Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

by Joyce Magnin

  Humphrey, who was just pleased as punch to get outside on such a nice spring day, got to visit with Maxine, his poodle crush. Maxine was in her yard, a spacious half acre of grass and roses with enough chew toys to last Humphrey a year. Henry paused near Maxine’s fence and scribbled some notes on a small, yellow legal pad.

  After allowing Humphrey and Maxine to sniff at each other, Henry stuffed his notebook into his pocket, tugged the leash, and off they went. Humphrey looked behind him. Maxine had already scampered off.

  “Come on, Humphrey. Let’s go home. I think I’m ready to tackle the ending now.”

  When they got back, Prudence was in the living room with her laptop on her lap and a stack of pages at her feet.

  Henry unhooked Humphrey, who went immediately into the kitchen for a drink.

  “Pru,” Henry said. “I got it. I figured out my ending. Well, more than that. I might need to do some extensive revision. But I have it now.”

  Prudence looked up. “That’s wonderful, honey.”

  “Do you mind if I work?”

  Prudence laughed. “Look at me, Henry. I’m not exactly lazing about on a Saturday morning. So, no problem. I’ll meet you later after I muddle through these briefs.”

  Henry leaned down and kissed Prudence’s neck. “In the bedroom,” he whispered, “I’ll help you with your briefs.”

  Prudence let go a sigh. “That is getting so old. The pun, not the sex.”

  “I’ll say. See you later.”

  Henry went to his office. It was a nice room with many windows and bright white walls and dark furniture with masculine lines that made him feel like Hemingway — especially since they installed the ceiling fan.

  Humphrey was already in his spot under the desk, snoring loudly.

  Henry sat at his desk, adjusted everything that needed adjusting, including the way the pens were situated in the pen cup, and began to type. The sound of the clicking keys made him smile at his manuscript for the first time in more than a month. He had written about 250 words when the cell jingled. It was Harriet.

  “Mother, where are you?”

  “Is that all you can ask? Honestly, Henry, it’s the first thing out of your mouth every time I call.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I just don’t know what else to ask you.”

  “Now, dear, don’t get worried. But I am pulling up to the Greenway Transit Center in Hickory, North Carolina, on my way to —”

  “To where?”

  “On my way to Grass Valley, of course.”

  “Mother, you’re in North Carolina.”

  “Yes, I know. Hold on a sec, I need to get off the bus. Thanks for the ride, Louis.”

  “Louis. Who is Louis?” Henry asked.

  “The bus driver, Henry. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Oh, of course. It must be late there. Will you be able to get a room for the night?”

  “Certainly. I have a room at a B&B. I called from the bus — isn’t that amazing? Making reservations as you travel. I love technology. Who says you can’t teach an old bird new tricks? How’s Humphrey?”

  “He’s fine. Snoring at the moment.”

  “What a good boy. Give him a kiss for me and tell Prudence I said hello.”

  “Mom,” Henry said. “Be careful. Call me if you need anything — like a ride or an airplane ticket.”

  “Silly boy. I’m fine. I can usually find a bus. If not, then a taxicab or train or a trolley. But, Henry, I’ve been having the best time. I met an Indian, I mean a Native American Cherokee, at a coffee shop. Chelsee’s coffee shop.”

  “Cherokee. Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Of course I am. He was the nicest man.”

  “I think that’s marvelous, Mom.”

  “He was. He told me about Maggie Valley. That’s my next stop.”

  “Maggie Valley. It sounds nice.”

  “What’s marvelous?” It was Prudence walking into the office. Humphrey woke.

  “It’s Mom on the phone. She met an Indian.”

  “What? Where? Is she on some reservation somewhere?”

  “At a coffee shop,” Henry said. He put his finger in the air indicating Prudence should hold on.

  Henry spoke into the phone. “I’m going to put you on speaker so Prudence can hear.”

  Henry sat the phone on his desk. “Say hello to Pru, Mom.”

  “Hello, Prudence. How are you, dear?”

  “I’m fine, Mother. But did I hear correctly? Henry said you met an Indian.”

  “It’s true. At Chelsee’s Coffee Shop in Winston-Salem.”

  “Are you still there?” Prudence asked.

  “Oh, no. I just got off the bus at the transit center in Hickory.”

  “Okay, mother. Be safe,” Prudence said.

  Henry took the phone off speaker.

  “Are you feeling okay, Mom? Taking your medicine?” Henry asked. “How’s that ankle?”

  “It’s fine. Much better since I bought my nifty new high top sneakers. And my Droid sounds an alarm to remind me to take my pill.”

  “Ask her when we should expect her?” Prudence said.

  “Do you know when we should be expecting you?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know,” Harriet said. “I’ll be in touch. But right now I want to get to the B&B. They’re holding my room. Oh, my goodness gracious, Prudence. Did you hear me? I said I’m on my way to a B&B. It’s all so exciting.”

  Chapter 12

  AFTER A SHORT CAB RIDE HARRIET STOOD IN FRONT OF THE Inn at Hickory outside of Hickory, North Carolina. When she had made the reservation, she’d also made arrangements for someone to meet her at the front door even though it was getting late.

  The house, a Georgian colonial built in 1908, sat on a large corner lot like a big mother hen. A white picket fence surrounded the property, with a long sidewalk that led to a red door, almost the color of her sneakers. Black shutters hung on either side of the many windows, while the rest of the house was painted eggshell white.

  A lovely woman named Dana and a large yellow Labrador retriever named Peach Melba, Melba for short, greeted Harriet.

  “What a good puppy,” Harriet said as she patted Melba’s side and head.

  “Puppy?” Dana said. “She weighs almost seventy-five pounds.”

  “I love doggies,” Harriet said. “Makes me miss my Humphrey. He’s an enlarged basset hound.”

  “Enlarged?”

  “Yeah, in other words, fat. So fat his tummy almost drags along the ground.”

  Dana smiled. “I reserved the Baker Room for you. I hope you like it. Breakfast is at any time.”

  Harriet followed Dana up a wide oak staircase with a solid handrail and gorgeous pin-top balusters. “It’s just down the hall,” Dana said. “Third door. It’s our largest room. Hope you don’t mind, but it was all we had.”

  “Oh, I’m certain it will be just fine. This is such a beautiful home.”

  “Thank you,” Dana said.

  Dana pushed open the dark green door, and Harriet stood at the threshold. The view took her breath away. She let go of her suitcase and stood wordless for a long minute. But then she turned to Dana and said, “It’s wonderful.”

  Harriet walked inside. A large queen-size Victorian bed stood in the middle of the room. A comfy chair stood nearby.

  “The bathroom’s just over there,” Dana said. “Call if you need anything. Have a peaceful night.”

  “Thank you.”

  The first thing Harriet did was empty the contents of her tote bag onto the bed. She found her phone charger and plugged it in. Next she visited the bathroom; then she sat on the bed. It was soft and luxurious. She grabbed her notebook from the pile, and after a wide yawn she clicked her pen and began to write.

  My dearest Max, tonight I think I might have discovered Paradise. It’s called the Inn at Hickory. I’ve never been surrounded by so much luxury, and you know what? I think I like it — for a change. But I think I will always find the most luxury at home — wh
erever that is. Even at Henry’s, I suppose.

  Harriet sighed and reread her words. Then she added,

  I loved every second of our time together on earth, Max, but I hope you won’t mind if I enjoy life without you now. Oh, being active at church was nice and making silly bets with anyone willing to play along was fun, but something is stirring inside me — it feels … well, a little like Henry’s first kick, only this one I felt in my soul, not my tummy.

  She closed her book and let go a second deep yawn. Traveling alone was fine. Harriet had no regrets, but there were times, especially at night, when she felt alone — even with the whole country within a bus ride or two.

  She opened her book.

  I can hardly believe it’s me sometimes, wearing jeans, working a Droid phone, finding my way across the country. Quick, I better pinch myself.

  Harriet filled the tub, a fancy claw-footed thing with a white cloth curtain that went all the way around. A bottle of bubbles sat on a small shelf in the bathroom. She pulled the stopper. “Um, hyacinth.” She dropped a small amount of the purple pearly liquid into the water and watched the luxurious bubbles form and build almost to overflowing. The perfume of the bubbles permeated the room. She wished she could light some candles for ambience, but that was probably not allowed in this historic building. She couldn’t blame them. Harriet would not have allowed candles either.

  Humphrey woke Henry the next morning with a yowl. Henry rolled over and checked the clock. It was early — only five o’clock.

  “Ah, Humphrey,” Henry said. “I told you. We like to sleep late on Sunday.”

  Humphrey yowled.

  “You better let him out,” Prudence said with her head under the pillow. “Or you’re cleaning it up.”

  “Okay, okay.” Henry pulled on his robe. “Come on, old man.”

  Humphrey yowled — but low.

  Humphrey made it to the front door before Henry. Henry opened the door. “Go on. And hurry up. I want to go back to bed.”

  Humphrey did his best. He sniffed around the lilac bushes and then the fence until he finally settled on his usual morning spot — the birdbath in the backyard. Humphrey trotted back to the front of the house, up the two small steps, and into the house. Humphrey went upstairs as quickly as his stubby little legs could carry him. No Henry. Finally Humphrey found Henry sitting at his desk typing furiously. Henry’s fingers continued to dance across the keyboard. “I got it, Humphrey, my friend, while I was standing at the door waiting for you. I had a thought, like a flash of lightning. You just might be my muse — you’re a muse hound.”

  Humphrey closed his eyes and went back to sleep while Henry typed furiously.

  Harriet woke to the sound of clock chimes. She counted them, eight.

  “Eight o’clock already. But how can I be sure? Maybe I missed a chime or two.”

  She looked at her phone. She had missed a chime. It was nine o’clock.

  Harriet stretched and yawned and snuggled a bit deeper into the bed. She had such a restful night she didn’t want it to end, and she had not slept that late in … well, in thirty-five years. “I must find out what kind of mattress this is.”

  But as much as she wanted to stay asleep, she thought it better to rise and shine and plan her day. It being Sunday brought its own complications. Buses ran on alternate schedules for one thing. And she did like to attend church. But in a strange town? Would it seem a little odd?

  She pulled out her flowery dress, which she had laundered in Winston-Salem. But it was terribly wrinkled from being balled up inside her suitcase. Fortunately, Harriet located an iron and ironing board in a closet in the hallway. Unfortunately, it toppled out of the narrow closet and nearly banged her head when she opened the door.

  She brushed her teeth and did her morning routine. Then she pulled on her dress and made her way down an impressive old staircase with intricate carvings into the dining room, where she found a sterling silver coffeepot sitting like a queen on a mahogany sideboard. Beside it was a tray overflowing with fresh fruit and croissants and jams and jellies. The sun gleamed through the sheer curtains and instantly made Harriet feel like a grand lady of the south. Melba lay on a doggie bed, snoring like a teamster. Harriet suppressed the urge to pet her. Doing so would have made her miss Humphrey too much.

  Harriet filled a delicate vine-rimmed china cup with coffee, which smelled strong yet smooth and somehow tropical. She poured in a splash of cream and watched it swirl and mix into the most delightful shade of brown. The smell alone was enough to ignite her brain cells.

  She stood with her coffee and peered out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The town was quiet — almost too quiet. Not a single car drove down the street, and she saw only one family, dressed in their Sunday best, walking down the street.

  Dana came in and greeted her. “Good morning, Harriet. Sleep well?”

  “Oh dear, yes. I slept so well I didn’t want to wake up.”

  “That’s good. I see you found the coffee okay. Help yourself to any of the fruit and sweets. And would you like a hot breakfast?”

  “Thank you, that is very kind of you. But isn’t all this breakfast?”

  Dana smiled. “Not exactly. We also prepare a hot breakfast. Are you hungry?”

  Harriet touched her stomach. “I sure am — as a bear after three months in a cave. And I must say this coffee. It’s spectacular. I don’t think it’s your regular Chock Full o’Nuts.”

  Dana smiled. “No. It’s from Madagascar. Now what would you like — just name it. My husband Chef Chaz is a marvelous chef.”

  “Oh my, I’ve never ordered breakfast to be prepared by a chef. I would love scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon. Is that possible?”

  “Of course. I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be right here.”

  “There’s a newspaper if you care to read one.”

  “No, no, I enjoy the view out the window.”

  “Perhaps a hummingbird will flitter by.”

  “Hummingbirds. Oh, I do love them.”

  Dana quoted,

  Within my Garden, rides a bird

  Upon a single Wheel —

  Whose spokes a dizzy Music make

  As ‘twere a travelling Mill.

  “Emily Dickinson,” Harriet said. “You know her?”

  “One of my best friends.”

  Harriet let go a big sigh. She had certainly chosen the best place for a layover.

  Melba roused and joined Harriet at the window. Sitting on his haunches he reached Harriet’s thigh. She patted Melba’s head. “It’s a beautiful morning, even if it is a little overcast.”

  With her coffee in hand, Harriet wandered around the room and then into the living room. She liked the portrait of a stern-looking young woman over the mantel. Harriet pulled her phone from her dress pocket. I have to tell Henry about this place. But remembering the time difference she decided it would be better to wait to call.

  Henry typed so fast he thought his fingers might fly off. “I can’t believe it, Humphrey. I got this idea, and it turned out to be the right one. What the story needed was a great explosion.”

  Humphrey opened his eyes.

  “Yep. I set the boarding house on fire. And Cash had no choice but to face down his fears. He had to save someone — his daughter or his friend. Trouble is, saving the friend was a sure thing. His daughter? Well, they both would have died.”

  Prudence padded into the office carrying a cup of coffee. “You are up early for a Sunday.”

  “I was inspired. That crazy dog got me up, and while I was standing there I got an idea.”

  Prudence leaned over Henry’s shoulder. “I’m happy for you, honey. Keep working. I’ll make some breakfast.”

  Henry kept working. The words came quickly — not all of them keepers but good enough to keep him moving forward — until his phone jingled.

  “Drat.” He looked at the screen. Mom.

  “Double drat.” For a secon
d he thought he should ignore it, but … “She could be in trouble.”

  “Mom,” Henry said.

  “Henry, I’m in the most marvelous place. A B&B — that means bed-and-breakfast.”

  “That’s nice,” Henry said without thinking.

  “How are you, dear?” Harriet asked.

  “I’m fine, Mom. Is that why you called?”

  “Well, I thought you’d care when your mother is happy.”

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m working and I’m a little distracted.”

  “On your novel?”

  “Yes. On my novel. It’s going well.”

  “I’m very proud of you, Henry.”

  Henry paused and breathed deeply. “Really?”

  “I really am. I … guess I’m learning how important it is for you to follow your heart.”

  “Thank you, Mom. And … I guess I’m starting to see how important this crazy trip is for you.”

  Harriet locked her phone and dropped it into her pocket, just as Dana entered the parlor. “Harriet. Breakfast is on the table if you’re ready.”

  The table was set so nice in Harriet’s estimation that she hated to even sit and use the napkin — a bright yellow one with white trim. Even Martha would have been impressed with the flower arrangement.

  “So tell me, Harriet,” said Dana as she set a plate of toast, bacon, and eggs in front of her. “Where are you traveling to?”

  “Grass Valley, California.”

  “California?” Dana looked surprised. “That’s a long way.”

  “Yep. Clear across the country. I started in Philadelphia. Right now I’m headed for Maggie Valley.”

  “Oh, Maggie Valley,” Dana said. “A lovely place. Chaz and I have visited. The Smoky Mountains are breathtaking.” She fiddled with the flowers.

  “My Indian, excuse me, Native American friend, David Prancing Elk, I met him in Winston-Salem, said I would enjoy it.”

  “You will. But … Harriet, if you don’t mind me asking, how are you getting there? Didn’t you call us from the bus? Are you going to the Greyhound station?”

  “Not sure yet. I’ve been following my instincts — mostly — and Amelia — my Droid phone, and maybe my heart a little.”

  Dana chuckled. “That’s amazing. But … why? Why not just take Greyhound or the train?”