J.R. Erickson
Ashes Beneath Her
Author’s Note
Thanks so much for picking up a Northern Michigan Asylum Novel. I want to offer a disclaimer before you dive into the story. This is an entirely fictional novel. Although there was once a real place known as The Northern Michigan Asylum - which inspired me to write these books - it is in no way depicted within them. Although my story takes place there, the characters in this story are not based on any real people who worked at this asylum or were patients; any resemblance to individuals, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Likewise, the events which take place in the novel are not based on real events, and any resemblance to real events is also coincidental.
In truth, nearly every book I have read about the asylum, later known as the Traverse City State Hospital, was positive. This holds true for the stories of many of the staff who worked there as well. I live in the Traverse City area and regularly visit the grounds of the former asylum. It’s now known as The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. It was purchased in 2000 by Ray Minervini and the Minervini Group who have been restoring it since that time. Today, it’s a mixed-use space of boutiques, restaurants and condominiums. If you ever visit the area, I encourage you to visit The Village at Grand Traverse Commons. You can experience first-hand the asylums - both old and new - and walk the sprawling grounds.
For my husband and son who I often neglect in the final days of getting a book ready to release. Thank you for your patience.
Chapter 1
Liz
Liz felt her unease growing by degrees.
It was not as if Susie hadn’t been late before. She was nineteen, a college girl, young and beautiful with a seemingly endless list of social engagements. It was normal for one of Susie’s friends to see her roller skating or sun tanning in the yard, pull up and say ‘hey, so-and-so’s having a party.’ Susan would throw on sandals, grab her red purse, and skip out the door.
Except even that scenario niggled at Liz’s mind. Susan always left a note. She was a conscientious girl, a daughter any parent would have loved to call their own.
From Michigan State University that year, she’d sent both her mother and father handmade birthday cards. She even mailed a card on October 5th, their dog Howie’s birthday.
When 7:30 rolled around, and it was time for The Dick Van Dyke Show, Liz found she couldn’t pull herself from the picture window in the dining room. She gazed at their front yard, at the purple dahlias in large ceramic pots that flanked the driveway. Susie had helped her plant them several weeks before.
It was still daylight, would be for hours. In the street, a little girl pulled a wagon filled with a range of stuffed toys, and a beagle puppy, tongue lolling, eyes fixed on his owner’s bobbing blonde head. The little girl’s name was Becky. She lived three houses down in a blue Cape Cod with a bird fountain and a white porch swing. Liz knew her parents through neighborhood barbecues. They were a nice family. Their son, Jason was older than Becky by a few years and they had a new baby, though Liz couldn’t recall her name - Barbara or Barbie.
“It’s coming on,” Jerry called from the sitting room.
Liz listened to the opening music, the upbeat instruments - horns and such - as Dick grinned from the desert backdrop.
She walked to the living room and put a hand on the back of Jerry’s chair, willing the sound of tires in the driveway to drift in.
“Strange that Susie isn’t back,” she said.
Jerry, a bowl of popcorn balanced in his lap, glanced at his wife.
“Probably out with her girlfriends,” he said, shoving a handful into his mouth.
Liz nodded but found her hands squeezing the chair back, her knuckles turning white.
“I think I’ll give Hannah a call,” Liz murmured.
Jerry nodded, watching the show.
“Course, if she’s out with Hannah…” he said, implying that Liz would find no one at the other end.
Oddly, Liz knew an answering machine would be reassuring. Though more than likely Hannah’s parents, Michelle and Frank, would be home. Michelle would know if Susie and Hannah had gone out together.
Hannah picked up on the second ring, and the sound of her voice caused Liz to start.
“Hello?” Hannah said a second time.
“Hi, Hannah. It’s Mrs. Miner. Is Susie with you?”
“Susie?” Hannah asked, and she didn’t have to say anymore for Liz to know the answer. “No, she’s not. I talked with her this morning. She said she’d call me this afternoon to plan our camping trip next weekend, but she hasn’t called. Is everything all right?”
Liz clutched the phone and stared toward the front door.
Walk in, Susie. Please just walk in. But the white door remained closed, and outside the world continued its business as usual.
“I’m not sure,” Liz admitted. “I hate to sound like an old nag, but Susie wasn’t home when Jerry and I got back from visiting his sister. She didn’t leave a note, so…”
“Huh, yeah, that’s not like Susie. She leaves a note if she walks to the mailbox.” Hannah laughed.
“Can you make some calls? Find out if anyone knows where she is?”
“Oh sure, Mrs. Miner. Absolutely. A few people were talking about a beach bonfire. Maybe she tagged along. I’ll track her down.”
Hannah hung up the phone, and Liz listened to Jerry’s laughter ring out.
“Liz, you’re missing a great one tonight,” he called.
She dropped the phone back on its base and walked slowly to the living room, glancing at the TV, and then at the window that offered an alternative view of the front yard and the street beyond.
“I think I’ll walk next door,” Liz said.
Jerry looked up and frowned.
He gestured at the TV.
“And miss this? Plus, you realize the Millers are watching this too?”
“Yes, but Joyce only half watches. She’s got to keep her eye on the boys, after all.”
Joyce was Liz’s best friend. They’d gone to high school together, married their sweethearts who also happened to be best friends. It was no accident they lived next door. The girls had plotted everything, including having children, together. Unfortunately, God put a stop to their scheming right there. Liz got pregnant with Susie when she was twenty-one years old and was never blessed with another child. Joyce, on the other hand, tried to have a baby for years. It wasn’t until she was thirty and had given up that she finally got pregnant with twins.
The ten-year-old boys were identical - matching sandy hair and green eyes, matching freckled noses, and matching wild streaks. On several occasions, Liz’s husband Jerry had shooed the boys off their roof or scolded them for playing with firecrackers.
As Liz approached the back sliding door, she saw Ron in the living room, feet up on a stool, and Joyce hovering between the living room and hallway as if trying to keep an eye on Dick Van Dyke and the boys simultaneously.
Liz tapped on the glass. Joyce turned toward her, eyes lighting up.
“Oh, thank God,” she gushed, opening the door. “I’ve spent all day with boys. Come in, come in.”
“I’m not interrupting?” Liz gestured to the TV.