Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

by Joyce Magnin

  After a conversation with a young man behind the ticket counter, Harriet scheduled her next stop — Dodge City, Kansas. Sure, it was further south than she wanted, but the ticket person had said, “Ever been to Dodge City?”

  “You mean as in Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and all those famous cowboys? I have cowboy salt and pepper shakers; one set’s the shape of a boot. The salt and pepper comes out the toes.”

  “Yep. That’s what I’m meanin'. You could go there for a day or two. Maybe see the sights and then get back on the train and be on your way to Grass Valley once again.”

  “Well, it sounds wonderful, young man.”

  “Should I make it for Dodge City?”

  “Yep, Dodge City here I come.” Of course Harriet had no idea that going to Dodge City would put her off course.

  The young man, whose name tag read PHILIP, smiled. “You have a little bit of a wait. The train doesn’t leave until 10:45 tonight. It gets into Dodge at 5:25 tomorrow morning.”

  “What?” Harriet said. “But, that means I’ll be spending the night on the train.”

  “Well, sure. That’s not a problem is it? The trains are quite comfortable.”

  “Oh, I know. But it’s just that … well, I guess that will be okay.” Harriet pulled her seeing glasses off and slipped on her cheaters to get a better look at the ticket. “It does say the train arrives in Dodge at 5:25 in the morning.” Harriet felt her heart race just a little. “But, no matter. I wanted to see the country. I wanted an adventure.”

  “Good for you,” Philip said. “You can go see some sights around town or get something to eat. Be back at the platform by 10:30.”

  Harriet glanced at one of the clocks in the station. She had nearly seven hours to wait. And that sounded fine — time enough to call Martha or read her new book or see some sights or sit and do nothing.

  “Thank you, Philip.”

  “You’re welcome. They call KC the city of fountains. You could take a tour.”

  “Fountains?”

  “Yep, there are over two hundred fountains in Kansas City. A walking tour might be nice.”

  Harriet looked at the young man. “A walking tour of fountains? Well, who doesn’t like a good fountain?”

  She flung her foxtail across her shoulders. “I’m off to see the fountains.”

  Henry watched the FedEx driver pull up out front of the house.

  “Oh no, more shakers.”

  The driver hopped out of the truck carrying three small packages.

  “It’d be easier if she just combined these,” she said.

  “That’s my mom.”

  Henry signed for the boxes, and this time instead of just putting them in the garage with the others, he sat down on the front porch and opened them. “You know, Humphrey, I never did get what Mom sees in these things.”

  Humphrey let go a low grumbly growl and flopped near Henry.

  Henry removed a set of shakers shaped like teepees, a set of kissing Indians, and a set emblazoned with the words BLUE RIDGE PARKWAY on them.

  “Look,” Henry said showing the set to Humphrey. “She’s been on the Blue Ridge Parkway, which means she had to cross the Smoky Mountains. How in the world did she manage that? I mean she is seventy-two years old. Okay, not ancient but still.”

  Henry examined the next box. Instead of being addressed to himself or Prudence, it was addressed to “Harriet Beamer in care of Henry Beamer.” “That’s odd,” Henry said. “I guess I shouldn’t open it but —” He couldn’t resist and discovered not only a set of shakers shaped like Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, but he also found something he was not expecting — a baby bib with a picture of the Smoky Mountains that read, “My Nana Climbed a Mountain for Me.”

  His heart raced and then he let go a long sigh. “Mom. This is —”

  But he couldn’t really think of anything to say except, “I can’t be angry, Humphrey. It’s her business. I shouldn’t have opened it.”

  Henry held the small yellow bib. “Wishful thinking, I suppose … Nana. For both of us.”

  Although she might have had some trepidation about sleeping on the train, Harriet’s concerns were quickly gone when she saw her room — or more accurately her roomette. It was lovely in her opinion, even if it was a bit cramped. But what could you expect on a train?

  Harriet discovered quickly how to make the two facing seats into one bed. There was an overhead berth as well, but Harriet liked the lower option better.

  “Not climbing up there,” she said looking at herself in the small mirror on the closet door. “You look a fright.”

  But it was late and after touring the fountains of Kansas City for most of the day she figured she deserved to look a little disheveled.

  Harriet settled in, took a shower — an experience she would most certainly remember. Her first traveling shower experience. It wasn’t too bad. The water was just barely hot enough but still it soothed her tired muscles. She changed into her PJs and by then it was nearly 11:30. Late just about everywhere. She thought about calling Martha knowing she’d more than likely be awake but that night she thought it might be better to sleep considering how early she would need to rise the next morning.

  So she set her alarm on her phone for 4:30 in the morning — giving herself plenty of time to get ready for the day ahead. After making her bed up with sheets and a blue blanket and finding the pillow — which was stuffed into the closet — she lay down for what she hoped would be a peaceful sleep, and that’s when it struck — insomnia or something close. She closed her eyes. They popped back open. The motion of the train — which she hoped would lull her to sleep was troublesome. Every few seconds it seemed to lurch side to side instead of rocking gently.

  “Oh dear, I really need to sleep. Please, Jesus, help me to sleep so I can have energy for tomorrow.”

  Harriet stayed awake for the next several minutes. It was like she just could not shut her brain off. She saw flashes of salt and pepper shakers, snakes being lifted toward heaven, trees whizzing past at breakneck speed, numerous cups of coffee and stars. It was like the trip came rushing back in one fell swoop. She shook her head. “Sleep, Harriet. Just go to sleep.”

  A few hours later she heard the music of her alarm. Shaking herself from what turned out to be a deep sleep, and searching her brain to remember that she had spent the night on a train, she grabbed her phone, pulled out the charger, and swiped the alarm off.

  The Dodge City Amtrak Station was nothing like any other train station she had visited. It was more of a stop than a station and, according to a sign Harriet read, was a former two-story brick Santa Fe Railway depot built in 1898. Now it was covered with rust-color stucco and had light bumpy bricks around the foundation. The platform was the same rust color, and there was no one there to help with bags or give out information. “Kind of like a ghost station,” Harriet said to no one. “Especially so early in the morning. Guess folks in town are not what you would call early risers.”

  She felt a little anxious standing on the platform. It was lit well enough, but the sounds of crickets and what she thought could have been a coyote’s howl unnerved her.

  Fortunately, Amelia was able to map several restaurants nearby, and nearly all right on Wyatt Earp Boulevard. She pulled up the handle of her suitcase, adjusted her tote so it was as comfortable as possible, but frankly, Harriet’s shoulders were beginning to complain. And she set off in the direction of Kate’s Coffee House.

  “Are you going to work all night?” Prudence said as she entered Henry’s office. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  Henry stretched and leaned back in his chair. “No. I guess this is as good as any place to stop.”

  “Any word from Mom?”

  “In a way.” Henry stood and pushed his chair toward the desk. Humphrey whimpered. “More salt and pepper shakers arrived.” He took a breath and was just about to tell her about the bib when he thought better of it. “She picked them up in the Smoky Mountains.” He took Prudence’s hand, an
d they walked to the kitchen.

  “You know,” Henry said. “I kind of admire her. I’ve never seen the Smoky Mountains or ridden in a sidecar or visited a salt-and-pepper-shaker museum.”

  Prudence chuckled as she opened a jar of strawberry jam. “Want toast?”

  “No, I’m going for ice cream.” He pulled open the freezer door. “Moose tracks.”

  “She is brave,” Prudence said, “but I’ll still feel better when she’s here — safe and sound.”

  Henry dug into the ice cream. “Have you been thinking … praying — I mean besides with me?”

  Prudence’s toast popped. “About having a baby?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sure. How can I not think about it? But every time I do, I remember and —”

  “Will you see the doctor at least?”

  Prudence slathered the bread with jam. “Okay. It can’t hurt to talk. I’ll call in the morning.”

  Henry felt a wide smile stretch across his face.

  Chapter 25

  AFTER A HEARTY BREAKFAST OF DELICIOUS COFFEE, FRUIT, A cinnamon roll, bacon, and eggs Harriet decided to walk down Wyatt Earp Boulevard and see the sights. The weather was great. Expected warm temperatures and blue skies. She found the main drag easily enough and visited several of the little shops and even managed to find three sets of shakers she could not live without. Next she found herself outside of the Dodge City Jail, watching a gunfight reenactment between a sheriff and some kind of desperado. She laughed at the jail sign that read BUILT AROUND 1868. It was little more than a concrete shack with one cell. It had bars on the door, no windows, and best of all, she was able to get a picture taken of her behind bars. She found someone who helped her text it to Henry.

  She walked further on through the town and learned some history as she passed the general store and another saloon. She learned that a good buffalo hunter could make $100 a day in the 1800s. She passed statues of famous cowboys, including Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, and was quite surprised by a stagecoach whipping past. She bought several postcards for Henry, figuring he might use them as research. By noon she was tired of walking and needed a rest — since she was still lugging her suitcase, Harriet needed to take several breaks. She found a green bench advertising a place called the Long Branch Saloon. She sat and yawned, and that was when a man about the size and stature of a beanpole plopped down next to her.

  “Never wanted to come in the first place,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Just ready to go home.” He smiled at her, and Harriet felt more at ease. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a paperback book. It was a Western from the looks of the cover — a cowboy, a horse, and enough tumbleweeds to dam the Ohio River. The man started to read and never looked Harriet’s way again.

  Harriet pulled out her Moleskine and wrote:

  Dear Max, looks like people really do enjoy Western novels. I must tell Henry.

  Next on her agenda was to figure out how she could get out of Dodge; she had seen enough. The Long Branch Saloon, which she realized was sitting right smack dab across from her in a small strip of stores, looked inviting.

  She sat at a table with a red and white gingham tablecloth and ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie. As she was eating she noticed a sign on a stage. It was old-timey writing with curlicues and flourishes. It read, MISS KITTY’s CANCAN REVIEW. FIRST SHOW — HIGH NOON.

  “That sounds like fun. I’ve never seen a cancan,” she said to her waiter.

  “Miss Kitty is pretty amazing. Show starts in less than a half hour.”

  She had just ordered a cherry Coke and French fries when a curtain opened on the stage and a group of dance-hall girls came out onto the stage, dancing what Harriet thought must be the cancan. They danced by lifting their skirts and kicking out their legs, just like Harriet had seen in the movies, nothing too provocative. There were children in the restaurant. She enjoyed the show so much she asked her waiter if there was any way she could meet the woman they introduced as Miss Kitty Bloom of Dodge City. She seemed to be the star of the show. Kitty was dressed in a period costume with black lace-up boots and a bright blue satin dress with a black bustier top that had more ruffles in it than a meringue. Her dress had puffy sleeves, and she wore a matching hat with a long black feather. Harriet thought she was spectacular and wanted to tell her. And she looked quite a bit older than the cancan saloon girls. Harriet admired that.

  Twenty minutes went past, and Harriet was about to give up on meeting Miss Kitty Bloom when she saw a woman approach her table.

  “Howdy,” she said. “I understand you wanted to meet me.”

  Well, Harriet had never been so thrilled. It was Miss Kitty Bloom standing right there in front of her.

  “I just had to tell you how much I enjoyed the show,” Harriet said. “Especially when you sang and shot the pistols in the air.”

  “Thank you,” Kitty said. “Most folks just come in here to wet their whistle. Not sure if anyone pays attention. That’s why I’m taking the show on the road.”

  “On the road?” Harriet said.

  “Yep. I’m taking me and the girls up to Pueblo … that’s in Colorado. I got an offer to do the show for fourteen nights up there. It was an offer too good to resist. Besides, I really need to get out of this armpit of a town.”

  “Oh, I think it’s rather nice. I like the whole Western thing. I saw a gunfight and got my picture taken in jail. I sent it to my son and daughter-in-law. They’ll get a kick out of it.”

  “That’s nice. Well, if there’s nothing else —”

  “No, I just wanted to make your acquaintance. I’m just gonna sit awhile and figure out my next plan of action.”

  “Plan of action?” Miss Kitty sat at Harriet’s table. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m traveling to Grass Valley, California. I stopped here on account of the nice Amtrak ticket man said it was a nice place. But now I have to find my way to Denver, Colorado.”

  “Goodness gracious, girl,” Miss Kitty said. “You got some … well, let’s say nerve.“

  “Not really. The bus drivers and train conductors do the work. I just have to find my way to them.”

  “But still —”

  That was when a waiter walked up behind Kitty. “Excuse me, but I just had to ask. Are you the woman in the video? The one who beat up the purse snatcher?”

  Harriet swallowed and nodded. “You mean that’s still making the rounds?”

  “Wait just a cotton-pickin’ minute,” Miss Kitty said. “You mean we got us a celebrity?”

  “No, no,” Harriet said, “I just did what anyone would do. I couldn’t let that hooligan steal that old woman’s purse.”

  The waiter laughed as he refilled Harriet’s water glass.

  “Well, now,” Harriet said. “She was older than me. I’m only seventy-two.”

  “You’re as young as you feel,” Miss Kitty said.

  “That’s true, but I am starting to feel a little bedraggled. It’s been a long trip. And I still have miles to go before I sleep.”

  “Robert Frost,” said Miss Kitty.

  Harriet smiled. “I don’t suppose you know anything about public transportation around here. I could take the train, but … well, I see so much of the country on the bus.”

  “Well now, I have an idea if you’re game.” Miss Kitty laughed so hard the table shook.

  “The girls and me are taking the Beeline Express now that it stops in Dodge.”

  “Beeline Express?”

  “Yep, take us clear to Pueblo. Ain’t that a stroke of good luck?”

  “Yes, yes, it is. Can anyone ride this Beeline?”

  “Sure. You interested?”

  “Well, yes, leastways I’d be heading west,” Harriet said. She liked the way Miss Kitty made eye contact. Harriet could tell she was warm and sensitive and wound up telling her the entire story. Miss Kitty stayed glued to every word.

  “Harriet,” Miss Kitty said w
hen she finished her story, “I would be honored if you rode along with me and the girls.”

  “Really. I can travel with you and the cancan dancers?”

  “Sure cancan.” She smiled. “I have one more show in about twenty minutes, and then I’m blowing this joint. Well, not until tomorrow mornin', but yeah, I’m outta here.”

  “Getting out of Dodge,” Harriet said.

  “Now there’s one I haven’t heard.” Miss Kitty winked.

  Harriet looked over at the stage. “Boy, I wish —” Before she could finish her sentence one of the dancing girls interrupted them.

  “Miss Kitty,” she said, “it’s Betty. She sprained her ankle in the last show and says she can’t go on.”

  Miss Kitty shook her head. “Geeze, okay, call the doc, and we’ll just have to do it without her.”

  “Okay, Miss Kitty.”

  Miss Kitty looked at Harriet. “What were you saying?”

  Harriet’s heart raced. “Oh, well, I was just gonna say I wish I could do what you do … up there swishing your skirts around like that.”

  “Want to do it?”

  “What? Really?”

  “Come on, I’ll hook you up with a costume. We have room in the line now. What do you say? You’ll be doing me a favor. DottyJo will teach you the steps in no time. And what you don’t know — you fake. Believe me, no one will know the difference.”

  Harriet fit into the saloon dancer outfit with no trouble at all. DottyJo zipped her right into it and then pinned a large black flower in Harriet’s hair. Her costume had a pink skirt and a bright blue bustier with ruffles. Harriet saw herself in the standing mirror. She looked like she had just stepped out of a movie set.

  DottyJo looked Harriet up and down. “You are one gorgeous dancer. Now come on, I’ll teach you the steps.”