When Did We Lose Harriet?

by Patricia Sprinkle

  “Will three-four hundred keep you from running around naked?”

  “That would be splendid. I probably won’t spend it all.”

  “Spend what you need—I don’t want you shaming your relatives. And get something pretty, you hear me? None of that ‘I can make do with this’ stuff you sometimes pull. But I sure would prefer to send the money to Glenna’s account. I hate to think about you carrying around that much cash.”

  For once, I didn’t say a word.

  When we hung up, I bawled. I didn’t know if I was crying from missing Joe Riddley, from worrying about Jake, from losing the car twice, from being responsible for all that money all day, or from not being able to find Harriet, but I felt a lot better afterwards.

  Then I went through Glenna’s closet and found a peasant blouse and skirt she’d bought on a missions trip to Guatemala. The skirt had an elastic waist, so although it brushed my toes, it would work if I didn’t breathe or eat.

  I wasn’t very hungry anyway, and I knew Glenna wouldn’t be. Quickly I put together a couple of thick sandwiches from fresh beefsteak tomatoes, lettuce, a Vidalia onion I found in the fridge, and slices of Glenna’s homemade sourdough bread. I set the table on the sunporch, because the yard glowed in the setting sun.

  As we ate, I told Glenna about our trip out to Ricky’s. “I’m going to call the acting school tomorrow to see if Harriet’s there,” I concluded. “If she’s not, I’m going to leave this up to Lewis until Jake’s home. We’ve got enough to do just worrying about him.” I noticed her empty plate. “Do you want another sandwich?” I asked.

  “No, but that reminds me!” Glenna jumped up and went to the kitchen. “I have to feed the sourdough tonight. Tomorrow one of us needs to start the bread.”

  “Better you than me,” I called in to her. “My family still calls any baking I do ‘Mama’s Unique Experiences.’”

  She came back with bowls of ice cream. As she sat down, she reached over to pat my hand. “You do other things, Clara. My mother used to talk about divine appointments—places we are put or people we meet that we’ve been given special responsibility for. I keep thinking maybe Harriet is your divine appointment.”

  “If so, she missed it. There’s plenty for you and me to do right now between the hospital and here. Harriet is other people’s problem, and it’s time Dee reported her missing—whether William likes it or not. I’m ready to take the money back out there and tell them so.”

  “You still have the money?” Startled, Glenna looked anxiously around the sunporch as if she thought I’d left it lying around.

  “It’s safe enough. I stuck it in the bottom drawer of my dresser so I could shower.” I didn’t add that it had been sending out signals ever since. “I’ve also been thinking about what Ricky said, about Harriet inheriting from her grandmother. I ought to tell Dee that a part of the inheritance has turned up behind a sofa—and let her have it for safekeeping.”

  Glenna finished her ice cream and folded her napkin. “Then let’s leave right now and stop by there on our way back to the hospital.”

  In the Sykes’s yard, a man was taking plants from a wheelbarrow. Only a red pickup sat in the driveway. “Do you want to come with me?” I asked Glenna.

  “No, I’ll wait here,” she said contentedly, leaving the motor and the air conditioner running. “Tell William I said hello.” She was smart. Even though it was nearly dusk, heat settled on my shoulders like an unwanted blanket.

  That man sure knew his plants. His grass was healthy and thick underfoot, and as I got near him, I found myself asking without thinking, “What is that marvelous smell? I’m in the nursery business, but I don’t recognize that scent.”

  When he stood erect, he was not much taller than I—and nowhere nearly as pretty as his wife. His ruddy face was scarred from acne, his red hair was thin, and his eyelashes were a light yellow above bright green eyes. Nobody would take him for the owner of that big house, either. For gardening, he wore a faded Crimson Tide T-shirt with khaki cutoffs, and dilapidated Top-Siders without socks.

  If he was startled by a strange woman coming out of the dusk to ask about his flowers, he didn’t show it. “Nicotiana,” he told me, reaching across gaillardia and blue fringed daisies to break off a tubular flower with a flared mouth. “Pretty, isn’t it—like a trumpet?”

  I’d heard of that branch of the tobacco family, but we’d never carried it. Joe Riddley said he didn’t think a magistrate ought to peddle tobacco in any form whatsoever. I hadn’t realized it smelled so good, either. I held it to my nose and could have stood there smelling it all night.

  He broke off another, gave it a sniff, then tossed it away. “Comes in white, purple, and yellow, too, but I like the red best myself.”

  I took one last smell and dropped my hand. “I was here earlier and didn’t smell a thing. I wonder how I could have missed it.”

  “It’s nocturnal. Only sends out scent at night.”

  So far he had shown no curiosity at all about why I was there. Maybe he had women stopping by all the time to ask about his flowers. With that yard, I could see why.

  It was time for this woman, however, to get down to business—and I didn’t mean nursery business.

  When I explained who I was, he wiped his right hand across his shirt and held it out. “Oh, yeah. Dee said you came by looking for Harriet. Work down at that teen center or something, don’t you?”

  “I was volunteering down there this morning and found some things of Harriet’s.”

  “Well, I’m real sorry Dee’s not here right now. She’s following Julie and her girlfriend down to the Gulf. I can’t see the point of taking two cars, myself—if Julie smashes up, Dee will either crash or watch it all happen—but she wouldn’t let Julie drive alone, and Julie pitched a fit about needing a car down there for the week. I’d guess Dee won’t be back until late, but I’m about finished out here. Would you like to come in for a drink or something?” He took a plastic Alabama cup from one corner of the wheelbarrow, and I realized that not all the sweetness on the night air was nicotiana. Bourbon was also making a contribution.

  “No, thanks. I just came—” I started to hand him the envelope, but he went right on talking. I guessed he might be a bit lonely.

  “I’m sorry Dee isn’t here.” he repeated, taking a big swig from his cup. “She said she told you Harriet’s probably staying with a friend down near the airport.”

  “But she isn’t,” I told him firmly.

  Now I had his attention. “How do you know?”

  “I went out there this afternoon. Ricky hasn’t seen her. You need to call the police and report her missing.”

  “I don’t think we’re quite ready for that yet.” He gave a short laugh that was more like a bark. “Harriet’s just a rebellious kid who’s taken off for the summer. If she gets into a little trouble, it serves her right after all she’s put Dee through. But she’s pretty streetwise. I expect she’s down at the beach having the time of her life.”

  “How would she support herself?”

  “Oh, Harriet’s not lazy. She could get a job all right, and she’s a hard worker when she wants to be. She’s probably lied about her age and is slinging hamburgers somewhere, or taking orders for pizza.” He took another swig from his cup.

  It made sense. I wondered why I hadn’t thought of that myself.

  William gave a hoarse whiskey chuckle. “She’s sure not taking any back talk, though. Not Harriet.” He emptied his cup and thrust his scarred face toward mine. “You may not know this,” he confided, “but Harriet’s mother took off too, years ago. Dee would kill me for telling you, but who cares? Myrna’s no relation of ours. Left poor old Frank holding the baby when Harriet was two, and hared down to New Orleans—where the living is easy and so are the women.” He winked.

  Because of what Ricky had said, I couldn’t help asking, “Have you heard from Myrna recently?”

  He stepped back and growled, “What that supposed to mean? Why should I ha
ve heard from that slut? She means nothing to me.”

  Up to then I could have given him the money with an easy conscience. He was no drunker than a lot of men on Friday night with their wives away. But alcohol had lowered his manners as well as his inhibitions. Whatever Myrna was, she was family, and where he and I both come from, family matters. You might not like them—or even be nice to them in private—but you don’t disown them to strangers. I wasn’t about to hand him Harriet’s three thousand dollars. “Please tell Dee I came back, and that I think you ought to call the police.” I headed back toward the car.

  He walked along beside me. When we got near the car, Glenna rolled down her window and called, “Hello, William!”

  “Why, hello, Mrs. Crane! Are you with her?”

  “She’s with me. This is Jake’s sister, MacLaren,” Glenna told him.

  He leaned into her window and said sincerely, “I sure was sorry to hear about Jake. How’s he doing?” While Glenna told him, I got in the car.

  “You didn’t give him the money?” she asked as we drove away. She wasn’t criticizing, just asking.

  I shook my head. “He’s had just a tad too much to drink. I decided to wait.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry to see William drinking. He was such a nice boy. Used to help his grandmother and me with all sorts of projects. Nora, his mother, prefers to give money and attend social functions, but Lou Ella always likes to get right down and do a thing. When he was young, William used to help us with rummage sales, children’s carnivals, and events for people we tutored. He was such a fine young man—devoted to his grandmother.” She made a left turn before adding, “Lou Ella and I go way back. We’ve worked in organizations together since I was a bride. She’s slowing down, though. Doesn’t get out much except to church. The last thing I remember her doing was play beside me in the bell choir, the night the Olympic torch came to Jasmine Hill…” Her voice petered out.

  I knew exactly what she was thinking. Last Memorial Day, Joe Riddley and I spent the weekend with Jake and Glenna. Jake had Glenna pack a picnic, and he took us all up to Jasmine Hill, which is a marvelous park just north of town full of authentic reproductions of classical Greek sculpture. As the four of us wandered among the spring flowers, columns, and statues of that lovely garden, Jake kept pestering everybody nearly to death by asking again and again, “Don’t you feel just exactly like you’re back in ancient Greece?”

  Finally Joe Riddley said in exasperation, “Jake, I never was in ancient Greece.”

  At the look on Jake’s face, Glenna and I laughed so hard we cried.

  We cried on our way to the hospital, too. That’s how worry and grieving wear you out. Not just by day-after-day exhaustion, but by sudden catches and claws at memory just when you’ve managed to forget.

  Twelve

  At the window of my house…I

  noticed among the young men, a

  youth who lacked judgment.

  Proverbs 7:6-7

  Jake was worn out from trying to act brave about his upcoming surgery, so I was ready to go home early. Glenna insisted on staying at the hospital all night, but first she wanted to put on something she’d doze in more comfortably. I didn’t try to convince her to stay home. I’d have done the same for Joe Riddley.

  As we drove up to the house, she remarked, “It’s just as well my car won’t be here. Jake had my keys on his ring, too, and he may well have left something in his glove compartment with our address on it.” Realizing what she’d said, she gave me a stricken look. “Oh, Clara, they’ll have his house keys, too. Why didn’t we think of that before?”

  “Don’t worry,” I told her a lot more firmly than I felt. “The doors both have chains, and I’ll put chairs under the knobs. I’ll be fine.” I hoped it was true.

  We flipped on more lights than two women needed, but it made us feel better. Then Glenna shut all the blinds and insisted that we hide the money right away. “We won’t want to fool with going by the bank in the morning, and I don’t want to be worried about it.”

  Hiding money is a lot harder than it sounds. Every hiding place one of us found looked to the other like the first place any halfway intelligent burglar would look. Finally, I spied Glenna’s ironing basket under the sewing machine. Jake always jokes that putting something in that ironing basket is like flushing it down the toilet. In self-defense, he started ironing most of his own clothes the second year they were married. Mama was scandalized, but I was filled with admiration for Glenna.

  In the bottom of the basket I found Jake’s old khaki fishing pants. Shoving the envelope down one leg, I crumpled the pants up a bit and shoved them under all the skirts, blouses, and tablecloths Glenna planned to get around to ironing one day.

  When the phone rang, Glenna answered. “Hey, Joe Riddley!…Yes, he’ll have it first thing tomorrow morning. The doctor is real optimistic…Aren’t you sweet! And Clara has been so much help to us.”

  He asked a question, and because Glenna could not lie, she admitted, “Well, I’ve been there most of the day, but Clara was out a few times trying to track somebody down.”

  I managed to pinch her before she told him the somebody was a missing child, but that bloodhound nose of his had already scented trouble.

  “Put her on,” he growled. “Who were you trying to track down, Little Bit?”

  “Just somebody whose things I found this morning, and wanted to return.”

  “What kind of things?”

  It was no use lying. He always could tell. “Papers and some money.”

  He was onto me like a mosquito onto a bare midriff. “A check?”

  “Well, no, it was cash.” I frowned at Glenna, who smiled apologetically.

  “How much?”

  “Oh, three thousand dollars. Listen, honey, I need to say good-bye to Glenna before she leaves for the night.”

  It didn’t work. He yelled so loud I had to hold the phone as far away as I could reach, and he was still clear as a bell. “You been carrying around three thousand dollars? After you’d already been robbed once? Of all the tomfool things! How long did it take you to find the owner?”

  He’d find out eventually. “I haven’t yet, but don’t worry. I’m taking the money to her family tomorrow, and I’ve found a real good hiding place.”

  When I told him where it was, he snorted. “Well, Little Bit, let’s just hope you don’t get a burglar who needs fishing pants.”

  It was barely nine o’clock, but after Glenna left, I decided to go straight to bed. It seemed like a year since I’d arrived the night before. Had I really never heard of Harriet Lawson then?

  Almost as soon as my head touched the pillow, I was asleep.

  The brown-haired toddler clung to the gate and shook it with all her might, but the latch held firm. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

  The slight figure on the sidewalk, little more than a child herself, scarcely checked her step. She wasn’t going back. No way! No more diapers, no more sticky, messy feedings. No more crying all night.

  She gave herself a shake of relief and determination and strode off down the hill, the child’s wails propelling her faster and faster toward the bus stop. Reaching into her duffel bag, she put on earphones and tuned in her private music, loud. When the bus arrived, she climbed aboard without a backward look.

  Still the brown-haired toddler clung to the gate. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

  I woke gasping, bathed in sweat, my heart pounding so hard I both heard and felt it in my ears. The dream had been so real that the baby’s wails still echoed in my head.

  I knew I wouldn’t go right back to sleep, so I turned on the bedside lamp and took out a mystery novel I’d bought to read during all those long free evenings I’d expected to have in Albuquerque. I hoped it wouldn’t be too scary, for in spite of what I’d told Glenna, I felt just a tad uneasy.

  Flipping on the radio, I twirled the dial until I found a classical station to wrap me in a cocoon of Chopin. I managed to concentrate pretty well. Afte
r I’d read a bit, though, I got hot. I’d forgotten to turn down the thermostat out in the hall.

  Jake and Glenna are more concerned with conserving energy than with being comfortable, so in the summer they keep their air conditioner far too high. When I’m there, I often creep out at night to turn it back a few degrees so I can sleep. I usually put it back before they wake up. And if you think that’s dirty, you need to know that at my house, Jake lowers the thermostat in winter. He’s even been known to go home without turning it back up, so Joe Riddley and I go around for several days shivering and thinking we are coming down with something before we figure out what’s the matter.

  I was halfway across my room headed for the hall when, above the music, I heard a small crash. I froze and listened intently. It wasn’t followed by anything. “Must have been an unbalanced dish in the drain,” I told myself firmly, opening the bedroom door.

  “Scritch, scritch, scritch.” The noise was so soft I could almost be imagining it.

  I drew back. If it was mice, they could carry away the entire kitchen so long as they didn’t come my way.

  Then the noise changed to a soft “chunk, chunk, chunk.”

  That must be a whopping big mouse.

  Nobody has ever given me a medal for bravery, and I loathe stories in which a supposedly intelligent heroine walks straight into danger. I was certain, however, that we were being visited by a rodent of some kind. It seemed too slight for a burglar. Besides, Glenna and Jake have an open chimney, and from time to time squirrels fall down. I expected to find one feasting on tomato peelings in the wastebasket.

  “It can’t be a person,” I reassured myself aloud. “This house has dead bolts and burglar bars, and I’ve wedged a chair under each outside doorknob. Nobody could get in.”

  The den was so dark, though, that I decided to take the longer way through the living and dining rooms, where streetlights glimmered through the windows. I was so busy creeping that I failed to notice a dining room chair Glenna had pulled out earlier to set her purse on. I ran straight into the chair, toppling it with a crash.