Kentucky Sunrise

by Fern Michaels

  “Gertie, from now on I will be hanging out in the kitchen whether you like it or not. I like sitting at the table to eat and drink my coffee when I take a break. I do not, I repeat, I do not like to sit in the dining room. If I feel like making coffee or slopping up the sink as you put it, I will do it. I pay you an outrageous sum of money for the little you do. From now on, I’m taking a page out of my mother’s book. I’ll kick ass and take names later. As I said, there are four doors. What’s it going to be?” Emmie sucked in her breath and waited for a response.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” one of the young girls said. “I know how to plant flowers. I do it at home all the time for my mother. I can show Annie and Donna how to do it. I’m assuming you want us to start with the porch and work our way down to the gardens.”

  “Yes,” Emmie said.

  The office manager drew herself up to her full height. “Well, I never,” she sputtered, at a loss for words.

  “What’s it gonna be, Aggie, the unemployment line or this nice cushy job here at Blue Diamond Farms? You might want to think about your nice 401(K) and that comfortable health insurance plan we have you on. It ceases the minute you walk out the door.”

  “I’ll stay. Perhaps it would help both of us if you outlined what it is you expect of me, Miss Coleman. You never did say.”

  “That’s true, I didn’t say what you were to do. You said you were an office manager, and Smitty spent two weeks with you. You saw what she did and how she did it. You watched, but you didn’t apply what she taught you. You will pitch in when needed and you will smile and you will treat me with the respect I deserve.”

  Aggie smiled. Emmie clapped her hands. “Good, now we’re getting somewhere.

  “Gertie?”

  “I can’t work in the kitchen with people watching me,” the housekeeper said, wringing her hands in frustration.

  Emmie pointed to the kitchen door.

  “I can learn, Miss Emmie,” she added hastily.

  “Okay, that means we’re all now on the same page. Let’s get to it. I have a phone call to make and then you, Aggie, and I are going to lug all that junk by the back door out to the Dumpster. Feel free to start without me. I don’t suppose any of you knows a good house painter, do you?”

  “My dad’s a house painter,” Donna said. “He’s always looking for extra work.”

  Emmie pointed to the phone. “Call him and tell him if he wants, he can start right now. I need all this done by the weekend.”

  “My brother helps out when Dad gets behind,” Donna said as she dialed her home phone number.

  Emmie waited, her face breaking into a smile when the young woman said, “My dad said he can come out at one-thirty and start scraping.”

  “That’s great. Okay, disperse and make this place sparkle. Jenny, you’re in charge of the planting. I don’t want to see even one weed.” She would have cheered if she’d been able to work up the energy.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If you ruin your clothes, I’ll replace them,” Emmie said generously. “From now on, just in case you’re called on for something similar, keep some old clothes here.” Her left hand massaged her aching right hand as she spoke. She almost swooned with the sudden relief she felt.

  “Gertie, I’d like a tuna sandwich and some coffee in about thirty minutes. First I have a call to make, and I have to help Aggie. I’ll be sitting right here at this table while you fix it, so get used to it.”

  “Yes, Miss Emmie.”

  “Gertie, skip the Miss and just call me Emmie.”

  Emmie flipped through the back of the phone book until she had the number she wanted. She punched in the numbers and waited. “This is Emmie Coleman at Blue Diamond Farms. I’d like to order a Serta Perfect Sleeper mattress. The orthopedic one. The firmer it is the better. I’d like delivery this afternoon if possible. Between four and five sounds great. Thank you.”

  Outside, she bent down to pick up a load of junk to drag to the Dumpster. When had she gotten so sloppy? When she first started to experience the joint pain, that’s when. It was simpler just to toss something than to walk all the way to the Dumpster.

  “I was never a sloppy person. I don’t know why I kept tossing junk onto this pile. My mother is right, it looks like a bunch of hillbillies live here. Sometimes I get so caught up in what I’m doing, I forget the things I should be doing. If you see that happening, Aggie, bring me up short.”

  “I can do that, I guess,” she said, jerking her head toward the kitchen. “Back there you were trying to tell us we weren’t measuring up to Smitty. I’m sorry about that. I thought you wanted me to be professional. I didn’t know you wanted us to . . .”

  “Blend in with us, be a part of the family, is that what you mean? We’re loose around here. There aren’t that many rules. I’m not going to ride your asses. First of all, I shouldn’t have to do that. If you see a problem, work on it. If I see a problem, I’ll ask for your help. I can’t be everywhere, and I can’t do everything myself. I need you, Aggie, and I need the girls, and I need Gertie to make it all work.”

  “That’s all you had to say, ma’am. None of us are mind readers. I thought we were doing what you wanted.”

  “Stop with the ‘ma’am’ stuff, Aggie. Call me Emmie. I want us to be friends. By the way, I think your blouse is ruined. I’ll be happy to get you a new one. From now on, bring some old clothes and keep them handy.”

  “All right, Emmie. That’s the last of it,” Aggie said, throwing a trash bag into the Dumpster. “You might want to rake this ground a little and get all the little pieces of junk cleaned up. I think some bright pink petunias would look real nice here with a little border of sweet williams in white. What do you think?”

  “What I think is you are one very smart lady.” Emmie stretched out her hand. Aggie pumped it vigorously. The pain was excruciating. Why didn’t I do this months ago? Emmie wondered.

  Always honest with herself, she knew the answer. She’d spent all her spare time daydreaming about Mitch Cunningham. When she wasn’t daydreaming, she had searched for ways to insinuate herself into his company, almost to the exclusion of all else. She’d screwed up big-time in her mother’s eyes. And then there was the pain and the need to hide what she was feeling. Now she had to make it right. Realist that she was, she knew now that Mitch Cunningham viewed her as a friend and probably nothing more. And he was leaving in a few days for California. Long-distance romances never worked according to the slick magazine articles she read from time to time. Tomorrow morning, no matter what, I’m going to go into town to the doctor. If I just show up and they see how miserable I am, maybe they’ll see me on the spot and not make me wait for an appointment.

  Emmie walked around to the front of the house, where she picked up a trowel and a small rake along with a flat of petunias. An hour later she was sprinkling the freshly planted flowers and heaving a huge sigh of relief. Relief mostly because the pain in her knees didn’t seem as bad.

  Knowing her mother as she did, she knew when she returned to the farm on the weekend, she wouldn’t say a word about the flowers, the fresh paint, or the removal of the junk pile. She probably wouldn’t go upstairs either, just to make her point. “She thinks I’m lazy, that I don’t care. She’s thinking she made a mistake in turning the farm over to me,” she muttered to herself as she made her way to the kitchen where, to Gertie’s dismay, she washed her hands in the kitchen sink. The warm water rushing over her swollen hands felt wonderful. She held her hands under the water until Gertie looked at her pointedly. “I’ve washed my hands here in this sink all my life and I’m not going to stop now, so don’t look at me like that, Gertie. Every damn time I do it, you give me the evil eye. I’m taking charge, and we’re going to do things my way from now on so get used to it. Is my lunch ready?”

  “I have it all ready. Would you like a slice of pie?”

  “Maybe for dinner. I hope you made enough for everyone. I didn’t know until recently that you haven’t
been making lunch for the girls in the office. They work here, so that means they get lunch, too. It’s always been that way. So from now on, you will prepare lunch for anyone working here in the house, including me. You are not overworked, Gertie. You straighten up, dust, vacuum, cook, and that’s it. I do mine and Gabby’s laundry, and I take care of both our rooms. You’re going to have to tape your soap operas and watch them at night when you go home.

  “I’m not blaming anyone. I let this whole thing get out of hand. I probably would have done the same thing you and the office staff did if no one was watching me. I’m watching now. I want a day’s work for a day’s pay. That’s the bottom line. Maybe I will have a slice of that pie.”

  As she chewed her way through the sandwich Gertie had fixed for her, Emmie’s thoughts went to the phone call from Willow. Just the thought of what she might possibly want made her break out in a cold sweat.

  The old Emmie would have called Nick, promise or no promise. But this new Emmie, who had failed so miserably in her mother’s eyes, wasn’t about to break a promise. Her mother had always been big on promises and handshakes. It shows a person’s character, she’d said. And she was right.

  It was time to go down to the barn and time to work at what she did best. She hoped and prayed the pain would allow her to do it.

  “The pie was really good, Gertie. Next time, put more celery in the tuna. Make pot roast for dinner, please, and potato pancakes.”

  “I was going to make pork chops,” Gertie said, her face turning red with the declaration.

  “I really don’t like pork chops, Gertie. Gabby has a hard time chewing them. Pot roast will be good. Mashed potatoes, wilted lettuce, and fresh string beans. Fruit cocktail for Gabby. From now on, I’ll tell you in the morning what I want for dinner. That way I won’t have to eat something I don’t like so as not to hurt your feelings. Are we clear on this?”

  “Yes, we’re clear on it. You really got your panties in a wad today, didn’t you? Is it always going to be like this when your mother comes to visit?” Gertie said boldly.

  “God, I hope not. I think everyone gets the picture now. This is the way it’s going to be from now on. I’d like some flowers here on the table and maybe some in the clay pots under the windowsill. You can water them when you do the ones on the front porch.”

  Emmie heard the housekeeper mumbling as she made her way out to the back porch. “Take this trash to the Dumpster, Gertie. Don’t bag it and leave it on the porch anymore. Do it now before you forget!”

  “I am my mother’s daughter,” Emmie said over and over as she made her way to the barn. “I don’t know if it’s something to be proud of or not.”

  Time will tell, she thought.

  3

  Emmie stared down at her sleeping daughter. How sweet and innocent she looked in sleep. She lowered herself gingerly to the bed. She really had to see a doctor about her back. Hot soaks in the tub and the deep penetrating ointments she rubbed on daily weren’t helping at all. She’d swallowed bottles of aspirin, so many in fact, Gertie had asked her if she was hoarding them. Nothing seemed to be working. Her hand went out absentmindedly, to scratch Cookie behind his ears. The little fluff ball licked her hand before he settled himself more snugly in the crook of Gabby’s knees.

  Emmie continued to stare at her daughter, seeing a strong resemblance to Buddy, her ex-husband, in the sweep of her cheek and the extra-long curly lashes that fringed her bright blue eyes. Thank God she hadn’t inherited his deafness.

  Emmie had known Buddy from childhood; he was the son of a neighboring Thoroughbred horse breeder. When his parents were killed, Nealy took him into her home and cared for him. Buddy and Emmie had attended the same school for the hearing- and speech-impaired, where they learned to sign.

  Buddy had been the perfect friend, and they had looked out for one another. It was inevitable that they would marry. At least her mother had said it was inevitable. Emmie could no longer remember what she had thought.

  She leaned back against the footboard trying to ease the pain in her back as well as taking pressure off her knees. She looked at the tight stretch of the jeans over her knees and flinched. Because she didn’t want to think about what she called “my condition,” she switched her mental gears and thought about her ex-husband, Buddy.

  They had been happy enough because of familiarity, but it wasn’t the happiness or love of romance novels. It was just a comfortable way of life. She supposed she’d been happy, but what did she really have to compare that happiness to? Nothing. Then, one day, fear had allowed her to cry out. Long months of speech therapy ensued, and eventually she was able to talk normally. Buddy had been furious. Not that he ever said so in words. She could see it on his face when she spoke with people, sometimes forgetting to sign in front of him and voicing her thoughts aloud. He’d drawn away from her, little by little, and she hadn’t been able to recapture the old, easy familiarity. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. And sometimes she thought it was Buddy who hadn’t tried hard enough.

  Suspecting she might be pregnant, wary of telling Buddy, she’d planned a romantic cruise, hoping the time would be right to tell him then. It hadn’t worked that way at all. Buddy had been surly and angry during the whole cruise, leaving her to fend for herself while he stayed in the stateroom and read stacks of books from the ship’s library. Then, the day they disembarked, he’d left her standing on the gangplank, saying he was filing for a divorce.

  Emmie squirmed on the bed, her body burning with shame at the scene on the gangplank. She’d clutched at him, begged him not to leave her. He’d shaken her off like she was a stray dog. Her hands went to her burning face. She’d screamed at him, promising she would stop talking if that was what he wanted.

  “Too late,” he’d signed back. “I don’t love you anymore.”

  Then he walked away and didn’t look back.

  She’d gone back to the house they shared and licked her wounds, crying until there were no more tears. Her mother had been furious with her, and with Nick, too, because both of them were a week late returning to work at the farm. She’d been so angry she banished both of them for three long years.

  Emmie blinked away the tears. She didn’t want to think about those miserable years. She smiled at the sleeping child, patted Cookie, and left the room when she heard the phone ringing in her own bedroom. She hobbled down the hall and picked up the phone on the sixth ring.

  “Mom!”

  “Emmie, I’m sorry. I’m calling to apologize. I was out of line today. It won’t happen again. I don’t want any hard feelings coming between us. We’ve had enough of that these past few years. Is it too late to be calling? Are you getting Gabby ready for bed?”

  “We were both wrong, Mom. We both overreacted. I know I did. It’s all been taken care of. I wish you’d come back to the farm. I got a new mattress delivered today, so I’m back in my own room. Gabby’s asleep. School really tires her out. I was sitting in her room thinking about Buddy. There are days when I think I should tell him about Gabby and days when I know keeping quiet is the best thing I can do. Sometimes he can be vindictive. In the past he was. I don’t have a clue as to what he’s like now. Maybe it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “I would never advise you on something like that, Emmie. You are the only one who can make that decision. One day, though, Gabby will want to know. It’s hard to imagine what her reaction might be.

  “Is it all right if Hatch and I come out to the farm tomorrow, Emmie? Will we be in the way?”

  “Mom, you own this farm. You can come out here anytime you want. I’m sorry I let you down. I did, so you don’t have to be nice about it. It’s the house, not the barns and the horses, that kicks my butt. I don’t know how you did it.”

  “We can talk about that tomorrow. I want to know the latest on the movie and how things went while I was away. You like Mitch, don’t you?”

  “What’s not to like? He’s handsome in a rugged kind of way. He’s charming,
and he’s easy to work with. All his workers like him. That says a lot. He’s got a sterling reputation. I’ve had to ask myself why no one snagged him. He told me he was married for ten minutes, and it didn’t work. Maybe he’s married to his work. Yes, I do like him, Mom. We had dinner not too long ago, and he asked me to dinner again tomorrow evening. I said yes. We’re just friends. It’s not going anywhere, Mom. He lives on one coast and I’m closer to the other. I gotta tell you, though, I was practically throwing myself at him the whole time he’s been here, and he didn’t give me a second thought. I think he feels safe where I’m concerned because he’ll be leaving in a few days. No commitment, that kind of thing. Like I said, we’re just friends.”

  “Men and women have overcome worse obstacles than distance, honey. Just look at Hatch and me. Think of it this way, it’s his loss.”

  “I know, Mom. But Mitch and I aren’t like you and Hatch. Mitch thinks of me only as a friend. I think he feels safe with me. Besides, he’s going back to California in a few days, but he’s leaving his crew here to film the Derby.”

  It sounded to Emmie like they were back on track. She imagined she heard forgiveness in her mother’s voice. She laughed. “I’m glad you called, Mom. I would have gone looking for you tomorrow. Are you staying at the Inn? I love you, Mom.”

  “I know you do, and I feel the same way. Yes, we’re staying at the Inn. We have a beautiful room with a sunken tub. I’ll see you tomorrow, Emmie.”

  Emmie sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots and socks. Her eyes widened as her feet swelled to twice their size in front of her eyes. She reached down to poke at her puffy ankles and noticed that her fingers were the size of little sausage links. It was almost impossible to pull her jeans down over her swollen knees. Her puffy fingers couldn’t get a firm grip on the heavy denim. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she finally managed to push the jeans down to her ankles. It was another searing jolt to pull the pant legs past her swollen ankles and feet. A searing pain ripped up her back as she hobbled to the bathroom. Could stress make you swell up like this? A feeling of panic rushed through her. Maybe she needed to soak in a hot tub.