Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold

by Joyce Magnin

  “I’ll bet. The cat does come across a bit uppity.”

  “Okay, Martha,” Harriet said. “Enough stalling.”

  Martha seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the kitchen. “I have to tell you something.”

  Harriet’s heart sank. She did not like the tone of Martha’s voice. “Uh oh, what’s wrong? Does it have anything to do with that doctor’s visit you told me about when I was on my trip?”

  “No, that was a lie. A smokescreen. I actually had something much worse to do.”

  Harriet leaned closer toward her friend. “Martha, you’re scaring me. What is it?”

  Harriet pushed some stray hairs out of her eyes. “It’s … it’s Wyatt.”

  “Wyatt? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, nothing, really. At least not physically. He got himself into some trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble? Financial? Does he need money? I’ve got money.”

  “No, no, not exactly.”

  “Come on, Martha, spill it.”

  “He’s in prison. That day you called, I was on my way to court.”

  Harriet swallowed. Her first impulse was to laugh, thinking it was a joke, but the seriousness of Martha’s tone made her think it was no joke.

  “Martha? Why? What happened?”

  Martha picked at her donut, and then she slipped it to Humphrey.

  “Tell me what happened,” Harriet said. “What on earth could he have done? He was always such a quiet, gentle kid.”

  “He got himself mixed up with drugs and ended up committing armed robbery.”

  Harriet fell back in her chair. “No. Really? But when?”

  “This happened while you were on your trip. I didn’t want to tell you while you were traveling. In fact, I didn’t really know anything until the police came and arrested him. Right from my house. They just came inside and took my son. The next thing I knew, he was in jail. They gave him fifteen years. Fifteen years!”

  Harriet did some quick calculations. She guessed that Wyatt would be in his mid-forties, maybe older, before he was eligible for parole.

  “Oh, Martha, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were going through that. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have ended my trip and come back to be with you.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you. There was nothing you could have done. He confessed to the crime.”

  Martha looked like she wanted to cry. To just break down and sob for days. Harriet could feel her pain. It was like a million pounds of weight resting on Martha’s shoulders. If only Harriet could take that away.

  “Go on, cry, if you want,” Harriet said. “It’s okay.”

  Martha sniffed, and then she cried. Not for long. A minute or two. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “He’s gone, Harriet. My son is gone.”

  Harriet’s mind had gone completely wild as she imagined all sorts of possible scenarios. She also knew it would be best to get the facts. Just the facts, as Sergeant Friday always said.

  So Harriet scooted her chair over and she and Martha sat close together for the next few minutes while Martha told her the story.

  “And so, like an idiot, he was high on … on something at the time, thought he was the Incredible Hulk or something, and he burst into the drugstore and held a gun to the clerk’s head.”

  Harriet gasped. “How awful.”

  “But here’s the stupid part. The gun was not even loaded. Wyatt said he couldn’t bring himself to actually load the thing.”

  Harriet shook her head. She knew Wyatt was not the brightest crayon in the box, but she had no idea he was just plain stupid.

  “I’m sorry, Martha. Do you go visit him much? How’s he doing? Don’t they have programs?”

  Martha practically fell off her chair, she laughed so hard. “So-called programs. They don’t help much. He goes to counseling and rehab meetings. He’s clean now. Or getting there.”

  Harriet chuckled. Clean. It was such a street term. One she never thought she’d hear one of her friends use in connection to a child, unless it meant the usual thing—clean as in scrubbing behind his ears.

  Harriet hugged her friend and then kissed her forehead. “I don’t really know what I can say. I don’t think there is anything except that I’m here for you and Wyatt. I know he wasn’t in his right mind.”

  “Oh, he knows he did wrong. He’s very remorseful, but like we all know, life choices have consequences, and just because you say you’re sorry doesn’t free you from those consequences.”

  “But fifteen years? For a first offense? The gun wasn’t loaded.”

  “The judge was pretty mad. And it wasn’t exactly a first offense.”

  Harriet shook her head. “Oh no, there’s more?”

  “Just little things. But it added up. Shoplifting. Vandalism. Stupid stuff. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. Even you.”

  “Maybe Prudence can do something.” Harriet felt her heart quicken. “Yes, she’s a lawyer. Maybe she can help.”

  “No. Please, don’t tell her. The sentence is set. His lawyer has appealed and done all the necessary things. It’s going to stick.”

  Martha wiped away tears. “I couldn’t tell you but his sentencing date was two days after you left. I thought you might not leave if I told you. But the bottom line is, he did the crime.”

  “Who did what crime?” Henry stood near the refrigerator, looking a little surprised.

  “Henry,” Martha said. “We thought you’d smell the coffee.”

  “And the donuts? I don’t know why, but I’ve been so hungry lately. Especially for sweets.”

  “I do,” Harriet said. She winked at Martha.

  Harriet fed the other half of her glazed donut to Humphrey and laughed. “Sympathy cravings.”

  “What?”

  “Do you think you might be a tad jealous?” Martha asked.

  “What? I am not jealous. Of Prudence? No way. I’m thrilled.”

  “She didn’t say you weren’t thrilled to pieces. But look, son, it’s perfectly normal for an expecting daddy to take on some … well, symptoms while his wife is pregnant.”

  Henry laughed. “That’s crazy, Mom. I am not having symptoms.” He seemed to stare off into space for a second.

  Humphrey said, “Woof.”

  “Well, I was a little sick to my stomach this morning.” Martha laughed. “I think it’s sweet.”

  Henry poured himself a cup of coffee and added a splash of Half and Half. He grabbed a donut. “So. What crime?”

  “I might as well tell you,” Martha said, and she proceeded to tell Henry the whole story about Wyatt. Henry pretty much listened, stunned.

  “I don’t believe it. He was always a good kid.”

  “I know,” Martha said.

  “Should I call him? Can I call him?”

  “You can write,” Martha said.

  Henry touched his stomach. “Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that glazed donut on top of the pie.”

  “Pie?” Harriet said. “What pie?”

  “Florence brought over a strawberry/rhubarb.”

  Harriet shook her head.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS WHIZZED BY. HARRIET AND MARTHA did some sightseeing, including the Empire Gold Mine, which Martha found to be “educational and impressive.” Win had not called asking for more money, which made Harriet happy. But she also realized he still had never given her copies of the papers she signed.

  Henry took a break from his writing schedule to get things ready for the builders. He cleared the side yard of some rocks and dug out Humphrey’s second favorite bush.

  “Don’t worry, old man,” Henry told him. “We’ll replant it.”

  Henry had never seen Humphrey look so despondent. It was like he had lost his best friend. But then again, he had never seen a dog look so jubilant when he dug the hole out back for the rhododendron.

  Prudence weathered several bouts of morning sickness, but she still looked after her garden and the house, catching up
on laundry and general housework. Florence Caldwell, whom Harriet had come to think of as simply nosey after all, came by with a batch of brownies. The kind Henry loved, with walnuts.

  All in all Sunday morning arrived with peace and tranquility. But, as Harriet sipped coffee with Martha in the kitchen, she admitted that she really didn’t want to go to church.

  “I’m tired,” she told Martha.

  “Now, now,” Martha said. “I think we should go. It’s good for the kids, and from the sound of it you haven’t been attending church much.”

  “I know. It’s the congregation,” Harriet said. “I don’t believe there is a person over forty, except for Mr. Marsden, and he’s so old I think he might have dated Cleopatra.”

  “I’ll be with you today,” Martha said. “Let’s go.”

  So off they went, a little late on account of Prudence moving a little slowly. They all went in the BMW. Harriet thought Henry looked so proud he might burst his buttons.

  They no sooner walked into the lobby when Harriet was asked to fill in at the nursery. Harriet clasped Martha’s hand. “I knew it.”

  Geraldine Tubman told Harriet that little Gerry had been throwing up a lot lately.

  “Now, he’s not sick. Doctor said he just has a sensitive tummy.”

  Harriet took Gerry from Mrs. Tubman. “Oh, it’s okay. Have you tried oatmeal? Good for an upset tummy.”

  Mrs. Tubman only smiled. She kissed Gerry’s cheek. “Now, Mommy will be back right after the service.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Harriet said.

  “You bet,” Martha said. “We’re a couple of old pros.”

  Harriet sat Gerry in a crib and gave him a pat on the head and a toy. “Sometimes nervous mommies make babies’ bellies nervous.”

  The hour and fifteen minutes went quickly. Harriet and Martha enjoyed the children. Martha especially enjoyed building block towers and knocking them down.

  “We just heard,” said Sally Roberts after the service, a young professional woman with one child, two-year-old Scotty. “It’s wonderful news.”

  Harriet handed over Scotty once Sally signed him out like he was a library book. Harriet understood the need for security, but she appreciated that in her days as a young mother people were more trusting. There wasn’t the need for security cameras in church—especially church.

  “It is wonderful,” Harriet said. “I couldn’t be happier. Thank you.”

  “And Prudence is radiant,” Sally added. “And twins. A double blessing.”

  As the kudos and blessings came in, Harriet smiled about as wide as all outdoors. It was terrific news, and she deserved to feel every bit as proud as she was feeling.

  “Praise the Lord,” said Terri Higley. “I know it’s been a rough go for them.”

  And so it went until all the children had been safely delivered back into the care of their parents. She and Martha joined Prudence and Henry in Fellowship Hall where they enjoyed a cup of coffee with a hint of Irish Cream, a lemon Danish, and the continued congratulations of nearly everyone they saw.

  Prudence and Henry seemed to be enjoying the attention also. And from across the room Harriet did notice that it was true, Prudence was absolutely radiant, especially when a ray of sunlight burst through one of the windows and shone directly on her, signaling her out for all to notice. Harriet basked in Prudence’s radiance.

  But soon enough, the sun ray was gone, the crowd had thinned, and they were on their way home.

  “That was kind of fun,” Prudence said. “I’m not used to being in the spotlight without a jury bearing down on me.”

  “It was nice,” Henry said. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “And I’m proud of you,” Prudence said. “You looked so … so fatherly when you collected the offering.”

  “Thank you, honey,” Henry said.

  Harriet grabbed Martha’s hand. “Such a cute couple.”

  “But now,” Henry said looking into the rearview mirror, “we get back to reality. The builders are starting tomorrow.”

  “I know,” Harriet said. “I am just … just all atwitter. I can’t wait to hear the hammers fly.”

  Martha laughed so hard Harriet thought she might have laid an egg. “What’s so funny?”

  “Can’t wait to hear the hammers fly?”

  “All right, all right,” Harriet said. “I suppose that was a little corny. I guess I just mean I can’t wait to hear the sounds of building going on.”

  Martha patted Harriet’s knee. “I know. I know.”

  “I can’t say I’m not a little nervous about the commotion and disruption,” Henry said.

  “That is true,” Prudence said, “since you work at home and all.”

  “At least the building will be happening outside. Should be a little less disruptive,” Martha said.

  “Well, I am really looking forward to it,” Prudence said. “Aren’t you, Mother?” Harriet was looking out the window at the passing trees and the lovely view of the mountains. Everywhere she looked in Grass Valley there was a view. A place to lock her eyes and look. It was a pretty place.

  “I certainly am,” she said.

  Harriet snuggled back into the seat. She was happy. A far cry away from how she felt just over a week ago, all sulky and wishing she had never left Pennsylvania. And why not? She was going to be a grammy, have her own addition, was part lessee of a gold mine about to strike, and her best friend was sitting next to her. What else did she need?

  She couldn’t help but smile when the car hit a bump. God’s pleasure. She often felt God’s pleasure on bumpy roads. She wondered why that was.

  Sunday quickly slipped into Monday morning, and Harriet was awakened by the sound of the builders. Mostly, she heard talking and the sound of truck engines. She pulled on the same pants she had worn the day before, the same shirt, and then slipped into an older pair of Chucks without socks.

  She tossed a small pillow at Martha’s bed. “Wake up,” she called. “Today’s the day.”

  Martha roused from her sleep. “What?”

  “The builders are here. Let’s go.”

  Martha rolled over. “You go. I want to rest awhile.”

  “Suit yourself,” Harriet said.

  Harriet brushed her teeth, mouth washed, ran a brush through her hair, which she decided needed a cut, and dashed outside.

  Henry was talking to a tall, thin woman who was deeply tanned and gorgeous. Her hair was the color of sunshine, and her teeth were so white Harriet figured they could help guide the space shuttle in for a landing.

  “Oh, oh,” Henry said. “Here she is now.”

  “Hi,” Harriet said, stepping over a small bush.

  “It’s so nice to meet you.” The tall woman shook Harriet’s hand. “My name is Daisy Day.” She spoke with a southern accent, which Harriet found charming.

  “And this, of course, is my mother, Harriet Beamer,” Henry said with his arm around Harriet’s shoulders.

  “You designed my new Grammy Suite?” Harriet asked.

  Daisy nodded. “I sure did. Well, me and Daisy. She’s off inspecting another job at the moment. But she’ll be by in just a tiddly wink. I hope ya’ll like it.”

  “But aren’t you Daisy?”

  “Yes, that’s right. But so is Daisy. Daisy Knight. She’s been my ever-lovin’ best friend since kindergarten. Both named Daisy. Isn’t that just a scream?”

  “Yes,” Harriet said. “A scream.” She looked at the bright yellow pick-up in the driveway with the words, Day and Knight, Two Daisies Design, painted across the door in purple. Henry hadn’t quite told her the correct name of their business.

  “What a cute name.” She said the words, but she also thought that builders this cute could not possibly know what they were doing.

  Daisy looked at her clipboard and then back to Harriet. “Henry told us his daddy was a builder, so you must know plenty about building. I guess we’ll need to work a little extra careful, now won’t we?”

  Harriet didn�
�t quite know how to respond.

  “But you just don’t worry your pretty little heart over it.”

  “I’m not worried,” Harriet said. Yes, she was.

  “Good. Good. But if you catch us using the wrong nail, you be sure to tell us, or if you don’t want us to rabbet the lintels, well, that’s okay too. You just holler.”

  Of course she wanted them to rabbet her lintels. It was the only proper way to build a doorjamb. Or so she thought. It was hard to tell with this Daisy. She was a fast and smooth talker.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you,” Harriet said. “I’m certain the addition will be spectacular.”

  “Oh, it will,” Daisy said.

  “Except,” Harriet said, “I was looking at the plans and—”

  “Mother,” Henry said. “The design is complete.”

  “All I was going to say was that I would like it if you could include several built-in shelves for my collection.”

  “I thought you’d just buy a cabinet or something,” Henry said.

  “I could. I could. But wouldn’t it be nice to have shelves, floor to ceiling, built right in?”

  Daisy screwed up her mouth. “I don’t think that would be a problem. And we certainly don’t need to make that decision today.”

  “Right,” Harriet said. “And I was also wondering if you could put a nice, deep sink in the powder room. Since that’s my only running water. I’d like a place to work with my pots.”

  “Excuse me?” Daisy said. “Pot?”

  Harriet laughed. “No, no, dear, pots. I raise African Violets.”

  “Oh, certainly,” Daisy said. “That’s not a problem.”

  “Why thank you, dear. Now I’ll just leave you to your work. I don’t want to interfere.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Daisy said.

  Harriet smiled wide. “And you too.”

  Harriet left Henry with Daisy and went to the kitchen where she found Humphrey near his water bowl, looking like he had lost his best friend. “What’s the matter with you?” Harriet asked. “You aren’t jealous of Martha, are you?”

  Humphrey let go a soft woof. A woof that usually meant he was hungry and hungry for donuts. But Harriet thought he had had quite enough recently.