Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold

by Joyce Magnin

  Humphrey whimpered and lay down under the kitchen table.

  “Patience,” Harriet said. “Patience.”

  She mixed her ingredients, formed her meatballs, and started frying them in a touch of olive oil. It felt good to be cooking for a family again, although she had to learn to remember to adjust the ingredients. Back in Pennsylvania, Harriet was often content with a salad and soup, even the occasional pizza or cheese steak or Chinese from the Sampan. Oh, how she missed the Sampan. They made the best spring rolls.

  Fortunately, the last time she made spaghetti sauce she had made plenty, and so there was sauce in the freezer that made the meal preparation that much easier.

  “You see, Humphrey, I knew we’d use this sauce eventually.”

  As the meatballs sizzled, Harriet’s thoughts returned to gold. She kept wondering what it would be like to actually find a gold nugget. What did raw gold feel like? She twisted her wedding band again.

  “What do you think, Humphrey? Is it rough or smooth? I know it’s heavy, and I also know it’s not magnetic. I mean, magnets don’t stick to it. But that’s about it.”

  As she stirred the sauce, her thoughts wandered to a streambed where she could see the treasure shimmering in the crystal-clear mountain water. But she shook the reverie from her brain and returned to her meatballs, which would become round, brown nuggets of rock if she didn’t pay attention.

  Once the meatballs were nearly cooked through, she put one aside to cool for Humphrey. Then she dropped the rest in the simmering sauce.

  “Okay, you can have it when it cools,” she said. “But for now, maybe you should go out and peedle your wee.”

  Humphrey liked that idea and sauntered to the deck door.

  “You’re a good boy,” Harriet said. She slid open the slider door and let Humphrey out in the backyard. The fresh air was nice and, as always, smelled of pine. She followed Humphrey out, sat on a deck chair, and listened to the birds warbling in the trees. Maybe she could get used to California, she figured. But something still tugged at her heart. And who knows, maybe Martha would fall in love with the town and move out. But maybe not. Martha had her son, Wyatt, to consider, even though he was an adult. But it was times like this, when she was relaxing on the deck, that being able to share the time with a good friend sounded the most inviting.

  Florence appeared from the side of the house. She carried a pie.

  “Yoo-hoo,” she called. “I was knocking on the front door but no one came, so I thought you might be back here. I saw your Vespa in the driveway and figured you’d be home.” She climbed up the deck steps. “I brought you a pie. Lemon meringue. I hope you like lemon. I made it after we got home from the mine. I thought Henry might appreciate it.”

  “Hi,” Harriet said. “Sure, Henry likes lemon meringue, but you didn’t have to bake.”

  “I know. I wanted to. My way of saying thanks for a nice day.” She sat next to Harriet. Humphrey tootled up the steps and lay down near Florence. She rubbed his belly. “There’s a good doggie.”

  “I should be thanking you,” Harriet said.

  “Ah, no matter. We can thank each other. What are friends for?”

  “But you didn’t have to bake us a pie.”

  “Ah, it’s nothing. What’s a little meringue between friends? Just make sure you return the pie tin. I have four, a matched set. They’re special. They were my mother’s. Sometimes I think that’s why my crust turns out so good. Baked in a hundred-year-old tin.”

  Harriet smiled. She definitely liked Florence Caldwell, but she still nursed a twinge of jealousy about Henry. Did she bring Henry pies before Harriet was in the picture?

  “I will be sure to get it back to you. And thank you. Let me just go put this in the kitchen, out of the heat.”

  “Sure thing. Mind if I sit a spell?”

  “No. Make yourself comfy.”

  Henry was in the kitchen stealing a meatball.

  “Hey,” Harriet said. “Wait for dinner.”

  “Oh, is that a Florence Caldwell pie?”

  “Yes. She just brought it. She’s on the deck.”

  “Great. I’ve missed her pies. We haven’t seen Florence much lately. I think she’s been giving you some space until you got settled in, Mom. I’m so glad you two met today.” Henry wiped sauce from his lips and headed to the deck. Harriet set the pie on the counter and went to the door to look outside. She saw him give Florence a kiss.

  “Thanks for dessert,” she heard him say.

  “Thanks for the dessert,” Harriet mimicked.

  She gave her sauce a quick stir or two, smacked the spoon against the side of the pot, and then set the spoon on the little pumpkin-shaped spoon rest. But Harriet felt a little ashamed. “She’s a nice lady,” she told herself. Jealousy was a stupid emotion.

  Harriet, Florence, and Henry sat on the deck awhile. Florence told Henry about the trip to the mine, which, of course, Harriet had already recounted. But he hung onto her words as though he had been hearing the story for the first time.

  Harriet tried to get a few words in edgewise, but the two of them were so busy yakking she turned her attention elsewhere. In fact, her thoughts turned to the surprise Henry said they had for her.

  Humphrey, who had run off after a rabbit, ambled back onto the deck. The dog nuzzled Harriet’s hand like he could still smell raw meat.

  “I washed my hands, you silly animal,” Harriet said. She leaned back and took in more of the fresh air as she listened to the conversation.

  “So you just set off dynamite and saved the cowboys,” Florence said. “If only everything in life were that easy.”

  Maybe that was it. Maybe Harriet needed to take a deeper interest in Henry’s work. She made a mental note to pay more attention. But Henry stood just a few seconds after her revelation and announced he needed to get back to Cash and Polly, his main characters—even though it wouldn’t be long until Pru got home.

  “Oh, you go right ahead,” Florence said. “Write some good words. I need to be heading back to the ranch myself.”

  Harriet walked Florence to the front of the house.

  “Thank you again for the pie. I’d love to invite you for dinner tonight, but Henry said they have a surprise for me and I have to talk to them about my best friend, Martha, coming for a visit.”

  “Oh, that’s fine. I understand. We’ll do it another day.”

  Harriet smiled. “Thank you, Florence.” She willed herself to forget about her jealousy.

  Florence touched Harriet’s shoulder. “I hope the surprise is one you’ve been wanting.”

  “It’s not,” Harriet said. “Not yet anyway. But right now I better get back to the meal. I want to make a nice big, nutritious salad.”

  Chapter Five

  IT WAS JUST A LITTLE BEFORE SEVEN-THIRTY WHEN HENRY looked up from his work and saw Prudence standing at his den door. She had a funny grin on her face and was holding her briefcase in one hand and a small, yellow, plastic bag in the other.

  “Hi, honey,” Henry said. “How was your day? Why are you standing there like that? You look like you just got made partner or something.”

  Prudence walked over and kissed Henry’s cheek. “I had a terrific day. And not only that, but I have a feeling it’s going to get a whole lot better.”

  “You mean when we tell Mom our plans? I know she is going to fall off her rocker. She saw the blueprints today in my den; they were rolled up. I told her they were plans for my book. I think she bought it.”

  “Well, that will be fun, but … Henry, I stopped at the drugstore on my way home.”

  “Uh hum,” Henry said, looking back to his monitor.

  Prudence tapped the desk. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  “Okay, why?” He looked up from his work and pulled Prudence onto his lap. “Why did you go to the drugstore? Run out of shampoo?”

  Prudence jiggled the bag. “I bought one of these today.”

  “What? A tube of cortisone?”

>   “Henry.” Prudence pulled herself to her feet. “Look.”

  Prudence reached into the bag and removed a small pink and blue box. “Not exactly.” She waved it in front of his face.

  “Prudence, is that a—”

  “Yep. Come on. Let’s take it for a spin.”

  Harriet called Humphrey into the house. “Come on, I just heard Prudence drive up. Time to put the pasta in the pot.”

  She removed the lid from the boiling water, dropped an entire pound of thin spaghetti into the pot, and gave it a quick stir. “Okay, Humphrey, dinner in nine minutes.”

  Harriet set the kitchen table using the everyday stuff at first but then remembered the surprise Henry mentioned. “Maybe we should eat in the dining room and use the good dishes and maybe even have a glass of wine with our pasta.” Then she thought a moment and said to Humphrey, “Yep, wine. Then if Prudence doesn’t … imbibe, we’ll know, and Henry’s asking me this morning not to talk about babies and mentioning some surprise for me was a smoke screen.” She laughed a little like a mad scientist.

  Humphrey let go a low woof and curled into a ball in a corner.

  So she set the table with pretty cloth napkins, which she quickly folded to resemble swans—a trick she learned from a waiter on her trip across the country. She lit two white candles and opened a bottle of red wine she found tucked away in the dining room breakfront, so it could breathe.

  She stepped back and looked at her handiwork. She might not be the world’s best cook, but Harriet Beamer could set a nice table.

  “Oh, Humphrey, it’s lovely.” Harriet stood for a moment and sighed. She really had missed caring for a family. She felt kind of bad for thinking negative thoughts about being here this morning.

  The timer dinged and startled her. Harriet dumped the spaghetti into a metal colander. Steam rose from the pasta as the water drained into the sink. She prepared plates for the three of them, using Prudence’s Fiesta dinnerware plates. She gave Prudence the olive green one, Henry the bright orange plate, and herself the turquoise one. Humphrey, who happened to like leftover spaghetti, would have to wait—although she did still have a meatball cooling on the counter for him. And Humphrey knew it too. He sat in front of the sink waiting like a child.

  “It’s coming,” Harriet said as she patted his head. “It’s coming.”

  Harriet was just about to slice a loaf of crusty Italian bread when she remembered how persnickety Prudence was and washed her hands free of any possible doggie contamination.

  “Nothing personal, boy.”

  She set the sliced bread, the salad, Florence’s pie, and the filled plates on the table, and the oregano, garlicky aroma filled the dining room. It was still light outside, but the sun was on the downstroke, and the house was pretty much in shadows from the trees. The candles flickered sweetly. She turned on Henry’s iPod, and smooth jazz filtered through the room. Yes, this was definitely a celebration dinner—no matter what the big surprise was.

  Next, she went into the living room expecting to see the kids. But they weren’t there. So she called down the hall. “Henry! Prudence! Dinner!”

  She waited but did not hear them coming. She called a second time and still nothing. “Oh dear, the meal will get cold. Cold spaghetti is fine for breakfast but not for dinner.”

  She walked closer to the master bedroom and was just about to call but stopped when she heard giggling and what she was certain was smooching.

  “Good grief, can’t they wait until after dinner?”

  She was just about to knock on their bedroom door when it opened and out walked Henry and Prudence still giggling and holding hands.

  “There you are. I’ve been calling,” Harriet said. “Soup’s on, and it’s getting cold.”

  “Sorry, Mom,” they said together. “We had to … we had something to discuss,” Prudence said.

  “Well, I hope it’s about the secret. I’m busting.”

  “Oh, you’ll find out,” Henry said.

  Harriet led the way to the dining room as Sandra Day sashayed past as though she had been privy to the conversation.

  “What’s this?” Prudence said. “A fancy dinner in the middle of the week?”

  “Yep,” Harriet said as she picked up the bottle of wine. “Henry said you two have a good surprise, and I am hoping it is a good surprise worthy of a celebration. Wine, dear?” she asked Prudence.

  Prudence rested her palm on top of her wine glass. “Oh, no thank you. Not tonight.”

  Harriet looked at Humphrey with raised brows. “That’s A-okay with me,” she said.

  Henry stood. “That reminds me, Mom, I need to go get your surprise.” He glanced at Prudence. Harriet noticed the look on Prudence’s face. Confusion. The same thing Harriet was feeling.

  “Where are you going, honey?” Prudence asked.

  “To get the … you know, the special surprise—for Mom. The one we’ve been working on.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s in your den.”

  The den. Now Harriet was about as confused as she ever was in her life. The only surprise she could think of was the one she had been waiting a very long time to hear, but how on earth could Henry go to get it? This was making no sense at all. Her excitement deflated like a balloon. She was most definitely wrong.

  But off Henry went as Harriet and Prudence sat staring each other down like two wrestlers until Prudence, who had not stopped smiling, looked at her plate of spaghetti. She rolled a meatball around with her fork. “It looks delicious, Mother. And smells divine.”

  “Divine?” Harriet said. “Who talks like that? Come on. What gives? What are you two up to?”

  But Prudence only smiled. “You’ll see, Mom. Patience.”

  Henry returned, carrying the roll of blueprints or, as Harriet was told, the storyboards she spied in Henry’s den. Her heart sank. It wasn’t the surprise she had been hoping for at all. And why would she care about Henry’s book plot? That was his business.

  “Oh,” Harriet said, “maybe we should just eat first. The spaghetti is getting cold. The surprise can wait.”

  To which Humphrey said, “Woof.”

  “Good idea,” Prudence said. “I’m starving. I had a very big day.” Then she smiled.

  Henry said grace, adding a very cryptic ending to his usual dinner prayer. “And thank you so much for the big news.”

  Harriet said, “Amen,” and then, “I think a glass of wine would be nice.”

  “Um, sounds good,” Henry said.

  “Oh, none for me,” Prudence said for a second time. “I’m … watching my weight.” Then she giggled again, and that was when Harriet could not contain her thoughts another minute.

  “Hold on just a cotton-pickin’ minute. What is going on? Those are not storyboards, and you”—she looked at Prudence—“are positively glowing. And, frankly, dear, I have never heard you giggle so much in all the years I’ve known you.”

  “I’ve never known her to giggle so much either,” Henry said.

  Prudence smiled and dropped her fork on her plate. “Isn’t that what they say about … about pregnant women?”

  Harriet felt her eyes grow almost as big as oranges at that moment. Her heart beat fast as a wave of pride and excitement washed over her. For an instant she thought the room went black like before a faint. But it didn’t. If anything the room brightened. “Oh dear, you mean it? You … you’re … a baby? I knew it. I knew it all the time. Those storyboards were just a big fat decoy.”

  “Yes,” Henry said. “We’re preg—well, Pru is pregnant. But we, she and I, are having a baby.”

  Harriet cried. She sat right there and cried into her spaghetti. “I’m so happy. I have to call Martha.” Then she looked at Henry and jumped up and hugged him. Then she hugged Prudence, who started to cry, and then Humphrey whimpered and Henry swiped tears from his eyes.

  “Well,” Harriet said. “I can’t eat. I’m too excited to eat.”

  “You might not be able to eat for a week,” Henr
y said. “There’s more. Another surprise.”

  “More?” Harriet said. “How can there be more? Pregnant is pregnant. Unless you’re having twins and, frankly, I don’t know if those fancy dancy tests they have nowadays can tell you that this early on.”

  “No, no,” Henry said. “It’s not twins—well, at least we don’t know if we’re having twins. We have another surprise.”

  “Okay, okay, tell me. But remember, I’ve already had one heart attack.”

  “Henry,” Prudence said. “I think we should eat first. After all, Mom went to all the trouble to prepare it.”

  Harriet sighed again. She patted Prudence’s hand. “You know, dear, you are absolutely right. We should eat—especially you. A pregnant woman needs to keep up her strength.”

  “Oh, I really am going to watch my weight gain,” Prudence said.

  Harriet laughed. “That’s nice, dear. You go right ahead and watch.” Then she looked at Henry, who was munching a meatball. “We all will.”

  “Okay, okay,” Henry said. “Let’s eat. Second surprise later. Over lemon meringue pie. Now, why don’t you tell Prudence about your trip to the gold mine?”

  Harriet’s heart sped. “Oh my goodness, I had the most wonderful time visiting the Empire Gold Mine. I went with that Florence Caldwell down the street. You know, Henry’s friend. She’s the one who gave us this lemon meringue pie. Any-hoo, she took me, and it was spectacular.”

  Prudence finished chewing and said, “That’s great. It’s a really neat place.”

  “Yes, yes it is,” Harriet said. “And I learned so much about gold and gold mining. Did you know not all gold is under the ground? Some of it is just hanging out in rivers and gravel beds just waiting to be picked like tiny little flowers.”

  “I did know that,” Prudence said. “Placer mines are all over the place. Ha, maybe that’s why they call them that.”

  Harriet shook her head. “I bet it’s because that’s where Mother Nature just happens to place the gold nuggets.”

  Prudence twisted more strands of spaghetti around her fork. “I don’t think there are many real nuggets around. Not like you think. It’s mostly dust and little specks.”