Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

by Joyce Magnin

  “I know, I know,” Henry said. “It’s not about inspiration. It’s about perspiration. But I can’t think of a single word, and the book is due to the editor in one month. Why is it that every time I write a new book I completely forget how to do it?”

  Humphrey yowled.

  “Want to go for a walk?”

  Humphrey didn’t budge. “Humphrey, old man,” Henry said, “I know it’s early and you’d rather sleep, but I think the early morning air might do me some good.”

  The dog still did not move.

  “Okay, you win.” Henry stared at the screen and read the words out loud. “ ‘Cash never could shoot straight. He’d rather sling words than bullets.’ “ Henry hung his head. “Oh, for crying out loud, it’s awful.”

  Humphrey hid his face under his ears.

  “I know. I know. But what can I do? I have to at least turn in the manuscript. But I wanted it to be good, and this” — he pushed the keyboard away —“is garbage.”

  Prudence walked into Henry’s study, carrying a cup of coffee and yawning. “Henry Beamer. If you toss one more keyboard on the floor and break it I’ll —”

  “Pru, I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated. I lost Cash’s motivation for returning to Turtle Creek. There’s nothing for him. He lost everything. Why should he go back?”

  “Give him a reason. It’s fiction, honey, make it up. You have the power.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “ ‘He’d rather sling words …'? Henry, did you really write that?”

  Henry tried to shield the screen. “I know. It’s awful.”

  “Everybody has a reason to go home. You need to figure that out for Cash. There has to be something for him in Turtle Creek.”

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing works.”

  “You’ll get it.” Prudence patted his shoulder. “Any word from your mother yesterday?”

  “No, not at all. Maybe I’ll call her.”

  “Later. Spend some more time with Cash. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

  After breakfast Harriet found the concierge at his desk. He was an older gentleman, older than Harriet — and that made her smile. So far she had been meeting mostly young people, but it was a pleasure to meet someone from her generation.

  “Can I help you?” the concierge said.

  “I certainly hope so. I am in terrible need of a pair of sneakers. Can you point me in the direction of a shoe store? I could check my Droid, but it’s hard to tell a store from just its name.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean. Those newfangled contraptions are a good thing I suppose, but sometimes a person just needs a personal recommendation.”

  “You are so right, even though so far Amelia hasn’t steered me wrong.”

  “Is she your daughter?”

  Harriet smiled and felt her eyes crinkle at the corners. “No, no, she’s my GPS. I named her that.”

  “Oh, oh, of course. Well, let me tell you now there’s a store at Loehmann’s Plaza. About a five-minute drive. It’s called the Pic’n Pay — good selection, good prices.”

  “Oh, I don’t have a car. Can I take a bus there?”

  “Certainly, just grab the local right out in front of the hotel and tell the driver you want to go to the Pic’n Pay. He’ll get you there.”

  “Pic’n Pay. Sounds good.”

  Before going outside Harriet opened her suitcase and found the rain poncho she had packed just in case. She slipped the bright yellow poncho over her head and secured the hood with a snap. She waited outside under the cover of the hotel portico. The poncho only covered her down to her knees but that was good enough. The rain still fell hard, but she kind of liked it, even though she thought she must look like a big yellow duck waddling down the street. She liked the sound, the smell, the rush of people on their way to heaven knows where. She thought about buying an umbrella, but it would just be one more thing to pack or carry, and she had all she could handle. And she only had to wait a few minutes before the bus pulled up. Harriet stepped on and bounced her suitcase up the steps. “Could you let me off at the Loehmann’s Plaza stop,” she said.

  “Third stop,” the driver said. “Third stop.”

  Harriet plopped down next to a very wet man wearing a pale blue jacket. He had perfectly round glasses, a bald head, and seemed to be reading a newspaper.

  “Morning,” Harriet said.

  The man flicked his paper.

  “Okay, then. I won’t disturb you.”

  Three stops later Harriet found herself on the street looking around for the Pic’n Pay. She didn’t see it. Oh dear. Where was it? It was supposed to be right here. She started down the street dodging puddles and drops the best she could until she remembered that Amelia could probably help. She was getting better and quicker at working the GPS. The more she did it the easier it became.

  A few seconds later Harriet had the exact location of the shoe store. It was only two blocks away. One left turn and a quick right and she was there. She set off, with a determined stride sticking close to the buildings to avoid being splashed by passing vehicles. She found the store and stared at the CLOSED sign.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” she said. “Of course. Stores don’t open until ten o’clock most of the time.” She spied a coffee shop across the street, and to get out of the rain and warm up, Harriet headed for the shop. It was a place called Chelsee’s Coffee Shop with a blue and white striped awning over the storefront in a picturesque row of red brick buildings.

  Harriet pulled open the door, and the aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted past her. She loved the smell of coffee. She slipped off the poncho and hung it on a coatrack with five or six other rain coats and slickers. She wished she’d thought to bring galoshes as well. She saw a seat at a small table near the window. A woman wearing a flowery apron indicated that she should choose any seat. It was a good seat with a view of the restaurant and the street. Harriet watched the rain splatter on the sidewalk. It seemed to be coming down in droves now. The drops pummeled the street and obscured her view.

  She glanced around the small shop. It was busy but not what she would call crowded. She saw young people, older people, and one very old man sitting by himself with a book and a pot of tea on his table. He wore a long braid that reminded Harriet of a braided horse’s tail.

  “Welcome to Chelsee’s,” said the woman in the flowery apron. “I’m Chelsee.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet said. “So this is your place?”

  “Lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “It’s very sweet.”

  “What can I get for you?” Chelsee asked. “We have some really nice blueberry muffins and rhubarb scones.”

  “Oh, rhubarb scones? I never heard of such a thing. Yes. Bring me a rhubarb scone and a cup of coffee. I’ve been dying for a good cup.”

  “We brew the best. All free trade. All delicious.”

  “Thank you. And would you happen to know when the Pic’n Pay opens?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  The woman walked away and Harriet couldn’t help but make eye contact with the old man with the tea. She waved. He waved. And the next thing she knew, he was sitting at her table.

  “Goodness,” Harriet said. “I —”

  “Did you want to be alone?”

  “No. Well, not exactly. I was going to write in my journal. But I’ll talk to you.”

  The man reached his hand across the table. “David Prancing Elk.”

  Harriet came extremely close to letting go a laugh but instead she only said, “Really?”

  David Prancing Elk smiled. “Yes. I’m a member of the Cherokee Indian Nation.”

  “No kidding?” Harriet could not hide her exuberance. Her heart did a little flip-flop. “I … I never met a real live Indian before — sorry, Native American.”

  “No problem. I don’t remember seeing you in Chelsee’s before.”

  “First time here. First time in North Carolina. I’m traveling to California. Just passing th
rough as they say.”

  David looked into Harriet’s eyes. He was attractive with a long nose and dark brown eyes, almost the color of the distressed wood tables in the café. “Alone? You’re traveling alone?”

  Harriet smiled. She didn’t know how to answer. So far she had only met good people, but she could never know for sure. And right now she had no reason to fear David Prancing Elk, but still she answered with caution. “Not exactly. My son is with me.”

  “Oh, is he here? In the shop?”

  Harriet shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

  Chelsee returned with Harriet’s scone and coffee. “Hey, David,” she said, placing the plate and coffee on Harriet’s table. “You always spot the newbies.”

  “Yes. But I think my new friend here is a little nervous about meeting a real live Indian.”

  Chelsee laughed. “Don’t let David worry you. He’s a huggy bear. One of the truly nice guys left in this world.”

  A wave of relief washed over Harriet, even as a huge clap of thunder shook the tiny café and startled her. For the next hour she and David talked about everything from books to politics to stars.

  “My Max and I used to venture out — sometimes in the wee hours of the morning — and hunt for stars. ‘Course we only stayed in the backyard, but we had a good view.”

  “If you’re heading west and want to see some stars,” David said, “you might want to stop at Maggie Valley.”

  “Maggie Valley. That sounds so nice. Is it in North Carolina?”

  David Prancing Elk nodded. “Yes. In the Smoky Mountains.”

  “Smoky Mountains? Oh dear, I hadn’t thought about needing to cross mountains.”

  David smiled again and then sipped his tea. “Best place I know to see stars.”

  “I wonder why it’s called Maggie Valley. I mean was there a real Maggie at one time?”

  “Yes,” David said, “it was named for the daughter of Maggie Valley’s first postmaster in 1890.”

  “It is a sweet place,” Chelsee said. “Lots of quaint shops, and the Great Smoky Mountains are something to behold.”

  Harriet glanced out the window at a little past 10:30. The rain had stopped and the sun was beginning to peek out from behind swift-moving gray clouds.

  “Then that’s my next stop. I hope I can get there from here.” She looked David Prancing Elk in the eye. “But, oh, I was heading for Gatlinburg, Tennessee. There’s … something I want to see there.”

  “Gatlinburg is just on the other side of the mountains,” David said. “The Cherokee people will get there. No problem.”

  “They will? That’s terribly nice of them.”

  “Just program your GPS and set off,” David said. “I’m sure your son can help you.”

  Harriet smiled. “To be honest, my son’s in California, Grass Valley — speaking of valleys — and I’m traveling by bus. Alone.”

  “Greyhound? I’m sure there’s a route close by.”

  “No, not Greyhound, just plain old local buses and a train now and again, and I suspect whatever means of transportation I can find.”

  David slapped his knee. “Harriet Beamer, I don’t believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman crossing the country by local transportation. Why in the world are you taking on such an adventure?”

  “You might say I’m taking the long way home.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought I’d like to see the country first, and this seemed like the right time.”

  “I’ve traveled all over this country. It is beautiful. We are so blessed to live here.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet,” Harriet said.

  David Prancing Elk took Harriet’s hands in his and looked into her eyes. “And speaking of being blessed, may I leave you with a Cherokee prayer before you leave?”

  “Oh my, yes,” Harriet said. “I think it would be an honor.”

  David Prancing Elk took both her hands and said, “May the warm winds of heaven blow gently on your house. May the Great Spirit bless all who enter there. May your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows. And may the rainbow always touch your shoulder.”

  Harriet smiled and pushed damp hair out of her eyes. “Thank you, David Prancing Elk. I don’t think I will ever forget you.”

  Chapter 11

  AFTER A SURPRISINGLY QUICK STOP AT THE PIC’N PAY, Harriet left wearing a pair of bright red Converse high-tops. She thought they were just magnificent and made her feel young and hip. The rain had stopped, and Harriet shoved her poncho into the suitcase. The sun now shone bright and steam rose from the black asphalt street. She boarded the local bus near the Wake Forest Medical Center. Once again she made certain the driver knew her destination. For some reason Harriet still felt concerned that she would miss her stop.

  “I’m on my way to the mall,” Harriet said. “The Hanes Mall.”

  “Second stop,” the driver said.

  “Oh, thank you very much.”

  Harriet sat near the front of the bus next to a woman who appeared to be about the same age, wearing odd-shaped black glasses that came to a point and a red scarf around her neck. She didn’t seem friendly — not one iota, in Harriet’s estimation, as the woman stared at Harriet’s feet. So Harriet decided to use the fourteen-minute drive to update her journal to Max.

  She wrote about meeting David Prancing Elk and what a joy it was to eat scones and drink coffee at Chelsee’s Café. She wrote,

  Oh, Max, I met an Indian. A real live Indian named David Prancing Elk. He’s a full-blooded Cherokee. He was spectacular and kind and has sent me on my new journey to Maggie Valley. I can’t wait to get there. I love having new adventures and —

  She stopped writing and gazed out the window —

  speaking of adventures, I left a hefty tip for a ballerina waitress so she can go to Spain. It felt good to do that, Max. I mean, was that really me? I know you’d never approve but it warmed my heart.

  The woman next to her sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Harriet said.

  The woman only made a noise and turned toward the window.

  Harriet returned to her letter.

  David said I would be able to see a million stars in just one inch of sky. And he said I’d even see shooting stars this time of year. Can you imagine it, Max, a waterfall of shooting stars — that’s what David said.

  I have met so many people. Some nice and some either not so nice or with troubles. I wish I could help them all.

  Twelve minutes later Harriet climbed off the bus near the mall. A spare pair of jeans was her first order of business. The mall was pretty typical. This one, even though it was in North Carolina, could have been in any state.

  After a quick check at the directory board, Harriet made her way to the Gap, where she picked out a pair of jeans that fit well but were a tiny bit snug around the waist. She hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision but elastic waistbands were not an option at the Gap.

  Farther down the mall Harriet sat on a comfortable green stool and retied her Chuck Taylors. That was when she saw she was wearing a pair of knee-high stockings with more runs in them than Max had after eating refried beans long after their prime. She went into the nearby Lady Foot Locker shop.

  “Um, excuse me,” Harriet said, trying to get the salesgirl’s attention, but she seemed more concerned with whatever or whoever she was texting at the moment.

  “Excuse me,” Harriet said a little louder. “But could you help me, please?”

  The girl wearing a black and white striped referee’s shirt looked up. Harriet did not appreciate the smirk. “Just a moment.” She went back to her phone.

  “Now listen,” Harriet said, hopping on one foot toward the girl, “I am a paying customer. Your boyfriend or whoever can wait. I need a pair of socks to wear with my sneakers. Does this store carry socks?”

  The girl smashed a few buttons, which Harriet was certain spelled something malicious about her, closed her phone, and left it on the counter.

  “Thank you,” Harriet said
. “I have to catch another bus in less than an hour.”

  “Uh-huh,” the girl said and handed her a bag of white crew socks. “These okay?”

  Harriet took the socks and hopped back to her seat. She tried on the socks. She liked them well enough and slipped her sneakers back on and tied them with nice neat bows. Perfect.

  An hour later Harriet emerged from the mall with her new clothes and a set of salt and pepper shakers she picked up at Williams-Sonoma. They weren’t exactly souvenirs, but she liked the crank-operated set with a front-loading chute. They would remind her of Winston-Salem. And more importantly she could say she got them herself.

  She jammed her new jeans and the bag of socks into the suitcase and set off for the bus stop. But she was too late. She missed her connection. Another was not arriving for an hour. She felt disappointed for a few seconds and then decided to use the time to find a place to ship the shakers. Amelia pointed straightaway to the UPS store in the mall. So off she went, dragging her suitcase with her tote on her shoulder back to the mall. She sent her shakers on to Henry and Prudence.

  After snagging a Cinnabon she headed back to the bus stop.

  And there she sat on a bench, waiting for the bus, eating a Cinnabon with a plastic fork, and looking forward to what the rest of the day might hold — at least until she finished her treat and consulted with Amelia. She checked the directions list and discovered she would soon need to cross into the next county — that was always difficult on public transit. According to Amelia and the bus schedule she held, this bus would only take her so far and she needed to travel into Catawba County. Thanks to her next bus driver Harriet learned that the Greenway Public Transit system would take her clear to Hickory, North Carolina, where she could spend the night.

  Henry had finally started to feel like a writer again. He did as Prudence suggested and took a long walk with Cash and Humphrey to talk things over. Along the way he discovered that Cash was unwilling to go home until he was certain his family — what was left of it — really needed him … and forgave him. Henry thought you could never really be too sure about forgiveness, not right away.