Chapter Nineteen

~

Though he promised himself he wouldn’t, Seth couldn’t help speechifying just a little bit. He spoke of Zimmerman’s long history, and how the marriage to Decatur Heath assured that history would continue well into the future. He told the assembled board they should be proud of the bold action they’d taken, and in an off-script moment, he invoked the name of his father, saying had he not been ill, he too would no doubt be supportive of the action they’d taken.

Yet, throughout his speech and as before, none on the board would look him in the eye. He glanced over at Pickett only once during his talk to see the eighth-richest man in the world sat at the signing table with his arms crossed looking bored. Seth had even caught him glancing at his watch. God help me, Seth thought, the next year was going to be the longest of his life. But Pickett was right about one thing. It was time to finish this.

In conclusion, he thanked the board for their long years of service and wished them all well in their future endeavors. With that, Seth took his place next to Pickett, picked up one of the ceremonial pens laid out before him, and signed his name to the first of the contracts. He expected there might be some congratulatory applause or … something to mark the event. But there was nothing. Oh well, he thought. Some people were just ungrateful. So, he laid that pen aside, picked up another, and signed his name to the next contract. He calculated that each of the eight signatures he would make this day was worth somewhere in the neighborhood of forty million dollars. And that was just his own cut.

Given the stakes, he wasn’t surprised that his heart was pounding, or beads of sweat began popping up on his forehead. While signing the fourth contract – he was now up to one hundred and sixty million, by his own calculations – some sort of hullabaloo began going on across the room. Only after he signed the sixth contract did he begin to hear a smattering of applause that slowly grew into a rousing cheer.

Finally, he thought. He wasn’t quite sure what was so special about the sixth contract. He’d left all that to the lawyers. But as the cheer grew into a rousing crescendo, he smiled to know that at long last, the board was behind him. Looking up for the first time since sitting at the table, to bask in their belated but much appreciated thanks, he stared up into the face of his father.

“Hey, Seth,” Barney said dryly. “What’s shakin’?”

The sweat that had formed on Seth’s forehead now began streaming in rivulets down his face and into his eyes. In between the ongoing applause and slaps on his back, Seth watched his father turn to Pickett and greet him with a smile, such that you’d never know that Pickett was the longtime hunter, and Barney – or at least the furniture empire he’d built – was his longtime prey. The cheers and applause eventually died down. Those who had come forward to shake his hand or simply touch Barney, their long absent and much missed chairman, moved away to let the show continue, to let whatever was going to happen, happen.

“Heard you was under the weather, Barney,” Pickett said. “Out of sorts. Not feeling well. Glad to see it ain’t so.”

Barney smiled. “You know, I suppose to a certain extent that has been true. But I’m here to tell you,” he said, turning to the assembled board, many of them friends of forty years. “I’m here to tell you all … that I’m feeling much better now, and that I appreciate the continued faith you’ve shown in me.”

Another round of applause and some scattered whistles broke out.

At that moment, Seth realized he hadn’t moved a muscle since glancing up into the face of his father. He’d let the sweat flow down his face and into his eyes, not wanting the humiliation of anyone thinking it was … something else. On some level, he understood what he was doing – in fact, had already done – was the ultimate betrayal of his father. But no, his mind insisted. His father had been slipping off the deep end for years. Seth was doing what was in the best interests of the company. He refused to believe anything else. And if the best interests of the company happened to coincide with his own best interests, so be it.

When the most recent set of cheers ebbed, Pickett said, “You ain’t here to try and put the kibosh on this deal, are you Barney? Throw a monkey wrench into the works? Nip it in the bud? Because my lawyers tell me it is already ironclad one-hundred percent done, this little dog and pony show Sparky here put on notwithstanding.”

Seth cringed at again being called Sparky, not sure he could survive a whole year of it

“Not at all, Calvin,” his father said. “Not at all. You and I both know you’ve been pursuing the Zimmerman chain for years, and it appears that in my prolonged absence, you’ve finally been successful. Congratulations. And you know,” he said, turning to stare into the face of his son. “Setting aside any personal thoughts I may have on the matter, perhaps it is time for Zimmerman to take its place among the national brands, to bring its tradition of service and value to more than the six New England states. So no, Calvin. I’m not here to stop anything. In fact, I’m here in my role as Chairman of Zimmerman Furniture to sign these contracts myself.”

“Chair … what?” Seth asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. He realized at that same moment why none of the board wanted anything to do with him today.

“Yes, Seth,” Barney said. “It seems as if some of the old guard on the board thought it appropriate that if Zimmerman were to be sold, that its founder and chairman be the one to sell it. Would you mind?” he asked.

It took Seth a moment to understand he was being asked to vacate his chair. In what seemed like slow motion, he put down his pen and lifted himself from behind the table. He noticed then, standing behind his father, was Dawkins, his ever-present lawyer, looking dapper as usual.

Barney stepped behind the table and sat down to rousing applause. He picked up the contracts Seth had already signed and began affixing his own signature to the documents.

“I understand, Calvin,” Barney said while writing, “that the entire management team including my Seth has agreed to stay on for at least another year. Is that correct?”

“You know it is, Barney,” Pickett said. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s the way I do business. One of my rules.”

Barney smiled. Setting that contract aside, he picked up the next.

“We appreciate that, Calvin. We really do. I know you’ll find we have a first-rate management team, most all of whom have been with us for many years. In fact, I’m certain you’ll want to retain them all far beyond that.”

“We usually do,” Calvin replied. “But remember, Decatur Heath is a great place to work too, for the right people that is. Folks willing to work hard. Pull together. Work as a team.”

Barney smiled again and signed his name. “That is wonderful news, Calvin. I’m certain my own Seth is quite looking forward to spending the next year with you.”

Seth felt a tightness in his groin.

“Me and Sparky get along just fine,” Pickett said. “Two peas in a pod. But now you mention it, he has been a little slow to pick up on things. Between you and me, I’m not sure he’s even read my book. But we’ve got plenty of time to fix that.”

Barney set aside the sixth pen and raised the seventh. “I have no doubt of that, Calvin,” he said. “No doubt at all. In fact, I expect Seth will want to stay on far longer than just the one year.”

Seth braced himself, thinking a little pee might have come out.

“You see,” Barney went on. “The Zimmerman family stock is all quite restricted. Certainly, our family will have a very good payday today. Unfortunately, buried in all the legalese, is that upon the sale of the company, our family stock reverts to several trusts. The lawyers put that in place years ago. So yes, we’re very rich indeed. However, I’m afraid only annual stipends will be paid out, much like an allowance.”

Barney waited for that to sink in before looking up at his son and going on.

“But fear not, Seth. I’ve arranged it so your annual stipend will match your current salary. You shouldn’t at all have to modify your standard of living. Even better news, your children will receive a similar stipend, and their children, and their children, for many generations to come. And though I suppose it won’t necessarily be enough to live off for the more slothful future Zimmermans, it should ensure that most of their basic needs are met, provided they supplement their income with honest labor.”

Barney signed his name to the seventh contract and went on.

“You know, Calvin. You mentioned your book. I, for one, have long thought there should be a sequel. Have you ever thought about it?”

“Only every day,” Pickett answered.

Smiling, Barney raised his pen over the eighth and final contract before going on.

“I suspect you’ve already thought of this, but it occurs to me that the contract Seth has signed to work for you is on the order of a ‘personal services contract.’ Am I right about that.”

“That’s what the lawyers call it,” Pickett responded.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Basically, that means that Seth’s talents don’t necessarily need to be wasted up here in Boston running Zimmerman, but in fact, you could ask him to do anything at all, is that correct?”

Pickett nodded. Barney signed the last contract and lay the pen down.

“Now, I’m the last one to tell you how to run your business. But if I were you, I’d take the most advantage of Seth by moving him and his family to Muncie and allowing him to work closely with you each day. Let Seth record those pearls of wisdom as they come! Let him jot down any ideas or random thoughts you may have. I think that by simply being there with you, shoulder to shoulder, in the rough and tumble of the business world, before the year is finished, you’ll have that sequel. Might even end up with more rules!”

Seth was certain at that moment some pee had escaped.

Barney smiled and leaned back in his chair.

Pickett raised his eyebrows and turned to a now leaking from most every orifice Seth.

“Sparky,” he began. “I see now just where it is you get your business sense. Now, I confess that when I bought the joint, I hadn’t at all considered that maybe, its best asset was you. And so, in the spirit of this merger between two great companies, I am going to grant your father’s wishes and then some.”

Seth started feeling lightheaded. Dizzy. His world turned black as Pickett went on.

“I have only two questions, Sparky. How quick can you get to Muncie, and how are your Lotus 1-2-3 skills? Gonna have to brush up on those to work for me. In fact, that’s one of my new rules. Write that down, Sparky!”

Seth’s knees buckled. Mercifully, his mind shut down as he collapsed to the floor. Barney peered over the table at his now prone son. To his left, Pickett spoke.

“Bet it was the salmon,” he said. “Took one bite myself and knew somethin’ was off.”

~

Chris guessed they were about halfway home when Barney emerged from below deck, looking happier and more at peace than he had in a long time. He’d changed his clothes too, no longer wearing the fine blue suit, but beige khakis with a black belt, boat shoes, and a white, almost blousy shirt with many buttons. Chris smiled to think it appeared almost … piratical, if there was such a word. His gray hair whipped every which way in the late afternoon breeze. Chris remembered then it was sometimes easy to forget that Barney was a very old man.

He smiled as he approached Sarah and Chris. “You two having fun?” he asked, kind enough not to mention Chris’s getup. Sarah answered for them both.

“I’ll never forget it,” she said, squeezing Chris’s hand as if to underline the point.

Barney turned to Chris. “Well, son,” he said. “What do you think of the job we did rebuilding your ship? Everything to your satisfaction?”

Chris smiled to hear Barney again call it “his” ship. After the business with Cobb and credit, it seemed now as if only Barney and his mother remembered he’d had anything to do with it at all. Of course, neither Cobb nor his mother knew the half of it.

“No complaints from me,” Chris answered, turning to glance at Hornblossom. Still on the quarterdeck steering the ship, he took no notice of Chris. His eyes were far away while he scanned the horizon.

While Barney and his lawyer had been on the other ship, Hornblossom welcomed the captain of the Sojourner onto the Lady Grace, showing her off like a proud father. After the party boat’s captain praised his seamanship, Hornblossom ordered a bottle of port be brought on deck and the two toasted each other until the bottle was gone. Chris noticed the Sojourner’s mate watching with disapproval, however, if Chris had learned anything, it was that the captain was truly the master of his ship. He wondered if it were the only place left where one man’s word was such law.

Barney went on, pulling him from his thoughts. “So what happens tonight?” he asked eagerly, sounding like a little boy.

Chris smiled for only a moment before his face went serious.

“I’m not really sure,” he answered. “I just think … whatever’s going to happen, if anything, it’s going to happen at ten-fifty eight. That’s when the moon goes new. I also suspect that whatever’s going to happen, it’s going to happen just outside Nutmeg Cove, the place the ship went down.”

Barney nodded. “Well then,” he answered. “Seems like we’ve got an appointment at Nutmeg Cove to keep, doesn’t it?”

~

The Lady Grace dropped anchor in the cove just off Barney’s estate. There was no need for her to go back into the boathouse, Chris knew, as there were only a few hours left before she would make her final journey, in this time and place anyway.

The captain ordered the cook prepare a feast, to celebrate both all they had accomplished and their last night on the Rump. After much discussion and heated argument, the crew insisted the cook make some of the local delicacies to which they’d become accustomed, specifically these things called “hot dogs” and “hamburgers.” They insisted as well there be made available plenty of ketchup and mustard and relish, and that each man be allowed his fill of fried potato chips, specifically, the ones that came in the bag with the owl on them.

The cook muttered beneath his breath before going below to accede to their wishes. Chris smiled again to see pirate democracy in action. He and Sarah sat with Billy during dinner, enjoying his company one last time before he’d be gone forever. Though he remained quiet, the captain came over and joined them for a few minutes. He winked at Chris, reminding him that he’d promised to make a pirate out of him.

Chris smiled back, remembering all the lawlessness that his acquaintance with Hornblossom and his ship had gotten him involved with, and couldn’t argue that he’d kept his promise.

When the captain got up to leave, he reached his hand down to Chris, who stood and took it.

“Couldn’t have accomplished any of this without ye, young Christopher. An’ know I’ll be ferever in yer debt.”

Meeting Hornblossom’s eye, Chris shook his hand, squeezing it for a moment. “Goes both ways, Captain,” he said. “Goes both ways.”

Hornblossom smiled and nodded, then squeezed Chris’s hand one last time before setting off to make final preparations for their journey. As he walked away, Chris watched the captain throw his last bit of hot dog into the air. Walking beside him, as always, his dog leaped acrobatically and snatched it right out of the air. Chris smiled.

Dusk approached.

~

With the sun down, Chris and Sarah made their own final preparations to depart the Lady Grace. There was a launch waiting below to take them to the boathouse and to the Pamela, where they and Barney would accompany the ship over to Nutmeg Cove for … whatever was to happen. The two said goodbye to all their pirate friends. When he said goodbye to Billy, Chris pulled him close and whispered in his ear, bits of information it might be helpful to know, the kind of information that in the right hands would make someone very, very rich.

Billy smiled and thanked him, assuring Chris he’d take advantage. Looking down, Chris said it was nothing, hoping if he ever found himself in a similar situation, someone would do the same for him. He glanced around one last time for Hornblossom, but guessed the two of them had already said their goodbyes. Then, as Sarah and Chris approached the ladder that would take them to their launch, night turned into day.

Spotlights from Barney’s estate above came on, beaming garishly down toward the ship. The boathouse lights flickered on too. From the open water just outside the cove, brilliant beams of blazing light began beaming in their direction from what looked like a half-dozen vessels. One of them appeared to Chris about the size and shape of a medium-sized Coast Guard Cutter.

Raising his hands, he shielded his eyes, then turned to watch the boathouse gangways fill with uniformed men. Looking to the estate above, behind the bright lights he saw the silhouettes of dozens of helmeted and, he assumed, uniformed men. Across the water, coming from what Chris assumed was the Coast Guard Cutter, an amplified voice could be heard.

“Unknown vessel. Unknown vessel. Stand by for boarding. Repeat, unknown vessel. Stand by for boarding.”

Turning again, Chris watched in horror as the crew of the Lady Grace did … well … what the crew of the Lady Grace did.

From below, cutlasses began coming up the stairs. Men carrying two or three threw them expertly across the deck to men who had none. Other men placed daggers in their teeth before they began climbing the rigging to what Chris assumed were their battlestations. In the midst of this well practiced chaos, Chris saw Hornblossom come up from below, grabbing a belt with a sword and sheath from the man who waited there. Placing it around his waist while walking, he buckled it without missing a stride. When he reached the quarterdeck and joined the first mate, his voice thundered across the night.

“Prepare to repel, men! Prepare to repel!”

It was a tone of voice Chris hadn’t heard before, but one he could instantly tell Hornblossom had used many times. It was his true pirate voice.

The order came again from the cutter. “Unknown vessel. Prepare to be boarded. Repeat. Prepare to be boarded.”

Across the water, Chris watched as a light approached, getting bigger by the moment. Glancing up, he saw the men in the rigging remove their knives from their teeth and rear back to throw them. Moments later, he heard the whooshing sounds of what could only be dozens of cutlasses being removed from their sheaths.

The approaching boat moved closer. Chris glanced toward Hornblossom and saw that he too had drawn his sword. He had to stop this.

Letting go of Sarah’s hand, he began running across the deck. Raising his hand, he shouted, “Wait … wait … wait!”

When he reached the other railing, he heard a squeal as the motors of the approaching boat shifted into reverse, slowing it. Chris leaned over the rail, almost able to make it out. He had his hand still raised when he turned to Hornblossom and saw the captain staring daggers in his direction. Chris didn’t care.

“Wait!” he shouted one more time, meeting the captain’s stare before turning again. He recognized the seal on the front of the wheelhouse moments before making out the name emblazoned across the front: “Massachusetts State Police.” On its deck were dozens of officers, all wearing riot gear and bulletproof vests. All had their guns drawn.

Chris felt the blood drain from his face, but kept his hand raised, both to signal the pirates behind him to hold off, and perhaps to let the cops across the water know that they weren’t going to find any trouble on board this ship. He watched the state police vessel execute a nifty quarter turn, quite similar to the move Hornblossom made earlier at the hotel, which brought their boat right alongside the Lady Grace. At about that same moment, he watched the cops on deck begin poking each other and pointing. It took more than a moment for Chris to realize they were pointing at him. Why, he had no idea.

At the very moment he looked down at himself, he heard waves of laughter begin breaking out on board the police vessel. They were laughing at him, of course. At his outfit. Though his face burned red, he really couldn’t blame them. He’d have done the same in their shoes. So with nothing else to do, he smiled.

From across the way, he heard a mirthful officer say, “Hey, there. Alf. Mind catching this rope?” Chris looked up in time to see the rope coming his way. Catching it, he pulled it toward him and saw other officers waiting with other ropes. He glanced toward Hornblossom and saw he’d get no help there.

“Billy,” he shouted. “Sarah! Come help me.”

He heard one set of feet running across the deck, and moments later heard another he knew were Billy’s. The three of them captured the ropes and tied them off. When a cop handed over a ladder, Chris was the only one there to take it. He understood then the pirates would offer no assistance in the taking of their own vessel. Chris couldn’t blame them. He glanced once more at Hornblossom and saw betrayal in his eyes. Chris couldn’t blame him either. He looked away quickly. When he looked over again toward the other ship, he realized that another mystery was solved.

~