Willow Smoke (65 page)

- o -

The
next
morning,
Daisy
opened
her
eyes
in
a
strange
bed.
Quickly,
she
closed
them,
sank
back
into
the
down
pillows, and
pulled
the
sheet
up
tighter.
She
stretched
a
hand
out
to
her
right.
She
was
alone.

Prying
her
eyes
open
again,
she
checked
the
red
numerals
on
the
clock.
Ten
o’clock.
Good
grief.
She
never
slept
that
late.
Still,
she
hesitated
to
climb
out
into
this
new
space.

Nick
had
brought
her
back
to
his
Kenwood
home.
No
way
could
she
convince
him
she
would
be
safe
at
her
apartment
with
Reggie
on
the
loose.
She
was
touched
by
his
concern
for
her
safety,
but
she
wasn’t
sure
bouncing
around
in
a
fourteen
room
house
with
a
multimillionaire
was
good
for
her
health,
either.

They’d
arrived
after
dark.
Even
then,
Daisy
recognized
the
old
Tudor
house
standing
at
the
head
of
a
wrap-around
driveway
for
what
it
was:
a
mansion.
No
doubt
the
place
had
a
manicured
lawn
and
beautiful
gardens.
Nick
had
told
her
about
Mary
Brown,
an
ageless
woman
in
her
eighties
who
was
his
live-in
housekeeper.

Daisy
moaned.
The
house
had
to
be
large
enough
for
at
least
a
half
dozen
live-in
housekeepers.
She
hadn’t
seen
many
of
the
rooms.
Just the kitchen, dining room,
Nick’s
bedroom
and
the
adjoining
bathroom.
All
were
decorated
with
taste.

Nothing
gaudy
or
flashy.
She
guessed
it
was
solid
and
fairly
masculine.
There
was
no
showy
display
of
money.

From what she’d seen
thus far, the
interior
of
Nick’s
home
was
understated,
much
like
Nick
himself.
Daisy
hugged
herself;
she
couldn’t
believe
she’d
flown
on
a
private
jet.
Maxine!

Daisy’s
eyes
sprang
open.
She
had
to
get
back
to
the
hospital—Maxine
could awaken
at
any
moment.
Daisy
threw
back
the
covers
preparing
to
climb
out
of
the
massive
oak
bed
when
she
heard
a
light
rap
at
the
door.
Pulling
the
covers
back
up,
she
croaked,
“Come
in.”

“Ah,
you’re
awake.
About
time.
Though
I
heard
you’ve
had
a
bad
time
of
it
lately.
I’m Mary Brown. Let’s get you out of bed
before you can’t move.”

Daisy
gripped
the
sheets
between
white-knuckled
fingers.
She
tilted
her
head,
trying
to
comprehend
the
slightly
bent black
woman
with
a
broad
smile
showing
several
gaps
of
missing
teeth.
Nick
was
right,
the
woman
was
ageless.
She
had
the
bounce
of
a
sixty-year-old.
But
the
gun-metal
gray
of
her
hair
and
the
deep
creases
in
her
skin
spoke
of
decades
of
hard
work
and
pain.
The
woman’s
smile
line
indicated
there
had
also
been
plenty
of
joy.
That
pleased
Daisy.

Stepping
closer
to
peer
at
Daisy,
Mary
Brown
said,
“So
you’re
the
young
lady
who
has
Mr.
Underwood
turned
inside
out.
I
wouldn’t
have
expected
less.
Come
on
now,
let’s
get
you
dressed.”

Finding
her
voice,
Daisy
replied,
“I’m
pleased
to meet you, Mrs. Brown, but I don’t
need
help
getting
dressed.”

“Call
me
Mrs.
B.,
Miss
Daisy.
Everyone
else
does.
And
I’ve
been
helping
folks
get
in
and
out
of
clothes,
making
meals,
and
cleaning
up
messes
in
this
house
for
over
sixty years. It’s what I do. Now put
that
sheet
down
and
get
out
here.
Time’s
a-
wasting.”

Frowning,
Daisy
climbed
out
of
bed.
Naked,
she
felt
extremely
vulnerable
before
the
older
women
even
though
she
towered
over
the
housekeeper.

“My, my. You are a
beauty. So tall. But you’ve
got the
right stuff in the right places.
I’ll
make
the
bed
while
you
get
some
things
on.
You
can
freshen
up
in
Mr.
Nick’s
bathroom, if you like.”

Daisy
grabbed
a
bra,
panties
and
slacks
and
tried
not
to
dash
too
rapidly
to
the
bathroom. She wasn’t surprised to find
Mrs.
Brown
still
there
tidying
up
when
she
stepped
back
into
the
bedroom.
Partially
clothed,
she
didn’t
feel
at
such
a
disadvantage.
What
did
the
old
woman
make
of
her
relationship
with
her
employer?

“So
you’ve
lived
and
worked
here
a
long
time.
Before
Nick
bought
the
house,
I
imagine.”

“Oh
heavens,
yes.
Nick
wasn’t
even
a
dream
in
his
mommy’s
heart
when
I
moved
here.
The Prestons bought this house in the late thirties. I came to work for them
shortly after; I was the nanny to their
five
children.
Lived
in
the
carriage
house
back
then.”
Mary
fluffed
a
pillow.
“Missus
passed
on
and
Mister
had
to
be
put
in
a home. That’s when Mr. Nick moved in. I never moved out. It’s
been good.

“Though
I’ve
got
to
say
it’s
been
better
since
his
Missus
moved
out.
She
could
be
pretty
snooty
at
times.
Didn’t
like
me
hovering
about
when
they
had
parties.
Wanted me to serve, but not be seen.
Now I don’t know about you, but I haven’t
figured
out
how
to
be
present
but
not
visible.”