Arranging A Dream

By J.Q. Rose

In 1975, budding entrepreneurs Ted and Janet purchase a floral shop and greenhouses where they plan to grow their dream. Leaving friends and family behind in Illinois and losing the security of two paychecks, they transplant themselves, their one-year-old daughter, and all their belongings to Fremont, Michigan, where they know no one.
Will the retiring business owners nurture Ted and Janet as they struggle to develop a blooming business, or will they desert the inexperienced young couple to wither and die in their new environment?
Most of all, can Ted and Janet grow together as they cultivate a loving marriage, juggle parenting with work, and root a thriving business?
Follow this couple’s inspiring story, filled with the joy and triumphs and the obstacles and failures experienced as they travel along the turbulent path of turning dreams into reality.

Editorial Review
“I was fortunate to read an advance reader copy. At first it was only the first chapter but had to read the rest and signed on to read and review because I had to see how they survived and thrived. I was transported back in time when business women were rare and mostly in big cities. This story chronicles the dreams and hardships of a couple moving to a new state and a small closely-knit town to make a living. Not only will you see the insights of operating a floral shop, but how each decision could make or break the business. But don't be misled, this isn't a dry read but filled with humorous and heartbreaking anecdotes surrounded by a love story. I'm not a regular memoir reader but this one hooked me from the first chapter!” WS Gager

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Jan 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780228615514

J.Q. Rose

After writing feature articles in magazines, newspapers, and online magazines for over fifteen years, J.Q. Rose entered the world of fiction. Figuring out the characters and their quirks and setting them in a location reminiscent of places J.Q. has lived keeps her penning mysteries. Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games, and travel are the things that keep her out of trouble. She spends winters in Florida and summers up north camping and hunting toads, frogs, and salamanders with her four grandsons and granddaughter.Books We Love titles are available direct using Paypal or a credit card by clicking the covers below, and also at Amazon, Smashwords, All Romance eBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, the Apple iStore and at other sites where eBooks are available online. Some titles are also in print, and available at your local bookstores.For more information about J.Q.'s books including blurbs, reviews and purchase links, please visit her website: http://www.JQRose.com

Book preview

Chapter One—The Decision

Our whispers in the silence of the strangers’ bedroom echoed in our ears. Although we hushed our voices, we feared we would awaken our hosts who slept across the hall. Or were they already awake, straining to hear our conversation through the door?

The springs on the four-poster bed squeaked when I pushed up on my elbows to check our sleeping eight-month-old daughter lying on a blanket on the carpeted floor. Her usual baby snores assured me she was comfortably sprawled out within the make-shift fence of pillows to prevent her from rolling around in the unfamiliar room.

I shook my head in amazement how she slept so peacefully while my husband Ted and I had not slept a wink, juggling the pros and cons of our next step that would affect her future and ours.

I snuggled back under the sheet against my husband’s bare chest. Even if the bedroom was warm on that July night in 1975, I needed to be close to him for reassurance that the choice we had made during the long night was the right one, the key to fulfilling the dream for our life’s work. The life-changing decision for us hinged upon our hosts’ acceptance of our proposal.

We had met our hosts, Hattie and Frank, yesterday afternoon for a tour of their small flower shop and greenhouses in the rural town of Fremont, Michigan. The older couple was ready to retire and give up the business, so Hattie had placed an ad in a horticulture magazine to attract buyers. We drove three hundred miles from our home to check into the business and property for sale.

In 1975 there was no GPS to help guide us to our destination. Instead, we only had printed maps to find our way through the rural countryside. Ted, ever the adventurer, had decided to take a short cut across country to Fremont. When we drove through a small settlement with only a grocery store, we turned to each other and said, Is this Fremont?

According to the map I had struggled to fold into a manageable size for my lap, we had to be close. No. We have about ten miles to go to the turnoff to Fremont.

Relieved when we saw the sign that did not say Fremont, we motored on. Realizing we were so close to our destination, my heart kicked up the rhythm as if I were running there instead of sitting in the passenger seat of our Ford Torino.

We passed apple and cherry orchards, dairy farms, landscapes of rolling green hills and farmsteads that summer afternoon as we traveled the two-lane highway Route 120 and turned east onto Route 82, following this road through the countryside into the west side of Fremont. Three miles from the turn-off we spotted the faded Fairview Floral sign attached above the floral shop door, the building perched alongside a gravel parking lot. With the anticipation of seeing this next greenhouse operation, my stomach felt like a feather pillow had exploded inside me.

Ted pulled the car into the parking lot and we sat in silence taking in the enchanting two-story chalet-style building that housed the flower shop. A small greenhouse was attached on the east side of the chalet and another one joined on the west side.

Delighted with the appearance of Fairview Floral, I announced, It doesn’t look as rundown as what we’ve seen at those other places. We had made trips to Iowa, Illinois and now Michigan to look at possible locations, hoping each one would be the spot to build our dream—a greenhouse operation for Ted to grow and sell his crops of annual flowers and vegetables. But, let me say, most of the places we visited were more like a nightmare than the property he envisioned.

I blinked my eyes to make sure this little chalet was real. The building was different from all the places we had visited. I was captivated by its welcoming charm.

Ted’s smile widened. I think we’ve arrived at the right place, he said. We had followed the map’s directions to find our destination. If only we had a map to know if this place was the right direction we should take for our future.

****

Before getting out of the car, I flipped the visor down to look in the mirror and checked my hair, so short it rarely was out of place. I fluffed my bangs, deciding not to apply any more lipstick to my thin lips and stepped out of the car onto the gravel parking lot. Taking a deep breath, I raised my arms over my head to stretch my cramped muscles and squinted from the bright sun radiating in the cloudless blue sky. A light breeze greeted me. I blamed my moist armpits on the weather instead of my anxiety about meeting the owners.

Scanning the area across the two-lane highway we had traveled, I sighted a car dealership and a second one not far from it. To the west, an old farmhouse and a few acres of hilly land beyond that property caught my eye. Turning in a half-circle, I noticed a driveway alongside the east side of the shop’s property and a house on the other side of the hedge that lined the gravel drive. On the west side, a van was parked in the one-stall garage attached to the shop and greenhouse. Further west, on the next lot, I spotted an old gray two-story house with a large outbuilding behind it.

In 2020 this roadway is bustling with lanes of traffic regulated by traffic signals. Box stores, gas stations, plazas and fast food places line the street. The shop and greenhouse location and the shop owners’ gray two-story house are now grassy lots with a realtor’s sign announcing the commercial property is for sale.

Opening the back door, I roused our daughter from the back seat. I smoothed her soft red curls away from her moist forehead and lifted her in my arms to allow the sleepyhead to slowly awaken from her nap.

I met Ted on the other side of the car. His dark brown eyes darted from one end of the greenhouse across the front of the building and over to the end of the other greenhouse. Clay pots of all sizes lay scattered along the exterior of the west greenhouse like a child had played with them and left them in disarray. A display of various sizes and colors of ceramic pottery caught my eye. Today, Robinson-Ransbottom pottery pieces are collectors’ items.

On the right side of the front door, several blank granite monuments sat on wooden pallets on the edge of the parking lot. My dad was a funeral director; I was more accustomed to seeing the gray and black markers in a cemetery. Next to the tombstones, concrete urns added a little color to the somber items. I would later learn these urns were popular in this area to set on graves. I was impressed by the owners’ plan to be prepared to sell urns and monuments after the sale of funeral flowers.

As we walked across the gravel to the entrance, I wondered if the interior of the building would be as cluttered and unkempt as the outside.

After the dazzling sun outdoors, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark interior of the shop. A lighted display cooler of fresh flowers shone up clearly in my vision. The earthy fragrance flowing through the opened French doors to the greenhouse perked up my senses. I knew this would be a welcome smell to Ted, my greenhouse guy.

The silk flower arrangements on the shelves were lost in the dimly lit room. I checked behind me to make sure that I had seen a huge picture window on the front of the building when we arrived. Yes, but the roof extending over the window shaded the bright sunshine from lighting the front display area. An array of dish gardens and flowering pots of yellow chrysanthemums (mums) added a spark of life to the counter on the top of the cabinets below the large window.

When I turned away from the plants, the owners, Frank and Hattie, stood together next to the counter beside the display cooler. Hattie, a short woman with a large face made larger by jowls that moved when she talked, greeted us in a gruff, businesslike manner instead of the warm and friendly way I had expected. Frank, a tall man towered over my 5-foot, 5-inch petite frame. The slender-at-one-time Dutchman with a potbelly accentuated by his tight shirt stepped toward us.

Hello, Ted said. Touching my back, he gently guided me toward them. He held out his hand. I’m Ted Glaser and this is my wife, Janet. Frank shook Ted’s hand and stepped back to his place beside Hattie.

And this is sleepy Sara, I added. I shifted Sara up higher on my shoulder. Nice to meet you. I smiled trying to appear as warm and friendly as possible to hide the bolts of anxiety flying through my body. Hattie’s lips slightly curved up.

Good to meet you, Frank said.

A plump, white-headed woman shorter than Hattie stood behind the counter. Her bright smile made me feel more welcome.

Frank motioned to her and said, This is Agnese.

I returned her smile and said hello as I shifted Sara to my hip.

Before Ted had a chance to say hello, Hattie interrupted us. Frank, you take them through the greenhouses and out back. I have a few orders to finish. Come back in so I can show you the shop. Hattie spoke to us like my sixth-grade teacher whom I never questioned about anything. That teacher, and Hattie, intimidated me.

After the long ride, I needed to use the restroom, but I didn’t ask.

How was the trip? Frank asked. We made small talk as we followed him into the east greenhouse.

The tour of the greenhouses and shop blurred into one huge tiring walk for me. My back ached from carrying Sara until I finally passed her off to Ted. She was getting fussy and ready to nurse and so was I! He smiled at me as he loaded her up in his arms. Delight engulfed his face. He was in his element.

I grinned back at him. Yes, the greenhouses were his dream, but what about the flower shop? That was not part of the dream. We didn’t need a flower shop, did we?

****

I’m not trying to sell you a pig in a poke, Frank said as we left the flower shop for a tour of the area. I was a bit calmer and more comfortable after visiting the restroom and nursing Sara.

Business is moving to the west side of Fremont.

I wondered about that because there certainly weren’t many commercial places near the flower shop, and only sparsely populated along 48th Street where the shop was located. Heading east toward town, I noticed farmhouses, a restaurant, a rundown motel, a couple of gas stations and an A&W, famous for its delicious root beer served in a frosty mug.

As we moved east toward the downtown area, the image of the Gerber baby painted on the blue water tower dominated the landscape. Fremont is the home of Gerber Baby Food, Frank proudly pointed out.

The Gerber family is generous when it comes to helping out the city. They contributed to establishing Gerber Memorial Hospital and they are always ready to support the service organizations, schools, kids. You know? He swiveled his head toward Ted then turned his gaze back to the road when Ted made no comment.

It’s because of Gerber that Fremont is the hub of the county. They employ hundreds of workers who spend their wages in this town. It may look like a small town but everyone in the region comes here to do their shopping, he said.

Gerber Products headquarters is here, so the executives live here. They make big money working for the company. In fact, Fremont has the most millionaires per capita in the country, Frank said. My jaw dropped. I found that statement suspect, but incredibly good for business if it were true.

It turns out Frank was correct, and not repeating a rumor. A woman who took visitors on tours of the plant in the ‘70s confirmed that when Dan Gerber needed produce from the farmers, he exchanged Gerber stock for payment. The stock’s value increased over the years making those farmers rich.

When we entered the downtown area about two miles from the shop, I was thrilled to see the thriving businesses there with two banks, three dress shops, a men’s apparel shop, restaurants, and an attorney’s office all within two blocks along either side of Main Street.

This small town, the only one in Newaygo County with a traffic signal, offered all the amenities we needed.

Frank continued the tour of the area, driving along the streets slow enough for us to take in the sights of Fremont Lake and the beach, beautiful neighborhoods landscaped with colorful flowers, the hospital, a movie theater, churches, three auto dealers, and two funeral homes. My spirit soared seeing the flowers in almost every yard, pristine lawns and the well-kept homes in every block. The folks in this town loved their flowers and our greenhouses could supply them with what they would need. I pictured potential customers as we passed by every yard filled with plantings.

Fremont has two more flower shops, he said as he drove past Fremont Floral. But don’t forget, there are also two funeral homes. So, we have lots of funeral work.

We passed the one-story flower shop on the corner of a block situated on the main artery into town and across from the Newaygo County fairgrounds. The small brick building with large glass windows across the front had curbside appeal decorated with a summer theme.

A shiver zipped down my spine. Was a town of 4,000 people large enough to support three flower shops? I had not considered having to share the floral business with other shops. Competition was not in my vocabulary.

Now I understood why Frank was extolling the fact that Gerber was an asset to the community and Fremont benefitted by being the business center serving a population of 10,000 in the county, not only the city. But, to me, three shops seemed like too many for this rural area.

****

The afternoon flew by with the tour of the shop’s premises, a drive around scenic Fremont Lake and the charming city rich in lush plantings of gardens and flowers. We learned the Dutch immigrants who settled the area brought their knowledge and love of flowers to make their tidy homes attractive and welcoming.

When we returned, Hattie was closing the shop for the evening. We stood in the design room which was on the other side of the wall dividing the front showroom from the design room. She stopped sweeping up the green stems and leaves left on the floor from arranging flowers.

Can you stay for supper with us? We’d like to answer any questions you have. And we have an extra bedroom so you can stay overnight.

My eyes widened in surprise at the invitation to stay in her home. Oh, uh, we wouldn’t want to impose on you.

Well, I didn’t have time to talk with you today. I’d like to answer questions you still must have. There’s only one small motel in town, and it probably isn’t a place you would like to stay. Otherwise, you’ll have to drive to Muskegon for a room. She searched my face, waiting for an answer.

My mind circled through so many reasons for her to invite us to stay. She didn’t think we’d like the motel? I suspected she probably did not want to give us a chance to leave to mull over the idea of becoming business owners and not return.

And with her offer of dinner and a free place to stay for the night, we could not refuse to buy the place!

The thought of purchasing the operation was not an impulsive one. Instead, Ted had done his research on places available in the Midwest before we left our house in Marseilles, Illinois. He had circled greenhouse businesses for sale in the magazine for greenhouse growers and florists. At first, the search for a business was an adventure for us. Ted was off work at AT&T for several weeks after surgery, so as a lark (to me and serious for him) we drove around the Midwest looking at greenhouse operations.

Ted’s hobby greenhouse, attached to the back of our home in Marseilles, gave him a taste of growing plants and selling them to residents. Ted who grew up on a farm derived so much joy from working with the plants, wanted to quit his dead-end job at AT&T and own a greenhouse business. Because affirmative action in racial discrimination was demanded by the federal government in