by Joyce Magnin
He closed his phone.
Humphrey, his red eyes drooping, looked up at Henry. He lay back down. This time on his belly and rested his head on his paws.
“Don’t be sad, Humphrey. She’ll get here safe and sound.” Henry swallowed as he pictured his mother squashed into a motorcycle sidecar. “I hope.”
Henry went back to his work. He wrote:
Cash waited outside Polly’s house for the better part of an hour. He wanted desperately to see her. To make love to her and then hold her in his arms forever and ever. He wanted to tell her he’s sorry. Sorry for it all. Sorry that … the fire even happened. Sorry it was his doing. But how could he ever expect Polly to forgive him?
Henry kept writing and writing, losing all track of time. His words were free now for some reason. He could feel Cash’s pain. He could even feel Polly’s pain. He cried, but only a little because he didn’t want Humphrey to see him. The last time he had cried was when his father died, and he’d held on to Harriet so tightly that he could feel her breaking apart, breaking apart right in his arms. And now he wanted Cash to hold Polly like that, to forgive him for killing Madeline. But why? Why would anyone forgive a murderer?
Henry hung his head and then looked at the picture of Prudence on his desk. It was taken back east in Cape May during the tulip festival. She was smiling so wide he thought she might break. He lightly touched her image. “I love you, Pru. I really do.” That was when he knew what he wanted. He was ready. Ready to try again. Ready to have another child.
“I never told Harriet,” he said to Humphrey, “but losing those babies was so hard on Prudence. We were so happy the second time — well, we were happy both times, but the second seemed different. Prudence said it felt different.” He leaned down and patted Humphrey’s head. “She carried him the longest, almost ten weeks when … well, we never told Mom. We wanted to surprise her when we visited and Prudence had a big baby bump.” He sniffed back his tears.
Because of a convention in town the DoubleTree Hotel in Collinsville only had one king-size room available. Harriet took it without batting an eyelash. Her joints ached, her head ached, and if she had to pull her suitcase one more block she’d scream. All she wanted to do was take a shower, get into her jammies, and relax.
She didn’t even care that all she had was a ten-dollar bill to tip the bellman.
She took off her sneakers first, visited the bathroom, and then opened her suitcase. And that’s when she saw it. The blueberry pie that Bunny gave her back at Aunt Fran’s had exploded.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Harriet said. She pulled the paper plate covered with aluminum foil out of the bag. Blueberry had been squeezed out onto her best nightgown. “This must have happened on the motorcycle ride.” She remembered the way Snake bungee corded the case down on the back of his bike. “This is bad.” She found blueberry goo on her underwear, her new crew socks, and some even managed to slip down into the bottom of the case and stain her pink capris.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What she did know was that she didn’t have the energy or the time for either. This catastrophe was better handled post haste.
“No. I … I have to find the laundry.”
She worked fast and pulled out all her clothes. Separating what had met with unfortunate blueberry surprise and what had survived unscathed. She held up her capris. “This will never come out — not in a hotel laundry anyway.”
She put all the soiled clothing into the bathtub to rinse and then hurried to the phone. She called the front desk.
“Oh, hello, dear. I’ve had a bit of a blueberry-pie disaster. Is there a laundry available for the guests?”
“Yes, ma’am. But did you say blueberry disaster? In the room?”
“Oh, no, not exactly. In my suitcase.”
Harriet heard the desk clerk chuckle.
“Well, I guess it is a little funny. But right now I need to wash my clothes.”
She hung up and returned to the mess. “Oh dear. I might have to buy new clothes.”
Harriet bundled her clothes into one of the large, fluffy hotel towels, dropped her phone in her pocket, and made her way to the laundry. It was a nice room with five washing machines and five dryers with a table in between. The hotel provided laundry soap, and she even found stain pretreatment spray, which she used most happily.
Then she stood there. What now?
A woman with her own bundle of laundry walked into the room. Harriet watched her get the machine started and then leave the room.
“There see,” she said out loud. “I guess it’s all right to just leave while they wash.”
On the elevator she even said to a man standing with her, “And so what if someone steals my clothes? I’ll buy new stuff and I doubt the blueberry stains will come out anyway.”
The man looked at her like she had sprung a leak in her brain pan. He got off at the next floor.
Back in her room Harriet finished wiping out her suitcase and ordered room service. Expensive room service. But Harriet didn’t mind. She ordered dinner — pasta and salad and iced tea. Something light but wholesome. She had been cramming down the carbs lately, and her tummy felt it; and given the late hour, she didn’t want to sleep on a heavy meal. Even after a hot shower, while waiting for room service, her body ached. She noticed a couple of bruises on her legs that she didn’t remember getting and a large purple bruise on her right bicep. But nothing was broken. That was the important thing. She had to slip into a pair of capris and the only top that didn’t have blueberry on it since her nightgown was in the wash. She sat on the bed and unlocked her phone.
Harriet saw that she missed a call from Henry, but called Martha first.
“Now, you are not going to believe what I did this evening,” Harriet said.
“Oh … I’ll believe anything at this point,” Martha said.
“You know how I love pie, but let me tell you this — never pack blueberry pie in your suitcase.”
Martha laughed. “What happened?”
“It was a disaster,” Harriet said, and then she related the whole messy story.
“That’s funny,” Martha said. “But at least it wasn’t a total loss.”
“I’m just glad I sent the bib on to the kids. I was gonna pack it.”
“Bib?”
“Oh, I found a cute bib while I was in the Smoky Mountains.”
“Now Harriet, you still aren’t bugging them about —”
“No, no. I’ll keep it till they’re ready.”
“Good girl. Now tell me what else you’re doing.”
“Hold on, room service is here.”
Harriet put Martha on speaker while she ate.
“I went to a snake-handling revival meeting in a tiny church with a preacher named Snake and his wife, Pearl.”
“Snake handling? What in the world?”
“It was just the most amazing thing I have ever seen. It just showed me the power of the Holy Spirit in a way I never knew possible. These people danced with rattlesnakes, Martha, living rattlesnakes. The people, young women too, danced and sang in words I never heard before.”
“Oh my goodness,” Martha said. “Were you scared?”
“A little at first, but then I felt calm and … hot mostly. It was hot in there.”
“Well, where are you now?”
Harriet looked around the luxury accommodations. She felt a twinge of shame that surprised her. “Well it’s a far cry from where I was last night. I’m in a king room at the DoubleTree in Collinsville, Illinois — almost to Saint Louis.”
“It sounds fabulous.”
“It is, but you know, isn’t it funny how God can show up in such a ramshackle place as that tiny church? I mean I felt him there, but here in all this luxury, well, it’s not the same.”
“God is with you in the hotel too,” Martha said.
“Oh, I know, but it’s different. Those people tonight felt God’s pleasure and have seen his glory in ways we only talk about.”
Harriet yawned deeply. “Oh dear, Martha, it’s almost eleven o’clock. I think I need to get to bed. I have to be on the road early.”
“Are you getting tired of traveling?” Martha asked.
Harriet had to think a moment “I’m not sure. Maybe. But I suspect it will look brighter in the morning. Especially after I get my clothing figured out, and speaking of which, I better go put them in the dryer.”
The next morning, after deciding she could live with purple crew socks, Harriet boarded the 7:30 a.m. Collinsville Express to downtown Saint Louis. She paid her fare, took her seat, and winced. The bus had a peculiar odor that was not pleasant. And it was warmish inside, even though the weather outside was not particularly hot.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman sitting in the seat in front of her once she got her luggage settled. But the woman didn’t respond. Harriet called again. “Excuse me.” This time she tapped her shoulder. The woman turned around. Her brow wrinkled at Harriet.
Harriet asked, “How long will it take to get to downtown? I need to go to the train station.”
The woman pointed to her ears and shook her head.
“Oh dear me, I am so sorry. I had no idea. You’re … you’re deaf.” Harriet’s stomach did a flip-flop from embarrassment.
The woman, who was about Harriet’s age, smiled and started to sign something that Harriet could not decipher. She made a mental note to learn American Sign Language just in case something like this ever happened again. It seemed only right.
Harriet apologized as best she could.
Twenty minutes later the bus rolled across the Mississippi River into Missouri. The sight was spectacular. She had never seen a river so big, so wide, or so busy. She thought there were hundreds of ships on it. But when she spied the Gateway Arch, it nearly stopped her heart. She had heard of the arch and knew they called it the Gateway to the West and all, and perhaps it was that notion that excited her. She was now officially on her way West.
The Collinsville Express bus pulled into the ultra modern-looking Gateway Station. The terminal was a big place, with every amenity a traveler could want or expect. There were counters for Amtrak, Greyhound, the MetroLink, and places to call for taxi cabs and limos. It was quite the busy transportation hub. The floors were shiny and clean. She saw two men working floor polishers, and other workers were picking up trash and emptying trash cans. There were kids with backpacks and older people pulling their luggage along. It was a far cry from the rural towns she had just been through. Just looking made her feel harried.
Just outside the doors she could still see the Gateway Arch. She knew people took elevator rides all the way to the top, but she had enough excitement last night and decided that was one adventure she should pass up.
After a brief discussion with a ticket clerk, Harriet decided to take the train into Kansas City. A nice, peaceful train ride sounded nice.
Harriet bought her ticket. She had about an hour to explore before her train arrived. She found a place to buy coffee, postcards, and a copy of Better Homes and Gardens, and a book called The Edge of Grace by some woman named Christa Allan because it sounded interesting.
Then she found a bench and sat. Her feet were tired, her back ached — probably from riding in the sidecar for so many hours — and she was definitely developing another headache. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She checked her phone and remembered that Henry had called. She fumbled around with the phone for a bit but finally got into her voicemail and listened to his message.
“Ahhh, he sounds good. I’m starting to look forward to seeing him.” That made her feel a trifle bit better. Harriet opened her notebook.
My dear, dear Max, I would have written last night, but I was pooped. You won’t believe what I witnessed, a snake-handling revival service. I say “witness” because I didn’t participate, you’ll be happy to know. I could only watch and be amazed as those folks grabbed snakes, sometimes two and three at a time, and lofted them above their heads and then danced a jig with them. Not one of them got bit.
She went back and crossed her t’s and then took a breath. She could still hear the banjo and see the people dancing in her mind.
Max, you would have whisked me right out of that place. But you know, I’m glad I stayed. I’m glad I saw the Holy Spirit moving like that. I think. I don’t know how else to explain it. All I can say is that watching those people dance around with poisonous snakes was a sight to behold. It made me believe that if they can do the Charleston with rattlers around their necks then I could keep going. I figure I’m about half way to Grass Valley as it is. Right now I am in Saint Louis waiting for the 9:15 train to take me to Kansas City, Missouri.
Harriet heard her train called.
Time to go, honey. I’ll write soon.
The train, the Missouri River Runner, was long and comfortable. She found her seat with no problem, thanks to the nice conductor. He took her ticket and helped her settle in by placing her suitcase in the overhead compartment. He had a nice, reassuring smile. Harriet dropped her tote at her feet and leaned back in the wide comfortable seat. She had upgraded to business class even though she saw precious little difference between coach and what she had now. Maybe a bit more legroom.
Chapter 24
HARRIET SETTLED INTO HER SEAT TO ENJOY THE RIDE. THE scenery was lovely. She might have even dozed a little because before she knew it the train was slowing down for a stop at Kirk-wood. It wasn’t a long stop. Harriet watched people move about on the platform. Everyone always has someplace to go.
Soon the train moved along slowly again and then gained speed as it traveled through some very beautiful countryside.
“This is Missouri wine country,” said the conductor.
“Wine country?” She never knew Missouri had wine.
A little while later the conductor made certain that folks knew they had just passed the infamous spot where Jesses James pulled his first train robbery. Harriet was unimpressed. Didn’t look like much more than a plot of brush-covered, dry land with a small stream running through it. But still, how many people can say they passed the spot of a famous train robbery?
And then right on schedule at 2:55 p.m. the River Runner pulled into the Kansas City station. She grabbed her tote bag but needed help from a nice, tall young man who snagged her suitcase from an overhead bin.
Henry was quiet over dinner. He had made a nice meal: steak, salad, even a chocolate mousse dessert. Prudence lit candles and seemed in a good mood.
“Are you okay?” she asked as Henry pushed lettuce around his plate.
“Uh-huh.” He looked across the table at Prudence. “No. Actually.”
“Is it your mother? Did something happen.”
“No. She’s fine. Having the time of her life. It’s me … us.”
“Us?” Prudence placed her fork on her plate, crossed her arms, and sat back in the chair. “What about us?”
“I want a baby.”
Prudence sucked all the air out of the dining room and then stood. She walked into the living room. Humphrey, who had been sleeping under the dining room table, followed her. “Pru,” Henry called. “I think it’s time. Can’t we just discuss it?”
“But … what if I lose another child? I couldn’t take that.”
“What if you don’t? Seems more likely you won’t. The doctor said miscarriages are not uncommon the first time or the second time. There’s things the doctors can check for. Remember? That’s what your doctor said. I thought she was very positive.”
“But … my career. I’m about to be named to the city council and —”
“You can still do all that. Listen, my novel is going well. There’ll be more books. I’ll get a real job if I need too. You can still be a lawyer. I’ll be Mister Mom. Come on, Pru. Ready?”
Prudence sat on the sofa. “I don’t know. I’m scared. I can’t go through that again.”
“I was thinking, it might be weird but with my mother here it could help.
A built-in babysitter. Maybe you can keep working.”
“Your mother will be happy,” Prudence said. “But … I don’t know.”
“Will you just consider it?”
“Okay. I’ll think and pray about it.” She looked away for a second. “If God still cares about it.”
Henry cracked a slow smile. “That’s all I ask. And of course God cares.”
Henry’s phone chimed.
“That’s Mother now,” Henry said.
“How can you tell? Your phone’s in your pants.”
“I changed the ring for her. Should I answer it or —”
“Yes, go ahead.”
“Mom,” Henry said. He wanted to ask her where she was but remembered what she said before.
“I’m in Kansas City, Missouri.”
“Okay, you’re getting closer.” Henry couldn’t keep his eyes off Prudence. She seemed to be crying. “Listen, Mom, I’m glad you’re okay. Any idea when you’ll get here?”
“Not sure. Henry, I’m having such a good time, but I got to tell you, riding in a motorcycle sidecar —”
“I heard about that,” Henry said.
“Oh, goody, then that nice officer called you.”
“Yes, he did, but listen Mom, I need to get off the phone. Prudence needs me.”
“Oh, okay, Son, tell her hi for me, okay?”
Henry closed his phone and dropped it into his pants pocket. “It’s nothing. Mom hitched a ride with a motorcycle-riding preacher, that’s all. I haven’t had the chance to tell you yet.”
Prudence shook her head. “Well, I’ll say this much, our baby will have the most exciting grandma.”
“So it’s yes, we can try?”
Prudence closed her eyes and leaned back in the sofa. “I didn’t say that. Not yet.”
“Okay, honey. What do you say we finish dinner?”
The Kansas City station reminded Harriet a little of the Baltimore Union Station. Much smaller but it still boasted high ceilings and huge rounded windows that could have worked just as well in a cathedral. She pulled her suitcase along the clean, shiny floor, pausing long enough to look at the arrival and departures board. Harriet would need to decide on a next destination. On the train she had found an Amtrak route map and looked it over, but having never been any farther West than Pittsburgh for a funeral, Harriet really had no clue. There were still many cities between Kansas City and Grass Valley.
