Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold

by Joyce Magnin

  Henry shrugged and sipped his coffee. “I wouldn’t know, but if she wants to try to get in touch I guess it will be all right. But I don’t want to pressure her about it. And you shouldn’t either.”

  “Oh, I won’t, dear. It makes me heartsick, though.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Henry sat back down at the table. “So what are your plans today, Mom? Besides the bank.”

  Harriet, who had just poured another cup of coffee despite Henry’s warnings about too much caffeine, told him. “Oh, no plans, dear—except, well, I might hang around in town. Do a little shopping. Maybe poke around for some curtains for my new Grammy Suite.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait until after it’s built before you buy anything? Get the right size?”

  Harriet clicked her tongue. “I know how to read a blueprint, dear. I can get the window dimensions. And besides, I just want to do some looking.”

  Henry shook his head. She would never stop rubbing it in.

  “Okay, but don’t forget to call Martha. And don’t take any wooden nickels. Whatever that means.”

  Harriet patted his cheek. “That’s what your daddy always said.”

  Chapter Seven

  HARRIET WATCHED HENRY MAKE HIS WAY INTO THE DEN to write. She was proud of her son, but every so often that niggling frustration about the way he sold his father’s business and chose a totally strange occupation reared its ugly head. She knew it was ugly. She wanted to make peace with his decision. But in her heart of hearts she thought that if Henry had stayed with the family business it would have somehow kept Max alive, like a legacy.

  Harriet suddenly remembered Martha went to her Bible study on Thursday mornings, so she resolved to call her later in the day when she got back from shopping. She loaded the dishwasher and then took Humphrey for his walk. She made a point to pass the Hannigans’ house to get a better look at the new addition.

  The house was a typical California split-level—nothing too spectacular except the addition. It was gorgeous, even to Harriet who tended to enjoy high standards when it came to things like house additions and Grammy Suites.

  “Not bad, not bad at all,” she told Humphrey. She stayed a minute and admired the details around the windows, the bright, white shutters, and the bright red door, the perfect match for the house. “I can’t wait to see what these Day and Knight gals can do.”

  She was just about to walk on when the Hannigan door opened and out stepped who she assumed was Mrs. Hannigan.

  “Hello,” the woman called. “Can I help you?”

  Harriet shook her head as a wiggle of embarrassment went through her. “No, no, I was just admiring your addition.”

  “Oh, thank you. We like it.”

  Harriet patted Humphrey’s side. He was acting like he wanted to walk on. “Just a minute, boy,” she said. “Yes, well, my son just hired the same builders you used to put an addition on our house.”

  “Oh, the Day and Knight girls. You won’t be disappointed. I highly recommend them. Now, which house is it?”

  “Just down there. Three or so houses. The one with the big maple out front.”

  “Oh, the lawyer’s house?”

  “Yes, yes, Prudence is my daughter-in-law.”

  That was when Mrs. Hannigan seemed to change her tune a fraction or so. “Oh, really,” she said. “The new member of the town council?”

  “Yes, that’s her. I’m very proud of my Prudence.”

  And that was when Mrs. Hannigan put her nose in the air and turned away and stormed back into the house.

  “Goodness gracious, Humphrey,” Harriet said. “What in the world was that all about?”

  Humphrey sat back on his haunches and sniffed the air.

  “You know something, don’t you? You’ve been here longer than me.”

  Harriet looked at the house one final time and said, “Come, Humphrey. Just because the outside of a house is pleasant doesn’t mean the people inside are pleasant also. For goodness sake.”

  Harriet made her way back to the house. She paused on the sidewalk and looked at her son’s home. It was a fine house with a nice porch with wooden spindles. Prudence kept the window boxes nice with poppies, and she kept an unruly trailing verbena inching its way up a trellis in the front yard that gave the place character.

  Still, though, it was small, and an addition would help. She already knew from the drawings that it would have a roof that pitched to match the existing house. It would be one story high, built on the west side. All in all, Henry and Prudence made a great choice. She could hardly wait for construction to begin. But for now she would concentrate on getting money transferred and preparing for Martha’s visit.

  Harriet unclipped Humphrey’s leash and let him dash into the house unencumbered. She hung the leash on the coatrack and then went straight to the den. “Henry,” she called. “What is with that Mrs. Hannigan? When she found out where I live and that Prudence is my daughter-in-law, she turned all sourpussed. We were having a wonderful conversation about her new addition until then.” She took a breath and sat down in the rocking chair Henry had in the den along with another comfy chair.

  Henry, who had kept on typing, stopped and said, “So, you ran into her, did you? She’s just being a sore loser. Her know-it-all son, mealy-mouthed Clancy Hannigan, ran for the council and got all upset when Pru beat him out in the election.”

  “Oh, is that all? Well, why is she so snooty about it? I’m sure the election was fair. Or was it, Henry? Is there something underhanded going on? Is Prudence a corrupt politician?” She wasn’t serious but couldn’t resist the urge to pull Henry’s chain.

  “Mom, don’t get excited. Pru is not corrupt. Clancy Hannigan was a sore loser. That’s all. The voters decided who got the seat. And believe me, they made the right choice.”

  Harriet swallowed and glanced around the room. “Um, well, do you think she’ll be able to continue her duties with the baby coming?”

  “Again, Mom, that’s her choice. The council doesn’t meet more than twice a month, and it’s really not as stressful as you think. It’s small town politics, Mom. Trash can policies and leaf collection.”

  “Okay. I just think we should make Prudence’s life as stress free as we can. I plan to help with that.”

  Henry looked at his monitor. Harriet could see his eyebrows rise in the reflection.

  “No, really, dear. I’ll be nice. I’ll stay out of trouble. I just meant I’ll help out around the house as much as I can. I can certainly help out where the builders are concerned. Answer their questions. Make a decision if one needs to be made. That way Prudence can stick to lawyering and … and whatever it is a town council does. And growing that baby.”

  “But … but, Mom, we have everything under control. Why don’t you take up a hobby, I mean besides your salt and pepper shakers? Or spend more time with Mrs. Caldwell. Or better yet, get ready for Martha’s visit.”

  Harriet snorted air out of her nose. “Why, Henry James Beamer, I think you are trying to silence me. Keep me out of the way.”

  “No, no, Mom, I just … I just don’t want you to get stressed either. You already had one heart attack.”

  “Oh, well, in that case … but, really, dear, I won’t be a nuisance, and I’ll stay out of the builders’ way.”

  She crossed her fingers behind her back. Maybe.

  “Great. Now, look. I need to get another two thousand words written today. Why not go into town like you said, get that money transferred?”

  “Can I take the car?”

  Henry’s eyes grew wide. “My car? My BMW?”

  “No, dear, the antique Düsseldorf you have parked in the driveway. Of course the Beamer.” She shook her head. “I still cannot believe you did something that funny. Henry Beamer bought a Beamer.”

  Henry laughed. “I know. I know. But believe me, I hadn’t even thought of it until after the car was in the driveway for six weeks. A neighbor pointed it out.”

  “Well, can I?”
/>   “Take the car?” Henry swallowed. “Why not the Vespa?”

  “Oh, I suppose I could, but I am going to the bank to transfer—”

  “Okay, okay, but drive slowly. No fancy driving, both hands on the wheel, don’t open the sunroof, and be careful where you park. You know where the keys are.”

  “Thank you, son. I won’t harm your precious car.”

  By ten o’clock, Harriet had changed into a pair of pink capris with little seashells at the cuff and a pink-and-white striped shirt. She felt a little like a candy cane with a pudgy belly, but the light green cardigan she added helped pull the outfit together. Next she laced up a pair of black Converse sneakers. She had bought them a couple of weeks ago. Chucks were now her favorite shoes. She never wore anything else.

  It was one o’clock back east. But as excited as she was to tell Martha all the news, maybe calling her after instead of before going to town was still the best idea. Martha would probably have checked some flights and dates by then.

  “Now, Humphrey,” she said. The pooch was sitting at the front door as though he were going along. “I can’t take you with me this time out.”

  Humphrey whined and lay down on his belly.

  “I’ll bring you a donut or two. Nice and warm. Fresh from the bakery.”

  It was a typically beautiful day. Expansive blue skies, lots of sun, and the ever present smell of pine. Henry’s car sat in the driveway. A late model BMW, black with a pecan-colored leather interior.

  Harriet slipped into the driver’s seat. It fit like a fine leather glove. She had taken Prudence’s SUV out a few times, but this was only the second time behind the wheel of Henry’s car. And the first time he had been riding along. She usually rode the scooter into town to pick up her medications. She’d been on extra meds since the heart attack—including a low-dose aspirin. Harriet adjusted the seat, using the fancy electronic adjustments Henry showed her, next the mirrors, and then she buckled her seatbelt.

  It was easy backing the car out of the driveway, plenty of room and driving the BMW was like skating on butter—smooth. She took a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and took off down the street toward town. She thought about where she’d go and what she’d do. The new Grammy Suite was exciting, so maybe she would look at some paint chips as well as curtains. Maybe she’d stop at the furniture store she saw the last time she was in town. But first she needed to stop at the bank. That was the priority. Her thoughts were going fifty miles an hour when she slammed on the brakes. She almost ran a red light. Harriet stopped, and the car lurched a little, but at least she wasn’t in the middle of the intersection like last time. That’s what had made Henry so nervous since.

  The light turned green and off she went into the downtown area. The ride was pretty usual for a while, nothing too spectacular, except she did like seeing the mountains in the distance. But once you hit the shopping district, it brightened up into rows of stores and businesses with a decidedly Western theme. She pulled into the parking lot directly across the street from her bank on Church Street.

  “There now, that wasn’t so bad.”

  She grabbed her purse and got out of the car, making certain to lock it. Henry told her that locking it automatically set the car alarm. She stood there looking at the automobile as it emitted three short beeps indicating the alarm had been armed. “Car alarms. Geeze. In my day we just left the dog in the car … or the kid.”

  Harriet looked around. She especially enjoyed the more artsy fartsy places with local pottery and crafts. Maybe she would pick up something pretty for Prudence as a congratulations gift or something homey for her new suite. After all, according to the blueprints, she would have a fairly large sitting room. Of course, there was no kitchen, but that was okay, and the bedroom was a good size. Large enough for Martha—the next time she came. She crossed the street and headed into the bank. First things first. “Get it done,” she said. “Then forget it. It’s only money.”

  She approached the teller with the deposit slip Henry had given her. She couldn’t help but feel a little strange and wondered if the teller, a nice young man named Joseph, would be suspicious at all. Would he wonder why she was depositing so much money into her son’s account? Did she have to explain?

  “It’s not like there’s a rule or anything,” she said not meaning for her words to be heard. But when she set the deposit slip on the counter the words slipped with it.

  “Excuse me?” Joseph said.

  “Oh dear, I’m sorry, I was just thinking out loud.” He must think she was senile. And she didn’t want that.

  “I was just wondering about the deposit. If you’d be curious about why I was putting so much money into my son’s account.”

  Joseph continued tapping his keyboard. “No, that’s not my business. As long as you have the money.”

  “Oh, I do. You see, well, Henry, that’s my son, see his name is right there.” She was so nervous. “He’s building an addition onto his house. For me. And I’m the bank, so to speak.” Then she let go a nervous giggle that made her sound even more ridiculous.

  “That’s sweet,” Joseph said. “Sounds like you have a good boy there.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  Joseph pushed the deposit receipt toward her. “All done, sweetie. You have a nice day, now.”

  “Oh, oh, thank you.” Harriet took the small slip of paper. She looked it over. Her balance had dwindled considerably since she sold the house back east. “Oh well,” she said to Joseph. “You can’t take it with you.” She crammed the slip into her handbag and strolled out of the bank feeling both relieved and stupid. The air was fresh and had a little bit of an autumn snap to it.

  Harriet walked down the street and rounded the corner onto Neal Street and then down to Mill.

  Her first stop was to a baby boutique, where she couldn’t help herself and bought three pairs of booties, a baby bonnet—with yellow trim—and a bib that read “I Love Grammy” on it over a big red heart. Next she wandered into a store that carried decorations and small pieces of furniture for the home. Inside, the store smelled delicious. She saw many things she liked but left without purchasing anything. She would wait until the suite started to take shape.

  As she walked on she noticed many things about the downtown area that she liked. The old movie theater, which she had never been to, storefronts shaded by green awnings, and lots of friendly looking people.

  But soon her stomach growled, and since her feet were a little tired, she turned into a small café called Rachel’s—a quaint little place with booths and tables. The waitress, wearing a black apron over jeans and a pink shirt, seated her sort of near the back and away from the window. Harriet was none too thrilled about that, but it was okay.

  The waitress handed her a small menu. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “A coffee would be nice,” Harriet said. “With cream.”

  Harriet looked over the menu. There wasn’t too much that interested her that morning—except the French fries. She enjoyed French fries and it was nearly lunchtime, so she decided that’s what she would have. Coffee and French fries. And then she made a mental note to find a donut shop on her way home. Humphrey was partial to glazed.

  Harriet’s thoughts tumbled like socks in the dryer. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours. It was like dreams were coming true, left and right—grandchild, the Grammy Suite, Martha coming, and now, finally, she would be able to display her collection. Could life get any better?

  Chapter Eight

  HARRIET LOOKED AROUND THE CAFÉ AS SHE SIPPED COFFEE and waited for the fries she’d ordered. She noticed a woman sitting on one of the spinner stools at the counter. She was wearing jeans and a dark blue jacket. Her hair was cropped short, and she wore black shoes. Somehow, she looked out of place. But Harriet wasn’t sure why.

  Then after her fries came, Harriet dipped one into the small puddle of ketchup she made on the edge of the plate, and just as she brought it to her mouth a young woman—a gir
l, really—sitting close by caught her eye. She looked tall, skinny, and was wearing a dark green shirt and blue shorts. The girl’s hair was short and pitch black, a color Harriet was convinced never occurred in nature unless it was oozing out of the ground. And she had several tattoos on her arms and one on her neck, which gave Harriet the heebie-jeebies, not because of the subject, which was a thorny rose, but because the thought of having a neck tattoo was disgusting. Still, Harriet thought she was pretty, and who was she to judge a book by its cover? Look at what happened at the Hannigan house.

  The girl was sitting all alone. Now, Harriet had several such encounters on her cross-country journey, and most of them worked out just right. She often ended up offering some older, womanly, sage advice and moving on. But now, now that she lived here, she thought better of approaching the girl. But she did kind of remind her of Lacy, the college student who helped her buy a new phone and learn to use a GPS.

  She dipped three more fries and ate them. They were tasty, probably the best fries she had ever eaten—well, except for the ones on the Boardwalk at Ocean City, New Jersey. But she couldn’t stop looking at the girl, who had finally noticed her. Uh oh, Harriet thought. Maybe she’d come over and say something, maybe something nasty.

  Then Harriet watched as the girl slowly walked over to her, sat down across from her at the table, and introduced herself.

  “My name is Lily. I saw you watching me.”

  Harriet felt a little flustered and embarrassed and maybe even annoyed. Why in the world would this young girl just approach her like that? She willed herself not to turn bright red and said, “I’m sorry, you just kind of reminded me of a friend back home. That’s why I was staring. Except she didn’t have tattoos, that I could see any-hoo, or a pierced eyebrow. What is that, dear, in your eyebrow? A vulture? And her hair was plain, old mousy brown, not black like yours … Excuse me, dear, but that can’t be your natural color.”

  “I was born blonde,” Lily said. “But I went black. It’s a statement.”