by Joyce Magnin
Harriet stopped writing and sighed as she looked out the window.
I’ll say a wish on a shooting star. But I know it can’t come true. Not on earth anyway. Goodnight, honey. I love you and miss you every second of every day.
Harriet turned off the light and settled in. The bed was soft and deep and cozy, maybe a little too soft, but it felt good to be in a bed that didn’t smell like a hotel or even lilacs. Ricky and Shawna’s home was solid and peaceful and smelled of wood smoke and homemade jams.
Harriet rolled her wedding rings around her finger and fell asleep with the stars smiling down at her through the window.
Chapter 19
THE NEXT DAY HARRIET HAD A WONDERFUL TIME TOURING Cherokee and Maggie Valley with her new friends. They stopped at nearly every little curiosity shop, and much to Harriet’s delight she was able to purchase several salt and pepper shakers, most with a Native American theme — drums, teepees, an Indian chief and his wife kissing. She bought others that were more reminiscent of the Smoky Mountains — a wooden pair with a decal that read: THE GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS, trees, and bunnies. She sent them off to Prudence from the Cherokee Welcome Center.
“But I can hardly wait to see the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum in Gatlinburg,” she told Shawna. “I never would have believed such a place existed. But it does. And I’ll be the only one in my club chapter to see it.”
The three friends walked farther down the main drag. “I never knew there was such a place,” Ricky said.
“I did,” Shawna said. “It’s just over the mountains. Near the winery.”
“Really?” Ricky said. “That’s kind of cool. Well, you can visit it tomorrow.”
Harriet sighed. “If I can figure out how in the heck to get over the mountains.”
For lunch Ricky suggested a local hamburger joint, where they discussed the next leg of Harriet’s journey: the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum.
“But how in heaven’s name will I get over the mountains to Gatlinburg?” she asked Ricky. “It never occurred to me there’d be mountains to climb on this trip.” Harriet could hardly look at her menu with thoughts of the mountains in her mind.
“There’s always mountains to climb,” Ricky said, “and you have nothing to worry about. The Eastern Band of the Cherokee Nation has their own public transit system. They’ll get you into Gatlinburg.”
Harriet was elated. “Yes, I think I rode on one of their buses after I got off the casino bus at Harrah’s.”
“That’s right,” Ricky said.
“You mean they’ll get me over the Smoky Mountains?” Harriet sucked Coke through a straw.
“No problem,” Ricky said. “It’s only about an hour or so ride and they even stop at one of the lookouts so you can take pictures of the view over the Smoky Mountains. Quite a sight.”
“Really?” Harriet was amazed. “I can’t believe it. I thought it would be a lot harder to get clear across the country just taking whatever local transportation I could find. But who would have thought the Cherokee Indians would have their own buses? Wait till I tell Martha.”
After lunch the three new friends wandered around Cherokee, where Harriet got to see an actual tribal dance. She especially loved the sounds of the drums and the colors. Even the small children participated, and Harriet enjoyed that most of all.
But it was the evening that brought the most happiness to Harriet. She rode with Ricky and Shawna along the Blue Ridge Parkway as the sun headed toward the western mountains. Even in Ricky’s pickup truck the ride was gentle and peaceful as they climbed the Smokies.
“Where’re we headed?” Harriet asked about twenty minutes into the ride.
“A spectacular place called Craggy Gardens.”
“Craggy Gardens? What a funny name.”
“It’s a beautiful spot,” Shawna said. “We’ll stop at the visitor’s center first, and then it’s an easy hike —”
“Hike?” Harriet said. “Oh dear me, I didn’t know we’d have to hike.”
“It’s easy,” Ricky said. “One of the easiest in the mountains. We’ll stop at the grassy summit.”
“Will we see stars?”
“Millions of them,” Shawna said. “Star trails this time of year.”
Ricky parked the truck near the visitor’s center and after a quick bathroom break the three set out down a well-marked, well-lit path lined with rhododendrons that were just beginning to bloom.
“It is gorgeous,” Harriet said. She almost felt overwhelmed. “I never even thought I would see such a place. And here I am as old as I am, hiking like a twenty-year-old kid. Just hope this old ticker can take it.”
“Oh,” Shawna said. “Is there a problem?”
Harriet took another two steps. “Oh, no. I’m fit as a fiddle.”
The grassy summit was wide and green. Ricky set out a large woven blanket. Shawna opened her backpack and set out containers of fresh fruit — watermelon, honeydew, blueberries, nuts, and a large loaf of bread with cheese.
Harriet sat on the blanket and breathed deeply. “The air is thin up here. My head feels a little funny.”
Shawna handed her a water bottle. “Keep drinking. Best thing for the elevation, and eat something also.”
Soon Harriet was enjoying the sunset over the Smoky Mountains. Ribbons of gold, yellow, orange, and purple stretched as far as she could see and reminded Harriet of a Jell-O parfait. The sky turned black quickly, and before she knew it the stars blinked into place. Harriet had never seen a sky so big.
“It goes on forever,” she said. “I’ve never seen so many stars, like billions of pinpricks in a velvet fabric.”
“Keep watching,” Ricky said. “It’s early yet, but we might catch a meteor shower.”
Harriet swooned at the notion of witnessing meteors cutting their paths toward the earth.
“Did you know the Bible says that God calls each star by name and sets them in their place every night?” Harriet said.
Ricky leaned back as though he were catching moon rays. “I know. Isn’t that incredible. To think that God knows each and every star. How is that even possible?”
Harriet looked out at the star field. “All things are possible with God.”
It didn’t take long before a couple white, dusty streaks shot across the dome of the sky, seeming to come from the horizon and streak the sky like chalk.
“Oh my goodness,” Harriet said. “David Prancing Elk was right, I have never seen anything more beautiful than this. The sky is so dark it’s almost purple, the meteors are so fast and bright it’s like … like I’m really on a planet, spinning through space. I hope there are more.”
But then, as a few wispy clouds floated past, Harriet thought she could see Max’s face. He was smiling. She swiped at tears and smiled as the meteors rained down.
“Are you crying?” Shawna asked.
Harriet sat up. “Oh, it’s … it’s just so spectacular. And I just can’t help but think about my Max. I miss him so much, but I think these stars might have just blinked his blessing on me and my little adventure.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
Chapter 20
THE NEXT MORNING HARRIET DECIDED IT WAS TIME TO leave Maggie Valley. She packed her suitcase. The stone martens were a little bulky, but she managed to squeeze them inside. She loved it here and told Ricky and Shawna she’d like to come for a real vacation someday. But it was time to move on.
“I really want to get to the museum. I’m so excited.”
“Our door is always open,” Shawna said. But then she laughed and pointed at Harriet’s suitcase. “Your luggage has a tail.”
Harriet looked down and sure enough one the marten tails was sticking out. She shrugged. “Maybe I should leave it and see if anyone else notices.”
Ricky drove her to the visitor’s center.
There were about a dozen people already waiting for the bus when Harriet arrived, most of them tourists on their way to Gatlinburg. None of them seemed to pay her much attention. W
hich was fine with her. She was just as glad not to be recognized as the Old Lady Avenger. After all, there were better things in life to be remembered for than beating up a thug.
The bus pulled up, and Harriet said good-bye to Ricky and Shawna.
“Thank you,” she said. “This has been the best part of my trip so far.”
Ricky smiled into her eyes. “May the warm winds of heaven blow softly on your home,” he said, holding both of Harriet’s hands and looking deep in her eyes.
“And may the Good Lord make his face to shine upon you,” Harriet said.
Ricky kissed her cheek first, and then Shawna. Harriet climbed aboard the bus.
“Hi,” she said, recognizing that the driver was the same one from before. Harriet found a window seat toward the middle of the small bus. She managed to tuck both her tote and her suitcase in front of her. Seconds later, a large woman flopped down next to her and let go a groan. Harriet smiled and then looked out the window.
The bus traveled along the Blue Ridge Parkway climbing, climbing the mountains. Harriet enjoyed the view until her stomach started to feel a little wobbly.
“Oh, goodness,” Harriet said, “but I’m feeling a little funny.”
Fortunately, the woman sitting next to her offered her a bottled water, also a product of the Cherokee Nation.
“It’s the altitude, honey,” the woman said. “You’ll get used to it. When we stop at five thousand feet you can get out and throw up if you havta. You do look a mite green around the gills.”
“Throw up? I … I don’t think so.” Harriet sipped the water and prayed she wouldn’t vomit. “I felt this way last night but it passed.”
“Good, you’ll be fine. Just keep hydrated.”
Harriet smiled and gazed out the window. The view transcended anything she ever imagined.
The woman offered Harriet her hand. “Name’s Delores.”
Harriet nodded. “Nice to meet you. I’m Harriet Beamer.”
At five thousand feet the driver pulled into a parking area and announced that they were now at Newfound Gap and the passengers could get out and enjoy the view.
Harriet was the last one off the bus as she prayed her stomach would settle. Her legs were wobbly, and for a moment she felt concerned she might pass out. But she didn’t. She locked her knees and looked out at the mountains. They were so high they were in the clouds. An experience Harriet had no idea she would ever witness.
“It takes my breath away,” Harriet said.
“Long as it didn’t take your lunch away,” said her seatmate. “Some folks really do throw up along the way. But they are just so eager to get to Gatlinburg. Most are on their way to Dollywood, you know, the Dolly Parton amusement park. Not me, I just go for the ride. Never get tired of the view. I prefer to spend my money at the casino. How ‘bout you, honey?”
Harriet swallowed and tried to answer, but frankly, she was a bundle of nerves and really wanted to get off the mountain. She could hardly speak.
“Huh, what’s the matter, dearie? You scared or something?”
Harriet nodded and then sipped her water.
“Ha, you’re too young to be scared of a little height. The Great Spirit, he’ll watch over you. Always does for me. We’ll be on the other side in about thirty minutes.”
“Thank you,” Harriet said. “I’m on my way to the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum.”
“Wee doggies, really? You really want to see that place?”
“Yep.”
“Then prepare to leave in a daze, dearie. I went in there once — awhile ago. Out of curiosity. It’s pretty boring if you ask me. I mean, why would anyone be that interested in salt and pepper shakers? It’s stupid.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. I’m a collector. It’s a pretty big hobby.”
The woman sputtered something Harriet couldn’t make out.
About half an hour later the bus rolled into Gatlinburg. It stopped at the third stoplight in town, and Harriet had never been so happy to get on solid ground. Even the helicopter ride was easier than that bus ride over the mountains.
“I just don’t get it,” she said to Dolores. “It never occurred to me I would be afraid of the mountains. I wasn’t the other night when we went to Craggy Gardens.”
“Craggy Gardens. That is weird; it’s higher than the lookout. Craggy Gardens, dearie. That’s a long way.”
“I suppose. I think maybe I’ll just find a spot to sit. Maybe it was because I was in a car or it was night and I just didn’t notice it.”
“Or you’re just getting sick,” Delores said. “See you on the return trip, maybe. And hey, sorry about the crack I made — about the salt and pepper shakers.”
Harriet shook her head as her brain started to clear. “Don’t worry. Not everyone understands about shakers. And no, I’m not going back. I’m on my way to California.”
“California?” Delores laughed. Her voice was like crinkled cellophane. “You sure are getting there the hard way. What’d you do? Lose a bet?”
Harriet laughed as best she could. “Yep. Lost a bet.”
At the Gatlinburg Welcome Center, Harriet learned she could take the trolley just about anywhere in downtown Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge. She could even trolley out to the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum. But the trolley was nothing like what she expected. Back home the trolleys ran on rails, not wheels.
When the trolley pulled up at her stop she felt elated. It was the cutest darn thing she had ever seen, reminding her of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood Trolley. The trolley was gorgeous and shiny and clean, red on the bottom, beige in the middle where the arched windows were, and with a green roof. She thought the trolleys kind of accented the mountain backdrop. She climbed aboard, paid her quarter, and off she went toward Brookside Boulevard and the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum.
Fortunately, her stomach settled down after she drank a Coke. At the next stop a woman boarded and plopped down next to her.
“Hi,” Harriet said.
The woman chose to ignore her, and that was okay. Harriet was more interested in taking in the sights of the adorable town. It was like stepping into a new world, so quaint and easygoing. Not anything like Philadelphia or Baltimore or even Winston-Salem. She thought about calling Martha, but her stop was just a few minutes away.
“I’m going to the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum,” she said after the silence got to be too much.
Still, the woman only grunted and turned away. Then she got off at the next stop without so much as a glance in Harriet’s direction.
“Oh, well, not everybody can be hospitable. Probably a local who doesn’t like us tourists invading her town.”
Harriet’s trolley stopped only a few hundred yards from the museum, an easy walk, and fortunately, the weather was nice for mid-June. She was getting a little weary of dragging her suitcase everywhere she went, but she had no choice; so, giving it a hearty tug, off she went toward Nirvana — The Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum. The air smelled clean and fresh like a million dryer sheets were wafting in the low winds. She could still see the mountains in the distance, and it made her feel like she was in a bowl of some sorts, contained by hills. That made her feel secure.
And then she saw it — her own private heaven, the Graceland of shakers. The mother lode.
For a minute she just stood outside the museum and breathed deeply, almost too excited to go in. She had no idea what wonders of salt-and-pepper-shaker design awaited her. That was when she noticed that her suitcase still had its tail. “Why not,” she said. Harriet unzipped the case and retrieved the stone martens, which she draped around her shoulders, making her feel rather regal and fancy. “Only the best for a visit to the museum.”
She entered the rustic building and was immediately smitten. She could hardly catch her breath. Rows and rows and rows of salt and pepper shakers. Most of them were inside glass display cases with lights inside — all set against dark walls. She walked slowly and took in the sights. She saw old and new, woo
den and plastic, novelty and golden shakers from Italy. She saw the biggest pepper mill, which was forty-eight inches tall, as well as the tiniest salt shaker, which measured about a half an inch and was crafted from silver.
But of the twenty thousand sets displayed, Harriet most enjoyed the whimsical ones. She saw nodders, which made her laugh — the kind that bobbed back and forth in their holder. She held a plastic lawn mower from the fifties, which you could push to make the shakers move up and down like pistons. There were bench sitters and kissers, holiday and celebrity shakers. She couldn’t decide on a favorite. There was no need. Harriet could love them all. But the real thrill came when she met Andrea, the owner, who told Harriet all about her collection that started from a single pepper mill.
As it turned out, Andrea was an archaeologist who told Harriet that salt and pepper shakers made an excellent anthropological statement.
“You can really learn a lot about the culture of the time,” she said, “by the characters, the shapes, the materials used. Salt and pepper shakers tell a story.”
“That’s what I keep telling people,” Harriet said, delighted that she had finally met someone of like mind. “A thousand years from now when someone unearths a Mickey Mouse salt shaker they’ll know what was important to us.”
Andrea patted Harriet on the shoulder. “Always nice to meet an enthusiast.”
Harriet needed to catch her breath again.
“I like to think of them as a little bit of sculpture on everyone’s dinner table.”
Andrea smiled. “Yes. Yes.”
“I have about three thousand in my collection,” Harriet said. “I shipped them to California. Maybe I should start a museum in Grass Valley.”
“That would be terrific,” Andrea said.
“And I am a past president of Shake It Up, one of the largest salt-and-pepper-shaker clubs in Pennsylvania. Wait until I tell them.”
