Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

by Joyce Magnin

  But Harriet slept and slept and slept like a rock. As a matter of fact, she slept nearly the entire day away and never made it to the Opry. She woke once or twice before lunch to use the bathroom, but the thought of finding her way to the Opry was too much. She was exhausted from traveling, she figured, and ended up sleeping the day away. Not even a phone call to Henry or Martha until she was set to embark on the next leg of her journey.

  “Martha,” she said as she zipped her suitcase. Harriet had discovered the speaker button on her hotel-room phone. “I tried to call yesterday but you weren’t home.”

  “Oh, yes, well, I had to see the doctor.”

  “Doctor? Are you okay?”

  “I think so. You know doctors, always wanting to take tests.”

  “Tests? For what?”

  “It’s nothing. Just some blood work.”

  Harriet took the phone off speaker and brought it to her ear. “Now you’d tell me if something is really wrong, right?”

  There was a short lull in the conversation. “Yes, of course. Now tell me where you are and where you’re headed.”

  “I’m in Nashville and —”

  “The Grand Ole Opry. I’ve always wanted to visit.”

  “I never made it. I was just so dang tired I slept nearly the whole day away. I’m getting set to leave town now.”

  “You slept through your visit to Nashville?”

  “I did. But that’s okay. I feel so much better now that I’ve had the rest.”

  “So what’s your next stop?”

  “I want to get into Kentucky today and it’s already nearly 1:30. Amelia is taking me through Saint Louis. I could probably bus the whole way, but I think I’ll make a stop or two. I’d like to see some of that Kentucky blue grass more close up.”

  After saying good-bye to Martha, Harriet did something she had only thought about. She closed her eyes and pointed to the map of Kentucky as it was displayed on her phone and said, “Wherever my finger lands, that’s where I’ll go.”

  She opened her eyes, and the closest town to the tip of her index finger was Hopkinsville, Kentucky. “Sounds good to me.” The only problem was that there was no mass transit that would get her there, even though it was only about seventy miles away. Fortunately the hotel desk clerk was able to arrange an airport shuttle bus to pick her up and drop her off at the Best Western in Hopkinsville.

  The ride to Hopkinsville, Kentucky, reminded her of Pennsylvania in many ways with its lush green lawns and rolling hills dotted with clumps of trees and azaleas. Harriet loved to watch the azaleas bloom in the springtime. And seeing them here made her miss her old house.

  After saying good-bye to the shuttle driver — she never did get his name — Harriet had an urge for pie. Even though her stomach grumbled, she wasn’t really hungry for lunch — just pie. Harriet toted her stuff down the street until she found a coffee shop called Aunt Fran’s. It was small and cute and full of gingham, red and white checked. A tall, skinny woman who introduced herself as Bunny brought her to her seat. A small table in the middle of the room with an unlit votive candle in the center.

  “Excuse me a second,” Bunny said, “but how come you look familiar to me?”

  Harriet shook her head and sat down with her suitcase tucked next to her. She plopped her tote bag on the empty seat next to her.

  “That tote,” the waitress said. “I know I seen it somewhere. I always notice fashions and such seeing how my daughter, Ginger, is working in fashion. But I got to say that bag don’t look like it just walked off the pages of Vogue magazine.”

  Harriet felt her eyebrows lift. “Coffee would be great.” She glanced at her bag. “It’s nice enough for travel.”

  That was when the waitress snapped her fingers. “That’s where I’d seen you b’fore, honey. You’re that woman that beat up that punk. The one taking the trip across America. You clocked that punk but good with that bag. I like to watch them YouTube videos. Better than TV.”

  The waitress called toward the kitchen. “Hey, Marty. We got us a celebrity right here at Aunt Fran’s Pie Shop.”

  Harriet felt all the eyes in the little shop turn toward her.

  “You go, girl,” called someone from the back of the restaurant.

  “I wouldn’t want to tangle with you,” said another voice.

  Harriet felt her face warm. “Please. I just came in for pie.”

  “Oh, yeah,” her server said. “Let me get your coffee, and I’ll tell you what — coffee — all you can drink — it’s on the house.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet said, looking at the menu.

  “Can we get a picture?” asked a woman who was walking toward her, leading a teenager with ponytails and braces. Harriet assumed she was the woman’s daughter. The girl looked completely mortified.

  “Only if your daughter really wants one,” Harriet said.

  “Now, don’t you worry about Juliet. She always looks like that, all sourpussed and wrinkled. It’s the age.”

  Harriet looked into Juliet’s eyes. “Do you want your picture taken, Sweetie?”

  Juliet shook her head.

  “Then how ‘bout if we take one with just your mama? You take it okay?”

  That seemed all right. Juliet took the camera from her mother and snapped some shots. First with Juliet’s mother and then with Harriet and practically everyone in the shop.

  “Don’t you just love those cameras they stick in phones?” Bunny said. “Can do practically anything with the shots. But mostly they sit inside my phone till I delete them.”

  Harriet winked at Juliet.

  After the impromptu photo session Harriet returned to her seat. “And do you have pie?”

  “Do we have pie?” the waitress said. “Hey Marty, do we have pie?”

  Harriet heard a boisterous laugh.

  “Honey,” Bunny said, “you’re in Aunt Fran’s. Nobody does pie like Fran.”

  “Oh, good. I have been dying for a slice of rhubarb pie.”

  “Comin’ up.” Bunny elbowed Harriet’s shoulder.

  It didn’t take long for her pie and meal to arrive. Harriet was hungry. The sandwich was homey and good, the coffee strong. She got up for just a minute to use the restroom. When she returned she found a second slice of rhubarb pie at her place.

  “That’s on Aunt Fran,” Bunny said. “She’s in the back and shyer than a groundhog in December. She’s so old she went to the prom with Moses and as ornery as a mule.”

  Harriet smiled. There was something appealing about being a kind of minor celebrity. And Harriet liked the little coffee shop well enough that she took her time and basked in the hospitality of the owners and patrons. But when she saw what she thought was a local news station truck pull up outside, she wondered if she should make tracks or not.

  But there wasn’t time. Before she knew it, a reporter carrying a microphone with a long thick cord that reached clear back to the news van approached her.

  “Harriet Beamer,” the reporter said, “my name is Tracy Endicott with the local news station. Bunny called and told us you were here. Mind if we ask a few questions?”

  Harriet wiped her lips with the pretty pink paper napkin she held on her lap. “I guess not.”

  “It’s not often we get celebrities through town, and I thought folks might like to see how you’re doing and how your trip is coming along. How does it feel?”

  “Oh, it feels okay,” Harriet said as she wiped rhubarb from her shirt. “But really, I’m not so important. I’m just taking a little trip.”

  “Little?” Bunny called. “You’re traveling clear ‘cross the country. Know how many women wish they had the guts to just up and run like you?”

  “But that’s just it. I’m not running,” Harriet said. “I thought I was running by taking the slow route, but now I know I’m on my way to do just what God wants me to do.”

  Tracy smiled and signaled to Bunny to refrain from blurting out anymore. Bunny went back to wiping tables. But Harriet could see h
er listening in. It was fine with Harriet.

  “But most of all,” Harriet said, “I like meeting so many dear folks, like Bunny.” The cameraman swung his camera in her direction. Harriet thought Bunny would absolutely die from excitement. She pulled herself up, stuck her rather ample bosom out, pushed a free hand through her long orange hair, and smiled into the camera like she was movie star.

  “Will this be on the news this evening?” Harriet asked.

  “It sure will,” Tracy said. “And on the AP wire. It’ll be all over the country by morning.”

  “And YouTube by afternoon,” Bunny said.

  “Oh dear, not another YouTube.”

  “What’s your next stop?” Tracy asked.

  “I’m not sure; Amelia, my GPS, has me routed through to Saint Louis, but I might make a stop here or there, or I should say from here to there in one conveyance or another.”

  That was when a big, burly man, wearing a sleeveless denim jacket over a long-sleeved shirt with a picture of a motorcycle on it, approached Harriet.

  “Hey, lady,” he said.

  He was quickly followed by a woman wearing a leather jacket. “Have some manners, Snake.”

  “Pardon us, ma’am,” she said, “but we couldn’t help overhear you with that reporter and all. Well, ma’am, we’d love for you to ride with us. Can take you as far as Collinsville; that’s in Illinois, but it’s only a stone’s throw to Saint Louis, if you want.”

  Harriet swallowed and looked around.

  “That’s a great idea,” Bunny said. “On account of it ain’t easy to catch buses across Kentucky. Not unless you went Greyhound.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to take another Greyhound,” Harriet said. “So far, from what I’ve seen, this looks like a pretty part of the country, sort of reminds me of home. I’d like to see more.”

  “Then ride with us,” the woman in the leather said. “You can ride in Snake’s sidecar.”

  “Sidecar? But I don’t even know Snake or you well enough to be —”

  “Well, where are our manners,” the woman said. “My name is Pearl. Pearl Abscot, and this is my husband Snake. We’re Hogs.”

  “Hogs?” Snake was a bit overweight with a Santa Claus paunch, but Harriet wouldn’t call him a hog.

  “Harley-Davidson motorcycle owners,” Pearl said. “HOG is one of those … what do you call ‘em … acronyms for Harley-Davidson Owners Group. It’s our club.”

  “Ah, go on along with them,” Bunny said. “I’ve known Pearl and Snake goin’ on umpteen years now. They’ll get you close to Saint Louis real easy. Be fun too.”

  “But I don’t know … motorcycles? I’ve never ridden one. Aren’t they a little dangerous?”

  “Nah, they aren’t dangerous — it’s the other people on the road that’s dangerous. Just sit back in my sidecar and feel the wind in your face and enjoy the scenery.”

  “You can use my extra helmet,” Pearl said. “Come on, whaddaya say? We’d consider it an honor to be part of the great Harriet Beamer Beat ‘Em Up Road Trip.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it?” Harriet said.

  “Nah, I just made that up,” Pearl said.

  “Look, why don’t you just think on it a few more minutes while Pearl and me finish up our lunch.” Snake looked at Pearl. “We’ll have you in Collinsville, Illinois, by suppertime, maybe a little before depending on if we make any stops.”

  “And look.” Pearl said. “You want to stop and catch a bus at any time, just holler.”

  “Okay,” Harriet said. “Maybe if I could sit here and think a minute.”

  Bunny freshened Harriet’s coffee. “Really, honey. You got nothin’ to worry about. Snake and Pearl are top drawer. They’ll take good care of you.”

  Another voice chimed in. “I can vouch for Snake.”

  Harriet turned her head. The voice belonged to a tall, skinny police officer, holding a motorcycle helmet and wearing knee-high black boots.

  “You can?” Harriet said.

  “Sure thing, ma’am. Snake and Pearl are all right.”

  Harriet thought about what happened in Maggie Valley with those two awful crooks. And, of course, the purse snatching. It didn’t seem possible that she could have such terrible fortune three times in a row?

  “And believe you me, buses ain’t the way to go in these parts.”

  “What about the train?”

  “Nope. No train runs through this part of the world either. And you got to cross over the Ohio River up there. No bus I know of does that except the Greyhound, and I heard you say you don’t want to ride Greyhound. Seems to me you got no choice.”

  Harriet thought about what Henry and Prudence would say about her riding on a motorcycle. Henry would flip his lid. But when all was said and done, even if she died today in a fiery crash, she figured she’d lived a good, full life. If it was her time to go she might as well go in the sidecar of a Harley-Davidson.

  “Well, okay, let’s … ride.” She looked at the police officer. “Will you be a dear and call my son — his name is Henry — and let him know I’m okay.” She scribbled his number on a napkin. “I’d tell him myself, but I think he might get a little upset about me riding a motorcycle. I fell off the Carousel horse at Playtown Park three times when he was a boy. And with the incident last Christmas, this might just be too much.”

  “You take good care of yourself, honey,” Bunny said. “Now here’s another slice of pie. I wrapped it to go. Blueberry this time.”

  Harriet smiled. “Thank you, Bunny. It was sure nice meeting you.”

  “I wish I could do what you’re doing.”

  “You can. It doesn’t take much. A little money. A GPS. And the willingness to see the world and the people in it — maybe in ways you hadn’t expected.”

  Harriet opened her suitcase and slid the pie inside right after she removed her stone martens and draped them around her neck.

  “If I’m gonna ride, I may as well ride in style.”

  Chapter 22

  “AIN’T SHE GORGEOUS,” SNAKE SAID, REFERRING TO HIS BIKE and not his wife as Harriet had thought at first.

  Harriet stared at the motorcycle with the attached sidecar. The bike was large and looked heavy. It had nice shiny bright yellow paint and black trim. It reminded Harriet of a large bumblebee. The sidecar was also bright yellow and looked a little like half of a torpedo, sliced lengthwise. The seat seemed okay, vinyl with some rips in the seat but plenty of legroom. And she was happy it had its own little windshield. She didn’t want to get bugs in her teeth.

  “She’s a 1997 Road King. Custom paint.”

  “She’s very pretty,” Harriet said.

  “Climb in,” Pearl said. “Snake won’t bite you. I think there’s room for your cute little tote bag but, honey —” she directed her voice to Snake — “You better tie her suitcase down on the back.”

  “You are asking me to climb into that … that side bucket?”

  “Sidecar,” Snake said. “Closest thing to flying without leaving the ground.”

  “And you’re sure I don’t have to worry about it falling off on the highway with me in it.”

  “No, ma’am,” Snake said. “She’s a worthy machine.”

  “Snake hasn’t lost a passenger yet,” Pearl said. She gave the big lug a punch in the shoulder. “And he ain’t planning to.” Then she kissed his cheek. “See you on the road.”

  Pearl gave Harriet a helmet. “Now just put this on, sweetie, and climb in. We’ll be on the road in no time. You are gonna love the wind in your hair and the scenery whizzing past. There ain’t nothing else like it.”

  Harriet took a deep breath and plunked the helmet onto her head. It felt big, but when Pearl snapped it under her chin, it was snug enough.

  “Now don’t you just look adorable,” Pearl said. “Them foxes are so elegant.”

  Harriet smiled and then stuffed her tote into the sidecar and watched Snake lash her suitcase to the back of the bike. Good and tight.

&nbs
p; Harriet settled her rump down into the seat. The vinyl was hot for a second or two. And the next thing she knew Snake had started the engine and yelled, “Geronimo!” And off they went down the country road toward Saint Louis — she hoped.

  Henry stared at the computer screen, shaking his head. “It’s dreck. I write dreck.” Then he pulled a copy of The Sun Also Rises from the bookshelf. He leaned down and patted Humphrey. “Sometimes it helps to read some Hemingway — not that I’m Hemingway. But I need some inspiration.”

  Humphrey opened his formerly closed and resting eyelids. He looked up at Henry.

  “It’s like I completely lost control of Cash,” Henry said. “I don’t really know him anymore. Not like I used to. He’s off doing things that … that I never thought he would do.”

  Henry carried his book onto the porch, followed closely by Humphrey. “Maybe I’ll call Mother.”

  Humphrey howled.

  “She should be making her way into Kentucky by now.” He directed his words to Humphrey. “You know, old man, I wonder if I keep asking her if I should go get her because I don’t want to finish the book — avoidance.”

  Humphrey glared at Henry.

  Henry reached into his pocket to retrieve the phone, but it jingled just as he did. “Maybe that’s her.”

  “Henry Beamer?” said a deep voice on the other end.

  “Yes. Who’s calling?”

  “This is Officer Valquez of the Hopkinsville, Kentucky, police department. Now this is not an emergency call, but —”

  Henry had to sit down. His heart pounded.

  Humphrey sidled next to him and rested his head on Henry’s knees.

  “Your mother asked me to call you and tell you she’s doing fine,” the officer said. “I was down at the luncheonette while the TV crew was there talking to your mother.”

  “TV crew? Not again.”

  “Well, now, yes, yes, sir, the news people were out there reporting on your mother’s little trip when she started talking about her next destination.”