Saltwater in the Bluegrass (12 page)

For those who know me, I have spent my entire life around the ocean, most of it in the southern part of Florida. I have no plans on ever changing my course of direction. If, and when, I ever decide to get married, my wife is going to have to love the beach and these surroundings as much as I do, and that includes the humidity. It’s hot, it’s stinking hot. Sometimes the wind blows, but if you want the coastal lifestyle you get use to it. As for where I now call home, the salt air is in my lungs, and the salt water is in my veins, and there it will always stay.

Now back to fishing. Down in these parts, fishing is considered a religious experience, tugging at your heart strings, making you crazy. It is more a way of life then a prescription-based spiritual dependency. It is a wonderful simplicity. With that said I headed towards the car.

I always found it funny how people spend the majority of their life up north, saving up money so they can come down here after retirement and spend the few years they have left fishing from an overpass or bridge.

Myself, I like taking my skiff out into some remote mangrove bay or one of the flats and getting away from all the traffic, the hustle and bustle and noise, totally oblivious to the world around me; now that is the true art of relaxing. This is part of what keeps me in complete harmony.

I returned back to the
Brenda Kay II
after a couple of hours of fishing. It was sometime after seven. The sun set at 7:47 p.m., and by the time I cleaned and stowed all of my fishing gear in the stern storage hatch, the afternoon was a complete memory.

I grabbed a juice, cleaned my catch, set the fillets in cold water, prepared the galley for supper, and turned on some music before returning back out on the deck.

Within an hour I had eaten supper, cleaned up, gone for a walk down the beach, and still returned before the moon rose an hour later. I climbed back aboard, grabbed a towel, took a hot shower, called it a night around ten-thirty, and by eleven I had fallen into a deep sleep. It had been an exhausting day.

Charles Ingram
spent most of his days out of the country, as far away from the family as possible. Charlie, as he was called, the younger of the two Ingram boys, had made his way around the world several times but always returned to the same navigational points: he followed horses, and he followed women. Both were his passion. Both cost him money. He considered this lifestyle more to his liking, instead of finding himself tied down to the normal grind most people were accustomed to, particularly his older brother, Lamar, and sister, Katherine.

For the past six months, Charlie had made his way through the Virgin Islands, stopping in St. Thomas, St. Croix, and then spending three months on St. Johns at a friend’s villa along the coast. Most of his time since prep school and college had been spent island hopping from friend’s to friend’s while trying his best to always stay at least one step ahead of his family, something not always possible. Right now he found himself running from two signed markers.

Years of gambling, hiding his winnings and losses, had kept him from coming home for more than a day or two at a time. At the present time, running from his losing streak seemed even harder. One marker was for one hundred and sixty thousand dollars, and the other was for two hundred and ten.

He roamed from card games with high table stakes to table games to feel the tumbling of the dice to his most incurable love and addiction, the ponies. High-stakes poker and the sound of “They’re off!” had been the “what was once vice is now habit” to his adult existence.

The trust fund his father had set up for him years earlier gave Charlie eighty six thousand dollars a month, and that was not enough to keep him out of trouble.

It happened that Charlie had called a close longtime friend back in the states, Ms. Jenny Jenkins, and found out the news of his brother’s death.

Jenny was a year younger than Charlie, very pretty, and with a large trust fund of her own growing substantially every quarter, Charlie found her more beautiful every day. Jenny’s father had made his fortune in crickets. Avery Jenkins had cornered the market in owning the largest cricket farm in North America. How do you think all those pet stores sell crickets by the hundreds and packed so neatly in boxes? Snakes, lizards, and frogs have to eat too.

On the phone, Jenny mentioned to Charlie that she had been down in Atlanta shopping with her sister and mom when she heard about the tragedy of his brother on CNN.

“Will you make it back home in time for the funeral?” Jenny asked.

“Sure, I’ll be there,” Charlie answered quicker than she expected.

“Are you sure?” Jenny again asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Charlie loved horse racing. He knew the Bluegrass Stakes was about to run in the coming week at Keeneland Race Track, and the Kentucky Derby was only two weeks away. What a perfect time and opportunity to head home.

He could visit the family, pay his respects to his dead brother, spend an evening or two with Jenny, and then swing over to the track each afternoon.

It was Kentucky in the springtime. It’s what he loved, and when he loved it.

Charlie could not think of a better place to be at such a pretty time of the year, with all the dogwoods and azaleas blooming. Then again, he wanted to be there for the reading of the will, and it would give him time and space to clean up the outstanding markers he owed. Charlie paused for a moment. He was still thinking of his older brother. Was going home worth it? Was crossing paths with his sister once again worth it?

Katherine was the nail
in most people’s coffin. Strength, power, money, and determination had always directed her, especially in business. No one had ever stood in her way, at least not for very long. Those who attempted to push her or to trump her ideas found that they were soon on the outside looking in. Katherine was better left alone. Wits and spirit were her allies. She saw both as the guides to her existence.

Three years older than Lamar and sixteen years older than Charlie, Katherine had made it well known from an early age that she was in charge. Every decision made, whether at home, work, or in the boardroom came through her. Many a man who had tried to strong arm her had been crushed and left behind. In her eyes, it was pecking order plain and simple. Ingram Mansion was hers, and she made it very clear. Katherine made sure everyone knew it, especially Lamar’s new play toy, Kristina.

Katherine had seen it before. She knew the first minute she laid eyes on Kristina Stringer what she was up to. This was not the first stray Lamar had brought home. Girls that were half the age of successful rich businessmen had been doing this for ages. Women could climb into bed with men on Saturday night and wake up on Sunday morning with the “I dos” taken care of before breakfast. Katherine hated the thought of Kristina and the thought of Lamar bringing this woman home to live at the Ingram Mansion. It infuriated Katherine. There might have been a clear view of the river from Kristina’s room, but Katherine was determined to see it muddied at every turn. Passion and revenge came in many forms. It would take time before Kristina would understand or learn how to return Katherine’s serve. Most never did. Through time Kristina was catching on. She was determined to learn from the best and as quickly as she could.

Emily Ingram was off limits.

No one had been allowed to mention her name or even bring up the subject, especially when Katherine was around. Katherine hated the subject. She hated the thought. The subject had quickly been closed when Kristina arrived at the Ingram house and began asking questions about the history of the family. Some topics were better left alone. This was one of them. It was as though Emily Ingram had never existed. It was as though she had never run through the halls of the Ingram estate, as if she had been cast out, not by neglect, but by sheer embarrassment.

Katherine hated what Emily had become during her teenage years. Story around the Ingram home had it that Emily had run around with a bad crowd of people, that she had become heavily addicted to heroin and cocaine just out of high school.

What Kristina could make from the whole thing, Emily had either run away or simply died. Other stories were that she had lost her mind and had been locked away at Our Lady of Restraint outside of Louisville.

There were no clothes, toys, souvenirs, or pictures of Emily’s around the home. If there had been anything solid to substantiate her existence, it had been taken down, removed from the house, or destroyed.

One night Emily was part of the family, and the next morning she was gone. Even so, Katherine always saw reflections of Emily. She saw the reflections when she was alone. She saw the reflections when she looked into the mirror and when she took a bath. She saw the reflections when she closed her eyes at night and tried to sleep. It was not a pleasant ritual for Katherine. The memories were there and so were the reminders. Katherine had once had a best friend; she had once had a sister, and at one time she had loved her very much, but now that sister was gone.

Katherine would at times see Emily through the reflection of a window, an image shooting back from the clean glass. The mirror would sometimes come alive and look back at Katherine, but as quickly as it came, Katherine would make it leave. Katherine would sometimes just get up during a conversation with someone, close her eyes as though she was trying to put someone or something out of her mind, and walk out of the room.

The secrets around Katherine Ingram were getting harder to keep, and Kristina was certainly going to find them out or die trying. There was also Beth Ann, the oldest Ingram daughter, who Kristina had never met. This was the girl who had killed their father after their mother had died, and she was locked away in some ladies’ prison in Pee Wee Valley. There was not much said about her either, at least never at the dinner table.

Discussion of her was also closed since the hearing and incarceration years back, long before Kristina Stringer married Lamar, long before she came into the picture and realized how much fun it was bringing up the two sisters in ordinary conversation.
Old Man Ingram,
Baxter Indy Ingram, died years before Kristina married Lamar. In the front room of the house, the parlor overlooking the dining room, hung a large portrait of Baxter Ingram. Each time Kristina looked at his picture, she thought that Baxter Ingram looked to have been a very unhappy man, a cold man, a man with few moral values. She often figured this was where Katherine had picked up her charming personality. It was obvious that this was where she picked up her business sense. Kristina thought Baxter must have lived only to build his own destiny.

Sometimes Kristina thought that Baxter was watching her as she walked around the room, that he was looking back at her, that his eyes were moving on the canvas.

Sometimes she would just stand alone in the hallway and look at the picture. She thought that his portrait conveyed someone who was not concerned about his children or his wife or any of the people around him, but only himself. As for Katherine, she was definitely a passenger of time when it came to old Ingram ways.

Even so, from the hard smile and demeanor on Old Man Ingram’s face in the picture, it also showed that there must have been happier times around this place.

There had to be.

Kristina tried to fit in. Many times, she wondered what it was that made her feel depressed when walking around this estate. What was it that had happened in the past that still sucked the life out of everyone? What was it that happened to make the brothers and sisters feel so uncomfortable around each other? What was it that made them not want to talk to each other or be in the same room?

Their father had made his way from Europe across to the United States. It had been his college graduation gift from his parents. He had married their mother, Elizabeth, the following year, and together they moved south from New York to Kentucky.

In the early fifties, Baxter opened the doors to the beginning of his empire. Baxter Ingram’s family had been in the newspaper business for many years, and he had more than enough influence and wealth to establish his legacy when he arrived in the Bluegrass State:
The
Kentucky Tribune Newspaper
in Louisville, Kentucky, which in time became the
Kentuckiana Tribune and Star
. This way, news from both sides of the river could be told and twice the profit in sales would be made.

The Ingram Empire grew quickly, and it was not long before Baxter and his wife Liz built their home, known as The Ingram Mansion.

Baxter had bought two hundred acres of prime wooded real estate on what at that time was known as Indian Springs, high on top of the eastern side of town with a view overlooking the Ohio River and across into Indiana.

The Ingram Mansion was the social gathering place. From the front door you could look all the way through the living room to the back door, and you could see the river and the valley below. It was a breathtaking view.

Elizabeth B. Browning Ingram
was pretty enough, in an aristocratic, homely-looking way, the majority of her looks coming from her fathers side of the family.

She was daddy’s little girl.

Lizzy, to most of her friends, lived in upstate New York during most of her childhood. She was the daughter of Ethel and Frank Browning. Frank was the owner and third generation beer baron of Browning Bottling Company and Brasailbok Beer, while Ethel had been raised in Paris, a true lady raised as a member of society. Elizabeth and Baxter met in New York, fell in love, and seven months later they would marry. The marriage ceremony took place on the lower east lawn of her parent’s summer home overlooking the spacious garden while all the upper crust of New England blue-bloods looked on.

Elizabeth was a stay-at-home wife and mother, raising five children, tending to their needs, and hosting all the social events at there luxurious home, while Baxter was off doing business and growing his empire. While Elizabeth was alone, she grew more determined in her duties as a mother and would see to it that the five children were raised to there utmost potential.