Free Kentucky Rich by Fern Michaels

response.
    â€œWhat happened, Carmela? Is Miss Maud going to die?”
    â€œI don’t know, Nealy. Mr. Jess came and got me right after you left the kitchen. I didn’t see you leave, but I heard you. I’d just built up the fire when he came rattling down the steps. It’s a stroke. People live after a stroke, Nealy. Sometimes they don’t, but sometimes they do.”
    â€œShe can’t die, Carmela. She just can’t. Jess won’t know what to do without her. I won’t know what to do. Emmie . . . Emmie won’t . . . understand. The farm, the horses, everything will fall apart without Miss Maud. She’s the glue that keeps us all together. I should do something. I need to do something. Tell me what to do, Carmela.”
    â€œYou keep going, Nealy. You can’t fold up. Jess is going to need you, and so is Emmie. You have to be strong. You do what Maud would do. Tell me what to make for breakfast. Then you have your work; Emmie has to go to school. You need to write down what you want me to make for supper. You have to go down to the barns and tell the others. You have a lot of things you have to do.”
    â€œThose are just things. I meant I want to do something for Miss Maud.” Nealy reached out and grabbed Carmela’s shoulders. She stared deep into her eyes. “Tell me she isn’t going to die, Carmela. Tell me. She said she won’t die till she gets another Derby winner. She told me and Emmie many times she can’t go to meet her pa in heaven unless she has a third Derby winner in her hand. Say it, Carmela! Damn you, say it!”
    The old housekeeper straightened her apron, her usual rosy cheeks pasty white. She tried to straighten her plump body as she stared Nealy down. “I can’t tell you that, Nealy. Now, tell me what to make for breakfast.”
    Nealy stared at the woman, who was almost as old as Maud. Her face was lined and creased the way Maud’s was. She wore wire-rimmed spectacles, whereas Maud preferred to squint or use a magnifying glass, saying eyeglasses were ugly. Where Maud’s hair was thinning, Carmela’s was thick and curly, fashioned into a long braid that hung down her back almost to her waist. Her hands slammed down on her plump hips. “I need you to tell me what to make for breakfast, Nealy.”
    â€œPancakes.”
    â€œFine. I can make pancakes. How many?”
    â€œHow many? Fifty. Sixty. That’s a good round number. Lots of coffee,” Nealy said, rubbing her temples.
    â€œWho’s going to eat sixty pancakes?” Carmela demanded, but Nealy was already halfway up the kitchen stairs to the second floor. “The barn dogs and cats, that’s who,” she mumbled.
    Nealy found herself standing outside Maud’s room. Everything was suddenly different now. Even the sunshine was gone. An omen? She wished she knew more about death and the dying process. She wanted to cry so bad she pinched her arms to stop the tears. Jess didn’t need to see her cry. She was supposed to be strong. She wondered if Maud could hear or understand whatever it was the doctor was saying to Jess. It didn’t look like Maud had moved even an inch. Jess looked different, too. Right now, right this minute, he looked old. He also looked brittle, like he was going to crack wide open. He turned, saw her, and motioned her to enter the room.
    Nealy advanced, tears rolling down her cheeks. She stepped into his arms and howled her misery. He didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he stroked her hair and let his own tears roll down his weathered cheeks. “We talked about something like this maybe happening someday. Maud said she didn’t want to go to a hospital. I agreed. Dr. Parker is going to send us some nurses who will take care of Maud around the clock.”
    â€œI can do that, Jess. I want to do it.”
    â€œI know you do, child; but you have Emmie, and the farm still has to run. You can’t