The Charity (10 page)

“AH! Jeeesus!” Jason’s wails increased in pitch and tragedy. “No! No! Not Jessica! Not our little Jessie! One minute she’s a murderah and the next she dead! No! Ah Jesus! I just can’t understand dis no more. Ah! Jesus!” Jason’s lament was sent echoing through the barn. The horses shifted nervously in their stalls.

Coogan stopped and stared coolly at Shea. A split second later he glanced at his watch and smiled. “Well, that’s it then. The only suspect is dead. Case closed. Let’s get back to the station.”

Shea’s gaze drifted from Coogan to Jason and then back to Coogan. Flecks of hay and manure clung to the detective’s imported leather shoes. He noted that whatever Coogan had been looking for it must have been pretty damned important.

“Yeah, right. That’s it. There is nothing more I can do.” He barely succeeded at hiding his contempt. Catching himself, he continued, forcing his tone to be congratulatory. “I guess this is one for the books. Nice job, Coogan. I really have to hand it to you. I never would have sewn up this one so tight and so fast. I just know the citizens of Hamilton really owe you one.”

Coogan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the young cop. “Thanks. I’ll remember you said that.”

It was night before Jessica dared to move again. Her body ached from being in one position for so many hours. Slowly and carefully she began to straighten her arms and legs. Her stealth was partly to guard against any other bales of hay from falling on her and partly because she was so stiff she was afraid she would scream out in pain if she moved too fast. She had locked herself into one position immediately after the first bale of hay fell. From that point, she was in the middle of a house of cards. One additional movement at the wrong time and everything would have come crashing down on her.

Her forced stillness meant her thoughts were free to thrash about. She tried to put the pieces together in some way that she could grasp and comprehend. The past two days were growing fuzzier, marked by broad strokes of memories of seeing Gus dead and being covered with blood herself. There was more to it than that. The rough fragments of memories she had the day before were slipping away. In their place, the guilt of her inability to act grew. She killed her family. She could have helped them if she had just had the strength to be heard. But she did not get anyone to listen to her. She did not scream or run or take the knife out of anyone’s hands. She did not try hard enough and they were all dead.

She killed Gus Adams and now everyone knew it. The verdict was in and it was undeniable. She was a murderer. And, according to what she heard in the barn, a dead one at that. She was alone. Totally alone. She could not and would not seek help from anyone, especially the police.

Jessica climbed down out of the loft and landed with a thud at the base of the ladder. Her joints ached and her limbs did not respond easily to her commands for movement. She listened again to the sounds of the barn and began to walk around.

The barn, once familiar, was now so strange. She walked up and down the aisles, smelling the sweet musky odor of the horses and listening to their contented sounds. Memories of a little girl popping in and out of stalls as she helped Gus care for a sore tendon or hot foreleg came upon her and then faded. Peals of laughter from her mother and father echoed back into the soft nickerings of the barn’s inhabitants.

After a long while of drifting, she found herself standing in front of Blue Jeep’s stall. She looked at the big gray gelding as he munched away at a mouthful of hay. The brass plate with his name shone in the muted light of the night. Running her finger over the etched letters of his name, Jessica slowly curled up into a ball at the base of the stall door. Knees hugged tightly to her chest, she began to sob.

She tried to curl herself up so tightly that she hoped she would truly disappear. Images of her family sharpened and faded. She begged her mother and father to come back, to help her. Feeling small and helpless, huge wails escaped from her as she pleaded with them for forgiveness and to protect her from the bad people. She waited a long time for them to reach down and touch her, but the touch never came. It never did when she had cried for them so many times over the years. Now, she added a name to her lament. She wanted so desperately for Gus to come back and to tell her that this was all a joke.

Eventually, the raw wound of emotions hardened over. Tears stopped streaming down her face. She stayed curled into a ball with her head down on her knees. Something touched her, and for a moment her heart pounded with the thought that her prayers were answered. Then she became more fully aware of a warm breath on the back of her neck. She looked up into the face of Blue Jeep.

He draped his neck over the side of the door to get a closer look. He nuzzled her softly and butted her gently with his giant head urging her to stand up. Jessica let herself into his stall and threw her arms around the horse’s muscular neck. He seemed to sense her need for comfort, letting his head droop over her shoulder. Soon, though, he became alert to the prospect that she might take him on a hard ride and began pacing excitedly around his stall.

“You’ll miss me, won’t you Jeeps?” The horse cocked an ear toward his companion and looked toward the door.

“No. Sorry buddy. No rides tonight.” Jessica let herself out of the stall taking care not to let the big animal follow her through. “I’m sorry, Jeeps. I have to go. I know you’ll get a real good home somewhere.” She gave him another brisk rub on his forehead and kissed his nose. “G’Bye, fella.” Choking back fresh tears, she turned and walked back up the corridor.

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