Songbird Season Page 3

  “Well, that’s an easy fix.” Ron motioned toward the door. “Should we go to the basement, see what horrors are hiding down there?”

  Melinda tried to blink a few tears away as they started down the stairs, hoping the men wouldn’t see them and so she wouldn’t trip on her now-threatening steps.

  There was no way she’d ask Horace to pay for any improvements. He was already selling the place at half its assessed value, a price that still gave her a pang of guilt every time she thought about it. Frank and Miriam paid her a decent wage at the store, thankfully, but it was far less than what she used to earn. She was already freelancing for the Minneapolis public-relations company where her friend Susan worked. Could she pick up some extra assignments? Or might there be a way for her little farm to generate a bit of income?

  Her animal-tending skills were basic at best, but what about more sheep? There were seven lambs out there, bringing her flock to nineteen head, but that number already seemed a little overwhelming. There was plenty of pasture grass coming on, but next winter she’d need extra straw and hay to feed everyone. She was so attached to her flock, she couldn’t imagine having to part with any of them. No, more sheep wasn’t the answer.

  What about the garden? Or the chickens? Horace had regular egg buyers during the warmer months of the year, when the hens were most productive, but that brought in only enough dollars and coins to fill a glass jar. There were too many projects around this farm. A few bucks here and there would never close the gap.

  Hazel, who was rather shy compared to her queenly sister, had come out of hiding once the tour moved upstairs. She was now romping on the rag rug in front of the kitchen sink, and her infectious joy pulled Melinda’s thoughts away from her money woes.

  “And this is my other little one,” she proudly told Merle. “As you can see, her coat’s just as long as Grace’s. She’s got that brown-tabby fur and those cute hazel eyes, so that’s why I named her that. Hazel, what’s up? Do you want to show us your toy?”

  The fluffy kitten was running in their direction, grunting proudly and holding her tail high with confidence. Then Melinda noticed the veil of cobwebs on the back of Hazel’s head, and the cracked-open basement door. And the very-real mouse, its tail still twitching, trapped in her petite jaws.

  Ron took a quick step back. Merle didn’t lose a beat, and reached down to gently take the squirming mouse away. The kitten gave it up with only a half-hearted growl, and he disappeared out the kitchen door.

  “There.” Merle wiped his hands on his jeans. “Tossed it out in the grass there. It’s just about dead.”

  “Thanks for taking care of that.” Melinda opened the basement door the rest of the way, half expecting to find more mangled rodents on the landing. Thankfully, it was empty. “I’ve been battling the mice since last fall, once the weather turned.”

  “Oh, you’ll never really be rid of them,” Merle said cheerfully as he snapped the string for the stairwell’s ceiling bulb. “I just hope you don’t have rats. I can’t stand them. Oh, and spiders!” He shuddered. “This one time, I reached behind a furnace and this huge thing just came out of nowhere, ran right up my arm like nobody’s business.”

  “I haven’t seen the former, but I can’t promise about the latter,” Melinda told him. “I guess a few spiders and mice aren’t the end of the world.”

  “You never know,” Merle said over his shoulder as he ambled toward the electrical box. “Where there’s mice, you’ll find cracks. And where there’s cracks, you might have foundation issues.”

  “This will be the big test,” Ron whispered to her as they huddled in the canning room, just around the corner from where Merle was clanging and banging around. “So far, it’s all smaller stuff. Things you can tackle as you have the time and money. How are you holding up?”

  “I feel like I need to lean against this wall,” Melinda muttered, “but what if it crumbles away? What’s he going to find next?”

  The basement’s concrete-block walls were “only a little out of whack,” which Melinda guessed was supposed to make her feel better. Energy grants were mentioned again as Merle studied the furnace and hot water heater, but he gave them a cautious green light.

  The breaker box needed to be replaced. The electrical lines running out of it “didn’t look too bad” but Merle suspected the real trouble was lurking in the walls.

  “Knob-and-tube, I’d guess.” He shook his head. “Not everywhere, understand, I’m sure some of it’s been upgraded, but you don’t want any of it, anywhere. I’d get that handled, sometime this summer.”

  “Do you mean … rewire the whole house?” Melinda gasped.

  “Could be. You’ll need someone to really check it out. Otherwise, this place is a tinderbox if something goes wrong.” He snapped his fingers. “Well, what’s in this next room? Hey, look at all these plants you’ve got started. It’s like a greenhouse in here. And that vintage gas range! That’s some chrome job, some collector would really …”

  Outside, the news wasn’t any better. The roof had maybe five years left, Merle announced as he came down the ladder. Did she have any spare shingles around, just in case? These weren’t made with asbestos, but he wasn’t sure you could buy them anymore. And the north window in the front bedroom had probably been sealed with plywood because the storm glass was cracked. That leak would rot the sill if something wasn’t done.

  The electrical lines running from the yard light to the outbuildings got a cautious nod. “They’re pretty old,” Merle hedged, then brightened. “You probably flip only one switch in the barn at a time, right? That’s probably a good idea.”

  Melinda was exhausted by the time Merle’s truck rumbled down the lane, gravel muck spraying its back bumper.

  “Well, it could have been worse.” Ron searched for something positive as they stood there by the garage, alone with their worries. Hobo had dashed off the minute he was unhooked from his lead, and Stormy and Sunny made themselves scarce long before. “Sounds like you’ve got a few years before …”

  “Before just about everything should be replaced,” Melinda finished.

  “That wiring needs to get done, for sure.” Ron thought for a moment. “Tell you what, I’ll get an electrician out here to get an estimate and work it into the deal. Honestly, that’s something that should have been handled long ago.”

  “I can’t ask Horace …”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it. It’s part of the job. Gotta earn my commission somehow, right?”

  “Ron, I don’t know what I’d do without your help. This just might work out, after all.” Then she started laughing.

  “What?”

  “It’s a good thing I want to preserve the house’s charm and character. I’m not going to have the money to do much else.”

  “That’s probably just as well,” Ron said as she walked him to his vehicle. “This house has held its secrets this long, just let them be. Merle was right: Don’t tear into any walls, and you’ll be fine. Start ripping stuff out? You’ll have the county code guy on your case. He’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The hooting and hollering echoed through the wood shop as Melinda came in Prosper Hardware’s back door the following morning. Even with the steel door leading into the store tightly closed, she could clearly hear the coffee guys celebrating the local high school’s state basketball championship.

  Not even the terrible screech of the door’s hinges could drown out the whoops of celebration coming from the four men gathered around the sideboard. The coffee was already on, thanks to Auggie Kleinsbach still having a key from when he worked at the store during high school, nearly forty years ago.

  “I just can’t believe it!” Jerry Simmons raised his arms with such force that he nearly knocked the purple-and-white team cap off his head. “I can’t believe the boys pulled it out like that. First state championship in fifty-two years!”

  As the tiny town’s current mayor and a retired princi
pal, Jerry had twice the school spirit of anyone else in town. And that was saying something. Prosper had merged with Swanton’s district about ten years ago, but the change in colors and mascots hadn’t dampened local residents’ school pride.

  Jerry’s was on full display this morning. In addition to the cap, he sported a purple-and-white jersey over a crisp button-down shirt, and purple laces in his sneakers. Melinda was relieved to see he had settled on a pair of khakis, rather than color-coordinated warm-up pants. But was that a celebratory string of beads around his neck?

  Normally, the arrival of sweet treats from Melinda’s kitchen would bring conversation to a halt. But not today. Trying not to laugh at her friends, she set her pan on the sideboard’s counter and reached for the first lemon-poppyseed muffin.

  Auggie’s coffee was always on the strong side, and she would need it today. It had been a long night, but a far different one than the dark hours she’d spent over the past few months. Instead of worrying about the pregnant sheep out in the barn, last night’s tossing and turning was about things inside the house. As her mind circled the farmhouse’s rooms, she saw so much more than their cozy charm. Everywhere she looked, there was trouble. Problems that needed to be fixed with money that she didn’t have.

  Horace’s cute old fridge now seemed like a dodgy place to store her perishables. She flinched when the furnace roared to life, part of her waiting for the ominous cough and sputter that might signal its impending demise.

  Merle’s assessment came back to haunt her as she stared into the darkness. It’s just a matter of time. You might get two years out of that furnace, or maybe two months. Good thing it’s finally spring. But then, I’ve seen years when we got a blast of snow yet in April.

  Even the purring presence of Grace and Hazel hadn’t been enough to calm her mind. When she at last fell asleep, Melinda dreamed of stairs wobbling under her feet, of bare wires snaking out of holes in the ceiling. Angry amoebas of mold infected the plaster, and dripping window sills threatened already-warped floors.

  Melinda woke with a start just after three, causing Grace to issue a disapproving meow from where she was curled up on the right side of the pillow. Her heart racing, Melinda stared at the sloped ceiling above her bed, her eyes straining in the feeble glow of the night light to spot any sign of roof leaks on its creamy surface. There was nothing there. Nothing she could see, at least.

  That was almost five hours ago, but she still couldn’t shake that feeling of dread. It’s going to be fine, she told herself as she dropped into one of the folding chairs by the sideboard. It has to be. I can’t afford it otherwise.

  “So the Hurston kid’s jump shot sealed the deal,” Jerry was saying. “Bam! Only one minute to go, too. I just couldn’t believe it! He’s amazing. I’m glad he was smart enough to sign up with the Hawkeyes for college play.”

  There was Melinda’s cue to speak up. Any mention of the University of Iowa, or its rival, Iowa State, would whip this quartet of fans into a frenzy. John “Doc” Ogden received his veterinary education at Iowa State, and was a devoted Cyclone. As was Auggie, the owner of the town’s co-op. Jerry loved the Hawkeyes best, and George Freitag, a retired farmer and the oldest of the group at eighty-two, followed them closely since his son and daughter had attended college in Iowa City.

  “So, who wants a lemon-poppyseed muffin?” She gestured at the sideboard’s counter. “Baked fresh last night!”

  Auggie took a hearty bite but, as usual, couldn’t keep his sharp opinions to himself for very long. “Jerry, you’ve got quite the get-up on today. Don’t tell me you’re going over to City Hall dressed like that!”

  “Why not?” Jerry was defensive as he reached for a treat. “It’s not like there’s a throng of people over there. Need I remind you our fair city only has about two hundred residents, and most of them who are not retired work out of town. Anyway, I’m off to the elementary school this morning. There’s a spirit assembly for the kids, a smaller version of the big party we had Saturday night at the high school.”

  Melinda finished her first cup of coffee and then poured another. She’d better get the store ready to open, and start on that stack of returns Bill didn’t get to the evening before.

  Bill Larsen was the store’s only other full-time employee, and spent most of his hours cutting orders in the wood shop. Thankfully, he and Melinda weren’t trying to go it alone. Aunt Miriam was back to her usual schedule now that Uncle Frank’s health had improved, and Esther Denner, Miriam and Frank’s neighbor, picked up a few hours every week.

  Uncle Frank had started a new chapter in life, thanks to his friend Jerry, and was enjoying his volunteer “desk job” sorting the old papers and records stored across the street at City Hall. In fact, he’d texted Melinda that morning to say he was skipping coffee group. He had come across a particularly fascinating stash of documents yesterday, and couldn’t wait to dive back into their mysteries.

  Bill soon arrived, slipping in nearly unnoticed as Auggie stirred up debate about when the area would see its last snow of the season. Auggie was a “weather nut,” as George aptly put it, and operated a reporting station for the National Weather Service inside Prosper Feed Co.’s tallest tower.

  “I say we’ll get at least another round.” Auggie pushed up his thick-framed glasses as he leaned toward Doc. “It’s the third official day of spring, but that doesn’t mean a thing.”

  “I hope you’re wrong.” Doc stretched out his long legs and kicked one work boot over the other. “I’m done with winter. I hope I can put those tire chains away soon.”

  Doc and his assistant, Karen Porter, worked crazy hours, being on-call for animal emergencies at any hour of the day or night. Melinda knew Doc was having a restful day so far, as his boots were too clean to have been out at anyone’s farm already this morning.

  “Well, I don’t know if Old Man Winter’s done with us yet,” George said as he added more creamer to his coffee. “They always say, the snow has to stick to the north side of the trees three times before winter’s over. By my count, it’s only happened twice so far.”

  “Does that really hold up?” Bill was skeptical, but didn’t wait for George’s reply before diving into his muffin. He was a stocky guy in his mid-thirties, and Melinda knew he’d reach for a second treat to take back to the shop.

  “I’d say it’s right eighty percent of the time. In all my many years, I’ve known it to happen more often than not.”

  “Well, there you go,” Auggie jumped in. “I agree with you, George, there’s some truth to that saying. And besides, anything over fifty percent is good odds, I’d say.”

  Melinda hid a smirk as she buffed the oak showcase that served as Prosper Hardware’s check-out counter. Auggie’s ability to forecast the weather was either incredibly reliable or merely questionable, depending on who you asked. He was right about half the time, just enough to give his predictions some weight. And to soothe his ego.

  Bill took a seat, coffee in one hand and his nearly-gone muffin in the other. “Hey, Melinda, how’d things go yesterday? I know you and Ron were worried about what the home inspection might turn up.”

  “Well, the house passed, I guess.” She reached for a broom and attacked the rubber mat that protected the oak floor in front of the showcase. “But our little tour uncovered several things that could really add up.”

  “Surely Horace would be willing to chip in on some of those costs,” Auggie suggested, “as they would have fallen to him if he’d come home. Of course,” his brown twinkled with curiosity, “that depends on what sort of deal you agreed on.” He’d been trying, and failing, for months to extract the sale price from Melinda.

  “The house doesn’t need any major work right away, but the inspector said the wiring should be updated,” she said smoothly, ignoring Auggie’s real intentions. “At least he didn’t find any structural problems. I’m trying to be encouraged by that, and not think about how many years I might have until I have to replace most of the mecha
nicals.”

  “That house is, what, at least a hundred years old?” George reached for another muffin. “I bet Horace and Wilbur kept it livable, but no more than that. Wilbur was always known for being handy, he probably did much of the work himself.”

  “Just how bad is it?” Doc leaned in, concern showing on his sun-weathered face. “You’ve got a nice barn out there, still sturdy after all these decades. But I could see where Horace and Wilbur might have put more effort into the outbuildings than the house.”

  Melinda closed her eyes for a moment. “Five years on the roof, he thinks, if I get some shingles patched right away. And that’s the best news I got.”

  The broom still in her hand, she sank back into her chair. “The furnace is old, the windows are drafty, the refrigerator could be on its last legs.” She started to laugh, then nearly began to cry. “It’s funny that you mentioned Wilbur’s skills, Doc. The inspector said it looked like some of the electrical connections were spliced together by a pack of drunk squirrels.”

  Jerry guffawed and the coffee he was trying to sip sprayed on the floor. “Oh, sorry Melinda, I’ll clean that up.” He went to the sideboard for a roll of paper towels.

  “And nothing’s to code. All he kept saying was, ‘don’t rip into anything, or there’ll be trouble.’ I could barely sleep last night, thinking about how long I have until the rain starts to come in, or the windows rot out.”

  Auggie patted her on the shoulder on his way to pour more coffee.

  “Nothing’s standard in those old farmhouses,” he said gently. “That’s just part of the charm. Sounds like you can do the work over time, as you find the money. But you know, they don’t build things like they used to, either. How many of these new houses do you think will be even standing in a hundred years?”

  “That’s for sure,” George put in. “You’ve got something solid to work with, at least.”

  “And everything’s fixable,” Auggie continued as he returned to his chair. “Why, you should see the place one of my nephews bought last year, over south of Eagle River. A beautiful house, all that oak woodwork, just like out at your place. Puts those cookie-cutter places to shame. But you should have seen the mess when they bought it. It had been vacant for a year, there was trash piled all over. If they can do it, so can you.”