The Charity (11 page)

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 through 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...”

“No. No. I can assure you that I am interested only for myself. I want to keep it as a horse farm.”

“Dear child! That is just music to mah ears! But now listen. Ya’ll just sound like such a sweet young thing. I have had many lookers at that property with dreams of horses. One after the other dropped away as soon as they saw the land. Just one big flat part and the rest is nothing but mountainside. There’s nothing to breeze a horse on if you were looking to set up a track and really nothing flat enough for a workout ring. I have just trekked out to that spot so often on a wild goose chase that I want to make sure you know what it is right from the start. You know that I am only thinking of your own well being, you sounding like such a sweetie an’ all. Well, I just happen to have another listing for a great farm just two towns over in Cumberland. That town is farther up the plateau and already has a nice farm or two going over there.”

Jessica was a bit confused by Lainely. Was she trying to sell the property or guard it from her? “Oh, Lainely, you are so nice to think of me. I would like to see your uncle’s farm. Do you have any time tomorrow?”

“Well, let’s see what I can fit here.” Sounds of pages being turned crackled through the telephone. “Yes, Sweetie, yes. I can show it to you tomorrow around noon. I’ll drive. I would hate to see you get stuck on that path they call a road in any little car. Now then, where are you coming from and I can give you directions to my office?”

“Good, I’m glad I don’t have to wait. I’m staying at the Garrison Inn on Main Street.”

“Ah! Well Dahling, that is just a skip and a jump to here. Why don’t I swing by at noon and pick you up and we’ll just go on straight from there? I am just so thrilled that you’re at the Garrison’s! I’ll just bet that Tabor talked your ear off. He just loves meeting people who are not from around here. You just sound like such a nice young thing. Did Tabor just rattle on about everything or what? I swear that man can talk until a cat grows horns if you give him half a chance.”

“Gee, no. I guess he knew that I was kind of tired. I’m sure that we’ll have another chance to talk while I’m here. Thank you, Lainely. I’m looking forward to meeting you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Miss Whi-yat. I am so looking forward to our afternoon tomorrow.”

Jessica’s heart skipped a beat as she heard her name. It took a moment before she remembered that a southern drawl made her adopted surname sound too much like her old name. She was going to have to get used to that.