Kentucky Rich by Fern Michaels Page B

instead of the heavy maroon draperies that matched the cushions on the twelve chairs. Maybe, if Jess gave the okay, she could take up the forest green carpeting and have the floors sanded and varnished. Then again, they rarely used the dining room. Maud always liked to eat in the kitchen, where it was warm and cozy, saying the dining room was for company or special occasions. On the other hand, maybe she should leave it alone and wait till the wallpaper fell off.
    Nealy stood and turned on the lights. She did love the crystal chandelier over the table. It sparkled now; Carmela must have cleaned it recently. The pudgy housekeeper was a whirling dervish when it came to cleaning for the holidays. The house was always in an uproar, with buckets, rags, and the smell of furniture polish everywhere. Maud hated it. She preferred the smell of cinnamon, coffee beans, and orange peels that Carmela kept in the warming oven.
    Nealy sighed. She would get dressed up. For Maud. She’d wear the lavender-wool dress Maud had helped her pick out last year for Christmas. She’d wear the pearls Jess gave her the year before. After all, it was Thanksgiving.
    She heard the commotion the minute she stepped off the top step onto the second-floor hallway. She knew the doctor was being summoned, knew by the look on Emmie’s face. Jess was nowhere to be seen. “What?” she screamed. Emmie just stared at her, tears streaming down her cheeks.
    It was Maud’s time.
    â€œQuick, Emmie, you have to help me. Listen to me, honey. There’s something we have to do for Miss Maud. Quick now.”
    Nealy raced into her room for the tissue-wrapped nightgown and the Strawberry Whip nail polish. She shoved the nurse out of the way and struggled, with Emmie’s help, to get the scratchy hospital gown away from Maud’s withered body. It seemed to Nealy that Maud was easier to handle as she slipped the nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over her wasted body. When Maud’s head rolled to the side, Nealy gasped. She bent over and placed her ear against her chest. Satisfied that she was still breathing, she spoke quietly, gently as she pushed the covers to the foot of the bed before she twisted off the cap of the nail polish. She dipped and swirled the tiny brush as the nurse clucked her disapproval. “Did anyone call the minister?” Nealy demanded.
    â€œMr. Wooley said he was going to do that. This is highly irregular. The woman is dying. Why are you painting her toenails?” Her voice was so cold, so emotionless, Nealy fought the urge to slap her.
    â€œDoes it matter?” Nealy said quietly as she gathered her daughter close. She looked down at Emmie, and whispered, “I want to do something. I don’t know what to do. I was going to get dressed up but . . . I thought . . .”
    Jess rushed into the room, the minister behind him. The doctor was third in line as he lumbered into the room. He took his position on one side of the bed, the minister on the other. Jess pushed his way to the bed and reached for Maud’s hand. Nealy heard the strangled sound, certain it came from Maud, but in reality it came from Jess as he looked down at the bright shiny penny in his wife’s hand.
    â€œOh, Emmie, you gave Maud your penny! Oh God!” Nealy said. Her hands flew to her face as she tried to comprehend her daughter’s generosity, then wondered if she should mention that the original penny was locked up in Maud’s bedroom safe. She decided it really didn’t matter.
    Emmie’s fingers worked furiously. To help her feel better when she gets to that strange, new place. Like when Uncle Pyne gave it to me when we came here.
    Emmie’s fingers continued to move. Look, Mama, Miss Maud made a fist. That means she knows she has the penny. She’s holding it tight in her hand.
    Nealy was sure it was a spasm. Through her tears, she thought she saw Maud smile. Another spasm? A grimace? And