by Joyce Magnin
Harriet walked through the exhibit seven more times. But before she left she was sure to purchase a few sets as souvenirs of her most amazing day. She bought ten — a nice number.
“Now, I better get these sent straightaway,” she said. Harriet managed to cram her bundle into her tote bag.
Henry and Humphrey were just about to leave for a late morning walk when the mail truck pulled up to the curb.
“Got a package for you, Henry,” called June, the postal carrier.
“Oh, good,” Henry said, taking the package. “This one’s from Hickory, North Carolina. Probably more salt and pepper shakers from my mom.”
“Salt and pepper shakers?” June said. “Why the fascination?”
“I don’t know,” Henry said, “but my mother has been obsessed with them for … for as long as I can remember. Now she’s collecting them from all over the country. Everywhere she stops. She’s on a trip right now.”
“Really, that’s fantastic. Wish my mother would do something like that. She just sits around our house all day and complains or argues with my father.”
“Oh dear,” Henry said, holding the package under his arm. “When you think about it, I guess salt and pepper shakers aren’t so bad. She’s on her way to live with us.”
“At least she has a hobby. Believe me, you’ll be happy she’s still out there doing stuff, you know, involved in life, not just sitting on the porch waiting to die.”
“Thanks,” Henry said. “See you later.”
He waved as the truck moved down the street.
“How many salt and pepper shakers can one woman collect?” he asked Humphrey. “But I suppose the driver is right. It’s better she’s happy.” He opened the garage and stared at the boxes, not only of salt and pepper shakers but also some books and household furnishings and clothes — mostly winter stuff Harriet had sent ahead. Dozens of them in all sizes and shapes taking up Prudence’s parking spot.
“But then again, we might have to make a change. Store these things somewhere else.”
Humphrey howled. Then he lay down and yawned.
Harriet clambered aboard the trolley with her treasures and a full and satisfied heart after her visit to the museum.
“Can you let me off near a UPS place or a post office?” she asked the driver.
“Sure thing,” the woman driver said. “Final stop, the Welcome Center. They have a post office inside.”
“That’s great.” Harriet sat on the seat and yawned. “Seems the trip is catching up with me,” she said to the man next to her. He had the window seat.
He only nodded.
“I just came from the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven. My goodness, almost twenty thousand sets there; ‘course some were singles, but still, can you imagine that many salt and pepper shakers in one place? Wait till I tell my club members. I bought a few.”
Harriet was tired but knew she still had a long way to go. She also knew it was time she checked in with Henry and Martha. So she made plans that right after she mailed her package she’d find a coffee shop, take a rest, and make her calls. After that she would have to figure out her next destination. She hadn’t needed Amelia in a little while, but now she had the awful feeling she was on her own again.
The man at the Welcome Center post office was very nice and helped Harriet pack her shakers in bubble wrap. “They’ll be nice and snug,” he said. She insured them just in case. After all, Harriet had finally seen the museum. “I don’t know why, but these ones are more … more important than all the others.”
On her way to find a restaurant, Harriet wandered into a shop. It had many souvenirs — even shakers, but for the first time in her life, she wasn’t interested. Instead, her eyes fell on something else. A line of baby articles and clothing. She couldn’t help herself and went to investigate. Her favorite item was a small yellow bib with a silhouette of the Smoky Mountains. Under it were the words “My Nana Climbed a Mountain for Me,” embroidered in green thread.
Harriet’s heart sped. “It’s perfect. I have to purchase this. I … I’ll just give it to them when the time is right.”
Harriet mostly enjoyed her lunch, a salad and a hamburger at a little joint called Bunny’s Luncheonette. It was quaint and old-fashioned, with a counter and spinny stools bolted to a black and white checkered linoleum floor. She sat at a booth, Formica with a little personal-size juke box attached to it. She thought that was just swell but was too tired to play music and was thinking it might be a good idea to spend the night in Gatlinburg.
Her waitress, a short bleached blonde with ten pounds of eye makeup, dropped the check on her table.
“Excuse me,” Harriet said. “But … I was wondering if you might be able to suggest a nice motel or a B&B for the night.”
The waitress crossed her arms and looked disgustedly at Harriet.
“There’s the Wander Inn not too far from here, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Heard they got a case of bed bugs.”
Harriet winced. “Ew. No thank you.”
The waitress tapped her pencil on her order pad. “I heard some folks in here talkin’ the other day ‘bout Carr’s Cottages. They seemed to like it well enough.”
“Carr’s Cottages. It sounds nice. Do you know how I can get there?”
The server looked at Harriet and started to laugh. “Honey. I just take orders. I am not no GPS.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought —”
“Nope. But someone else might know.”
Harriet snapped her fingers. “Amelia. She’ll tell me.” Harriet rooted around in her tote for her phone.
“You ain’t gonna tell me you got Amelia in that bag, are you?”
“Actually, yes, I do.” She pulled out the phone. “My GPS. She’ll tell me.”
Chapter 21
AND AMELIA DID — FIGURE IT OUT, THAT IS. THE PIGEON Forge Trolley got her within walking distance of Carr’s Northside Cottages and Motel. Nestled within a scenic view of trees and a creek, the motel was a lovely two-level building. Harriet was able to get a room on the first floor, which made her happy since the only way to the second level of rooms was via steps, and she just wasn’t up for climbing stairs. Her room had one queen-size bed and opened out into a rustic backyard.
“It’s perfect,” she said as she flopped onto the bed. “Peaceful.” But since she still owed Henry a call she tapped his number and said, “Hello, Son.”
“Mom. Where are you now? We’ve been worried. We just heard about that incident with the purse thief. How come you didn’t tell us?”
“Oh dear,” Harriet said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out.”
“Of course we did. Those kinds of stories often make the news. An old … older woman taking down a thug. It’s priceless. People love it. I just never thought my own mother would be one of the … older women.” Henry sounded a bit frantic. “I watched the YouTube a couple of times. Mom, you know you could have gotten hurt.”
Harriet sighed. “I know that … now. But at the time I didn’t think. I acted. I’m just glad that kid didn’t have a gun — and Henry, he was just a kid. I hope he gets help. I pray for him now.”
They were both silent a moment.
“You know what, Mom? I’m kind of proud of you,” Henry said. “I’m not saying I condone what you did, but you still got spunk. It made me remember the time you went to school and let Mrs. Stark have it for accusing me of cheating. You never did take any guff.”
“You were innocent, Son. I had to back you up. Just like I am now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I … I want to tell you that I’m proud of you being a writer and helping Prudence follow her dreams even if … it doesn’t include grandchildren.”
Harriet could hear Henry take a deep breath.
“Henry?”
“I’m here, Mom. It’s just … just … oh, nothing. I want to help you achieve your dream — even if all I can do is hang on to the other end of the phone
.”
“That’s plenty. But I hardly call seeing the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum a dream.”
“But it is. And you did that. What’s next?”
Harriet thought a second or two. “I don’t know. A woman my age shouldn’t have too many dreams —”
“Nonsense. You’re not too old to have dreams.”
“And besides, you and Prudence aren’t interested in —”
“Mom. Let’s not go there.”
“You’re right. Well, I best be going, Son. I love you, and I really am looking forward to seeing you — now.”
That was when she remembered she wanted to call Martha, but the giant yawn that bubbled up inside of her made her forget about it for the moment.
Harriet locked her phone screen but unlocked it just a second later. She needed to figure out her next destination. According to the map, it seemed to make sense for her to reach Saint Louis where she could grab a train for a long bit of the trip. But fortunately there were a lot of miles between Pigeon Forge and Saint Louis. She still had plenty of places yet to discover, and that, after all, was the point of the trip. Saint Louis would still be there in a day or two. Henry and Prudence would still be waiting. And Humphrey would still enjoy a glazed donut from time to time. Amelia routed her from the Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge area into Knoxville and from there into Nashville.
Harriet sighed. Nashville. She was never what you would call a fan of country music, but the idea of visiting the Grand Ole Opry excited her. She had been hearing about it ever since she was young. She especially remembered seeing television specials with Minnie Pearl, the woman with the funny straw hat with the white tag displaying the price of $1.98 dangling off the brim.
“Minnie always said, ‘How-w-w-dee!’ “ Harriet spoke the words aloud, forgetting for a second that Humphrey wasn’t there to talk to.
That afternoon she found a nice restaurant called the Whole Earth Grocery Café nearby. It was a vegetarian place. Harriet enjoyed a nice cheeseburger from time to time, but thought it might be kind of interesting to eat vegetarian for a change — long as there weren’t any tomatoes. Harriet hated tomatoes, although she didn’t mind tomato sauce.
The small café was a combination grocery store and eatery. She found it delightful and sat at one of the round tables in the front of the establishment.
She ordered the Veggie Wrap and enjoyed it very much, although — and she would never tell the waitress — she still preferred burgers.
After a restful night at Carr’s, Harriet decided to tackle the next leg of her journey. She spoke with a man named Houston she met on the motel porch. They sat together on the porch in the warm mountain air. Houston said he was a businessman visiting from Texas. Harriet made certain not to chuckle at the irony.
“That’s right,” he said, “I drive nearly 50,000 miles a year.”
“No kidding,” Harriet said. “Well, I don’t need to get that far. I just need to find my way to Knoxville, and I’m finding that a little difficult.”
Houston scratched under his hat. “Well, seems to me, you might be in a pickle. No public transportation that I know of gonna take you that far.”
Harriet’s spirits sank. “There must be a way. A shuttle bus or a …”
“I know,” Houston said. “A pretty woman like yourself should ride in luxury. Why not hire a limousine service. It’s not even an hour’s drive to Knoxville from here, straight up Route 441. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You mean one of them long cars with the TVs and wet bars inside?”
“I sure do, ma’am. I’m certain the proprietor of this fine establishment will be able to help you find a car.”
Around noon that day, a long, shiny black limousine pulled up in front of the hotel. Harriet nearly swooned when she saw a tall, dashing young man step out of the driver’s side. He wore a well-pressed black suit, bright white shirt, and red bow tie. He stood near the door and held a sign that read “HARRIET BEAMER” in big black letters.
“Oh my goodness gracious, I feel like a celebrity,” Harriet said. She waved to the driver.
Houston waited with Harriet until the driver approached. “Ready, ma’am? Is this your bag?”
Harriet couldn’t contain a nervous giggle. “Why, why, yes, young man. It is.”
The driver looked at Houston. “Will you be joining us, Mr. Pike?”
Houston touched the rim of his hat. “No, sir. But you take good care of this little lady. She’s a personal friend of mine. You drive real nice and slow.”
Harriet looked up at Houston. “Now how does he know your name?”
The driver took hold of Harriet’s suitcase. Lifted it like it was made from paper maché.
“Everybody knows Houston Pike,” said the driver. “He’s one of the richest men in the country.”
“Well, thump my gums, you didn’t tell me.”
Houston smiled. “This ride is my gift. And like I said —” He looked at the driver — “nice and easy wins the race.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then Houston handed the driver a wad of money.
Harriet rode off in style toward Knoxville, Tennessee.
Houston was, of course, correct. It was a pretty short trip into Knoxville. Harriet enjoyed the comfortable limo even if the driver was pretty much silent the whole way. It gave her an opportunity to write to Max.
My Dear Max, I am writing from a limousine. I’ve never been inside a car like this — not even at a funeral. You know we chose to ride in our own cars the day we buried you. Anyhoo, I will admit that I’m starting to feel a tad weary, must be all the excitement. But I’m not ready to call it quits — not by a long shot. I set out to see the country, buy some new shakers for my collection, and arrive in Grass Valley on my own terms. I figure that might be a way to show Henry and Prudence that I don’t need to be put out to pasture just yet.
Harriet looked out the tinted windows at the scenery rushing past. It was hard to make out much more than trees and telephone poles. She went back to her letter.
Have I told you lately how proud I am of Henry? Oh, I was pretty ticked when he wanted to quit Beamer’s Beams and Buildings, but now it’s okay. We raised a writer, Max. A man of letters.
Then she drew a little smiley face.
She also consulted Amelia and instructed the driver to take her to the Knoxville Greyhound bus terminal. She’d catch a bus to Nashville from there. It would be her first Greyhound, even though she had hoped she wouldn’t have to resort to that. But if Harriet learned anything on her journey it was that sometimes the road of life throws you a curve you weren’t expecting.
Kyle, the limo driver, pulled up in front of the bus station, and Harriet had to admit, as he helped her bring her bag inside, it was not the prettiest place on earth … and nothing like the spectacular train stations she had visited.
But she also learned that the next bus to Nashville didn’t leave until 5:30 that afternoon.
“Oh dear, Kyle,” she said. “What does a person do in Knoxville, Tennessee, for five hours?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know, Ma’am, maybe get some lunch, read a book. How about visiting a museum?”
Harriet looked around. She didn’t see any museums right off.
“Thank you, Kyle,” she said. “I’m sure Amelia will help me find some attractions.” But actually Harriet didn’t want Kyle to leave. Her stomach wobbled a bit with nerves. It was nothing she could put her finger on, but for some reason this day, being alone in a strange city for five hours made her anxious. She had never wished so hard that Humphrey was by her side.
Harriet watched Kyle pull away from the curb. He honked the horn and waved from the window. And there she stood in her red high-tops and blue denim jeans, wearing her stone martens and clutching her flowery tote like it was a life preserver.
Harriet took a deep breath, checked her Greyhound ticket again to be certain she was right about the time, and set off down the street with a big sigh. But a couple of blocks down t
he road she spotted one of the most interesting buildings she had seen in her travels. It stood on the corner and was kind of an eclectic mishmash of architectural styles — Queen Anne Victorian but with a splash of Gothic Revival and Romanesque. She rested a moment and looked at it. PATRICK SULLIVAN’S SALOON. She liked the turret and dome and the red and yellow colors, and decided she had to go inside.
And that was no disappointment, although it was dark and subdued. But then again it was a saloon and, as she found out from a waiter, a onetime brothel and meeting place for characters like Billy the Kid.
Harriet ordered lunch and coffee and spent the better part of two hours in the saloon. She read Jane Austen and wrote to Max. She called Martha, who wasn’t home, and tried to wait out the time before her bus.
She wandered around Knoxville, being certain to keep close to the bus station, so when it was finally time to leave, she was more than ready to get on board. The time spent was pleasant enough. At 5:30 Harriet boarded what she figured might have been a newer bus, with comfortable seats and video monitors. And the best part? Her luggage had a place in an actual luggage compartment, not at her feet or over her head. Although she did keep her tote bag with her.
The ride from Knoxville to Nashville took almost four hours thanks to some traffic woes, so Harriet didn’t arrive until close to 11:00 that night. Fortunately, she consulted Amelia along the way and located a hotel very close to the terminal. She also arranged for a cab to pick her up on account of the late hour. So when the bus pulled into the station, which was little more that a one-level bright blue building in the center of a parking lot, Harriet felt relieved to see the taxi parked and waiting to take her to the Best Western.
As she entered the room, she said, “Oh, this is lovely,” to the young man from the front counter, who had offered to carry her luggage. He placed her suitcase on a small table. “Just right for me.”
Harriet yawned and stretched. Her neck had developed a crick on the bus ride, and all she wanted to do was sleep. So she plugged in her phone, changed into her jammies, and made a mental note to find a washing machine in the morning. No clean socks. But she was so plum tuckered out that she fell fast asleep thinking about visiting the Grand Ole Opry in the morning.
