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 corne
r 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.”
Bob had to refrain from rolling his eyes as he observed Erma’s face melting into teary eyed gratitude. She looks like she might swoon, wilt, and pass out from all the schmaltzy melodramatic emotion, he figured.
Erma laid a hand on Debbie’s shoulder and said, “Bless you my child. I’m sure my grandfather is looking down from heaven and smiling on you.”
Chapter 12 Thirteen Kittens
Bob pulled Ross and Erma’s Winnebago into the driveway of their new property on Oak Hill Road, cutting a swath through gigantic renegade weeds, gravel crunching under the weight of the RV. On the lawn close to the street was a large white sign with blue letters: DeShawn Hill Construction.
Debbie pointed at two men on the other side of the concrete slab. “The architect and general contractor are already here. They’re not wasting any time.”
A dozen pickup trucks of various makes and sizes were parked close to the existing foundation. The usual serene quietness of the peaceful countryside was broken by sounds of men hard at work. A crew of a dozen people with bulldozers, wheel barrels, and shovels were filling ten green, thirty yard contractor’s containers with debris and rubble from the previous house.
Michael Fronteria waved and smiled as he walked toward them, blueprints for the bed and breakfast rolled up in his hands.
“This is incredible,” Bob said as he helped Debbie step out of the RV. “We’re actually breaking ground on Murcat Manor. I have to admit, I was leery of becoming business partners with your grandparents. But they got the loan docs to go through and helped sell our house in just thirty days.”
Debbie beamed at him. “They’re great. Now, I know Grandma can be cranky toward you. But she has accepted you into her clan.”
“You could’ve fooled me by the way she talks to me.”
Fronteria stopped in front of them, smiled, and smacked his blueprint roll with one hand into the palm of the other. “Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, welcome to your new property. Let’s go around back,” he said, using his plans roll as a pointer. The three walked a ways and he pointed again.
“As you can see, DeShawn Hill has begun the demo work, clearing out all the debris from the previous house and barn. They’re also clearing out all the dead trees and shrubs. He’s one of the finest general contractors around. I’ve worked with him several times. You’re in the best of hands with him.”
Hill stopped giving orders to his crew and shook Bob and Debbie’s hands. He looked every bit the general contractor. Early forties. Big guy with a growing belly. Blue jeans, Keen Tacoma steel toed leather boots, and a collared blue shirt with his name stitched in white on his left pocket and the company logo on the back.
His crew all wore the same color and style, company logo’d T-shirts with their names stitched on them, but his had the distinction of being a collared polo shirt with a pocket—which held two pens and a pencil clipped in it.
Fronteria unrolled the blueprints and flipped to the foundation plan. “We’ll have this place cleared by the end of the afternoon. Tomorrow, we’ll demo the foundation. Then we’ll dig the basement. The full basement area won’t be the entire footprint of the house—just under the kitchen.”
DeShawn Hill swung his forefinger in a circular motion around the large kitchen floor plan. “The rest of the house will be supported on a forty-eight inch deep, sixteen inch wide, steel rod reinforced concrete footing with a full thirty-six inch tall crawl space. But trust me, the basement will be plenty big to store all the things you need and provide shelter in the event of a tornado.”
“I’m impressed,” Bob said. “You don’t see any problems with winter a couple months away?”
Hill shook his head. “No sir. While we’re building the basement we’ll have the water main put in. The old structure was balloon framed which is not up to code. So we’ll be using platform construction which means we can frame entire sections on the ground. Once the basement is finished and the cement has cured, we’ll begin fitting the prefabricated components of the house together. We'll use a crane for the decked joists and the roof trusses."
“And the barn?”
Hill swatted at a fly. “More like a very large storage shed. The biggest you’ve probably ever seen. The older barns—well most barns, really—don’t have concrete floors, just packed dirt. So that chore isn’t one we have to deal with, far as demo. Your new large shed, though, will have a concrete pad for a floor.”
Hill took another vicious swat at a fly. “And again, the shed will be smaller than a barn, but still plenty big to store two riding lawnmowers, snowplows and snowmobiles, lots of work benches, tools, and abundant space to move around. Two large sliding wooden doors will be in the north and south ends so you can easily access whatever you need.”
Debbie pulled out her iPad and looked at something that brought a smile across her face. She tilted the screen so Bob could see a computer generated image of a yellow with white trim grand Victorian Manor, complete with a wraparound porch, turrets and spires. She sighed and held it close to her chest.
“This is our dream come true. Thank you both. This is not just a bed and breakfast. It’s our home and I love everything about it.”
“You’re welcome,” Hill said. “Next spring I’ll build a white latticed gazebo in the front yard. And we haven’t forgotten about your husband. Although the outside is fashioned in Grand Victorian just like you want, the interior will be modern in every sense of the word, per Mr. Stevens’ instructions.”
DeShawn Hill directed Bob’s attention to what remained of the barn. “And on the east side of the storage shed will be a cement patio with basket hoops on each end. It’ll be smaller than an NBA court. But the hoops will be adjustable. You can raise them to be regulation ten feet tall. Or, you can lower them so you can dunk and pretend you’re a super star.”
“That’s great,” Bob said. “I’m sure I’ll be spending a lot of time out here.”
“And we’ll add two soccer goal posts. When families bring their kids with them here, they’ll have a place to play outside.”
“You really did think of everything.” Bob smiled wide, imagining a small crowd of reckless freckled rascals playing outside, rather than destroying the inside of Murcat Manor.
“Let’s take one quick walk around,” Hill said, leading Bob, Debbie, and Fronteria. “Remember, everything’s set in stone. If you make any changes, it’s going to cost a lot of money and probably hold back construction. And we all want Murcat Manor finished by next Memorial Day.”
“I understand,” Debbie said. “It’s perfect as is.”
Hill had to yell over the sound of three bulldozers attacking and breaking down barren oak trees that looked like they’d been standing there dead since the fall of Rome. They crashed to the ground with an awful sound.
“The framing and roof will be up by Halloween,” Hill said. “We’ll have the walls up and wrapped with Tyvek, entry doors and windows installed before the first snow falls. That’ll allow us to complete the interior by spring, then finish the exterior before Memorial Day weekend. You’ll be open for business just in time for summer.”
Hill jutted his chin and winked at Debbie. “And you can take my words to the bank.”
Bob stopped as he again heard the cries of small cats. He wondered if he was losing his mind,
what with all the deafening sounds of bulldozers and rowdy men noises—yelling and carrying and dumping debris in large metal bins.
Debbie was ten steps ahead with Hill and Fronteria when she looked back. “Bob,” she shouted. “Are you okay? Stay with us.”
“Shhhh. I hear the kittens again.”
Debbie cupped her hand to her ear. “What?”
Bob ran to Debbie and lowered his mouth to her ear. “I said I hear those kittens crying out again.”
Debbie’s eyes rolled a one-eighty. “Bob, there are no cats here.”
“Maybe feral cats,” Hill yelled.
The meowing grew more intense. They tugged on his heart to help them. He discerned thirteen individual meows among the cacophony of crying kittens.
“Yes, there are cats.” Bob said forcefully. “I can hear their unmistakable mews.”
Hill pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew. His crew and the loud noise they made stopped. He held up his arm and motioned. “Everyone, take five. I need you to be quiet for a minute.”
“What’s going on,” a crew member asked.
“I want you all to listen for the sound of kittens.”
A strange silence fell as the crew looked bewildered at the boss, then around at each other.
DeShawn Hill’s eyes widened and he made a little huff sound. “I hear it too. The sound of little kittens meowing.”
“So do I,” Debbie said. “Honey, you’re not losing your mind, like Grandma said.”
Bob knew Debbie let that slip out. “I can assure you, I’m in a perfectly sound state of mind.”
One of the workers with a shovel and wheel barrel bent over a pile of burned timber on the main foundation. “Hey boss, there are some little kittens here in the rubble.”
Within seconds, everyone crowded around the mound of weather rotted, mismatched planks and boards and began pulling out tiny pussycats.
“Thirteen,” a hired hand said. “There’s thirteen of ‘em.” He held one up, cradled in his upright palm. “These’s sure some cute li’l rascals.”
DeShawn Hill’s big burley crew cuddled the tiny multi-colored cats. They ooh’d and ah’d over them. The kittens looked like helpless wee puffs of fur in their large hands. Bob and Debbie joined the crowd along with Hill and Fronteria.
Salem's Daughters Page 8
