Flower of Heaven (8 page)

The day finally came that July morning when Dick and his mother were set to leave the Merrill farm for the last time. Dick had already made arrangements to keep his pick-up truck at St. Barnaby’s over the remaining summer months until he returned for his second year at Plymouth Teachers College. By noon, most of the furniture and personal belongings had been packed and loaded in the moving van. Except for the kitchen stoves and refrigerator and some of Charlie’s office furniture, which was included in the sale of the farm, the house resembled any other home in transition. Nashua Foods had decided to convert the farm into a regional office, serving not only the Merrill brand of pastries and eggs, but using the remainder of the property to erect a distribution center for the company’s other line of products.

Alice had insisted that the contract with Nashua include a clause requiring Nashua to preserve and isolate the grave site area where Charlie was buried and to allow the site to also be her own grave site alongside her husband. The plot was particularly special to Dick whose frequent treks up the mountain led him that way. And so it was, that early afternoon, that Alice and Dick stood together for one last time at Charlie’s grave, placing lilacs at the foot of his head stone.

Flight 349 from Boston was to arrive at 6:35 p.m. the operator had informed Sean Merrill. Sean’s wife, Jean, had prepared the spare room for Alice and had set up a folding bed for Dick as a temporary set up, knowing that Dick would be visiting for only a month or less if Alice found her own place before Dick returned to school. Jean Merrill was much younger than Alice and, at fifty-two, had spent most of her life in the warmer climates of the South. She had met Sean in the early ’30s when he moved to Florida and began making deliveries to The Boca Beach Motel, a family business owned by Jean’s father. Sean worked for a towel and linen supply company covering the resorts and businesses from West Palm Beach to Pompano. Boca Raton was in between the two more popular cities and was considered quite unknown in the 1930s. Plush resorts were mostly in the Palm Beach area but more and more retirees were moving into the Boca area where real estate prices were less expensive.

Sean had never liked the cold weather and the New Hampshire climate was one he very seldom talked about. He had made his move to Florida and firmly believed that this part of the country, with its beaches and tropical climate, would someday be the retirement haven for many of the country’s workforce. Jean’s father had seen the growth of the Boca area into the 1940s and had recommended to Sean that he put his money into coastal real estate properties before anything else. “It’s just a matter of time, Sean, my boy, before that waterfront property will turn to gold,” he would tell Sean. Believing that his advice was wise, Sean began by buying a small beach house and, a few years later, an acre of land on the coastal waterway that flowed for miles between the beach properties and those more inland. Sean believed that this property would be more valuable to boat owners as an alternative to the more expensive costs of keeping boats at a marina. “Why not park your boat at your own dock, in your backyard,” he would say.

Sean Merrill had arrived in West Palm Beach in 1935 at the age of forty-six. A bachelor who had never seriously worked at any trade for too long, Sean had seen his move to Florida as a new beginning, an opportunity for him to do something on his own. Sean had even driven a delivery truck for Charlie for a while but never saw himself as a potential business owner. His happy-go-lucky attitude and his carefree love for having a good time left him broke most of the time. He had never met the “right” girl until he met Jean Partridge, a quiet but intelligent desk clerk at her father’s motel. Theirs was not a passionate courtship, but one based on admiration for each other’s values. They were wed in 1936, Sean at forty-seven and Jean at forty-two.

Apparently, Jean had inherited her father’s business sense and they began to accumulate more and more property in the Boca Raton area little by little, while both retaining their respective jobs. Glenn Partridge died in a fishing accident five years later in 1941 and Jean was the sole survivor, Glenn’s wife having passed away from cancer before Sean had come on the scene. Sean and Jean Merrill immediately became very wealthy and assumed control of the motel and of her father’s estate, valued at $2.5 million.

As years went by, Sean saw the continuing Florida population growth and suggested to Jean that they consider opening a family restaurant on property they owned adjacent to the motel. By the summer of 1945, the restaurant was completed and ready to be opened. Jean would continue to operate the motel while Sean would oversee the restaurant operation. Chefs, waiters, and a restaurant manager were all hired and plans had been made for a grand opening in early August.

Alice was family, Sean pondered as he drove from his home in Boca toward the West Palm Beach airport some thirty minutes away. Sean would offer Alice any position she wanted at the restaurant or none at all if she decided against working once she settled into the area. Sean had the deepest respect for Alice. She had stuck by Charlie all these years, even though, Sean knew, Charlie had seen some rougher times before he became successful. Sean felt that Alice had sort of been cheated by Charlie’s sudden death and he was determined to do everything he could to make her life as comfortable as possible, even though Charlie would not be around to share it with her.

Flight 349 from Boston was listed as on time as he entered the small terminal at 6:15 p.m. A short while later, Alice and Dick appeared; both carrying warm smiles as Sean greeted them. The flight had been a long silent one for the two of them. The three hours had given each of them time to reflect on the years in New Hampshire while, at the same time, create visions of anxiety and doubt about what lay ahead in the world of year-round warmth and sunshine.

After having settled in at Sean’s home, a four-bedroom sprawling ranch complete with its own boat dock, Dick and Alice slowly began the task of becoming familiarized with not only the area, but the style of living that the residents thrived on. Hospitality abounded throughout the community since the community relied almost totally on catering to its visitors. “Exactly what Alice needs, right now, Dick,” Sean said as they toured the city. “Your mother has been cooped up so long in her kitchen that she needs to be among smiling faces and people, lots of people.”

“I’m not so sure that this isn’t too much of a change for her, Uncle Sean. I don’t know if mom can all of a sudden just relax and shift gears. It’s going to take some time. I don’t know if I can leave her at the end of the summer. I’m going to worry about her.”

“Don’t give it another thought, Dick, your Aunt Jean and I don’t have any other relatives and your mom’s all we got. We’ll see to it that she gets whatever she needs to adjust to this climate. Dick, she’s sixty-five years old, she’s got to slow down a bit. I’m thinking of asking her to maybe just bake desserts for the restaurant. That should keep her busy just a few hours a day, no more. That way, she can learn to unwind and relax with Jean and me. You’ve got to make your own life now Dick, your mom too!”

The summer months for Dick were totally different than he had been accustomed to. Sean had loaned him one of his cars to use and Alice did not want Dick working that summer at all. The time he spent walking the beaches or riding the open topped car for hours on end, were times for Dick to think about his future, about the regret he felt at not being on better terms with his father before he died, and about the coming September and going back to school. “If only we could have talked more,” Dick pondered, “I never got to tell him how much I loved him.” This tormented him that summer in Florida.

“Dick, nice of you to call, how are you and how’s your mother?” the excited voice at the other end of the phone blurted.

“I’m fine, Father, how’s everything at St. Barnaby’s?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Dick, we’ve had a good summer with lots of tourists attending Masses on weekends and the community is growing every day. We miss your smiling face, though. What’s happening with you in Florida and how’s your mom?”

“Mom’s fine, really settled into this area and she’s gotten used to the hot summers and looking forward to her first warm winter. I think it might bother her, though, around Christmas time without the snow and all.”

“Father, do you remember our talk last year about me breaking away from my folks and going off on my own?”

“Sounds to me like you’ve been doing some soul searching on those Florida beaches. That’s pretty hard to do with those lovely young ladies parading around in bathing suits down there. Sure, I remember our talk. What have you come up with?”

“I was wondering, Father, is there someone up there I can talk to about the seminary. I think I’d like to become a priest, Father.”

The news to Father Gavin came as no surprise. Although he had deliberately avoided talking to Dick too much about the priesthood, for fear that it might look like he was pushing him in that direction, Father Gavin knew though that Dick’s interest in the priesthood was not merely a passing thought. He had recalled himself in similar circumstances some years before he had contemplated going to the seminary in Baltimore to study the priesthood.

“That’s a big decision, Dick, are you sure you’ve really thought this out?” Father Gavin sounded like he was discouraging Dick while, in reality, Dick knew that Father Gavin’s concern was due to the seriousness of this decision.

“I must find out, Father, that’s all I’ve thought about since my dad died, and now that mom’s doing okay on her own, I’ve got to think of my own future. After a year at Plymouth, I’m not sure that teaching history is for me.”

“Father Romeo Gleason at the St. Ignatius Seminary in Baltimore is the guy you want to talk to, Dick. You’ll need a sponsor, too, someone who can support your genuine interest on this. I’ll call on your behalf to let him know you’ll be in touch.”

Dick jotted down the phone number for the seminary and told Father Gavin that he’d let him know how he made out with Father Gleason as soon as he could. A visit to the seminary was customary, Father Gavin had mentioned to Dick, and a brief three-to-five day stay would also be required to acclimate potential postulants in the regimen at the seminary. This preliminary period usually eliminated the majority of the interested young men from pursuing the priesthood any further. Continued pursuit by the remaining candidates was no clear indication that priesthood was imminent, but it was a beginning.

That evening, Dick broke the news to his mother that he would visit St. Ignatius in early August just to see what it would be like.

“I’m not surprised; I’ve seen it in your eyes since you first became an altar boy. You’ll never know if it’s what you want to do if you don’t go up there to Baltimore and find out.”

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CHAPTER 6

St. Ignatius Seminary was like a self-contained fortress, a reminder to Dick of the castles and mansions he had heard of and seen pictures of in his history courses in high school and at Plymouth. The huge stone structure stood three stories high and extended several hundred feet across a plush apron of lawn that extended far in front of it, bringing out its unobstructed beauty. As Dick’s taxi drove up to the entrance gates leading to this grand façade, he felt a tingling sensation overtaking his entire body. He looked at his watch, 10:00 a.m., right on time for his meeting with Father Gleason before being assigned to a room in the postulant candidates’ quarters.

No sooner had the taxi driver placed Dick’s suitcase beside him and wished him well, there appeared a tall silver-bearded man in clerical robes with a smile that surely was exactly what Dick needed at that moment. For a brief instant, he had become uncertain as to what he was doing here and was tempted to try to flag down the fleeing taxi while he had the chance.

“Hi, I’m Romie Gleason. Welcome to St. Ignatius. And you would be…?”

“Dick Merrill, Father, from Rumney, New Hampshire, Boca Raton, Florida, I mean…”

“I know what you mean, son; Father Gavin and I had a long talk about your coming and he’s told me all about you. Let’s get your gear inside and I’ll show you around.”