by Joyce Magnin
When Harriet and Humphrey left to make their way back to the house, Harriet stopped about halfway there and thought a moment as Humphrey visited another telephone pole. Florence seemed like a nice woman. Maybe even someone she could befriend. Perhaps her jealousy was uncalled for. “But, Humphrey,” she said, “Martha will always be my best friend.”
“Henry,” Harriet called as she opened the front door, “I’m back from my walk.”
Henry appeared in the living room. “How was it?”
“Your scheme worked, dear. I had coffee with Florence—”
Humphrey ambled past them and flopped on the floor near the couch.
“It wasn’t a scheme, Mom. I just want you to have fun.”
“I know.” Harriet patted Henry’s cheek. “I know. And hey, it worked. I’m going to a gold mine with her today.”
Henry leaned down and kissed his mother’s cheek, leaving a small, chocolate crumb. “I’m proud of you, Mom. I know that was hard.”
“You know something, Henry? Making friends on the road—on the bus or train—was easy. But here? It’s different for some reason.”
Henry looked into Harriet’s eyes. “Maybe because on the road you can’t just get up and leave. Catch the next bus.”
“Henry, dear,” she said walking toward her room, “don’t go getting all Sigmund Freud with me. I’m much too old for that.”
“Just saying, Mom. I’m just saying.”
“Okay, now you better get back to work or whatever you call it. Writing, I suppose.”
Henry folded his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What? What does what mean, dear?”
“Writing is work. Just because I don’t swing a hammer like Dad doesn’t mean I don’t work.”
Harriet clicked her tongue and snorted a breath from her nose. “Oh, Henry, don’t be that way. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Right, well, just for the record, writing is hard work. Maybe even harder in some ways than what Dad did.”
Harriet almost let go a burst of laughter but thought better of it. “I know, dear. Now, you go on. Florence is picking me up in just a few minutes.”
“You mean you’re not taking the scooter?”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Not this time, and don’t make fun of my Vespa. It’s pretty handy. It might come in handy someday, even for you.”
“Okay, okay. Have fun.”
Chapter Three
HARRIET AND FLORENCE ENJOYED THEIR TOUR OF THE Empire Gold Mine, even if it was a little tiring. “I don’t think I walked around that much even when I was making my trip across the country,” Harriet said on the ride home. “But it was fascinating—and such pretty grounds. Lunch was good too.”
“Yes, the mine owners had quite the life back then.”
“And the gardens. Just gorgeous. Reminded me a little of a place back home—Longwood Gardens.”
Florence turned the car onto Main Street.
“I guess I must have known there is a lot that goes into getting gold from rock, but all that science and stuff and those poor miners traveling so far into the earth …” Harriet shivered. “Gives me the willies.”
“And what about the mules?” Florence said with a quick thump on the steering wheel. “They spend practically their whole life miles below the earth’s surface. Seems pathetic.”
“Yeah, I’ll say. I could never put my Humphrey down there. He’d be scared out of his mind.”
“There are other types of mines,” Florence said. “Above-ground mines. They’re called placer gold mines.”
“Placer?” Harriet was intrigued.
“Yep. That’s when the gold is deposited above the ground in gravel beds and creeks. It’s a lot easier to mine a placer lot than dig under the mountain.”
“So the gold is just lying around? Who deposits it?”
Florence laughed and nodded. “Yes, it’s just lying around, and Mother Nature deposits it. The gold has weathered loose from the rock it was embedded in and then floats downstream—in a matter of speaking. There’s a lot of geology behind a placer mine. The miners dredge it out with machines that separate the gold from the rock.”
“Wow, that does sound easy. And you can find chunks of gold?”
“Not always chunks. Small bits and pieces, some larger stuff, I would imagine. It takes time. But it can be done. I guess some people actually make a good bit of money doing it. Some folks even still pan for gold in the streams around here.”
“Wowie zowie, imagine that. Finding gold. And you can keep it?”
“Long as you have proper right to it.”
By now Harriet’s imagination was running rampant as she watched the view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains whiz by. She imagined herself wearing a mining helmet with a little light on the front and cowboy chaps somewhere in those mountains, kneeling at the bed of a stream, picking gold out of a metal pan and maybe even shouting “Eureka!” But she was certain Henry and Prudence would never take her gold mining.
The women drove on, turning off Main and toward home. Harriet could not help but still be intrigued by the idea of gold mining. She looked into her souvenir bag at the trinkets she purchased at the Empire Gold Mine, a huge and difficult operation she was certain in comparison to one of these placer mines Florence talked about. Harriet had purchased two sets of salt and pepper shakers, each with the words Empire Gold Mine stamped on them, three pencils for Henry, and a paperweight for Prudence. She had briefly entertained the idea of buying a baby bib, but, of course, so far there was no news from Henry and Prudence on the grandbaby front.
“Fat lot of good these will do,” she said, holding the shakers.
“What do you mean?” Florence asked. “They’ll hold salt and pepper. I’m sure they’re usable.”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry. They’re perfectly good shakers. I was just thinking out loud. Are there still active gold mines around here?” She said that last part to avoid talking about her collection currently in exile in the garage.
“Oh sure,” Florence said. “Some of them are serious endeavors, and other places are more for entertainment, and I guess there’s a handful or so of people who still think they can strike it rich.”
“Really? You mean anyone can hunt for gold?”
Florence turned onto their street, Butterfly Lane. “Well, sort of. There are places where you can try your hand at panning for gold for a fee, and I think you can still get a lease on a mine—if you have the money, the time, and the equipment. But no, mostly the professional mining companies take care of our gold supplies.”
Harriet twisted her gold wedding band around her finger and wondered if maybe, just maybe, the gold had come from Grass Valley. “Now wouldn’t that be a hoot—talk about destiny.”
“Excuse me?” Florence said. She pulled the car into Harriet’s driveway.
“Oh, just me thinking out loud again. I was wondering if the gold in my ring could have come from here.”
Florence shrugged. “I guess anything is possible.”
Harriet pushed open the car door. “Well, Florence, thank you for a wonderful day.”
“Thank you for coming, and stop by anytime.”
“Or you can mosey up here anytime. I’m not a pie baker, but I’m sure I can open a box of something or other. Henry always has those Little Debbies. Can’t eat them myself.” Harriet smiled into Florence’s eyes. They were nice, crystal-blue eyes.
“Thanks,” Florence said.
Harriet walked into the house feeling like she had made her first California friend.
“Henry,” she called as Humphrey trotted up to her, wagging his tail and dancing a jig. Harriet patted his head. “Did you miss me, pooch?”
Humphrey said, “Woof.”
“Hi, Mom,” Henry said. “Did you have a nice time?”
“I had a very nice time, and you were absolutely right. Florence is very sweet, and I learned a lot about gold. Did you know you can still mine for gold around here? And that not all t
he gold is buried way far under the mountains? It’s just lying around in streams and riverbeds.”
She looked at Humphrey and imagined him wearing a small mining helmet and two saddlebags bulging with gold. It made his belly sag even more. “Nah, you would not make a good gold mule.” Humphrey looked at her with relief in his eyes and trotted away.
“I’m glad you had a good time,” Henry said.
“My feet are tired, but I thoroughly enjoyed visiting the gold mine and walking around the grounds. I bought Prudence a paperweight. It looks like a giant gold nugget.”
“Oh, that’s thoughtful, Mom. I’m sure Pru will be delighted.”
“I loved the grounds. The mansion and the fountains, and there’s even a reflecting pool. I reflected. But only for a minute or two. I reflected on how rich the Bourns must have been.” Then she laughed. “They ran the place for a time. Gold barons, I suppose.”
“Good, Mom. But I think I should get back to … to work.” He moved closer to Harriet. “Look, Mom, I’m sorry I jumped down your throat before. It’s just that sometimes I think you disapprove of what I do for a living, disapprove of me for not following Dad’s footsteps.”
Harriet shook her head. “If that were true, would I have brought you these?” She reached into her Empire Gold Mine bag and pulled out the three pencils.
She watched a smile spread across Henry’s face. “Ah, that’s so nice.”
“This one here”—she handed it to him—“is fancy. You tilt it, and the mule moves with the gold. Isn’t that clever?”
“It sure is. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, son.” She patted his cheek, something she did often and sometimes to Henry’s annoyance, but mostly he liked it. This time he caught her hand in his and patted it. “I really need to get back; it’s already three o’clock and, by the way, Prudence called and said she is going to be late. She has an errand to run.”
“Okay. I can start dinner in a little while,” Harriet said, “but I think I’d like to rest first for a bit.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Henry said. “Not for resting. I mean for handling dinner. It’s a big help. I have to get this chapter done—today.”
“Another Western, dear?” she asked even though she already knew.
“Yes, the continuing saga of Turtle Creek.”
Harriet pulled her Empire Gold Mine shakers from the bag. “When I was in Dodge City, I finally figured out what you see in cowboys.”
“Really? You never liked cowboys.”
“Now, I didn’t say I like them, I just said I figured out their appeal. There’s a difference, dear. Now, I better set these salt and pepper shakers down somewhere. Maybe you wouldn’t mind if we actually used them.” She swallowed. “No, on second thought, I’ll just add them to my collection in the garage.” She emphasized the word garage.
Henry didn’t say a word.
Harriet smiled. “It is my hobby, although you’d never know it—around here.”
“Mom,” Henry said. “I told you we are working on it. But listen, I was going to wait to tell you this, but Prudence and I have a surprise for you that might make you feel better.”
“Really, Henry? A surprise? For me? I love surprises.”
“Yes, a big surprise, and I think you are really going to like it.”
“Tell me,” Harriet said.
Henry shook his head. “Nope. Not until Prudence comes home. Because, Mom, it was her idea.”
Harriet sighed. “Okay, okay. Leave me hanging.” She yawned. “Maybe I’ll even take a little nap before starting dinner.”
“Good idea,” Henry said. “I have cowboys stuck in a cave-in.” Henry kissed his mother’s cheek. “Have a good rest.”
Chapter Four
HENRY SAT DOWN AT HIS DESK AND LOOKED OVER THE blueprints. It was hard to read the plans without thinking of his dad and not feeling bad for not following in his father’s footsteps and for selling the business, Beamer’s Beams and Buildings.
“But it wasn’t my calling, Dad,” Henry said. “You were the builder. God made me a writer. How long do I have to feel guilty about it?”
Humphrey trotted into the den, wagging his tail.
“Humphrey,” Henry said, “I thought you were taking a nap with Mom.”
Humphrey let go a quiet woof and plopped down on his rump. Henry patted his head. “I can’t wait to give Mom the surprise.” Humphrey swished his tail. “She is going to hug the stuffing out of me. And she might feel just a wee bit sorry for thinking Pru didn’t care about her and her collection. This was all Pru’s idea.”
Humphrey swished harder. “Look at this. Mom will have her own addition on the house. She’s been talking about her collection a lot. Well, now she’ll have a place for it.”
Humphrey barked. “You are so right. I am a good son—even if I don’t quite measure up.”
He rolled up the plans, secured them with a rubber band, and set them next to his desk.
“We’ll tell her tonight, over dinner.” He unwrapped a snack cake. There was something about the super sweet goodness that aided his writing. Little Debbie was his muse. Humphrey still looked at him with a look that only a dog could give.
“Sorry, old man, you can’t have any. Chocolate is not good for dogs.”
Humphrey lay at his feet.
Henry read through the words he had written that morning. For the most part he was pleased but was unsure of his next move. He had already decided that the cowboys needed to stay alive.
“What do you think, Humphrey? I have three cowboys stuck in a cave. Do we blast them out?”
Humphrey whimpered and closed his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s the ticket. Dynamite.”
It was nearly six-thirty when Harriet roused from her sleep.
“Oh goodness,” she said out loud. “Visiting a gold mine was hard work. I slept like a rock.” She looked around the room. Even though she had been sleeping there for three months, sometimes, especially if she slept during the day, she had to reorient herself and remember she was not in Bryn Mawr anymore.
“Humphrey,” she called. But he didn’t come. “Now, where did that silly pooch get off to, I wonder?” She looked around. “Should have named him Houdini.”
She yawned and slipped off the bed, visited the bathroom, and then headed toward the kitchen to prepare dinner. Her stomach growled. But first she stopped at the den, where she found Humphrey fast asleep at Henry’s feet and Henry typing fast on his keyboard. Harriet coughed.
“Mom,” Henry said, looking up. “How was your nap?”
“Fine,” Harriet said. “How’s it coming? Did you get the boys out of the cave?”
“Yep, we blasted them out with dynamite.”
“Ah, that’s nice, dear. You always did like explosions.”
Henry scratched his head on that one a second but then quickly remembered the time he tossed the firecracker into the trash can. And about the time he made the vinegar, baking soda, and chocolate syrup volcano that exploded all over the kitchen. He had quite a mess to clean up.
While Henry went back to his keyboard, Harriet glanced around the den. It was a nice room at the back of the house with cream-colored carpet and lots of bookcases jam-packed with books and little tchotchkes Henry had collected through the years. The walls had pictures of him and Prudence, one of Humphrey, and several framed writing awards. Henry sat at a black desk strewn with notebooks and books and pens. The desk probably came from IKEA, not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just that Harriet thought Henry deserved real wood.
“I was just going in to start dinner. I thought spaghetti and meatballs sounded good.”
“Fine,” Henry said, not looking at her and not taking his fingers from the keyboard.
Harriet waited another few seconds, then spotted the roll of blueprints. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Henry said, still not looking.
“Standing next to your desk. It looks like a set of blueprints.”
Harriet smiled. “Uh huh. I’m going to make dinner. Did Prudence say what time she’d be home?”
“A little later than usual, so probably by seven, seven-thirty.”
“Okay. That’s gives me plenty of time. I’ve had a hankering for spaghetti and meatballs.” She repeated herself because she was fairly certain Henry had not heard her the first time.
“Are you sure? I can make dinner if you want.”
Harriet waved the thought away. “No. I want to, really.”
“Okay, Mom. Spaghetti and meatballs it is.”
Humphrey opened his eyes and said, “Woof.”
“I knew that would get you,” Harriet said. “He loves spaghetti and meatballs.”
“So do I, Mom. Especially the way you make them.”
Prudence was not exactly a good cook. Harriet was surprisingly okay with that. She knew being a lawyer meant long hours and dedication, and that just because a person is born with ovaries that doesn’t mean she is able to cook. Henry had become the chef in the family. Another talent Harriet couldn’t figure out. Max had boiled water and toasted bread—that was about it. Well, there was that one time he tried to bake a frozen pizza when Harriet was sick in bed with the flu. Harriet had quite a mess to clean up the next day. He put the pizza in the oven upside down. How he could have made such a blunder remained a mystery. Max refused to discuss it. And Harriet could make a few things well—like spaghetti and meatballs. But she was nowhere near the culinary skill level of Henry and his amazing gourmet meals. But she appreciated the way Henry enjoyed the few good meals she could make.
“Well, you are the great cook around here. I’d love for you to teach me some dishes sometime.”
“Sure, Mom. Maybe when I finish this book,” Henry said, once again without looking away from the computer monitor.
Harriet assembled all the ingredients for her meatballs. Humphrey sat nearby, knowing he was in for a treat very soon. “Now, I’m not giving you raw meat,” Harriet said. “It gives you the runs.”