The Charity (2 page)

He closed the door quietly behind them and turned on the radio. Loud music filled the air as he drew Margaret close, bringing his mouth to her ear. Her scent filled him again and he felt her press against him just so slightly. He kissed her softly and paused briefly before he spoke.

“We’ve got to act now. After the race, I put the last of my notes in the safe deposit box, but Gus knows about them.”

“He knows? My God! What did he say?”

“N-nothing. It was a mistake,” Jim continued on, feeling compelled to apologize. “I know he told me never to keep any records—that doing so would mean certain death for us—but I had to. It made me feel like I was taking some kind of action to help us. I told him the track officials are bearing down on me. They’re doing everything they can to make it hard. Today they nearly put our jockey under a microscope and they didn’t let me or Dark out of their sight once.”

“They put Dark down?”

“Yes. Immediately. I think the officials are calling for a post mortem.”

Margaret straightened her back and lifted her chin. “That makes us look like filthy hacks.” Checking her anger, she lowered her head and her voice. “But what about the injury? I thought the plan was to have Dark Irish pull up lame at the quarter pole.”

“That was the plan.”

“But Gus the Miracle Worker pulled through again.”

“Right. Too many wins with a pattern of skyrocketing odds against us at post time have raised one too many eyebrows. You know as well as I do that winning with odds like that can make poor men rich and rich men untouchable. Several of the other owners are asking a lot of questions now. Someone started a rumor that I’ve
been offering kickback payments to the rest of the pack and providing false injury reports to fuel the last minute odds changes.” He paused for a moment at the irony and considered his decision. “Margaret, if we don’t take action now we’ll be ruined. The race officials are talking about barring us from every track in the US and pressing criminal charges. It’s either facing this now and praying we’ll find help or having our life sucked out of us forever.”

She pulled herself away and rubbed the palms of her hands together. “Can’t we just go to the police?”

“We tried that, remember? Our lives will never be the same because we did. No, we’ve got to find another way.”

Jim could see the ripple of sorrow run through her. She spoke with downcast eyes. “We’ll run. We’ll hide somewhere. It would be easy to.”

“Easy? My face is known around the world as the ‘Man with the Golden Touch’ with horses.”

“Gus trained the horses, not you. He’s the one who has ‘the touch.’”

“He wasn’t doing me a favor by pumping up my image with the press. He thought the myth of ‘Jim Wyeth’ would make Worldwind Farm’s success more believable. It backfired. By giving me all of the credit, I’m too famous to hide. And what about Erin? You can’t just stash her away while we run for the rest of our lives.”

Margaret’s breaths came shallow and fast. “If... if that’s what it will take to keep us alive, we could send her to a school.”

“No ‘school’ would take her”

“I’ve heard of one in Kentucky. It deals with children like her.”

“Kentucky?”

“Yes. The school is in the middle of horse country down there. I’ve talked with Jessica and even she thinks it’s a great idea. Erin won’t feel far from home there.”

Margaret’s eyes supplied the emotional plea she was too proud to voice. Jim knew that even Margaret’s suggesting that she could part with Erin meant she was desperate to get away. He kissed her on the lips and softened his tone. “How could we pay her tuition without being traced?”

“Bridget. Bridget would help us. I know she would.”

Jim shook his head. “No. Leave her out of this. If we found a way, we couldn’t take the risk of being too close by or even visiting. Besides, Erin would be too exposed, too vulnerable without us. If they found her, it wouldn’t take long to find us.” He placed a finger gently on her lips to stop the protest before it started. “No. The only way is to come forward on the details to the national racing board and the press.”

“Why the press? They’ll vilify you for cheating, making it easier to ruin you.”

“If I get to them first, maybe I can win their sympathy. At a minimum, I can keep alive in the glare of their spotlight. I’ll hide out in the open. I should have done this long ago, but now I have more than enough evidence. Maybe now with Dark’s breakdown the additional attention might help us. If we break the winning streak and come forward with what we know, Worldwind Farm will be useless to the old man.”

“I’m afraid, Jim. I’ve heard stories.”

“Me too, but we can’t think about that now.”

They hugged one another with the cold knowledge of their fate if they were wrong. The house was quiet now. Its stillness somehow growing, pushing them to action.

“Get the girls ready to go early in the morning. I’ll bring you to your sister’s place. Bridget will help you all go further, if necessary. If my plan works, the worst should be over in a week or two. If not...” He wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on her head so she could not see his face. There was no need to finish his sentence.

Jessica rose in the dark hours of the morning. She had another unsettling dream of clouds and thunder. Restless, she padded quietly down the stairs of her home to get herself a drink of juice. The sodden fog of sleep was pulling her back to a soft, warm bed when a sound caught her attention. The shrill grate of metal on metal escaped from the garage. The little girl opened the door and saw a man emerge from under the hood of her mother’s immense station wagon.

The man’s eyes darted to the unexpected visitor. Something shiny ran along his cheek from his mouth toward his ear, baring his teeth and pulling his smile to one side. He seemed a little bit skittery, like something spooked him. A child’s instinct told her to stay away from him, but his presence offered a challenge. She lifted her chin and offered one back.

“Who are you?”

“I’m just helping out with the cleaning.” The man made a queer snort in response to his own joke. His mouth fought his words and he sounded just like Gus. “So, be gone with you.” He turned and stuck his head back under the hood.

“No! I’m gonna get my Daddy and tell him
!”
The movement to tattle made her leg catch against the sharp edge of a tool chest. Metal dug into her skin. “Ouch!”

An eerie, animal-like sound filled the air. Where was it coming from? Hair rose up on her neck and arms as she watched the man’s head again emerge. His face was locked into a contorted grin, one side of his mouth painfully yanked aside by his scar, the crooked smile replaced with a carnivorous leer. It was no longer human. And it was coming closer to her.

She did not truly hear the vindictive laugh of the man or see the malice of his grin. She only heard an animal’s anguished cry and saw the hungry mouth of a wolf. She scrambled to get out of the path of the oncoming fangs. The arms of the beast were outstretched, trying to entangle her. As she ran from the garage, through the haze of her cold terror, a fragment of colors lodged somewhere in her mind.

Working like a camera and film, her eyes saw something clearly and distinctly. Her mind stored the frozen images deep within the place of a child’s psyche reserved for only the most primal fears and chilling fantasies. The little girl was not consciously aware of a shamrock tattooed on the man’s inner arm. There was more to the shamrock than her mind could grasp in that split second. Her eyes saw but did not comprehend the knife slicing through the shamrock with a trickle of red coming from the wound.

June 1983

BRIDGET STOOD ON
the porch of the farmhouse with her arms crossed watching as the police cruiser in the driveway discharged its passengers. Jessica and Anna emerged with their heads down and a look of cultivated contriteness.

Anna Bates had proven herself more than a ready participant in any scheme Jessica may have come up with. Bridget knew Jessica considered Anna her best friend, but Bridget’s preferred term for her was partner in crime. The two girls could have been sisters. Each had blonde hair, a graceful and athletic figure, and could have simply charming personalities if the opportunity was right. Bridget was never really sure who came up with the ideas first, but it hardly mattered. From staying out all night to running away for days on end, neither sixteen-year-old girl could claim to be an innocent.

Today was no exception as Bridget listened to the officer warn the girls about where their hijinks may lead and that they had to grow up and take responsibility for their actions. They kept their heads lowered, but when the officer had his back to them Bridget saw them quickly bump shoulders and stifle a giggle. Reluctantly she admitted to herself that no amount of charm school was going to put either girl on the social register. Taming Jessica was something she quickly learned would never happen. Either she was going to accept the girl for who she was and forge a relationship from there or she was going to be hated for that rejection. As much as Bridget regretted the influence of Anna’s presence in Jessica’s life she refused any alternative. The Wyeth farmhouse was as close to having a real home as it got for Anna and Bridget considered both girls to be her daughters.

Bridget pulled back her shoulders trying to gather up her strength and braced herself to talk with Jessica. Attempts at conversation had not been going well because Jessica was quick to anger or retreated back into sullen teenage silence. Bridget’s body once matched Jessica’s with its slim silhouette but time and circumstance had taken its toll. Pulling back her shoulders only temporarily straightened her stooped frame. She still had clear blue eyes that could bore through a liar’s soul. She prided herself on being a lady and conducting herself as such. Her cultivated aloof nature projected calm and control but also served to protect her from anyone wanting to get too close.

Her once fine hands wrung together with fret and worry. To settle them and to calm herself, she absently fidgeted with her gold broach that she affixed to her sweater every morning to complete her uniform of solid color cotton blouse, gabardine or tweed skirt, and sensible shoes. The broach, three gold interlocking circles with amethysts and an emerald in an ornate setting called a triune knot, was supposed to be her good luck charm. She had been getting weaker lately and she felt like her health was being siphoned away. It worried her and she gave the broach an extra rub. A slight staccato cough rippled up as she summoned the control to talk.

“Jessica. I need to speak with you privately.”

The two girls looked at each other and mocked a wide-eyed shock. Anna turned around and headed to the barn without hesitation.

“Are you okay?” Jessica asked and immediately launched into a rehearsed and insincere apology. “I’m really sorry about today! Anna and I just didn’t want to be in school on such a great day and we—”

Bridget cut her off. “Jessica. You have been raising Cain long enough. I can’t keep watch over someone who shuns all conventions.”

“Yeah. And?”

“And I don’t have the strength that I used to.”

Jessica looked at her aunt with growing concern. “And?” she asked again in a voice smaller than before.

“And you’re leaving for wilderness camp next week. You need to talk with Anna.”

Bridget watched Jessica carefully as the girl put her head down again. This time her shoulders slumped and she nodded imperceptibly. “I know. I’ve already told her I’m going again. I just didn’t know when.”

Bridget wanted to cry but didn’t. She was a woman of composure and she would not let her emotions run away with her. It wasn’t fair, she wanted to scream, that this child would have everything and everyone she considered family taken away from her! People called Jessica ‘lucky’ for not being in the car accident that claimed the lives of Jim, Margaret and Erin. That Jessica was ‘lucky’ to have an aunt arrive at the Wyeth farm the day after and take up the severed strings of mother. That Jessica was ‘lucky’ to have Aunt Bridget who seemed so prepared to fill that void. But Bridget wanted to know what ‘luck’ really had to do with any of it.

Bridget continued, “You may tell Anna that she is welcome here any time.”

“I will. She knows that already though.”

Bridget watched the back of the young woman walk up the slate path to the barns with a heart breaking apart. A lump was forming in Bridget’s throat as she moved to open the screen door to the kitchen. Packing for camp was the easy part of the preparations Bridget had painstakingly begun, but it was other preparations that most consumed Bridget. Jim and Margaret’s estate was large and she was quick to learn the finer details of it. Bridget and Margaret had stolen their private conversations whenever they could so Bridget was well aware of her fears and dreams. Since their deaths, she did not hear of any more concerns about Wyeth’s Worldwind Farm’s winnings. Nor did she ask.

Bridget made sure that Jessica knew of certain provisions of the trust which held the estate until she was old enough to manage such wealth on her own. Margaret and Bridget were nobody’s fools when it came to protecting their girls. They made sure the trust protected their assets from creditors and provided for Erin’s ongoing care. Never did anyone think that mother, father and daughter would die together so Bridget reworked the trust for Jessica’s cultivation. Such wealth could do funny things to people’s desires and Bridget did not trust Jessica’s maturity to handle such responsibility. Giving her access to her money a bit at a time would ease her transition into a more respectable life.

Fatigued, Bridget headed to her bedroom to put her feet up before she began making dinner for the two of them. She walked through the kitchen and into the main hallway. Sunlight poured through the transom windows on either side of the paneled front door, casting shadows upon a large staircase which wound its way up to the second floor. A wooden bench, a small table set with a vase of flowers and a fine oriental rug were the only adornments. This time of year Bridget kept the vase and others around the house filled with the delicate pink and white flowers of her favorite flower, Mountain Laurel. She smiled at the sight of them and continued her way upstairs. A brief spasm of coughing made her dizzy and she reached to balance herself on the newel post of the stair railing. The whole top section of the post gave way under her weight. Not having the expected support she toppled over and landed on the broad stairwell. Slightly stunned, she paused for a moment to catch her breath and looked at the one-foot section of the post that contained the top finial and its supporting molding resting upon the floor beside her. Slowly she pulled herself back to a standing position and peered down into the now topless post. A crudely hollowed space was filled with a tightly rolled brown envelope.

Bridget reached down into the hollow and absently, almost lovingly, fingered the well-worn edges of the papers. Straightening herself, she heaved the finial up and jammed it back into its place on top of the post. “Damn stupid thing,” she muttered and continued up the stairs.

Jessica knew exactly where to find Anna and joined her in the large hayloft of the smaller barn. It was their favorite place to be as they could see and hear everything that went on around the farm in complete secrecy. No one ever discovered their private location except for the inquisitive barn cats and occasional rat. There were days they would hear Bridget or Gus calling for them, but answering them would have given away their secret and they sometimes spent the night there. They laughed at the foolishness of Bridget and Gus’ frantic searches thinking something dire had happened to them when they were warm, safe and happy. Jessica helped reinforce the hay bale igloo so it would be big enough to move around in and crawled inside next to her friend.

“I leave next week,” she said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m always okay,” Anna shifted herself into a more comfortable position.

“Aunt Bridget says you can come here anytime.”

“Yeah. I will. She’s the only one who notices when I’m not around.”

“That’s not true,” Jessica lowered her eyes. “I do, too.”

Anna punched Jessica in the shoulder and changed the subject. “Tell me again about this place?”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Jessica began trying to keep the enthusiasm out of her voice. “It’s a lot of camping in mountains and stuff like that. The riding they do is different than around here. The horses are scruffier, but they handle crazy steep trails like mountain goats. The guides teach you how to take care of yourself and others with, like, no real equipment or anything.”

“Sounds like that would suck.”

“When I went there last year we camped out on a glacier!”

“That sounds like it would suck even more.” They both burst out laughing.

“‘It channels the wild child in you, dear,’” Jessica said in the tone of voice she always used when mocking Aunt Bridget. They held their sides as they laughed.

“‘Oh! That girl is such a tomboy,’” Anna responded back in kind, rekindling their mirth.

After a while, the laughter tapered off and they lay in their fragrant cocoon listening to the sounds of the barn. It was feeding time and they could hear the stable hands leading the horses back to their stalls so the girls stifled any additional banter to prevent their discovery. Once released into their stalls the horses paced and stamped their impatience for their evening meals of hay and sweetfeed, a combination of oats, corn and molasses. Water buckets were filled and the stable hands made the last barn check of the night. The girls could hear the hands’ conversations about how a horse did in training that day or what plans they had for the evening. They sometimes found it hard to recognize individual voices but could always distinguish Gus’ from a distance. Whenever he was near, they kept especially still.

This was not a night they heard Gus’ voice. Jessica knew he was in Ireland scouting for more breeding stock. Ireland’s long tradition of thoroughbred racing was something Gus could not ignore while running a world-class operation like Wyeth’s Worldwind Farm. Jessica begged to go with him instead of wilderness camp and she was hurt by his blunt refusals. Gus seemed never to have time to teach her about how to be a great trainer, so listening in on barn conversations was her own private tutorial on how to identify and cultivate a top horse. Jessica felt she could pick a winner as good if not better than most of the men that came to the farm to talk about the races. She would try to impress Gus with her knowledge and grew angry when she was curtly rebuffed time and again. She knew that one day, whether Gus helped her or not, she would be ready to take over as head of the farm.

It was dusk when they emerged from the hayloft. Anna declined Jessica’s offer of dinner and headed off on her own. Jessica strode down the driveway looking at the light coming from the kitchen windows of her home. She saw Aunt Bridget’s shadow pass in front of the window and Jessica felt that familiar pang and longing for her parents and sister.

Pushing back her thoughts, she bounded up the back porch steps two at a time and entered the kitchen. A pot of thick beef stew bubbled on the stove and the scent made Jessica’s mouth water.

“Mmm. That smells great! I’m starving!” After she had washed her hands in the kitchen sink, she turned and looked at Bridget. The older woman stood in the doorway holding a rumpled brown envelope in her hands.