever going through anything like this. You must have been so relieved to see Michael there in that alley!”

  “Well, Electra, actually the last thing I was feeling was relieved.”

  “Tess!” She caught herself. “Oh, I am sorry. Jessica! Why I find that hard to believe. I mean, Michael’s face must have been the only friendly one you had seen in weeks!”

  The younger woman stood up and paced around the room. “Electra. Please. I know how hard you worked in the past to try and match Michael and me up. But he used the press and police to hunt me down like an animal, and then he put a gun to my face and slapped handcuffs on me. I really don’t think you can call that ‘friendly.’”

  Electra grabbed Jessica’s hand as she passed by where the older woman sat. She lowered her voice to convey a sense of concern. “Jessica, don’t be too hard on Michael. He was just fulfilling his responsibilities.”

  There was a quality of urgency that took Jessica aback. The two women were silent for a long while. Jessica spoke first. “Perc is a small town, and I don’t want to have to move again. It will be hard for me to settle back in if people start saying what actions were right or what was wrong and taking sides. I really can’t blame Michael for doing his job as sheriff. That’s the truth. But he is connected to this mess in an unfathomable way. For right now, and for a very long time, I think I just don’t want to talk about him or even lay eyes on him.”

  Electra considered her response and adopted a dramatic show of understanding. “Jessica. I truly understand how you feel. Whatever it is you feel toward Michael now, just know that he did what he had to do for you.”

  Jessica tried to keep the smirk of disbelief off of her face. “Really? I am sure he’s quite the hero around here now.”

  “You really don’t understand. He’s not a man who does something for the glory of it. He has done more for this town than anyone is aware of.”

  “You make him sound like more than a sheriff.”

  “He is.”

  The timbre in Electra’s voice caused a ripple to run over Jessica’s skin. “Electra. One of the reporters told me that he was looking at my property before I bought it and that he was a fairly wealthy man. Is that true?”

  An uncharacteristic nervous twitch tightened Electra’s lips. Catching herself, she swung back into the mold of the perfect southern hostess. “Now, darlin’! Who on earth said a thing like that?”

  “I told you. One of the reporters in the pack that parked in front of my house asked me that. She’s a journalist from Boston.”

  “And what exactly did she say to you?”

  “She asked me if I thought there was any connection between Michael coming after me as a fugitive and his not being able to buy my farm because I bought it first.”

  Bright gold earrings flashed as Electra tossed back her head and laughed. “Oh, Sweetie! Can’t you see the workings of Lainely on that one? That woman is just beside herself with jealousy that Michael has taken a shine to you instead of her and she will stop at nothing to put a wedge between you.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right. I don’t want to create any problems where there aren’t any. I think I’ll have enough as it is just settling down here again.”

  The two women walked through the mansion to the great front doors. Electra drew Jessica’s hands into her own. “Jessica. Believe me when I tell you that I love you like a daughter. Michael is more than a sheriff to us.”

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “What he is and why, he has to tell you himself.”

  The statement caught Jessica by surprise. She stiffened. “What are you trying to tell me? Electra, you are not exactly known for subtlety and keeping a secret.”

  The older woman laughed. “Oh, you are so right!” The laughter faded and she looked deeply into Jessica’s eyes, as if searching for another answer. “I don’t know. In fact, I think I’m a little afraid to know the truth.” She paused again and gripped Jessica’s hands even more firmly and forced a smile onto her face. “Now that you’re back in town, I guess we’ll all find out soon enough, eh?”

  She spent the whole day of Christmas Eve alone despite Electra’s insistence that she join them for their annual party. The holidays were always the hardest time for Jessica and she had developed her own tradition of spending them alone. The thought of spending any time in the middle of a large group of strangers was just too much for her.

  Another hike up the mountain produced a small spruce tree that she decorated with popcorn, pinecones, and the ornaments retrieved from the safe-deposit box at the Salem bank. The small act of tradition strengthened her. The conversation with Electra had unnerved her and she consciously decided to put it out of her mind until it could be dealt with rationally. Focusing on the task at hand, she needed all of the strength she could muster for her next activity.

  She curled up in front of her fireplace and placed before her several boxes that had arrived from her family’s estate. With a glass of Chardonnay and a box of tissues, she opened each box and carefully unwrapped its treasures. Pieces of china, silver, and even some Christmas ornaments she had not seen in years, revealed themselves to her. She rolled each item over in her hands, imagining the hands that had touched it before hers. With closed eyes, she could hear the laughter and the voices of Margaret and Bridget as they prepared Christmas dinner and saw the enchantment of the lighting of the tree in Erin’s face. One box held a series of old photo albums. The faces and the smells opened the wounds she had been trying to forget. The tears came at last. Finally, after many hours, holding a photograph of her family to herself, she went to sleep.

  It was a sleep filled with distorted dreams of laughing horses in blazing barns and of other nightmarish images which, mercifully, disappeared after they jolted her awake. Christmas Eve had been hell on her and she knew she could not spend Christmas day alone. The reopening of the wound that she was not surrounded by family was too sharp. She cleaned up the tissue paper and the boxes from the night’s sojourn into the past. The large silver framed photo of her and Erin she remembered from the safe-deposit box was the last item to be unpacked. Jessica picked it up and gave the image a kiss and set it on the end table. Seeing Erin’s picture, Jessica knew there could be no better way for her to spend the day than to volunteer at the Franklin School for the Disabled. She grabbed her coat and started to plunge her arms through it. In her haste, she accidentally clipped the photo and the image crashed to the floor.

  “Damn!” Jessica exclaimed as she bent down to pick up the glass. The force of the fall jarred the picture from its frame and scattered glass shards in all directions. It took a few minutes to pick up all of the fragments and she tried to place the picture back into the frame. Even without the thickness of the glass, she was unable to do so. After several more attempts, she looked at the picture and frame more carefully.

  The black and white photograph was glued to the back of the frame. Over the years, the glue aged and the fall separated the glue in several places. A faint edge of yellow could be seen in a small crack.

  Jessica gently opened the sea
m further and pulled out a long manila envelope. The forms were clear and the writing simple, but she could not comprehend their meaning.

  In her hands were three documents. The first she recognized as a copy of the medical records she found in the safe deposit box in Salem. The paper had yellowed, but the writing was very crisp. It was the document explaining Erin’s brain injury at the hospital when she was an infant.

  The second document was equally easy to read. Dated a few days before the injury record, Erin’s birth certificate, complete with two incredibly small footprints, stared up at her. All of the information was as one would expect. Margaret Heinchon Wyeth and James Kent Wyeth were listed as mother and father.

  It was the accuracy of that certificate that added to the confusion she felt when reviewing the final document. Jessica Bridget Wyeth’s tiny footprints adorned the yellowed paper. All of the information was again what one would expect. But the error and omission were glaring.

  Bridget Heinchon was listed as the mother. There was no name listed for the father.

  January 1996

  ELECTRA’S ARTICLE ON Jessica appeared a week after their meeting in the Louisville Gazette. The story was picked up immediately by several newswire services and it appeared in major papers across the country. Jessica’s strategy of giving her full story to Electra and leaving less of a story to be had by the other reporters seemed to work. After an initial increase in the frenzy, each passing day brought fewer and fewer journalists to Perc and to her mountain retreat, and fewer and fewer inquiries into her family and past.

  Not being hounded by the press was a bittersweet victory. She was able to go about her errands in town without causing a major stir, but the documents she found haunted her every thought. Twice she took in a breath to shout her finding, hoping to cause a race among the investigative journalists to unravel the mystery she could not unravel on her own. Twice, she held her breath until her heart pounded in her chest.

  Cold shoulders and shocked stares were things that she learned to deal with as she traveled to town to make arrangements for rebuilding her barn and other errands. After her Christmas visit, she decided to spend a lot more time up at the school, helping out as much as she could while avoiding the aloof staff. The time she spent there was greatly rewarding. Like the townspeople, the staff members treated her coolly. At least the children welcomed her.

  She decided to call on Chad Bleauvelt to check on her horses. She had put it off long enough. He was out in one of his barns when she arrived.

  “Well, now! If it isn’t the chameleon herself! What name are you going by today?” The words boomed out of the man. The stable hands stopped working and watched the show openly, not even attempting to hide their intrusive stares.

  Jessica bit her lip and determined that this man was not going to upset her. “Hi, Mr. Bleauvelt. You can call me by my name, Jessica Wyeth.”

  In reflex, he extended his hand. “Well, Jessica Wyeth, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He snarled the emphasis and leveled a cool stare at her. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “I wanted to check on the horses you’ve been boarding for me. I hope you got my messages and money I forwarded on to you.”

  “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

  The estate gentleman stopped talking. He was not going to make this easier on her.

  She remained focused on business. “Mr. Bleauvelt, I was wondering how they were doing with their training and if the hands had any questions on their schedule and feeding?” Looking around the barn, she said, “If you don’t mind, I would love to see them. Where are they?”

  “Oh, well I thought you may have heard already. I didn’t think that I would be the one to break this news to you, but most of the owners have come and taken their horses to other, more, um, reliable trainers.”

  “Most? What horses are still under my care?”

  “Your two hacks, of course, and the mare, Snugs, and her colt.”

  “Who else?”

  “That’s it.”

  She raised her chin. “Well then, I’d like to see Snugs. Where is she?”

  Mr. Bleauvelt’s back stiffened as he led her to another section of the barn. The mare and her colt were in a spacious stall toward the back of the barn. The big animal nickered to see her friend.

  Jessica rubbed the mare’s strong neck and looked at the colt. The fiery red chestnut with a white blaze up his face had grown a lot in the time she was away. His soft muzzle sniffed at the visitor. Jessica turned around and looked directly at the pompous man.

  “Is it an inconvenience to continue boarding my animals? My barn will not be rebuilt until the spring. I’ll be down here on a daily basis to tend to them. If my presence will be too disruptive, let me know now, and I will make other arrangements.”

  “Miss Wyeth, I am sorry the other owners took their horses from your care. I must say, that I am at a loss for words in a situation like this. The horse world is filled with colorful characters and I know firsthand what you can do with an animal. You may keep your horses, the mare and colt in my barns for as long as you need. Standard boarding rates will apply, of course.” He stopped talking and sized up her situation. “Good horse handlers are hard to find and you more than proved to be one of the best. Smokey Mountain could benefit a little from your attention.”

  A broad smile crossed her face. “Thanks. That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”

  “That’s the charitable way of looking at it.” He meant the emphasized word to sting and was pleased to see that it did so. “You’re good with horses. I’ll pay you half your quoted rate. The other owners, well, they may come around when they see your results.”

  “Half! That’s ridiculous!”

  “The deal stands or you may take your horses elsewhere.”

  Arrogant jerk. “You know as well as I do there isn’t a vacant stall in all of Harlan County and your standard rates show it.”

  “Then you may have a problem on your hands.”

  “Okay, fine. Who owns Snugs? I never met her owners and I would like to thank them for their vote of confidence in my continued handling of her and for raising her foal.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “No. I never met them. Sheriff Conant said she belonged to a friend of his.”

  “Well, I... I don’t know either. I was, um, I was just surprised that you didn’t know.”

  She looked at him for a moment, trying to read him more carefully. “Okay, then. Has anyone named the foal?”

  A deep flush crept up his jowls. “Ah, well, um. Yes. I heard the young colt was named Phoenix.”

  The illusion to the bird rising from smoldering ashes was not lost on Jessica. “It seems that I have to thank their owner for more than I first thought. It’s a fitting name, don’t you think?”

  Mr. Bleauvelt again stammered. “I, um, yes. It’s a fitting name.”

  Jessica tired at the game. “Look, I’m having a hard enough time dealing with the people who would prefer I leave this town and never come back. Snugs’ owner must be one of the few people who actually supports me. So, I’ll ask you again. Who is it?”

  The man shifted his weight and looked around his grounds for something else to focus on. Finding nothing, he lowered his head. “The sheriff.”

  Jessica’s head snapped back in surprise. “Michael? This is Michael’s horse and colt? Just whose idea of a joke is this?”

  Mr. Bleauvelt snorted at her discomfort. “It’s not a joke.”

  “I get it. I’m cornered. If I want to remain in Perc and continue trying to build up a reputation as a trainer, the last thing I should do would be to turn away the only outside horse still in my total care.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And you get to sell your story to the tabloids.”

  “Miss Wyeth. I hardly think attacking my
character is what you need to do right now.”

  Her head nodded forcefully with a decision. “Fine. If that’s what I have to work with, then I’d better get started.” She opened the stall door and got to work.

  Anger faded as Phoenix playfully butted his head against her. She could see that his training had been performed to her specifications, but it was obvious that it was done by a person without innate skills. The colt was accustomed to wearing a light mesh halter reacting without so much as a flicked ear when she placed it on him. It takes patience to get a horse to accept foreign objects around its head and on its back, and she was pleased that Phoenix could at least tolerate it. But it was only tolerance. If someone with greater skill had been at work on the colt, the halter would mean the beginning of fun and learning, not just be an end in itself.

  Putting all thoughts of the outside world out of her head, she made her first training goal with the colt to teach it that the human intrusions on its naturally wild disposition could and would be fun. It was a crucial lesson to learn at this early stage and she determined to take her time with the young animal.

  Phoenix was insatiably curious and Jessica laughed frequently while she worked with the youngster. Snugs seemed to enjoy the training sessions as well. After checking her out thoroughly, Jessica finally took her first ride on the new mother. The horse’s stride was relaxed and her manner willing. Jessica could tell she was a horse of excellent lineage and, in time, would be a true asset to her barn regardless of who the owner was. It was something to look forward to and Jessica invested more and more time into the animal.

  She could see her days falling into a rhythm of waking, spending a few hours at Bleauvelt’s farm at dawn, hiking up the mountain and closing with some time at the school. Bleauvelt’s facilities included a spacious indoor arena and Jessica arranged her ring work with both Snugs and Smokey Mountain at times when there were few, if any, people there. It was a schedule that kept her with horses and away from people. For now, and for the foreseeable future, that plan made her existence in Perc livable.