Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

by Joyce Magnin

  “I guess I better call. Next stop.” She sighed. “Denver, Colorado.” A well of excitement burbled up inside. Denver. The mile-high city. The thought made her excited and nervous. Even the name sounded big.

  Harriet watched as several small towns whizzed past, some like images straight out of a spaghetti western, others more suburban, and still other stretches of road with nearly no houses or stores to be seen.

  The bus pulled into the Denver transit center, a long blue and white building, which doubled as a Greyhound Bus station. Harriet lingered a moment in her seat as the other passengers disembarked. There was a little bit of a stampede as though they all had connecting trains or buses to catch. And since Harriet had nowhere to go — not immediately anyway — she waited, and as it turned out she was the last to leave the bus.

  “Now where?” was Harriet’s first thought as she stood on the pavement with her tote and suitcase. It was also when she noticed the tail of one of her foxes was hanging out of the suitcase and was probably the reason she had been receiving some curious looks by passersby. She unzipped the case and stuffed the fox inside. As she looked up she noticed the looming building across the street. The Ritz Carlton Hotel.

  She checked the time, although she already knew it was around 1:30 in the afternoon. She also wondered why people always checked the time even when they already knew.

  “I am hungry,” she told herself. “I’m also tired.” She once again felt the pang of traveling alone as she talked to herself, wishing she could have brought Humphrey along. Maybe next time.

  Harriet set off across the street to the Ritz. It was a spectacular place, and Harriet was positive it was because of this hotel that we get our word “ritzy". She was also lucky to get a room since there was a convention of ophthalmologists in town.

  “Oh, my,” Harriet said to the desk clerk. “Let’s hope they don’t make a spectacle of themselves.”

  The clerk didn’t see the pun.

  Harriet laughed out loud when she passed a sign displaying information about the upcoming Ophthalmologist Eye Ball.

  Her room was nothing less than amazing in her mind. Kind of golden with yellowish walls and a golden bedspread on the queen-size bed. After the bellman showed her all the amenities — the climate control, the fancy bathroom — and opened the curtains to a grand view of the city and the snowcapped Rocky Mountains, she needed to catch her breath.

  “Oh dear,” she said, “it’s glorious. I can’t wait to tell Martha.”

  After a trip to the bathroom Harriet sat on the bed and felt a little like Cleopatra on her barge with all the gold around her. She called Martha’s number.

  “Harriet,” Martha said, “I was starting to worry about you. Are you okay?”

  Harriet could hear the concern in her friend’s voice. “Of course I am. I’ve just been a little busy. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

  “Well, tell me where you are now.”

  “Denver. I’m staying at the Ritz Carlton. Can you believe it? Me. Harriet Beamer at the Ritz.”

  They both laughed.

  “I have so much to tell you,” Harriet said. “But let me start with the snake handlers.”

  Chapter 30

  HENRY WAS WITHIN TWO WEEKS OF HIS DEADLINE. HE WAS almost finished with his story, although he also knew the book would need work, and he was glad that another set of eyes, another mind would be looking at it. Henry also knew that he must turn in the manuscript on time, not only for the sake of his editor but also for his own. He knew there had to come a time when an artist stopped his work, when he had to say, “Enough.”

  Henry was pleased that Cash was able to ask forgiveness. But not so pleased that Katherine said nothing, but merely walked away.

  Cash held his head low as Katherine walked back inside the hotel to look after her daughter, their daughter. The child he would be denied because of a moment’s indiscretion. A moment of unthinking.

  The typing was coming faster now, more intense, more focused as Henry neared the end. He could feel it now, all the emotions that rattled around inside Cash, all the feelings that told him to run, start anew, and yet every time Cash started for high ground, he turned back.

  “How can he leave them?” Henry said.

  Humphrey whined.

  Henry took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He stretched and yawned and had just settled his fingers onto the keyboard when the phone jingled. It was Harriet’s jingle.

  “Oh, Mom, I was worried sick over you. Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m a little tired, Henry. I’m in Denver, Colorado.”

  “Denver, well at least that’s a city I recognize. How do you like it?”

  “I like it just fine, dear. I’m staying at the fanciest hotel I have ever been in.”

  Henry paused. He liked the notion of his mom surrounded by luxury. “I’m glad. Mom. And I’m glad you’re almost here.”

  “Almost,” Harriet said, “but I still have plenty of miles and plenty to see.”

  “You could just take the train straight across to California from Denver,” Henry said looking at his computer screen. He moused down to a section he wanted to reread.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll check with Amelia and decide. But first I’m going to order room service. Fancy-dancy room service. I could go for a donut.”

  Henry laughed. “Mom. You should order something more healthy. But remember, room service is quite expensive.”

  “I know, dear. That’s the point. Now how are you? How’s the book? How is Prudence? Does she really know how sorry I am for butting in?”

  “It’s almost finished. I think Cash and Katherine are going to reconcile. You know, a happy ending and all, and yes, Pru knows how sorry you are, and you know what Mom?”

  “What?”

  “She’s thinking and praying. Maybe we’ll try again.”

  Harriet smiled and then let go a long sigh. “I knew she would, Son.”

  “Thanks, Mom. You know, I think that bib got us talking again.”

  “God doesn’t waste a thing, does he?”

  “I can’t wait to see you,” Henry said.

  “Now, how is Humphrey? I miss him so much. I wish he was here to share a donut with me. That is, if I can get donuts here.”

  “I bet he’d love to be with you. Crazy dog loves donuts.”

  With that Humphrey jumped up and danced his usual jig.

  “Look, he’s dancing,” Henry said. “It’s like he understands.”

  “Of course he does. Put him on.”

  “What?”

  “The phone, dear. Put Humphrey on the phone.”

  Henry held the phone to the dog’s ear.

  “Hello, Humphrey. Harriet misses you so much.”

  Humphrey’s tail wagged a mile a minute.

  “I have donuts. You want some donuts?”

  Humphrey barked.

  Henry took the phone away from Humphrey.

  “Mother, what did you tell him?”

  “Now listen, you must go straightaway and get Humphrey two glazed donuts. They must be glazed. Nothing else.”

  “Mo-om, are you kidding?”

  “I never kid about donuts. Now promise me you’ll get donuts for Humphrey.”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  “Now listen, dear. I’ll be there soon. Tell Prudence I … I love her.”

  “I will. I think we’re anxious for you to finally arrive.”

  “And you know what, Son? I am too. Oh dear, my stomach is rumbling something fierce.”

  Henry touched the End button and dropped the phone onto a pile of pages on his desk. “Donuts. That woman and her donuts.”

  That evening Harriet enjoyed a scrumptious room-service meal of steak and baked potato. The potato was rather large, and she could only eat part of it. But the steak was like butter in her mouth. She also watched a little TV and caught up on the news and weather. She was heading into some rainy skies across the West. But she rather liked that.
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  After dinner and a shower and changing into her jammies, Harriet consulted Amelia and Amtrak and, of course, Greyhound. It seemed local bus service was getting sparse. She checked the maps and decided that her best bet was to train into Provo, Utah, and from there she liked the idea of heading up to Salt Lake City. It seemed the obvious choice on account of her liking salt and pepper shakers.

  “Now I just bet I can get some nice shakers there,” she said as she tapped the Amtrak number.

  The next morning Harriet made her way to the train station via taxi. She needed to be there early as the train left at 8:05 a.m. The weather was warmish, although the sky was darkening and threatening rain. She made certain her rain poncho was in her tote bag just in case.

  Inside, the Denver station was sparse, not much in the way of artwork like Harriet had seen in other stations. And the benches reminded her of church pews. She chose a nearly empty bench and sat down to wait for the call to board. It wouldn’t be too long. Harriet had come to love the sound of the announcer telling passengers to board the trains. It made her feel so exotic, like she could be a spy. This time out she’d be riding aboard the California Zephyr. She liked the name Zephyr. It meant wind. She’d ride the wind into Utah.

  What she didn’t expect was the announcement that the train would be nearly an hour late. Apparently there was some kind of problem on the tracks. So she took the time to purchase, fill out, and mail three postcards to Martha. She knew Martha would enjoy the images of the amazing limestone rock formations she had been seeing all over Colorado. Harriet thought they were spectacular also, but Martha, being so artistic, would no doubt value them all the more. She also chose a postcard that featured the Rocky Mountains, seeing how she would be riding right through them on her way into Utah.

  But finally, at 8:45, the California Zephyr left Denver for points west, including Provo. The train was cool and comfortable. She again had a window seat and was able to enjoy the sights, mostly brush ground and telephone poles zipping past and the clackety-clack of the train wheels on track. Harriet decided to tell Max about the train.

  Dear Max, I’m on the train called the California Zephyr on my way to Provo, Utah. It was the only easy way to go, and to be honest, honey, I need a bit of the easy way right now. My body is tired now. But the good news is that once I reach Provo I can catch some local buses into Salt Lake City. I wonder if there really is a salt lake and if it’s anything like the Dead Sea. I’ll find out. Anyhoo, the train is passing through some mountains. It’s like they carved the rails right into the hills and valleys. The conductor just said we’re approaching a place called Castle Gate. He said it used to be a mining town, and Butch Cassidy held up the Pleasant Valley Coal Company here for $7000. Imagine that. I really am in the Old West, honey.

  Harriet stopped writing and looked out the window at winding mountainside, the craggy rocks on one side, the trees and shrub and brush on the other. Just a couple of days ago she was suspended a thousand feet in the air looking down, and today it was like she was a thousand feet below looking up, or at least looking out at walls of dirt and rock. She closed her eyes and dozed, but they popped open when the conductor, who was acting more like a tour guide, spoke again.

  “We are now approaching Soldier Summit,” the conductor said, “with an elevation of seven thousand feet. They say this abandoned town is where a group of Southern soldiers en route to join the Confederate Army were caught in a snowstorm in July 1861.”

  And then approximately five and three quarter hours after leaving Denver, Harriet detrained at the Provo, Utah, station. It was just about 3:30 in the afternoon. She stood on the platform with her bag at her side. At other stations she had seen taxis lined up like the train cars ready to take her wherever she needed to go. But not here. The station was nothing more than two small shelters, and only one was enclosed. She stood a minute and stretched her arms and legs. There was something about getting off a train that made her wobbly. It always took a few minutes to get her land legs back.

  The one thing Harriet did not like about her decision to bus across the country was that at times she was forced to spend the night in a place where she would rather not. But bus schedules being what they were, she had no choice but to spend the night in Provo. She could have stayed on the train all the way to Salt Lake City — but she still had a notion to bus as much as possible.

  Harriet checked Amelia for a hotel and a restaurant as usual. It seemed she was often arriving at places around dinner time and wondered if this was part of a grand scheme. She would need to walk just a short distance to University Avenue, the main drag through town where she would find the closest motel. A place called the Rest Inn. It sounded better than it looked, with a rusty red roof that seemed to be sagging in one section and chipped paint everywhere else. But she was so tired she thought she could sleep hanging on a nail.

  It was one of those motels that was really a long building of small attached rooms all on the ground level. There was a neon sign that flashed the words REST INN and had a neon bed underneath with flashing Z’s. She thought that at least was cute. A man who reminded her of Herman Munster led her to her room. She swore he was wearing a holster. That in itself made Harriet worry. He unlocked the door and let her in first. It was the smell that struck her first — musty, damp, dank, and dreary were the only adjectives she could come up with. The bed looked lumpy with a gold quilted thing on it that made Harriet wince when she felt it. She decided she would be sleeping on top of the covers that night. And sleeping quickly so she could hightail it out of there the next morning.

  Chapter 31

  AFTER SETTLING INTO HER ROOM HARRIET SET OUT FOR A late night snack. She found an open coffee shop within a few blocks. It was quaint and pretty inside and smelled of coffee mixed with the aroma of butter and toast and vanilla. She sat at a tall bistro table and ordered a latte, which arrived in a widemouthed porcelain cup. She also happily ate a cranberry scone and ordered two more to go. As she paid, she asked the young woman working the cash register, “Can you tell me where the closest bus stop is?”

  “Right outside, across the street.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet said, making a mental note for the next morning. According to Amelia, Harriet would need to take a light rail into the city after a couple of buses. The light rail was called TRAX and was kind of an above-ground subway. And that was fine.

  Harriet set off for Salt Lake City the next morning. Once again she had a window seat. The train was not crowded, and she had the entire seat to herself. She passed through downtown Provo. Very city-like with tall buildings and rows of offices. People just about everywhere. She thought it odd how the train could stop in a big town, right on top of a road. She enjoyed the sights and sounds of the train as the gates came down and the lights flashed.

  Thirteen stops later she was in the middle of Salt Lake City, not far from the Amtrak Station where she would need to catch a train to get out of Utah and into Nevada. She felt like cheering.

  The Salt Lake City train station was not much to look at in her opinion. It was very modular and reminded Harriet of a trailer home. She sat on a bench and considered her next move. She consulted Amelia, who suggested she just stay on the train right into Grass Valley, but no, Harriet was determined to take a bus into Grass Valley. Given how tired she was feeling she decided to head into Reno, Nevada, directly. So she purchased a ticket to Reno.

  “Got some time,” the ticket agent said. “About eleven hours.”

  “Oh dear, well, I’ll just see some of the sights, then.”

  But now what? Salt Lake was a huge city. Maybe she would set out to find the lake — if there really was one. She inquired at a small shop, where she purchased five sets of salt and pepper shakers and two salt crystal Christmas ornaments that she had to pack into her suitcase since it was too late to FedEx anything.

  As it turned out a salt lake did exist, but it was too far to travel to and Harriet was still feeling a trifle under the weather. Although the w
eather in Salt Lake City was pleasant enough, about fifty degrees by noon. She still had a crick in her neck and a pain in her back that no amount of acetaminophen squashed. So she waited and wrote to Max:

  Salt Lake City is huge, dear. I think I’ll just sit close to the station and wait for the train. What else is there for an old, make that older, woman to do? Oh, dear Max, dear dear Max, if I was twenty years younger I would go out on the town. Remember how we loved the jazz bars, Iggy’s especially. We could sit for hours it seemed and listen to the sounds move around the place, and every so often it was as though some of the notes would reach our ears in an unexpected way and surprise us. You liked Coltrane, I remember that. I never told you this, Max, but I couldn’t stand his music, but I listened because you loved him so. Oh dear, now why did I bring that up?

  Harriet closed her notebook and leaned her back against the cold, stucco wall.

  I miss you and John Coltrane.

  Henry and Humphrey started down the street. It was a beautiful northern California day. The sun was finally shining after several days of rain. Humphrey trotted alongside Henry, stopping occasionally to sniff or pee, but he was not quite ready to do what everybody knew he needed to do.

  “Come on, old man,” Henry said.

  Humphrey just kept moving, leading Henry around the corner.

  Mrs. Caldwell was in her yard tossing weeds into a bucket. She wore a straw hat and white gardening gloves with green thumbs.

  “Morning,” Henry said.

  “Why, Henry, dear,” Mrs. Caldwell said. “I haven’t seen you or Humphrey in a while.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “On your novel, I hope.” She stood from her kneeling position and craned her back. “Oh, to be twenty years younger.”

  “Yes. I’m nearly finished.”

  “Care for some pie?” Mrs. Caldwell smiled as she slipped her gloves off and tossed them into the weed bucket. “Come on inside. I have coffee on.”