The Charity (16 page)

She drove her Jeep up the mountain and thought about her day. She smiled when thinking of the Percivals and Father Steeves. They were good people, and she felt herself trusting them. The sense of community she felt coming from everyone she met over the past week acted as a balm over her worn psyche. Still, as pleased as she was with Perc and now having a viable training assignment, Jessica felt the familiar urge to run before anyone got any closer to her. She was extremely concerned now with her connection to Chad Bleauvelt. If he had more friends that crossed over horse disciplines, she could be recognized. Uncertain that Perc would be free from such people, she was even more determined to keep control of what people knew of her.

She pulled her Jeep up to the house and hopped out. Soft nickerings could be heard in the distance.

“Well! I guess you girls are finally getting to know me, too!” Jessica walked up to the two horses and patted their strong necks. They extended their noses over the fence searching for a treat. Jessica pulled out some sugar cubes she had taken from tonight’s dinner and fed her buddies. She looked around the farm lit only by the dim floodlights she had left on and smelled the air. She felt good here.

“Well, maybe I’ll stay for a little while.” She smiled to herself and walked down the hill to her house.

Jessica went straight to work preparing for the Harvest Hunter Pace. Mr. Bleauvelt had made it very clear that he wanted to personally oversee her preparations for the Pace. He also made it clear that she was to ride one of his horses; the same big gray Jessica had seen at the team-picking rally.

Jessica passed on this piece of bad news to Hoyt, but insisted on continuing with Gapman’s training. She argued with him successfully that if Gapman had some intensive training then Hoyt would better enjoy the pace himself. People would certainly notice the difference in the horse, too, thought Jessica, so training Gapman would not be a wasted effort in advertising her skills as a trainer. The early October event was just a few weeks away, and she took whatever time she found to get both horses ready. She divided her time between her farm, Gapman, and Bleauvelt’s big gray.

As the date approached, Jessica noticed a change in Mr. Bleauvelt’s attitude toward her. He was a man who certainly had a strong build in his younger years but now his strength had softened with the ‘good life’ into an aristocratic paunch. Of medium height, he had a southern grace about him that Jessica knew would make him stand out as a horseman. He was confident in his capabilities training horses, but he became quite aware that his newest team member far surpassed his knowledge and skill.

Bleauvelt had been forced to look outside his normal circle of acquaintances to locate another team member after one had recently suffered a bad fall. He felt cornered into taking Miss White at the team-picking rally since she placed so highly, but quickly became quite pleased with his decision.

Jessica made a habit of arriving at Bleauvelt Farm just after sunrise each morning. She knew that this would be the time of day when she would run into the fewest people, and the horses would be their freshest. Mr. Bleauvelt was pleased with the industriousness of his new trainer and said so. Jessica merely smiled politely and continued her work, carefully avoiding any conversation about anything other than training and horses with Mr. Bleauvelt.

Bleauvelt’s big gray, Smokey Mountain, initially had a bad attitude toward his new rider. Jessica slowly determined that the horse had been ridden by too many unskilled riders and had soured to taking commands from someone he did not respect. A good deal of their first sessions together was spent making the huge horse perform dressage passages.

Jessica always considered dressage to be the equine version of ballet and knew its conditioning to be superb in preventing injury. She loved making the animals prance sideways and perform supple bends around the tightest turns while being finely attuned to her commands. The use of subtle cues demanded the horse to vary its gait or bend its body in ways that did not come naturally to the huge athletes. It forced the horse to concentrate on what it was being asked to do. Smokey Mountain was fast to respect his trainer and this respect translated immediately into a better dialogue between them on the open hunt course.

The day before the Harvest Hunter Pace, Mr. Bleauvelt called Jessica into his den. His house was a large beautiful Federal-style home with impressive white columns flanking a bright white facade. The den was richly paneled in finely oiled mahogany. Two deep red leather chairs were pulled close to the fire in the hearth, their brass grommets glowing against the thickly padded arms. Mr. Bleauvelt was sitting in one chair staring absently into the red embers.

“Mr. Bleauvelt? What’s wrong? You look upset.” Jessica walked into the den and leaned against the door with folded arms. She was still attired in her uniform of slim black riding boots, dark tan colored breeches and a sweater. Her breeches skimmed her legs from the tops of her boots, along her thighs to her waist. Her sweater, old and worn but of obvious quality, draped elegantly around her shoulders. Horsehair and dust from the day’s workouts still clung to the soft suede patches on her inner knee, but she still looked comfortable and at ease in the rich environment.

“Of all the stupid luck!” he stormed as he hit his fist on the padded arm of his chair. “I took Blue Velvet out this morning for one last breeze before tomorrow’s event. I had been so impressed by the work you were doing with Smokey Mountain that I thought I could tune her up a bit for the big day and tried some of the passages I’d seen you do. Well, there’s more of a knack to it than I thought, and I guess she wasn’t ready for it. The vet just called me to say she has a pulled tendon and can’t be ridden for a while.” He jabbed at the embers with a fire iron. “Damnation!”

“He’s right. I just checked on her. I thought she was standing funny in her stall and found the sore spot. She’ll be fine, but tomorrow’s event is definitely out. What do you want to do?”

“You’re a trainer. Can’t you do something to make her right?”

“Um. No. She has a minor issue and working her now could lead to a much more serious injury.”

“What about giving her a shot of something to numb it up a bit. I used to see that done at the track.”

Jessica tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “No. There is nothing I will do but offer her rest.”

“All right, fine then. Damnation!” He jabbed the fire some more and remained in deep thought. Eventually, he continued talking. “The only other horse I can ride is Smokey Mountain. I’ve been following your advice and riding him every afternoon. He really has improved. I called the other team members and no one else has a horse ready for the event. What about that other animal you have been training?”

Jessica broke into a huge smile and strode into the room. “You mean Percival’s Gapman? He is ready. I have been really impressed with that animal. He has heart and he loves the rough terrain. To him, it’s just one big game to be won.” Hoyt’s dream was about to come true! She held her breath not to say anything until Mr. Bleauvelt came up with the idea himself.

He looked at Jessica steadily in the eyes. “Do you honestly think that horse can keep up with the other animals on our team? You’ve seen them. Class A hunters, each of them. I do not want to be embarrassed by some hack horse,” he said in a steely tone.

“Mr. Bleauvelt. You saw Gapman at the team-picking rally. He must certainly have done something right, or I would not have placed in the top five and we would not be talking right now. I’ve been riding him every day, and I know he’ll be an asset to this team.” Jessica was excited about riding Gapman. Smokey still had a touch of a know-it-all attitude about him, but Gapman was just happy and willing to go wherever Jessica took him. Besides, Smokey Mountain’s snotty attitude was a perfect match for his owner.

Mr. Bleauvelt picked up the phone and made the call to Hoyt. She could tell by the expression on Mr. Bleauvelt’s face that Hoyt made him work for every word. Hoyt was likely dancing on the other end of the phone, but he did not want to seem to be too eager to relinquish his horse. Finally, Mr. Bleauvelt returned the phone to its cradle.

“Hoyt’s bringing Gapman down tonight so the horses can get acquainted with one another.” He turned and looked at the flames. “I know I don’t have to tell you about the consequences of this decision, Miss White. Now, tomorrow I will meet you at the registration booth at seven a.m. sharp. The horses will be readied for us.” Jessica was dismissed.

October 1995

THE SUN BROKE
over the Pine Mountains, and its light winked off the heavy dew that had settled in the valley the night before. The site of the Harvest Hunter Pace start was in the large meadow of a park close to the river. At daybreak, the field was full of SUVs and pickup trucks pulling horse trailers and large eight-horse Pullman vans. The horses snorted with excitement and their breath puffed out of their nostrils in twin blasts of steam.

The spectator area was already crowded with people. The Harvest Hunter Pace was put on by the town of Perc and attended by serious horsemen and horsewomen around Kentucky as well as neighboring states.

It was easy to pick out the riders from the spectators. The onlookers were gathered into tight groups, huddled around coffee mugs and bundled in warm jackets. The riders were clustered only in groups of four. Three riders of each group wore the expected formal riding attire of a black or dark tweed coat with a velvet-trimmed collar. Each team leader wore the traditional scarlet jacket with its black collar. Crisp white shirts were topped at the collars with black neckbands or stocks, with large pins in them. Some men opted for the more formal ascot around their necks. All riders donned the dress black velvet covered hard-hats. The light colored breeches and slim black leather boots reaching almost to their knees completed the trim and accomplished habits of the riders.

Jessica was no exception. She wore her best show breeches which were snug fitting and slightly lighter in color than her daily workout pair. Her black coat was made of a fine wool gabardine and was worn over a richly woven starched white shirt. Her long hair was secured into a bun at the nape of her neck. The morning sun made her sprinkling of freckles contrast with her pale skin and her blue eyes glowed with excitement and purpose. Her naturally cautious and removed demeanor translated into a classic and aloof air. Anyone who saw her came to the same conclusion. She looked stunning.

The teams were identified by a colored band worn on the right arms of its four members. Flashes of pink, blue, yellow, and other colors could be seen in the morning light. Jessica could just make out the profiles of Hoyt and ClaireAnne but did not recognize their other team members wearing what Hoyt called “Percival’s Proper Purple.” Jessica caught his eye and waved to him. Hoyt beamed and gave her a thumbs-up sign.

She met with Mr. Bleauvelt and the other team members at seven o’clock as agreed. Their team was to wear an armband of royal blue. Bleauvelt, looking quite handsome in his scarlet jacket and white ascot, cleared his throat and assumed a serious air.

“Good morning. The horses are ready for us and we are going to be the twelfth team out this morning. I trust you have all met Miss Tess White. Miss White is the young woman who has worked wonders with Smokey Mountain.” The other team members nodded in greeting toward Jessica. “For Miss White’s benefit, the name of this event is a ‘hunter pace.’ But what we all know as a ‘hunt’ of a dozen horses following baying hounds is not what we are here for today. This event is more of an endurance challenge. We will work as a team to get over the mountain and back again in the best time. The best time from past years was a little over two hours.”

Jessica was a bit put off at being spoken about as if she did not know what she was up against, but attributed Mr. Bleauvelt’s manner to nerves and genetic arrogance.

“We have all had a chance to review the course map. The toughest part comes toward the end after we have climbed the ridge and doubled back down the inside of the ledge. That’s when we hit Jackman’s Ravine. Both horse and rider will be very fatigued at this point so be aware of your speed and overall pace through the event.” The other team members nodded in recognition and agreement.

“The course is not marked with a cross-over point. The next red course flag you will see is about 100 yards away from the ravine on the other side. It is up to us as a team to find the best crossing point. John?” The tall, thin man to Jessica’s right raised his head. “John. I want you to take the lead to scout a good crossing point. Ruby?” The auburn haired woman to Jessica’s left looked up. “I want you to track south to see if you can see the course flags on the other side of the ravine. That will save us some time when we cross.” He handed each person a long thin metal whistle on a royal blue silk cord. “Three short bursts on this will tell us that you’ve marked the course. One long whistle means that you have a horse or rider down. Two blows mean you need help locating the others. When you hear that, stop and wait for the leader to respond. Questions?” He looked at each person slowly. His gaze stopped at Jessica and he smiled. “Okay, now mount up.”

The other teams were already waiting at the starting gate. A large scoreboard had been erected, and each team was listed by color and leader name. A time clock ticked away the seconds to the start of the first wave. A team was to set off every four minutes.

The team that had the lowest average time for all of its members would win. Penalties would be given if any team member crossed the start or finish line more than five seconds from the last team member. Course checkers were disbursed along the way to make sure teams did not stray off course and to offer assistance if needed.

In setting the course, the checkers made sure there would be choices at any interval, one advanced, and one easier to accommodate riders and horses at all levels of skill and conditioning. Having such choices made the event one of strategy, as well as skill and preparation. Time penalties would be given if a team went off course or failed to check into any of the appointed checkpoints.

“Royal Blue Team! Mounts to ready!” The start official looked at her clipboard and read the names of the participants into her hand-held microphone. “Team Leader Chadwick Bleauvelt IV riding Smokey Mountain; John Maison riding River’s Edge; Ruby Maison riding Maison Dixon and Tess White astride Percival’s Gapman.”

Jessica had made sure that Hoyt’s name would appear with Bleauvelt’s team. She looked over the crowd and saw Hoyt with his other team members. They smiled at one another, and Jessica brought her focus back to the start of the pace. Her eyes briefly scanned the spectator boxes. The tall, dark head stood out from others bent over programs. Michael Conant was looking directly at her.

Jessica felt color rise in her cheeks, and she became angry at herself.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Good Luck.” The start official logged the start time on her clipboard and watched the riders go off across the meadow and over the first two obstacles. They were in perfect unison. She nodded her approval and got the next team to the mark.

The first part of the Hunter Pace was over well-marked, easy terrain. Red flags dotted the meadow and led toward a trail in the trees. The climb up the mountain started gradually. Jessica was third in line after John and Ruby. Mr. Bleauvelt followed closely behind her.

They took the fences and the streams with ease. Each horse and rider was enjoying the fine day and had a hard time conserving their energies for later in the course. John set an easy pace and the strides of his red chestnut mare were relaxed and long.

The first three checkpoints were passed, and the climb began to get tougher. The course now was set so that the fastest route was straight up the hill. The team members knew that most other horses would not have the energy at this point to take a direct route. John stopped briefly and checked on each horse and rider with a critical eye. Mr. Bleauvelt had been critiquing each horse’s performance up to this point from the rear position and nodded that they were able to take the direct route. The riders positioned their bodies over their mount’s shoulders and gave the horses a loose rein. The horses were adept at finding their own way and surged up the mountain.

Jessica talked steadily to Gapman and monitored his breathing and pulse carefully. He nearly danced up the hill with delight at the challenge of it and easily overtook Ruby on Maison Dixon. His ears were pricked forward in attention to the terrain and flicked back whenever Jessica’s voice changed in warning or praise. She was thrilled at how much fun they were having and gave him frequent pats on the neck to say thanks.

The course then leveled off and followed the top spine of the ridge and the horses had a chance to catch their breath. The view was spectacular. The late morning sun was casting its light down into the several valleys below. Rivers and lakes glistened, and the last of the dew shimmered softly in the shadows stunning Jessica with its beauty. Closing her eyes, she took in the smells of the horses and the churned up earth and was comforted by their aromas. They cantered easily four abreast through one clearing. Everyone was smiling. Days just didn’t get better than this.

Mr. Bleauvelt made a point to ask each rider how they and their horses were doing. He patted Smokey Mountain on the neck and took a sip from his flask. It seemed to Jessica like he was beginning to enjoy himself. He was still focused on bringing in a winning team, and she knew he would not let himself get too caught up in the moment. But it was Smokey Mountain that concerned her. Flecks of foam fell from his mouth as he worked his bit in frustration. The horse wanted to be in control that was in direct conflict with his rider. Bleauvelt yanked the horse’s head around to reassert his dominance. Jessica flinched.

The trail turned sharply downhill, and several course flags forced them over fallen trees and down a small stream. They nodded at the course checkers and continued down into the forest. The sound of rushing water was growing louder.

Around a sharp bend was Jackman’s Ravine. The ravine was a deep gash in the earth’s crust cut still deeper with waters rushing to join those of the Pine River. The air was charged with the sound and the additional crisp scent of the cold tumbling water. Without a word, John turned northward to find a crossing point, and Ruby turned south. Jessica and Mr. Bleauvelt walked their horses slowly in a circle to keep them moving so their muscles would not stiffen in the cold, damp air. It was only a few seconds before they heard three short bursts coming from John’s direction. They headed northward and Ruby bounded to meet up with them. They saw John on an outcropping of rock overlooking the ravine.

“This is the narrowest point to cross here.” John indicated the spot in front of him. It widens for another half mile or so, and after that it stays too wide to jump. The map said there was a decent bridge about a mile more if it comes to that.” He looked at Ruby.

“The course markers are not any more than a quarter of a mile that way. If we cross here, we won’t have to double back so far.” Ruby was breathing hard, not from exertion but from exhilaration.

The team looked at the point John had chosen. The outcropping of rock was part of what may have once been a natural bridge over the chasm. Time had chewed away its middle and left the rock and a smooth span of earth on the other side. The side of the ravine they were on was five feet higher than the other side, and the span to jump was nearly twice as wide. It was an easy jump for this group of skilled riders, but missing it would be a disaster. The ravine floor was over 100 feet below.

Mr. Bleauvelt looked at each one of them. “The horses are getting tired. Do you think it’s wise?”

“Well, jumping down to that level is a cinch,” John cocked an eyebrow in challenge to his wife.

“We’re up for it!” Ruby smiled as she patted Maison Dixon’s neck. She looked at Jessica, “Miss White? How do you feel about it?”

Jessica looked into the eager faces of her teammates. “I’m ready and Gapman can earn his name!” Gapman’s neck was arched and he chewing his bit with impatience. The big animal curved his body in as he pranced in a circle. He was having the time of his life and did not like stopping to chat with the other horses. He wanted to move.

“Okay, then. We’ll cross here. Original order.” Mr. Bleauvelt circled Smokey Mountain back up the hill to get an ample approach. The big gray horse tossed his head and flicked his tail several times.

Jessica watched Bleauvelt’s horse with concern. She had seen him do that on other occasions in the past when she was training him, and it always meant that his bad attitude was going to show. She looked at Mr. Bleauvelt.

“Give him a decent approach from the right and keep your legs on him. If his nose goes up, stop the approach and try again.” Jessica had to shout her instructions over the din of the water.

“I know how to ride my horse, thank you,” Mr. Bleauvelt responded with a noticeable toss of his head.

John was first over the ravine. River’s Edge had to make the approach two times before she allowed herself to make the leap. The red mare’s nerves showed, and she over-jumped and nearly crashed them both into a tree. John quickly corrected and turned to watch the others jump down to him.

Ruby and Maison Dixon followed. Ruby skillfully guided her horse to the edge and asked the horse to jump at the perfect moment. They easily cleared the distance. She drew up alongside John.

Jessica was next. She circled Gapman around and talked softly in his ear. Gapman ticked an ear back to listen to his rider’s soft voice. “There ya go, buddy. Oh, Gapman, good. Good. Easy guy. Easy fella.” Her words were not important, but her tone conveyed confidence in Gapman and a hint of fun. Gapman responded by effortlessly leaping the distance and coming to a graceful halt next to the other horses. He arched his neck again in pleasure and Jessica gave him a vigorous neck rub in thanks.

Mr. Bleauvelt clucked Smokey Mountain into action. He pulled the reins sharply in an effort to gain the horse’s attention. Smokey Mountain’s tail flicked in protest and his nose carved an indignant arc in the air. His rider had taken a straight on approach, and the horse took offense. Smokey gained more speed to make the jump and then, without warning, stopped at the brink of the ravine on stiff legs in protest. Mr. Bleauvelt was unseated and soared over the horse’s head toward the abyss. His flight was jerked to a stop with a sickening snap. The horse’s eyes ringed white with terror, and he began to bolt away from the disturbance, dragging the fallen rider entangled in stirrup leathers, beside him.