Salem's Daughters (8 page)

Chapter 10              Meddling Grandparents

Twenty-four hours. That’s all the time it took for Bob and Debbie’s lives to be transformed from the edge of despair to one of hope and promise. Only yesterday, Bob saw himself at the kitchen table, looking over their bills with only a month’s worth of savings left and no job prospects. His always ambitious and virtuous wife had finally succumbed to the strain, and was joining him in a steadying spiral of despondency.

Since then, they found a property in the country, met with a local realtor, and made a ridiculous offer that was accepted. Now Debbie was going to pitch her parents, Jack and Elisa Collins, to cosign a loan to purchase the property and build their bed and breakfast.

Debbie’s grandparents, Ross and Erma Dempsey, were also along for the ride. They sat in the back and remained silent. At least for now. Bob knew Erma could change that in an instant.

Ross, seventy-two years young, was a large silver haired man with a barrel chest who dressed with a vest and jacket. Subtle plaids of various colors were his favorites.

Erma was petite, at least sitting next to Ross. She always wore a dress and hat of some sort. Bob had never seen her wear anything but solid color ensembles.

They were fashionable in their own sort of old-fashioned way. Bob thought the traditional couple to be a bit adorable—even with Erma’s dark wit and sharp tongue.

Three generations all with different surname; Dempsey, Collins, and Stevens out for a leisurely drive in the country on a warm September Labor Day weekend. They filled Debbie’s Ford Explorer to a cozy but comfortable capacity.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun heading west. Bob felt great as he looked out on the small family farms they passed. It was a serene sight of lush green grass and trees under a dazzling cobalt sky, laced with long, thin, lazy wispy clouds.

Bob was able to relax. The load of the world pressing down on him for the past three months had been miraculously lifted. He was a new man with a vision and renewed vigor.

“This is such a lovely drive,” Erma said. “Thank you Bob, for inviting us. This is so much fun.”

Bob snickered inwardly. You can thank yourself for inviting yourself.

“Debbie dear,” Erma continued. Bob knew she would carry the conversation. “As you well know, your grandfather and I were born and raised in this very area. Oh Bob, make a right turn on this road.”

Erma’s voice always tightened when she addressed Bob, then softened when she spoke to Debbie.
I
—
hear
—
and
—
obey.
Bob cracked a smirk at his internal snarky remark.

Bob looked in his rear view mirror to see Debbie’s grandparents beaming as they stared out their windows and reminisced about their youth. They were such a happy couple. Bob had never seen them in a bad mood.

As much as Erma would chide him for being too soft, he did like the woman. She was always there to help anyone in the family who needed it. With gentle kindness to blood relatives and tough love to those related by law not of Irish descent. He was the only one in Debbie’s extended family that fit in the latter category.

Erma lowered her window. “You can turn the air conditioning off now, Bob,” she snapped.

Her tone then softened. “You know Debbie, this area has escaped all the surrounding development. It’s really not changed much since we were raised here.”

Ross spoke. “The only difference are Interstates Ninety-Four and Sixty-Nine now intersecting through it. Fortunately, there are only a few off-ramps between Battle Creek and Marshall, so the landscape is pretty much the same as when we were kids. There are no sprawling sub divisions, box stores, or modern strip malls for miles.”

Bob could easily picture their era since, like Erma said, not much had changed. He listened as the elderly couple described a magical, enchanted world from an era lost to time. A place he now deeply desired.

He wondered why he had been so opposed to living in the country. Like Debbie said, there were neighbors within view of each other. Just not so close they could see into your windows like in his planned community.

“Things were sure different then,” Ross said. “We walked over a mile to school, then back. Even if there was two feet of snow and blistering winds. We’d gather around the wood stove in a one room schoolhouse for our lessons. Kindergarten through fifth grade.

“All in one class with only one teacher. Mrs. Kipp was her name. I can still see her. A mean old lady with a wart on the end of her tongue. She’d whoop you senseless if you got out of line. I kid you not. This was back when a teacher wouldn’t take guff from anyone.”

Ross started to chuckle. “I confess, she whooped me a few times.”

Bob laughed. “Sounds like a terrible way to grow up.”

Erma snorted. “You wouldn’t have survived. No offense. You’re a good man, Bob. But back then you had to tough it out. That’s how we coped. Understand? And it paid off. Life was hard. During World War Two, everything was rationed. There wasn’t a surplus of anything. If we wanted something, our parents taught us to fight and take it.”

Bob could see Erma sitting up tall and glaring at him in the rear view mirror.

“But there was some work,” Ross said. “Marshall was where the lumber barons lived. Kellogg’s Cereal was in Battle Creek.”

“But here in the rural area where your grandfather and I were raised,” Erma said, “many of the parents worked in the onion fields. They weren’t good paying jobs. But they kept food on the table and wood in the stoves.”

Ross’s stomach jerked with a snigger. “I remember most kids would bring a flapjack to school for their lunch. That’s what most ate every day. I tell you, we had to rely on our wits to get ahead.”

“What did you do to make money, Grandpa,” Debbie asked.

“My friends and I, we’d work for the farmers baling hay after school and on weekends. Hard work it was. I’ll tell you that. It was sweltering hot in those barns. But we saved our money and bought bicycles so we could get around. Some of us lived miles away from each other and our bikes were the only way we could meet up.”

“Remember the dentist, Mr.  Peabody?” Erma cringed at the name when she said it.

“Do I. Tall. Skinny. Biggest darn teeth I’d ever seen. As ugly as they came. He refused to use Novocain. But he was the only dentist around. I remember mother refused to drive our jalopy on the highways and would only commute no more than ten miles from home. So if you had a toothache, it was Doctor Peabody or suffer.”

Erma leaned forward and touched Debbie’s shoulder. “Not to mention we were both born in the houses we grew up in. The doctor, he made house calls back then, you see. He was usually drunk. But he was good and reliable. And back then, that was good as gold. He delivered your mother right in our bedroom.”

“I couldn’t imagine,” Bob said, glancing back. “That’s mind boggling. How did you manage childbirth without an epidural?”

“Whiskey, Bob. We were both drunk. Both the doctor and me. Epidurals? Pfhhht.” Erma leaned back in her seat. “Good old fashioned Irish whiskey is what got me through four child births.”

Although Bob wasn’t much of a drinker outside the occasional glass or two of wine, he thought he might need a bottle of good old fashioned Irish whiskey to survive much more of Erma. For a petite woman, she sure packed a lot of spunk, Bob thought.

Not being Irish, the little spitfire placed him in a prejudicial disadvantage. Losing his job and not finding a new one hadn’t helped. Bob knew the only reason she accepted him—at all—was because he’s so good to Debbie.

“Get this,” Ross said, laughing loud. “We had two outhouses. His and hers. Running water and electricity came to our houses only after World War Two was over.”

Bob caught himself before he could respond with another
that’s amazing
reply. Outhouses could open the door to even snarkier snap backs from Erma than drunken childbirths.

“After the war, lots of things that were rationed or non-existent were sold and delivered door to door by truck. Meat. Bread. Cheese. Even tools. You name it. They’d drive down the street, and if we needed anything, we’d flag them down and buy it on the spot with cash.”

“Back then,” Erma said, “we didn’t have grocery stores or Seven-Elevens. Milk was delivered to our front door in the early morning in glass bottles. We’d leave the empties on the porch in the evening. Oh Bob, make a left here. Now. Don’t miss the turn. Bob? Are you paying attention?”

I
—
hear
—
and
—
obey.

Bob passed more farmhouses, some with pristine manicured lawns and postcard red barns and others with rusted farm equipment in the yard.

“Over there. That was where the house I was raised in stood.” Erma pointed down a long overgrown two-tire lane path.

“It’s gone now. A tornado destroyed it a few years after my siblings and I left home and my parents moved to Lansing. I remember there were mean dogs that roamed the area. Daddy would have to walk all the way to the road with a club to get the mail in case that pack of wild mongrels attacked him.”

“That’s quite a story, Grandma,” Debbie said. “Wild dogs roaming the roads? Things were sure different then.”

Erma sighed deep. “That’s not all. It was those dogs that kept your grandfather and I separated as kids. You see, he lived on the other side of that row of trees over there against the horizon. We rarely left our property on foot for fear of those damned varmints.”

Erma grabbed Ross’s hand and kissed him. “I only met your grandfather in high school, because my parents home schooled us in the morning, and then we worked our small farm in the afternoon and evening. And to think as young kids we lived a few short miles apart. All those wasted years because of those confounded mutts.”

Erma looked at Debbie. “When we graduated we were married and moved to Lyon Lake just outside Marshall. Your Grandfather was hired by a lumber baron. Ross, he was already an artisan.

“This man, I can tell you he could build anything out of wood. It wasn’t long before he opened up a furniture building business. Dempsey Furniture was born and has been around for over fifty years and still going strong.”

Bob passed a row of one hundred foot tall elm trees that formed the eastern border of the Turner place. Up ahead, the dilapidated hulk came into view. He slowed to a stop.

“Bob. What are we stopping here for?” Erma snapped.

“We’re ah … we’re here,” Bob nearly stammered the words out.

There was silence for almost a minute as the Dempseys and the Collins stared, stunned at the burned down rubble. Bob tried to think of something, anything, to say.

Debbie broke the silence. “Okay, put your jaws back into your mouths. Let’s go.”

Bob exited the Explorer and opened the drivers’ side back door, helping Erma out.

“Well,” Debbie said, flashing a smile and with a pose similar to a model on a daytime television game show. “This is it. What do you think? Wait. Don’t say anything. Let me give you the grand tour.”

“And don’t forget to bring your imaginations,” Bob said.

He laughed out loud, observing for the first time since he’d met her, Erma was dumbfounded into silence and bereft of any snide comebacks to throw at him.

Chapter 11              Cornwell’s Turkeyville

The sun was passing toward the western horizon. It was almost four o’clock. Bob pulled into the parking lot of Cornwell’s Turkeyville, just north of Marshall.

He knew how much Debbie and her family loved the restaurant. All the countless times they took him there when dating Debbie, from high school and college, and his career with Thorbough and Tomlinson, he feigned interest to get in their good graces because he loved Debbie and wanted to fit into her family.

But now he was appreciative of the journey back in time. The place was built on four hundred acres and boasted an ice cream parlor, gift shop, general store, dinner theatre, Civil War re-enactments, summer kids camps, to a heated pool for RV parking. The place was huge, and situated at the intersection of two interstate highways, he understood why the lines to get in were always so long.

Today was no exception. Since this was the last holiday weekend of the summer, Cornwell’s was packed with hundreds of families. By the time they found a parking spot and entered the line, Bob surmised it would be at least a thirty minute wait to order their food. Finding an open booth or table would present a whole new challenge.

As the line slowly progressed there was small talk with Debbie, her parents, and Ross and Erma. But he was surprised to see the Dempseys and the Collins texting for most of the wait.

For their age, Ross and Erma were tech savvy. Being retired, they had time to spend on social media using cell phones and tablets with their kids and grandchildren. Both were up to date on most of the latest technologies.

After more than a half hour in line and with Bob’s feet starting to ache, they had their homemade turkey dinners and were sitting at one of the few recently emptied and re-cleaned booths.

Once seated, Debbie’s dad, Thomas Collins spoke. “So let’s get right down to business. Bob, Debbie, we have some good news and some bad news regarding cosigning for your loan.”

Bob almost choked on his mouthful of hot turkey sandwich, set atop a pile of mashed potatoes and smothered in gravy. “Here it comes,” he mumbled under his breath. “I should have known this was too good to be true.”

“Allow me be blunt. Your mother and I have decided that this whole idea is, well, crazy.”

Bob could see Debbie’s face wilt. Her mom smiled and patted her knee.

But good ol’ Erma took it from there. She took Debbie’s hands in hers and smiled wide, a grin that told his wife her world just became a much better place. But the same smile communicated to Bob he’d best be on guard. Things could get out of his control real fast.

“Debbie dear, don’t you fret one bit. The good news is your grandfather and I have decided we’ll co-sign the loan docs.”

Erma smiled warm and wide. “That’s right, honey. We’re retired now and getting up in years, you see. And we want to do something to help you. So we’ve decided to co-sign the loan. You know, since Bob’s not able to get a job.”

Bob fought off the urge to lob a heaping spoonful of gravy smothered mashed potatoes at the snarky matriarch. But they needed help, even if it came from Erma. For the moment, silence seemed to be the best recourse.

“Now, before you can say no, I understand there is risk involved in building and opening a bed and breakfast. But your grandfather and I did some research last night.”

Again with Erma’s online expertise, Bob thought. That caustic old woman does have her amazing attributes. And much of her better characteristics I can see in Debbie.

Ross and Erma came from humble beginnings and were hardworking, successful people who raised four children and so far have seven grandchildren. It seems whatever they’ve touched had turned to gold.

“Bob, did you know,” Ross said in a jovial sense, dropping his fork and leaning into the table. “There are eighty million people who live around the Great Lakes. And Michigan is at the center. This area is centrally located between a dozen major metropolitan cities in Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Canada. What do you think of that?”

“I didn’t know that,” Bob said around another mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Not only that, my boy, but there are only a handful of bed and breakfasts within an hour radius of here.”

“What can I say? I didn’t have time to research any of this.”

Ross grinned. “But Erma and I have. And it only gets better.”

“Thank you,” Bob said. “Both of you. I mean it.”

“Oh, think nothing of it. We’re all family here,” Erma said, and she
smiled
at Bob.

Huh? Did she just smile at me, Bob wondered. Wow—first time for everything. Or was it a smirk?

“I’ve also taken the liberty to crunch some numbers,” Ross said. “I know events have happened so fast it’s hard to get your arms around everything.”

Erma’s scowl returned. “Now Bob, do you have any idea how much a bed and breakfast will cost?”

“Well, not really.”

“I didn’t think you did. Take a wild guess.”

“Well,” Bob scratched his chin. “We have a three bedroom house. So a ten room bed and breakfast would cost at least three times as much.”

Erma rolled her eyes and tossed her napkin in the air.

Ross, roaring with laughter, slowed his guffaws. “Three and a half million dollars, my boy. Let’s get right down to brass tacks.”

“That’s furniture jargon, in case you didn’t realize it,” Erma said. “Brass. Tacks. That’s what’s used to secure the fabric to the wooden frame.”

“Well, I, I mean—”

Ross waved Bob off. “That’s okay. Just let me talk. A three and a half million dollar loan, amortized over thirty years, at today’s interest rates, comes out to six million four hundred thousand dollars.”

Debbie gasped. “How much? Oh, no. That’s way over our heads.”

Bob was quick to calculate the numbers. “That’s a seventeen thousand eight hundred dollars a month mortgage payment we would have. Or over two hundred thousand dollars a year.”

Debbie looked as if she were about to faint.

Ross maintained eye contact with Bob and smiled, drawing Bob in. Anything, next to Erma, was charming.

“But if you have full occupancy during the summer at two hundred and fifty dollars a night for ten rooms, then average thirty percent through the remaining nine months, you can cover the mortgage, interest, and expenses and still clear aroun—”

Bob interrupted. “We’d bring in four hundred fifty thousand dollars a year in revenues. After utilities and maintenance, we’d still clear a hundred thousand dollars.”

“And we’d live there,” Debbie said. “We could write off utilities, repairs, and food as expenses.”

“That’s great.” Bob looked at Debbie. “And the guests would be paying the mortgage and building our equity. We can make a killing with a bed and breakfast.”

“We sure can,” Ross said, slapping the table. “We sure can.”

We?

“Just think if we could raise occupancy to forty percent during non-summer months. Or fifty percent. We can do this. Remember, eighty million people are living around the Great Lakes. And we’re at the center of it all.”

Bob’s mind raced through the unfolding scenario. “Umm, wait? Did you just say we?”

Ross formed an exaggerated sly grin. Erma clutched Debbie’s hand on the table and glared at Bob. Bob thought he and Debbie would have to pitch this deal with little chance of success. But Ross and Erma were now pitching him. They want a slice of the pie. Retirement my ass, Bob thought.

Wait. Did Erma just take a long swig from a flask she had in her purse? She took a second swallow and smiled wide at Bob.

Ross, no longer his jovial self, displayed a side Bob had never seen. He’s now a shrewd business man seeing an opportunity and going for the jugular. His.

“Bob, my furniture company has been very good to us over the past fifty years. We have a lot of money to work with. Trust me on this.”

Erma tucked her flask away in her purse. “And with your knowledge of numbers, and Debbie with your gumption which you inherited from me I’m sure, I really believe you can do this. You’re so young and full of energy and amazing ideas. And we want to help.”

“Your grandmother and grandfather had told us their intents this morning,” Debbie’s father said. “We’ve been texting them while waiting in line trying to talk them out of it. But they insisted.”

Ross rose from his chair and winked at Debbie. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the car for something.”

Bob leaned into Debbie. But she wasn’t there. She was hugging Erma.

“Thank you.” She kissed her grandmother on the cheeks repeatedly. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Ross returned, both arms wielding a large object wrapped in a blanket. He offered it to Debbie, who scooted her chair back to make room to place it across her lap.

“What is it,” Debbie asked as she opened the mysterious package with a fascination that scared Bob. She gently unfolded the blanket and held up a carved and painted wooden ornament.

It was a Celtic cross. Debbie gasped and stood, holding up the green and white relic from the past. The stanchion stood three feet tall. The intersection was encircled by a ring. Three branches spread out to the top and both sides.

There was a stunned silence at the table. Even the patrons in surrounding tables looked in awe at its magnificence.

Bob recognized the piece was from the top of Ross and Erma’s two story house on the west side of Lansing. He never paid much heed to the piece, since it was so high off the ground. When visiting, he usually walked straight from the car into the house. But what he noticed now was how intricate and colorful the hand crafted piece was. It was truly a treasure.

“This,” Erma proudly declared while wiping a tear from her eye. “This is the priceless family heirloom my grandfather, Brendan Murcat, made after arriving from Ireland at Ellis Island in eighteen ninety-five. After ten years struggling in the boroughs of New York, he moved to eastern Pennsylvania and bought a small farm.

“There he built a house and raised a family. He made this masterpiece and placed it at the apex of his house over the front door. It was designed to bless all those entering and exiting.”

Erma wiped another tear. “The three arms and the base stretch toward the north, south, east, and west. They will protect your mind, body, soul, and heart. The ring symbolizes eternal life and God’s infinite love for you, child. But most importantly, inside the ring is the Murcat family heirloom, regardless our names may be different because of the wonderful men we have married.”

Erma glanced past Bob at Ross then to Debbie’s father and smiled.

Bob looked at the image on the coat of arms. Two lions on their hind legs faced each other. He thought there should be a bottle of Irish whiskey in the middle the lions were fighting over. He suppressed a laugh—an outburst might mean certain death at the claws of Erma.

“My grandfather then passed this on to my father, who moved to this very area between Battle Creek and Marshall. He also built a house, raised a wonderful family, and placed this at the top of his home.”

Erma fought to hold back more tears. Ross held her hand and took over the conversation. “And this most beautiful piece that has weathered three generations of hot summer sun, ice cold blizzards, and rain, was passed on to us. It has blessed and protected everyone who enters and exits our house. And we now pass this on to you.”

Debbie was crying and laughing as she tucked her head into Bob’s chest.

“Now don’t you worry about a thing, dearie. I’ll take care of everything regarding the loan.” Erma looked at Bob. “You’ll have to sell your house, of course. Put it on the market tomorrow. Don’t try to hold out for as much money as you can get. You’ll need to get out from underneath the debt as soon as possible.”

I
—
hear
—
and
—
obey.

“Then we’ll go to our bank and sign the loan documents. Oh, Debbie, I’m so proud of you. You are going to be a huge success. I just know it. And you have my grandfather’s heirloom. You are truly blessed, child.”

“But where are we going to live while the house is built,” Debbie asked.

Erma gave her a wink. “We’ve thought that through. You can live in our RV on the property. This way, you can oversee the construction.”

Ross clapped his hands once to get everyone’s attention. “We all have a lot of work to do. We’ll need an architect and a general contractor. Winter’s right around the corner and the builders will need to repair and bring the foundation up to code, rough frame in the house, install all the windows and entry doors, put siding on the walls, and get the roof on before it freezes.”

“Eat up,” Erma said. “Food’s getting cold.”

“I’m going to make this same turkey dinner one of my signature meals every Sunday at the Bed and Breakfast,” Debbie said.

“What are we going to name the place?” Bob said, trying to find some way to get into the conversation.

Debbie proudly held up the family heirloom above her head with much gusto. “How about Murcat Manor? We’ll be honoring my great-great-grandfather who made this blessed cross that has survived all these years.”