Kentucky Sunrise Page 4

  Nealy rubbed at her temples. She knew her husband was right. For some reason he was always right. When that happened, it meant she was wrong.

  “She’s training the wrong horse. That little pygmy she bought is not racing material,” Nealy said quietly.

  “You don’t know that, Nealy. You’re questioning her judgment here. Is that wise? You came on pretty damn strong down there in the paddock. She wilted right in front of our eyes. That wasn’t fair, Nealy.”

  “Yes, I do know that, Hatch. I also know Emmie. She’s going to do double time to prove me wrong. She’ll devote every waking hour to working with that horse. She’ll coddle him, sleep in the barn with him, and be there for him twenty-four hours a day. If he has any chance at all, she’ll run him in the Derby when he’s ready.”

  The screen door squeaked and then opened. The housekeeper set a tray with two cups of coffee on the table. Nealy thanked her and reached for one of the cups. The coffee was good. She set the cup back down and dropped to her knees. She started to peel off the yellowing leaves on the geraniums.

  “And you know this how?” Hatch asked.

  “Because it’s what I would do if I were Emmie.” Nealy laughed. “She’s right about him looking like John Henry, too. Now, that was a horse, Hatch. There are so many interesting stories about John Henry. No one wanted him either and he was a gelding. You’ve heard of Bill Shoemaker, the legendary jockey, right?” Hatch nodded. “Bill rode him in the Arlington Million. He was named horse of the year and moved up to the top of the all-time leading money earners’ list with over six and a half million dollars in winnings. He retired the year after tearing the suspensory ligament in his left foreleg. He’s staying at Kentucky Horse Park in Lexington until the end of his days.”

  Nealy stared across at the paddocks. “The grand old man, as he was called, retired with thirty-nine victories and twenty-four places and shows in eighty-three starts and was the all-time leading money earner. He was elected into the Racing Hall of Fame in 1990. I don’t know if Emmie’s horse is that good or not. If he’s half the horse John Henry was, she can’t go wrong. She must think he’s pretty good.”

  “So there you go,” Hatch said, eyeing her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Anything is possible.”

  Nealy grimaced. “Emmie doesn’t have the guts to work at something twenty-four hours a day. She gives up too easily. She knows how to work but she doesn’t know what hard work really is,” Nealy said, sitting back on her haunches. “I’m going to soak these good, and give them a super dose of plant food. I was hoping everything would look nice when the family got here. I’m disappointed Emmie doesn’t have more pride in the farm. I guess I’ll have to clean the porch and the furniture myself.”

  Hatch raised his eyes to see Emmie through the screen door. He was about to say something when Emmie put her finger to her lips for him to remain silent. He looked away, wondering how long she’d been standing there and what she’d heard.

  “I’ll help you, honey. Let’s call it a togetherness project, or, hell, we can just go out and buy some new plants. These do look pretty bedraggled.”

  “Yes, let’s do that, Hatch. Do you have the car keys? On second thought, we should probably take one of the pickup trucks if we’re going to buy a lot of plants.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” Hatch said, struggling to his feet. “I’ll get the truck. You keep the keys on the visor, right?”

  “That’s what I used to do. I don’t know what Emmie does,” Nealy said as she finished the last of her coffee.

  Nealy carried the serving tray into the house, holding the screen door ajar with her hip. She loved the sound of the squeaky door when it closed behind her. She was startled to see Emmie in the kitchen. She frowned. The frown deepened when she saw Mitch Cunningham walk into the kitchen as if he’d been doing it forever.

  “Hatch and I are going to the nursery for some new plants. The ones on the porch are half-dead, and I don’t think watering can save them. By the way, did you call the painter to do the windows and porch? The paint is peeling. Nice to see you again, Mitch.” She waited for her daughter’s response. When none was forthcoming, Nealy stomped her way out the door, her blood at the boiling point.

  While she waited for Hatch, she walked along the side of the house to check on the flower gardens and the morning glories climbing the trellises. All looked bedraggled and sadly in need of water. Weeds were choking out even the hardiest of the flowers.

  “Hop in, honey!” Hatch called from the truck. “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe it’s me, Hatch. Do I expect too much? When things needed to be done, if I couldn’t do them myself, I hired someone to do it. All the gardens are going to seed, and it’s just the end of April. Those flower borders and the trellises were my pride and joy. They were the color and sunshine in my life from the day I moved here. In one year, my daughter managed to ruin it all. She said she could handle this. She said she was capable. I believed her. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything. I bit my tongue. Then that Hollywood guy showed up, just walked into the kitchen like he’d been doing it forever, and he probably has. Emmie had this sappy look on her face. I see what’s going on, and I don’t like it. Say something, Hatch.”

  “Not on your life.”

  “So you’re saying I’m going off half-cocked here,” Nealy said, using one of Hatch’s favorite expressions for when she did something without thinking it through.

  “How hard is it to plant flowers? You and I can do it and have the place all spruced up by the time your family arrives on the weekend. I can scrape the paint on the front porch and paint it myself. You know how you love our together projects,” Hatch said, hoping to drive the angry look off his wife’s face.

  “That’s not the point, Hatch. I’m talking about responsibility. I hate to think what I’m going to find when I check out the barns.”

  “Fair is fair, Nealy. You had Smitty to run interference for you. She did a lot around here, and so did your housekeeper. Emmie doesn’t have a Smitty. Maybe she’s doing the best she can.”

  Nealy’s face set into stubborn lines. “I did it, and I’m a hell of a lot older than she is. Don’t throw Gabby at me either. She’s in school and has a nanny. And another thing, Emmie took over my bedroom knowing I would be coming back and forth. I saw her robe on my bed and it was unmade when I went up to the second floor to use the bathroom. Why isn’t her own room good enough for her? I’m angry, Hatch. I think I have a right to be angry, too.”

  “Nealy, you need to calm down and decide how important this is to you.”

  “You know what, Hatch? It is important to me. Did you see all that junk piled up out back? We have trash containers. How hard is it to toss something out instead of dumping it on a pile? There’s a soaking-wet crib mattress just lying there with all kinds of rusty junk. That doesn’t look good. It all looks shabby and unkempt, and I will not tolerate it. If I have to boot her ass out again, I will. I mean it.”

  Hatch cringed at his wife’s tone. He swerved off the road and pulled into the nursery parking lot and parked alongside a bright red pickup that was being loaded with peat moss.

  Hatch turned off the engine and pocketed the key. “Is this your way of telling me you want to stay here?”

  “No, Hatch. Not at all. If Emmie can’t do the job, then I have to find someone to take over the farm. If you remember, I had misgivings from the beginning. On the surface, it sounded wonderful and right. Daughter taking over when mother retires, that kind of thing. I don’t know, maybe she doesn’t see things and needs glasses. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s pick out the plants so I can calm down. My first day home, and it’s all been ruined.”

  Hatch picked up on the word: home.

  “How about some coffee, Mitch?”

  “Coffee sounds good. I was just getting ready to head back to town. Would you like to take in a movie tonight?”

  “Sure. Let’s go out on the porch and drink our coffee. Great day, isn�
�t it?” Any excuse in the world to sit down. She was one giant ache. She’d just swallowed three aspirin, and they didn’t do a thing for her. She felt like crying. She hoped she could keep up her end of the conversation without gritting her teeth.

  “Perfect for filming. I hope it’s this nice when your family gets here, and I sure as hell hope the sun is shining for the Derby. Wow, what happened here?” Mitch asked, pointing to the litter of yellow leaves and broken stems that were all over the porch. “I don’t think I’ll sit down. Doesn’t your housekeeper believe in cleaning the porch?” Mitch asked as he looked down at his khaki pants.

  The porch was her mother’s favorite place on the farm. Emmie looked at it now through Mitch’s eyes and then her own. She groaned. “I hardly ever come out here anymore. I just assumed that Gertie took care of it. I see now that it doesn’t pay to assume.” She looked over the railing at the flower beds and winced. No wonder her mother looked like she’d swallowed a sour lemon. The flower borders, the little gardens, and the trellises with the climbing morning glories were her pride and joy. “Damn, I can’t do anything right,” she muttered.

  “Listen, Mitch, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll pass on the movie. I need to weed these gardens before my mother gets back. She’s about to pitch a fit. I could see it in her face. She likes things done a certain way, and I think I just screwed up.”

  “Don’t you have a gardener or some kid to mow and weed?”

  “We did, but he stopped showing up a while ago, and I never replaced him. Time got away from me, I guess. I’m not going to see this in your movie, am I?”

  “No. How about dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Okay. Seven?”

  “Seven it is. I’ll pick you up.”

  “No, it’s out of your way to drive all the way back here. I’ll meet you in town. Where do you want to go?”

  “How about the rib place. You said you loved spare ribs.”

  “You remembered?” Emmie asked in awe as she yanked at a stubborn weed.

  “Yes. Okay, I’ll meet you at seven tomorrow evening. I won’t be here tomorrow or the rest of the week. I’ll be back on the weekend, and then it’s off to California. I’m going to miss you, Emmie. I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Sure. I’m usually here in the evening. I want to know how the film editing is going. It’s all so interesting.” She turned away so she could bite down on her lip. Her right knee was sending shooting pains up and down her leg.

  “Best job in the world. I suppose everyone says that about their job. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay,” Emmie said as she scooped out weeds by the handful. She sat back on her heels and looked up at the porch, then down the length of the flower borders. It would take her days to get the gardens back to their original beauty. How could she have been so stupid, so thoughtless? How? She bit down on her lower lip knowing she was going to cry and hating herself for being so wishy-washy. She struggled to blink back her tears. Work through the pain, her mother was fond of saying. Only weak people get sick was another favorite saying. She wanted to scream but knew she couldn’t.

  She looked up to see the housekeeper standing on the front porch. “There’s a phone call for you, Miss Emmie. She wouldn’t say who she was, just that it was important she speak with you.”

  Emmie bounded up the steps just as the farm’s pickup appeared on the road leading to the back of the house.

  Gertie placed the phone between Emmie’s ear and shoulder so she could wash her hands at the sink. “This is Emmie.”

  “Emmie, this is Willow. Listen, Emmie, I need to talk to you. It’s really important. You’re the only one I can trust. Is this a good time?”

  Emmie was stunned at the words. “Actually, no, it isn’t. My mother just arrived today and . . . she’s going to be coming in any minute now. I can call you back later or you can call me later, after eight or so. Nine would be better. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. Yes, I can do that. Emmie, promise me you won’t tell anyone I called. I’ll explain everything when I talk to you. Will you promise?”

  “Yes. Call me after nine.”

  Emmie stared at the pinging phone in her hand. Willow Bishop Clay. The same Willow who married her half brother Nick and dumped him a few days later. The same Willow who went three rounds with her mother. Why was she calling her after seven long years? She shivered as she allowed her imagination to run wild.

  Her thoughts chaotic, Emmie watched as her mother and Hatch started taking plants and paint out of the back of the truck. Even from this distance she could see the grim set of her mother’s jaw and her stiff shoulders. She squared her own shoulders and marched down the steps, each step painful and jarring as she made her way over to the truck. She likened it in her mind to bearding the lion.

  “I guess you’re pretty mad, huh, Mom? Look, I’m sorry.”

  Nealy reached for another flat. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it. This place looks like some backwoods shanty gone to seed. Yes, I’m mad, so it might be a good idea for you to get your tail out of here until I calm down. When you’re in charge that means you’re in charge. You told me you were up to the job. What the hell happened to our yard boy, Toby?”

  “Toby graduated from high school this year. I guess he had a lot of stuff going on at school and just didn’t want to do this anymore. He said he was going to find a replacement at least for the summer, but no one showed up. I let it slide. I’ll call him again.”

  “The last thing I said to you before I left was to call Mr. Frances to paint the trim around the windows and the porch. Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” Emmie mumbled. “Mr. Frances slid down the ladder on a job and broke his hip. He said he’d get out here when he could. I didn’t want to call anyone else since you said he’d worked for you for years and years. I didn’t want to take the job away from him. I guess that was wrong, too.” She started to walk away, knowing she was going to cry any second. Not so much with frustration with her mother but with the pain that was engulfing her body. She needed more aspirin. How many aspirin could one person take? Would her stomach start to bleed? Maybe she needed to eat something so the aspirin wouldn’t irritate her stomach. What was happening to her?

  Her mother was relentless, though. “Just a minute, young lady. Who told you to take over my bedroom? That room is mine, not yours. You have your own room.”

  Emmie spun around on her heel and eyeballed her mother. “You know what, Mom, you can take this job, this farm, and you can shove it up your ass. I can’t do anything right. No matter what I do, I can’t please you. Nick was the only one who could please you. Well, guess what, Nick doesn’t want this place or this job. That’s the only reason you gave it to me to run. I must have been really stupid to think I wanted it. You won’t have to throw me out this time, I’ll walk out on my own. I hate it, and I hate you when you do this to me. I’m not you. I’m me. Keep your damn bedroom, keep the whole damn place. Stupid flowers, stupid paint, stupid junk. I knew this was going to happen the minute you said you were coming back here. And, another thing, Mother, I didn’t take over your room. I’ve been having trouble with my back, and your mattress is harder than mine. All my things are still in my room. I never used your bathroom either, if that’s the next question. Yes, I should have bought a new mattress, but I didn’t, so add that to your list, too. I’ll be out of here as soon as Gabby gets home.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Emmie. Hatch and I will be staying in town. I apologize. Do what you want. Call me when the family arrives.” Nealy’s throat closed so tight she couldn’t have uttered another word if her life depended on it. She set the flat of flowers down, dusted her hands, and walked toward the rental Hatch had picked up at the airport.

  Her hands jammed into her pockets, Emmie watched the Lincoln Town Car until it was out of sight. She had just experienced one of the mystical wonders of the world. Her mother had backed down. She didn’t feel elated at all. In her mother’s eyes she was a failure. Like hell!
She struggled to take a deep breath as waves of pain engulfed her.

  Emmie stomped her way up the steps and into the kitchen, where she bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Everyone in the kitchen! Now!”

  The three office girls, whose names she could never remember, Agnes Beakman, the office manager, and Gertie, the housekeeper, came from all directions. Agnes folded her hands in front of her, her expression saying, “This better be good,” while the three young office girls twitched nervously. Gertie just looked puzzled.

  “Ladies, things are going to change around here starting right this minute. For a long time my family had loyal, friendly help here in the house. You ladies are not loyal; nor are you friendly. I’ve decided I don’t much care for your attitudes. If you like working here, and if you like the generous salaries I pay you and want to keep working for me, things have to change. We’re talking about initiative here. Gertie, the front porch is a disgrace. It’s dirty, the flowers are half-dead and haven’t been watered in weeks. Our family is arriving this weekend, and I want this place spruced up. Big-time.”

  Emmie fixed her gaze on the three young women. “From now on, you aren’t going to have time to read those trashy magazines I see littered all over the office. You are going to weed the gardens and plant flowers. Starting now! You will continue to do that throughout the summer. It would also be nice to see some of those pretty flowers on the kitchen table once in a while.

  “Aggie, I don’t much care for your hostile attitude. Yes, you do a bang-up job, but I have never seen you smile once in the whole year you’ve been here. If this job is a chore or if you hate it, you might want to think about moving on. I don’t like negative people. It tends to rub off on one. You need to pitch in. Office work does not take all day. Since you’re on a salary, you will do as I say. There are four doors in this house, a front door, a back door, and the two side doors. What that means is, it’s my way or the highway, ladies.