Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold

by Joyce Magnin

  Harriet liked that idea but not the price. She had already spent a king’s ransom since coming to Grass Valley. But she really hadn’t bought anything for herself, for her new Grammy Suite. “It would be like owning a work of art,” Harriet said as she touched the ear of the gargoyle on the left. “It’s very … interesting, different. I like it.”

  “It is a work of art,” the woman said. “It’s so pretty. And even the gargoyles were handmade, casted and sculpted by the artist. A woman by the name of Zee Blush.”

  “Zee Blush?”

  “Yes. She’s rather eccentric.”

  Harriet glanced around the shop. She saw many things made from grapevines and burlap. Nothing else spoke to her the way the gargoyles did. “I think it will work just perfectly under one of my windows. I’d like to keep African Violets on it.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely,” the woman said.

  “Do you think violets would like gargoyles?”

  “Oh, certainly. Gargoyles are lucky.”

  “I didn’t know that. Not that I believe in luck very much, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ll take it.”

  A few minutes later Harriet left The Wild Onion with the plant stand, a bag of potpourri, and two candles that smelled like butter cookies. It was a touch awkward carrying the items back to the SUV, but she managed. After all, she had managed to lug a tote bag and a wheelie suitcase across the country, so a three-block walk with a plant stand was a piece of cake.

  Chapter Thirteen

  HENRY WAS PRETTY MUCH READY FOR DINNER. ALL HE needed now was for Harriet to come home. He had the steaks rubbed and ready to go. Six ears of corn ready for the grill and the cobbler had come out of the oven looking as good as any cobbler on the cover of Food Network Magazine or Bon Appetit. And the smell in the kitchen was an amazing blend of spices and sweet and smelled just the way late summer or early fall should smell.

  “You know something,” he said to himself out loud, “you really can cook.”

  He assembled dishes and utensils, glasses and napkins—the ones with the purple dots on them—and carried them out to the deck.

  Prudence was happily sitting there looking over some legal papers, the kind of stuff that, frankly, made Henry’s brain hurt.

  “I thought we’d eat out here,” he said. “Long as the bugs don’t bother us.” It was still warm enough to eat outside but not for long. Henry looked out over the yard and the mountains. Fall was definitely settling in, and soon he would bring the deck furniture inside and grilling would be difficult at best.

  Prudence did not look up from her pages. “That’s a good idea. It’s such a nice evening.”

  Henry set the table as Humphrey sauntered past. Although it was hard to tell, Henry thought the dog was looking a little forlorn. “Have you heard from my mother?” he asked Prudence.

  “No, I thought she’d be back by now. It is getting late.”

  “I hope she’s okay. I worry about her sometimes. I don’t want her to get into trouble.”

  “Oh, what kind of trouble could she get into?” Prudence said. “She’ll come home, wagging her tail behind her.”

  Henry sat down at the table. “Do you think we’ll be able to barbecue once the builders get started?”

  “Sure,” Prudence said. “Maybe not while they’re working, but I don’t see why not after they’ve left for the day.”

  “I can’t wait to see it—the building, I mean. Mom’s gonna love it.”

  “Me either,” Prudence said. She looked at him. “Henry, why do I get the feeling you have something else on your mind? Are you worried about me? Or is it your mother? Your new book?”

  “Oh, a little of everything, I suppose, but, well, mostly I’m worried about money. I mean, can we afford the lifestyle we’ve gotten used to? And what if you want to quit working? I’m just a writer.”

  “Henry, we’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I guess, but—”

  “But what?”

  “What would you think if I went to culinary school and became a chef? Got a real job with an actual paycheck?”

  Prudence swallowed and then burst into laughter. “Really? You? Wow. If that’s what you want. I mean, you are a really good cook. But to do it all day long? Could you? And what about your writing? You love to write.”

  Henry stood, moved behind Prudence, and put his hands on her shoulders and massaged lightly. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking it might be more steady. My father always had steady work. I mean, he didn’t get paid unless someone bought the houses he built. But it wasn’t like writing. You know?”

  Prudence reached back and took one of his hands. “Henry. You’re doing great. But if you want to go to culinary school, that’s fine too.”

  “Sometimes I wish you weren’t so supportive.”

  “What in the world does that mean?”

  Henry took a deep breath through his nose. “It just means if you were the demanding sort of wife, you’d just tell me what to do.”

  Humphrey leaped up, well, more like he hauled his low belly off the ground, and headed toward the deck. He trotted right past Henry and Prudence.

  “She must be home. I swear that dog knows it’s her coming from a mile away.”

  “Okay,” Prudence said, “now don’t forget we have to talk about the airport run tomorrow.”

  “That’s right, I almost forgot.”

  “Henry, yoo-hoo, Henry,” he heard his mother calling. “I’m home, dear.”

  “On the deck,” Henry called. “Getting ready to grill some steaks.”

  “Come see what I bought today.”

  Henry smiled at Prudence. “I better go see what she bought. I kind of blew her off the other day.”

  “Okay. I’ll go see too. And then can we eat? I’m starving.”

  “You bet.”

  Harriet stood in the living room. “Isn’t it spectacular?” she said. “Don’t you just love it?” She was holding her new plant stand so they could both see.

  “Um, yeah, what is it?” Henry said.

  “It’s a plant stand,” Harriet said. “It’s going right under the south window of my new Grammy Suite.”

  “Are those gargoyles?” Prudence asked, moving in for a closer look.

  Harriet touched one of the grotesque figures. “Yes. Aren’t they sweet? The whole thing, gargoyles and all, was made by a local artist. An eccentric woman named Zee Blush. It’s one of a kind. An original Blush.”

  “That’s nice, Mom. Real nice,” Henry said. “You can keep it in your room until the building is done.”

  “Henry,” Harriet said. “You hate it, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Henry said. “It’s just … different.”

  “Well, I like it,” Prudence said. “It’s … whimsical.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Harriet said. “I’m going to put African Violets on the little shelves.”

  “That will be so pretty,” Prudence said.

  “I also got some candles and potpourri. Martha likes potpourri.”

  Meanwhile, Humphrey moved closer and sniffed the plant stand.

  “And speaking of Martha,” Henry said, “she arrives tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Harriet said. “I am so excited.”

  “So are we,” Prudence said. “Let’s start dinner and we can discuss the details.”

  “Details?” Harriet said, following Henry and Prudence outside. “What details? Her plane lands, she gets off, goes to baggage claim, and I snag her from the sidewalk like the brass ring on a carousel.”

  Henry dropped three steaks on the grill. Prudence and Harriet sat down at the table to start on their salads of baby spinach.

  “Mom,” Henry said, “there’s a little problem.”

  Harriet’s heart pounded. “Problem? Did something happen? Is she still coming?”

  “Yes, of course,” Prudence said. “It’s just a slight scheduling conflict. I have to get an ultrasound tomorrow.”

  Harriet looked at
Prudence. “Ultrasound? Isn’t it a little early for one of those?”

  “The doctor thought it was a good idea considering … my history. I made the appointment before we were sure of Martha’s arrival time. I’m afraid it creates a conflict.”

  “Conflict? Why should it create a conflict?” Harriet said. “You guys can drive the BMW and I’ll take the SUV.”

  “No, Mom,” Henry said.

  Harriet dropped her fork. “Wait. You don’t expect me to ride the Vespa all the way to Sacramento and then bring Martha and her luggage home on the back like I was Jed Clampett or something?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Henry said. He sat down at the table. “I just meant that I don’t want you to drive by yourself all the way to the airport. It’s a long drive. I’d rather go with you, but it means Martha might have to wait a couple of hours.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Prudence said. “Henry will take you after our appointment. I’m sure Martha will understand. She can have lunch at the airport. There’s a lovely restaurant called La Bou, where she can get a sandwich and have a terrific view.”

  “No, she’s having lunch with me,” Harriet said. “I’m going myself. I’ll be fine. I have a GPS. Remember? For heaven’s sake, I made it clear across the country by myself; I can certainly find the San Francisco airport.”

  “Sacramento, Mom. It’s Sacramento.”

  Harriet looked at Prudence. “He’s so easy.”

  Prudence laughed. “I know.”

  “Are you sure, Mom?” Henry asked.

  Harriet picked up her fork and stabbed a spinach leaf. “Of course I am. And I’ll only be alone going one way.”

  Henry went back to the steaks and opened the grill cover. Savory smoke poured out. “As long as you’re sure,” he said, waving away the cloud.

  “Thank you, dear. I’ll be fine. You just go and have a nice ultrasound.”

  Henry looked at Prudence. “Yeah. It will be exciting.”

  Harriet felt a wash of pride and joy fill her heart. She sighed and let the feeling grow like ripples on a smooth lake. She was pleased with Henry’s accomplishments, but more so, Harriet was proud of the man she and Max raised. In that brief moment that passed between Henry and Prudence, Harriet saw so much, so much love and concern and joy. She was convinced that seldom did any mother get to experience something so sweet. And yet, in those few seconds, Harriet also felt disappointment. Why couldn’t Henry continue in his father’s business, and why had he kept selling it a secret?

  Harriet poked at a crouton, trying to keep a threatening tear from dropping onto her plate. It was the secrecy and the hushed phone calls through the whole transaction that troubled her the most. Was it her fault?

  Henry served the steaks, perfectly charred with nice grill marks and just the perfect amount of juices.

  “I hope it’s how you like it, Mom.”

  “I’m sure it is, dear. You always know what’s best for me.”

  Henry took a step back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that you’re good at making choices for me without asking.”

  Henry dropped the serving plate onto the grill. “Here we go. I’ve been waiting for this, Mom. You just can’t let it go. I did the right thing. For you and for me.”

  “How was selling your father’s business, the one he built from … a jar of nails, a hammer, and one customer good for me? It was … it was all I had left of him.”

  “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Prudence said. “Let’s talk after dinner.”

  “No,” Henry said. “Let’s have this out now.”

  “There’s nothing to have out,” Harriet said. “It’s over.”

  “Mom, listen. If I had kept the business I would have destroyed it. It wasn’t for me.”

  Humphrey trotted onto the deck and laid his head on Harriet’s knee. He looked up at her with wide eyes. Harriet patted his snout and rubbed behind one ear. “Even Humphrey knows what you did was underhanded and unfair to your father’s memory.”

  “Oh, so Dad would have preferred me to sink the business in Chapter 11 and leave you nothing. Mom, you forget, you made out pretty well on the deal.”

  “Money,” Harriet said. “It’s not just about money.”

  Henry took a huge breath, which he let out slowly as though he were counting down seconds. “No. It’s not just about money. But I mattered also.”

  Humphrey ambled to Henry and laid his head on his knee.

  “I don’t care to discuss this anymore,” Harriet said. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

  “Well, well, well,” Prudence said in her best lawyer courtroom voice. “I think the two of you have much to discuss, but I recommend eating the elephant one piece at a time.”

  “Good idea,” Henry said. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”

  After a couple of minutes of silence, Prudence asked, “So what have you got planned for Martha’s visit?”

  “Planned?” Harriet said. “I … I don’t know. I hadn’t planned anything. I’ve been so busy with getting my room ready, and the baby news, not to mention the Grammy Suite.”

  “I’m sure you two will find plenty to do,” Prudence said.

  “I’m sure we will,” Harriet said.

  Henry pushed some potatoes around on his plate. “Who’s ready for peach cobbler?”

  “Oh, you made cobbler?” Harriet said, hoping to diffuse things.

  “And homemade whipped cream,” Prudence said.

  “I’ll be back in a flash,” Henry said.

  Harriet gathered the dinner plates. And as she did, she couldn’t help but notice that Prudence was all of a sudden looking a little pale.

  “Are you okay, dear?” she asked. “Did that little … kerfuffle upset you?” And here she was the person telling Henry to watch Prudence’s stress level.

  “No, no, I’m glad you two are talking but—” Prudence leapt from the table and made a mad dash inside to the bathroom.

  “Is she all right?” Henry asked when he returned with the cobbler and dessert plates. “I’ve never seen her run so fast.”

  Harriet smiled. “Morning sickness can hit anytime.”

  Henry flopped into his chair. “I don’t like this, Mom. She wasn’t this sick with the … before.”

  “As hard as it is to believe, honey, this is actually a good thing. As long as she stays busy and happy. This will pass, probably very soon, and believe me, your baby will grow strong and healthy.”

  “But it’s taking so much out of her. She’s so tired.”

  “Par for the course, Henry. She’s just coming up to the end of her first trimester. It could last a few weeks. It lasted almost the whole time for me.”

  “I hope you’re right, Mom. I’m thinking about asking her to stop working. I have even thought about going to culinary school so I can get a real job.”

  “Really?” This was the first Harriet had heard about that idea, “But Prudence will never quit now. She can work right up until the baby’s due date. And you should let her if she wants to. No, Henry. She’ll know when she needs to stop working. Trust your wife and her doctor.”

  “I know but—” Henry put his hand on his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Sympathy pains,” she said. “Did I ever tell you your daddy took to his bed for three days because he said his stomach was upset, and that he had swollen ankles and headaches?”

  Henry laughed. “No. Did he really have swollen ankles?”

  “Just his ego was swollen.”

  Henry filled a dessert dish with the cobbler. “But how can throwing up every day be healthy?”

  “It just is,” Harriet said. “Did you forget the whipped cream?”

  Henry’s eyes darted. “Oh, sorry, I’ll just go get it.”

  But just then Prudence returned to the table carrying the stainless mixing bowl brimming with fluffy whipped cream. “Sorry about that.” She laughed.

  “Henry is worried,” Harriet said.


  “I know.” She sat down and patted his hand. “Do you know he stays awake at night staring at me? He thinks I don’t know, but I do. I can feel his eyes boring into me.”

  “Ah, poor thing. He’s just so worried.”

  “I know. I guess I am also,” Prudence said. “That cobbler looks awesome.”

  “Really, dear,” Harriet said. “You outdid yourself. That’s quite a cobbler you made.”

  Harriet’s thoughts turned to Max. “I guess maybe you’re more like your dad than I thought.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You both like to build things. With your daddy it was buildings. With you it’s seven-layer fudge cakes and Beef Wellington and cobbler. You probably would do very well in culinary school if that is what you decided to do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  HARRIET COULD HARDLY SLEEP THAT NIGHT. SHE WAS so excited for Martha’s arrival. She saw pretty much every hour on the digital clock until three when she must have finally dozed, because when she opened her eyes again it was nearly six-thirty.

  She sat up, rousing Humphrey from his sleep. She figured Humphrey did not share in her sleeplessness. The hound could sleep through Armageddon if he wanted to.

  She hurried to the kitchen to make coffee—for her and Henry. Prudence had sworn off coffee for the time being. Sandra Day, who was lapping water from her bowl, seemed in a rare good mood. She only hissed once at Humphrey, who then sat on his haunches and waited patiently until Her Majesty the Queen had eaten and sauntered off to visit the litter box.

  Stupid cat. Humphrey chomped down his breakfast. At least I pee outside like a respectable animal.

  Harriet made oatmeal because it was wholesome and comforting and there was a crispy chill in the air. And she remembered how oatmeal calmed her stomach when she was carrying Henry.

  She checked the clock.

  “Martha gets in at one o’clock,” she told Humphrey. “Can you stand it? It took me almost a month to cross the country, like I was a pioneer, but she does it in about nine hours—given the layover.”

  Humphrey swished his tail.

  “I guess you’ll be happy to see her again too.”

  Humphrey swished a second time and then let go a low woof when Harriet heard a light rap on the deck slider.