Kentucky Heat (12 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
“Did Mr. Ridley have any friends I can talk to?”
“He belonged to the Chamber of Commerce, the Kiwanis, and all the town's organizations since he was a local businessman. I took over in that regard about five years ago when he lost interest in civic activities. The truth is he buried just about everyone he ever met or worked with. You might try talking to the lady who took care of him the last couple of years. She might know something. I can give you her address and phone number if you like.”
“I would appreciate that very much,” Nealy said, looking around at all the burgundy furniture, the dark blue carpets, and the heavy velvet draperies hanging over the windows. She hated the furnishings, the atmosphere, and the pasty white man writing down the address behind a highly polished desk. Why couldn't the room be light and airy? Why did they have to have brass lamps with dark green shades and lightbulbs that burned during the day? Her skin itched, and her eyes started to water with the heavy flower scent. She started to breathe through her mouth.
“It's not far from here. I made you a rough sketch. Catherine Nolan is her name. Give her my regards when you speak with her.”
“How . . . how old is Miss Nolan?”
“Oh, she's up there in years but quite spry,” Lyons said.
He can't wait to get his hands on her,
Nealy thought.
Bastard. What a way to earn a living, sitting around waiting for people to die.
She fled.
Nealy thought.
Bastard. What a way to earn a living, sitting around waiting for people to die.
She fled.
Jason Lyons was right; Catherine Nolan's house was less than fifteen minutes away. Nealy parked on the street and stared at the small white house with a large front yard. It looked well maintained. She wondered what “up there in years” meant. Was Catherine Nolan really old? If so, who kept the house painted and who maintained the yard?
She liked the small front porch with the two cane rockers. The heavy door behind the glass storm door was shiny red and held a Christmas wreath that was still fresh and green and gave off a scent. She rang the bell and waited. It opened almost immediately. Nealy introduced herself and was invited inside.
Catherine Nolan looked just the way a grandmother was supposed to look. She was plump and wore an apron. Her cheeks were plump and pink, and her eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed spectacles. Her hair was snow-white and fashioned into a topknot on the middle of her head.
“Come in, come in,” she said when Nealy introduced herself. “Can I offer you some coffee and gingerbread? It's fresh out of the oven. Today is my baking day. I hope you don't mind if we visit in the kitchen. I have to watch the oven.”
“I'd like that very much, Miss Nolan.”
“Call me Rinney. Everyone calls me Rinney. Sometimes I forget my name is Catherine. Tell me why you're here, Miss Clay.”
Nealy told her. “Mr. Lyons said you might be able to help. He also said to give you his regards.”
“
Don't be needing his
regards just yet. He'll be getting me soon enough. Got my plot all picked out, even my casket. Got me one of those fancy Springfield jobs from a mail-order house with lots and lots of shiny brass. All paid for, too. I have it stored away in the garage. Mercy, I don't know what I can be telling you. Mr. Ridley was very close-mouthed. When he passed on, I packed up his things. No one wanted them, so I fetched them here and they're still in the cellar. Didn't seem right to throw a man's life away like that. There wasn't any family left in these parts, and no one knew where to look for any distant relatives. I asked everyone in town, and the police chief said it was all right to store the things here in case anyone ever did come looking. Good thing I did, too, since here you are.” She set a flowered plate with a generous slice of gingerbread in front of Nealy. “Would you be liking some fresh whipped cream with your cake?”
Don't be needing his
regards just yet. He'll be getting me soon enough. Got my plot all picked out, even my casket. Got me one of those fancy Springfield jobs from a mail-order house with lots and lots of shiny brass. All paid for, too. I have it stored away in the garage. Mercy, I don't know what I can be telling you. Mr. Ridley was very close-mouthed. When he passed on, I packed up his things. No one wanted them, so I fetched them here and they're still in the cellar. Didn't seem right to throw a man's life away like that. There wasn't any family left in these parts, and no one knew where to look for any distant relatives. I asked everyone in town, and the police chief said it was all right to store the things here in case anyone ever did come looking. Good thing I did, too, since here you are.” She set a flowered plate with a generous slice of gingerbread in front of Nealy. “Would you be liking some fresh whipped cream with your cake?”
“I do have a sweet tooth, ma'am. Yes, I would. This coffee is delicious.”
“I grind the beans. Makes all the difference.”
“Miss . . . Rinney, did you know Seth Coleman, or any of the Colemans for that matter?”
Rinney Nolan looked like she'd just swallowed a lemon. “Everyone in these parts knows the Colemans. Heard they fell on hard times. I know it isn't Christian of me to be saying this, but I'm glad. I don't know, maybe the young'uns aren't too bad, but old Seth, he's a legend around here.”
“He was my father,” Nealy said.
“Fancy that. If you had told me that when you first came here, I would have sent you packing instead of offering you my fresh cake.”
“No, no. It's not what you think. I hate his guts. I really do. I'm here because of my mother. I want to know about her. Can you tell me anything?”
Still bristly in spite of Nealy's confusing confession, Rinney said, “I can tell you plenty. She took up with that rancher, and it was the end of her. She was a fun-loving girl, Marty was. Worked hard over at the Horseshoe. That's where she met Seth Coleman. He was smitten with her. Everyone in town knew. Carl, Mr. Ridley, was beside himself, thinking the townspeople would go off and die somewhere else. Said it wasn't good for his business.” She clucked her tongue to show what she thought of that statement. “It wasn't like people were going to go out of town to die. In the end it didn't hurt his business at all. Your grandparents took the shame really bad and became reclusive. They stopped going to church, and the Reverend, he would stop by and talk from time to time. Marty moved out of her parents' house and Seth set her up in an apartment. Paid all the bills. Gave her spending money and bought her clothes. He even bought her a car. Then the second baby came along and then a third. I guess you were the third one. I was a nurse back then. Your mama got very good care, I can tell you that. She was a good mother, too, from what I heard. Loved her babies she did.”
“Yes, I was the third one.”
“Then it all went wrong. Marty's car was gone. At first she thought someone stole it. Wasn't so. Then the whole town started buzzing about Seth Coleman's brother that came for a visit. Seth never went to the Horseshoe after that. Then Marty was gone. By that time her other two sisters had married and gone off to the Lord only knows where. Carl Ridley was the only one left. He didn't talk about his sister after that. Not that he talked about her much before. He felt too shamed to even bring up her name.”
“What . . . what did the townspeople think when . . . when she left?”
“Just about what you would think they would think. What they
knew
was more like it. That Seth paid his brother to take Marty and the young'uns off his hands. He got tired of her and was seen chasing Melba Winerose, but nothing ever did come of that. That's all I know. Now, did you like my cake?”
knew
was more like it. That Seth paid his brother to take Marty and the young'uns off his hands. He got tired of her and was seen chasing Melba Winerose, but nothing ever did come of that. That's all I know. Now, did you like my cake?”
“It was very good. Do you mind me asking how old you are, Rinney?”
“I'm eighty-four. The reason I'm eighty-four is I never got married. Didn't have some man telling me what to do and when to do it. I had peace of mind. And I had money in the bank and my own little house, and I did have a car for a long time. Sold it off a while back. My neighbors take me to the store and to church. Sometimes I miss not having children, but I've had my share of dogs and cats. Gave them a good home, and they snuggled with me at night. Now”âshe held up a warning fingerâ“that's not to say there were never any men in my life. There were several, but I made sure they went home at night to their own beds. I'd like for you to tell me what happened to your mama, child.”
“She died. That old man Josh worked her to death. I never knew her. The only picture I have of her is this one,” Nealy said, pulling the photocopy out of the yellow envelope.
Rinney peered down through her bifocals. “She was pretty, that's for sure. I'm sorry she died so young.”
“Do you remember anything about her, Rinney? Anything she might have said when she was in the hospital, maybe something she said to someone. My brothers and I don't really know anything about her.”
The little woman's face puckered up. “She liked violets. Someone brought her some when she delivered one of the little boys. Come to think of it, she had violets on her little table every single time. She liked to needlepoint. She made me a pincushion once. I still have it. It was to thank me for taking care of her when she was in the hospital. I forgot about that until just now. It had a bluebird on it. She said something about bluebirds and happiness. To my way of thinking that meant she liked birds and bluebirds in particular. You wait right here, and I'll fetch the pincushion.”
When Rinney returned, Nealy reached for the small, round tufted cushion. Tears burned her eyes as she stared down at the pincushion. She was holding something in her hands that her very own mother had made with her hands many, many years ago. A gift of gratitude to another human being.
“If you want it, child, keep it.”
“Thank you. Thank you so very much.”
“If you like, you can go down to the cellar and look through Carl's things. It's warm down there, but you best put on one of my aprons so you don't get your clothes dirty. There's only three or four boxes. Some of the things belonged to your grandparents, small things Carl kept as memories. There might be something there of Marty's. I didn't go through the things, just packed them up. By rights, I guess those boxes now belong to you. You can take them with you.”
“You don't mind?” Nealy asked, incredulous that at last she had something she could sink her teeth into. She held the bluebird pincushion over her heart.
“Be glad to get them out of the cellar. I just keep moving them from one spot to the other. Sometimes when it rains hard the cellar gets wet.”
“I don't know how to thank you, Rinney.”
“You can thank me by not thinking harshly of your mother. She was young, and she did love that man. She truly did. He broke her heart. I think she loved you young'uns more, though. You go ahead downstairs. The light switch is on the right. If you bring the boxes up here, I'll tape them up for you. They're right there under the steps.”
Nealy stood at the bottom of the steps, her heart thumping in her chest. She walked around behind the steps and stared down at four huge cartons. The mother lode! She felt light-headed, almost giddy with what lay before her. She would carry them out to the car and back to the hotel, where she would ask them to label the boxes and ship them UPS to SunStar Farms. Instead of heading back to Kentucky, she would go to Virginia first, and be there with her brothers so they could open the boxes together.
Her knuckles were pure white as she continued to clutch the bluebird pincushion.
“You've been very kind,” Nealy said when she had secured the last box in the trunk of her car. “I will treasure this pincushion all the rest of my life. I didn't have one thing, not one little thing, not a scrap of paper, not a hairpin to prove to me I really had a mother. Is there anything I can do for you, anything at all to show my gratitude?”
“I'd like it if the next time you visit Marty's grave, you put a bunch of violets there for me. Tell her I remembered.”
“I'll be sure to do that, Rinney. Maybe I'll get some seeds and plant them all over her grave. In the spring, when they bloom, it will be like a carpet. A beautiful, violet carpet planted with love from her daughter and her nurse. If you ever find yourself in Kentucky, be sure to visit.” She hugged the little woman, who hugged her in return.
“You drive safely, young woman,” Rinney said, and smiled.
6
Dusk was settling over SunStar Farms as Nealy watched her brothers carry the four cartons of Carl Ridley's belongings into the living room. Rhy had his bowie knife ready to slice through the thick tape Catherine Nolan had used to seal the boxes. Nealy had her fingers crossed, the pincushion in her hands. She'd carried it with her, either in her hand or in her pocket, since the old nurse had given it to her. Her brothers' expressions tugged at her heart.
Please,
she prayed,
let there be something in these boxes that will show us we were loved and wanted. I don't care if it's a scrap of paper, just so it's something.
Please,
she prayed,
let there be something in these boxes that will show us we were loved and wanted. I don't care if it's a scrap of paper, just so it's something.
“I don't know if I'm ready for this,” Rhy said gruffly, his expression apprehensive. “We're going to be mighty disappointed if there's nothing in here but funeral books and sympathy cards.”
“There's only one way to find out.” Nealy looked at Pyne, whose eyes appeared glazed. “You open the first one, Pyne.”
Pyne's hands trembled as he pulled the sturdy carton toward him. Everything in the box belonged to their uncle Carl Ridleyâold bank statements, ledgers, a paperweight, an assortment of odds and ends from a desk. Nothing personal, nothing intimate.
“Rhy, you go next,” Nealy said, her fingers tracing the outline of the bluebird on the pincushion.
Rhy ran his fingers through his graying hair, a determined look on his face. He yanked at the carton and opened it. “Books and pictures. Old-fashioned pictures.” He held up a handful of pictures. “They're so old they've started to turn brown.”
“No, that's the way they were back then,” Nealy said, reaching for the pictures. “They call it sepia. Oh, look, this must be our uncle and his wife. You look like him, Pyne,” Nealy said, as Rhy held up a framed photograph. “You really do. Who's that?”
“Must be our grandparents,” Rhy said quietly. “They look like nice people. Stiff but nice. Oh, God, look, here's a family picture. Which one is Mom, Nealy?”
Nealy peered at the picture. “This one,” she said, pointing out a young woman of about seventeen. “See, she has the braid going down her back. She had the braid in the diner picture. I bet she never cut her hair. Oh, she was pretty. Are there any more?”
Rhy screwed up his face. “Just pictures of the mortuary. One of a line of coffins. His first dollar I guess, since it's framed. Who gets the picture of Mom?”
“We all get one. I'll take it home with me and have a copy made for each of you. I can order an extra one or maybe have it blown up so you can hang it over the mantel. Would you like me to do that?”
“Yes,” the brothers said simultaneously. “Yes. Do we look like her, Nealy?”
“Damn straight we look like her. We have her bone structure, her high cheekbones, and that glorious hair. We might have Coleman blood in our veins, but we don't look anything like those bastards. Just goes to show who had the best gene pool. Are there any others?”
Suddenly the hateful words Rhy had spoken to her the previous spring came to the forefront of her mind. “We really don't know what
he
was like so I can't honestly say we aren't like him. But I do know that if things had gone differently, we wouldn't be the people we are today, and we might not be sitting here.”
he
was like so I can't honestly say we aren't like him. But I do know that if things had gone differently, we wouldn't be the people we are today, and we might not be sitting here.”
“That's it for the pictures. Some magazines with new methods for embalming.”
Pyne shuddered.
“Your turn, sis,” Pyne said, pushing a carton toward her with his booted foot. “Wait, let's have a beer and a cigarette. This . . . this . . . shakes up your insides. I'll fetch it.”
“I bet she was just like you, Nealy,” Rhy said as he stared down at the picture of his mother. “You're her daughter, so it stands to reason you would take after her. We aren't like that . . . our father, are we, Nealy? What I said before about not knowing what he was like . . . Sons are supposed to take after their fathers.”
Nealy placed a comforting hand on her brother's shoulder. “All we have to remember now is that our mother loved us. He doesn't matter. Sons do not always take after their fathers. Sometimes they take after their mothers.”
Pyne returned with the beer. “Let's make a toast to our pretty mother,” he said in a choked voice.
Nealy bit down on her lip, her eyes filling with hot tears. “To you, Mom,” she said, holding up her bottle to clink it against Rhy's and Pyne's.
“She had a nickname. They called her Marty. We never knew that before. She liked violets. Before I leave, I want to plant some violets on her grave. You two will have to tend it and weed it. You'll do that, won't you?”
“It will be a privilege,” Pyne said softly.
“Nealy,” Rhy said, sitting his beer down next to him, “I've been meaning to tell you this for the past couple of days but kept forgetting. Dillon Roland has a new foal. Heard in town last week that he was boasting it was Derby material. Born same time Shufly was born. He calls him Navigator. Says this time he's going to go all the way to the Triple Crown.”
Nealy laughed aloud. “Not in this lifetime. There are no words to tell you how much I hate that man.”
“So does everyone else around here. I know you registered Shufly for the Derby the day he was born, but do you think he's Derby material? Do you have any sense of it yet?” Rhy asked.
“You know the answer to that question yourself, Rhy. It's too soon to tell. But I will tell you he's got everything going for him. If I had to take a guess, and it's just a wild guess, I'd say yes. Shufly isn't the problem. I'm the problem. I'm pretty old to be running the Derby.”
Both brothers whooped with laughter to show what they thought of that idea. Nealy grinned. How wonderful it was to sit with her brothers, laughing and talking like a real family.
Please, God, don't ever let this change.
Please, God, don't ever let this change.
“Okay, your turn, Nealy. Let's see what you have there,” Pyne said.
Nealy took a long, deep breath and felt her nerves spike. Would this be the box that finally put to rest all her old longings?
Don't have high expectations, Nealy.
Childishly she crossed her fingers and bent over to bend back the flaps of the cardboard carton. “It's clothes!” she said in dismay. “Socks and underwear, a wool sweater and some gloves.”
Don't have high expectations, Nealy.
Childishly she crossed her fingers and bent over to bend back the flaps of the cardboard carton. “It's clothes!” she said in dismay. “Socks and underwear, a wool sweater and some gloves.”
Her brothers looked at one another. Both of them dropped to their knees to put their arms around her. “It's okay, Nealy. You have the pincushion and the picture. A few days ago we never expected even that. Just be grateful, and we have one more box to go through. It might turn out to be the best one yet. Why don't we go outside and walk down to the barn. We need to clear our heads. This is powerful stuff we're doing here. Come on, Nealy,” Pyne said, helping his sister to her feet.
They were back in the house within the hour, their faces hopeful but resigned.
“Nealy, you open this last one. You're the only daughter, so it should be you. Let's just agree that whatever it is, it's more than we had when we started out. We need to be grateful for this little bit,” Pyne said.
“You're right. Well, here goes.” Gingerly, Nealy folded back the flaps of the box, then bent them downward. A piece of yellow paper lay across the contents of the box. In dark ink, the huge printed words proclaimed MARTY'S THINGS. “Oh, God, oh, God!” Nealy said, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “It's Mama's things. How did he get them if she went away? Did that hateful old man send them to Carl Ridley?”
“
Maybe
the answers to your questions are in the box, Nealy. See what it is,” Rhy said, sitting down on the floor next to his sister. Pyne settled himself in the space on the other side of Nealy.
Maybe
the answers to your questions are in the box, Nealy. See what it is,” Rhy said, sitting down on the floor next to his sister. Pyne settled himself in the space on the other side of Nealy.
“It's her things. Her personal things. Things she either left behind or . . . or, I don't know what. Here's a bracelet, but it's tarnished. A book. Oh, look, it's
Little Women.
Here's another one,
Jane Eyre.
That means Mama liked to read. Oh, isn't this wonderful. Oh, look at this, it's pressed violets in a little silver frame. It's tarnished, too, but I can polish it up. Violets must have had some special kind of meaning to her.” Nealy opened a small wooden box whose lid was on hinges. “It's her recipes. Recipes she wrote. In her own handwriting. Look how pretty her writing is. All swirly and flowery. You can hardly read my handwriting.” Tears dripped down her cheeks as she reached for a packet of faded photographs tied with a violet-colored ribbon. She handed the packet to her brothers.
Little Women.
Here's another one,
Jane Eyre.
That means Mama liked to read. Oh, isn't this wonderful. Oh, look at this, it's pressed violets in a little silver frame. It's tarnished, too, but I can polish it up. Violets must have had some special kind of meaning to her.” Nealy opened a small wooden box whose lid was on hinges. “It's her recipes. Recipes she wrote. In her own handwriting. Look how pretty her writing is. All swirly and flowery. You can hardly read my handwriting.” Tears dripped down her cheeks as she reached for a packet of faded photographs tied with a violet-colored ribbon. She handed the packet to her brothers.
Rhy undid the ribbon, his eyes wet. “It's us when we were little. Damn, we were good-looking kids. She wrote our ages and names on the back.” He passed the snapshots to Pyne, who passed them to Nealy. They cried openly then, brothers and sister. It was the last picture that brought Nealy to her feet. “Well, if there was ever any doubt, this erases it. It says, Rhy, Pyne, Cornelia, and their daddy, Seth Coleman. I know our first instinct is to burn this, but it is the only picture we have that's proof. If neither of you mind, I'd like to keep this. I won't look at it or anything like that, but I do think we need to preserve it. Don't ask me why I think this, I just do. Do you agree?”
“Sure,” Pyne said.
“It's okay with me.”
“Good. How about if I take all these pictures with me, get new negatives and prints made. Then we'll each have a set. Look how cute you two are. You can see by the look on Mama's face that she adored you both. You can't even see me, I'm so bundled up. This is the only picture of me from that time. It proves I'm me. Do you have any idea how important that is to me? Maud and Jess took pictures of me, but I was seventeen then. These are
real.
”
real.
”
“What else is in there?” Rhy asked, peering into the box.
“That's because you bundle up babies,” Pyne said gruffly. “I can see your face.”
“A scarf wrapped in tissue paper. It feels like silk. A snood. That's to keep your hair in place. Here's a jeweler's box! Mama had jewelry!” Nestled inside the velvet box was a single strand of pearls and a silver ring that looked like a wedding ring.
Three pairs of eyes stared down at the pearls and the ring.
“These pearls are older than I am. Why would Mama have a wedding ring? Do you think it was a pretend ring? You know, to make her feel better about her relationship with Seth Coleman.”
“That would be my guess,” Pyne said. “It doesn't matter anymore, Nealy. It really doesn't.”
“It matters to me, Pyne. It always will, too.” Nealy handed the box to Rhy, who dropped it. The silver ring rolled across the floor. Nealy scrambled on all fours to capture it. Pyne picked up the pearls. Rhy reached for the box, dropped it a second time, and watched as the velvet lining fell loose. A square of brittle paper, folded over to match the size of the lining, fell out.
Nealy sucked in her breath. “What is it?”
“I don't know,” Rhy said.
“Maybe it's one of those things none of us wants to know. If our mother hid it in this box, she must have done it for a reason,” Pyne said. “Maybe we don't have any right to look at it.”
Nealy gave her brother a long-suffering look. “She's gone, Pyne. We
have
to look at it. When people hide things they always expect those things to be found someday. Maud told me that. You're the closest, Rhy, you see what it is.”
have
to look at it. When people hide things they always expect those things to be found someday. Maud told me that. You're the closest, Rhy, you see what it is.”
“You're a girl. You do it,” Pyne said.
“All right. But if it turns out to be something none of us likes or that we can't handle, we put it back and never mention it again. We have to agree, or I'm not touching it.”
“We agree, we agree. Just do it already,” Rhy said loudly, his voice booming all around the room.
Nealy's touch was reverent as she unfolded the fragile square of paper. “It's . . . it's a . . . what it is is . . .”
“For God's sake, Nealy, what the hell is it?” Pyne exploded.
“It's a marriage license! Mama was married to Seth Coleman. It says so right here. Look for yourself!”
“Just tell me one thing, are we legitimate or illegitimate?” Pyne demanded hoarsely.
“You are
legitimate!
We all are. Look at the dates! Just look at those dates!” Nealy screamed at the top of her lungs. “There is a God after all! I knew there was, but this . . . this makes it all right. I can't believe this! If they were married, why did they let everyone think . . . those awful things?”
legitimate!
We all are. Look at the dates! Just look at those dates!” Nealy screamed at the top of her lungs. “There is a God after all! I knew there was, but this . . . this makes it all right. I can't believe this! If they were married, why did they let everyone think . . . those awful things?”
“Who knows the way that ugly man's mind worked? More to the point, if Seth Coleman was married to our mother, did he divorce her? How could he have sold us off to his brother?”
“I don't know, Pyne. We'll probably never know. I don't know about you two, but I am in total shock. I simply can't believe this.”
“Are you sure it's real? You said the ring might be a pretend ring. Maybe this is a pretend marriage license,” Rhy said.
“No, it's real. As real as my marriage certificate to Hunt. See, here's the raised seal. We can always check it out. They were married in Nevada. I don't think it would be hard to check. I can have Ruby ask the Thorntons to do it for us. It's just all so unbelievable.”
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