Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold

by Joyce Magnin

  Downtown seemed extra crowded that morning. Lots of folks were out moving around the streets. Harriet thought she was fortunate to find a parking space in her usual lot. “Geeze, it’s usually not like this around here. There must be something going on. Grass Valley has lots of events.”

  “Oh, really,” Martha said. “Maybe we’ll see something.”

  “Maybe,” Harriet said. “But gallery first, café, and then the mine.”

  Harriet and Martha made their way to The Bitter Herb gallery on Mill Street and stopped outside the small shop. There was an orange awning hanging over the front window, which held some paintings—of a cowboy on a bucking bronco, a landscape of brush land, and a stream that Harriet thought was actually quite peaceful.

  “Oh, this is a nice gallery,” Martha said. “I like the name also. The Bitter Herb.”

  Harriet pointed to one of the paintings in the window. “See, landscape.”

  “It’s lovely,” Martha said. “I haven’t painted anything so realistic in a long time.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t been inspired. I mean, what does Bryn Mawr have? Huge houses?”

  “Oh, stop. There are plenty of beautiful places around home. Not to mention the gardens. Remember when we would walk through Chanticleer?”

  Harriet sighed. “Oh, yes, now, that is one spectacular place. You better stop, though. You might make me homesick.”

  “And then you can move back east. And we’ll visit Chanticleer and Longwood as often as you’d like.”

  Harriet laughed. “With twin grandbabies on the way? Sorry, Charlie.”

  “I know, I know. Come on, let’s go inside,” Martha said.

  Harriet pushed open the door and a little bell jingled overhead. “Don’t you love it? I hope Florence is working today. I didn’t think to call her before we left.”

  The gallery ambience felt light and airy with white walls covered with paintings. There were stands with small statues scattered about in what Harriet figured was no particular order.

  Florence was sitting behind a desk, an ornate thing with curved legs and gold inlay. A small lamp that looked better suited for a bedside table sat in the right corner, and piles of papers and catalogs nearly covered the desk.

  “Hello, Florence,” Harriet said.

  “Harriet,” Florence said as she looked up from her paperwork. “I am so glad you decided to come visit the place.”

  “Thanks. You remember my friend, Martha.”

  “Yes.” Florence held out her hand. “Did Harriet tell me you do stained glass?”

  “You have a lovely gallery. And yes, guilty as charged. But I also enjoy pottery.”

  “Oh, that’s terrific. I’m glad you like the gallery. It’s really my daughter’s business. She is in the back doing … something. Framing, maybe.”

  “Now that’s an art unto itself,” Martha said. “I have always admired people who understand framing.”

  Florence sat back down behind the desk. “It’s time-consuming. She can take hours on one painting. What with choosing the right mat, the correct frame, cutting the mat, and getting the glass. It’s quite a process.”

  “Yes. I’ll stick to stained glass and pottery.”

  “Well, look around,” Florence said. “No pressure.”

  Florence’s daughter came out from behind a curtain. “Hello,” she said.

  Harriet had never met Mabel. But she immediately liked the way she looked, tall and willowy. She hid her hair under a babushka, but Harriet supposed that was very Bohemian and artsy fartsy. She was slipping gloves off her hands.

  “Did I hear someone say stained glass?” Mabel asked. She wore a flannel shirt, red and green, and jeans that were cuffed at the bottom. Harriet noticed she was barefoot and thought that must be terribly dangerous while working with nails and glass. But she didn’t say anything.

  “Yes. I did,” Martha said. “I dabble a little. Nothing too amazing.”

  “Oh, I would love to see your work sometime. I would love to have some stained glass in the gallery. You’d be surprised how many people look for stained glass for their homes. It’s just so hard to find, unless you want old stuff and that can be risky.”

  “Oh, well, I would like to share it with you sometime, but that would be a little hard considering my stuff is back east.”

  “Well, maybe you can send me some pics. Or do you have a website?”

  “A website? Me? No, I just enter my stuff in local shows, flea markets, that kind of thing. I’ve never had a showing.”

  “Um, that’s too bad,” Mabel said. “But, please, send me some pics. Maybe we can work something out.”

  “Okay,” Martha said.

  “Wow,” Florence said. “Talk about hitting it off. These two haven’t even been properly introduced.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mom,” Mabel said.

  “Any-hoo,” Florence said, “this is Harriet. You remember I told you about her. And this is her friend Martha from back east.” Mabel laughed and shook Martha’s hand. “Yes, I gathered that.” Then she shook Harriet’s hand. “And it is a pleasure to meet you. Mom has told me so much about you and your son—is it Henry?”

  “That’s right,” Harriet said. “He’s an artist also.”

  “He is?” Mabel said. “I thought he was a writer.”

  “He is,” Harriet said. “He paints with words.”

  Mabel smiled. “That’s a nice way to put it.”

  The four women chatted a little longer until Martha grabbed Harriet’s hand. “I would like to see more of the town. It’s so lovely. Just like you said, like walking onto a Western set.”

  “Everything but wooden sidewalks,” Mabel said.

  “You have a lovely gallery, Mabel,” Martha said.

  “Thanks,” Mabel said. “And, please, send me those pics.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, did I ever tell you about Dodge City?” Harriet said as she and Martha left The Bitter Herb. “They had wooden sidewalks. Made the most interesting sounds when you walked on them.”

  “Okay,” Martha said. “I went to the gallery. Now I want to see your gold mine.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  HENRY PUT A FRANTIC CALL THROUGH TO PRUDENCE. Her secretary answered.

  “It’s Henry, Marge. Is Pru available? It’s kind of important.”

  “Sorry, Henry. She’s in a meeting. With the bigwigs. No disturbing allowed. Can it wait?”

  “I suppose. When do think it will be over?”

  “They just went in like ten minutes ago. I’d give it an hour.”

  “Okay, just have her call me.”

  Henry tapped off the phone. He thought about calling the police and telling them his mother had been sold a lease on a gold mine, but that was certainly not illegal. At least not yet. And he didn’t really have anything to go on except the few things Martha told him. No, he’d wait for Prudence to return his call.

  He sat in his comfy chair for a while, worrying, even though he really didn’t have the facts yet. “Maybe it’s for real,” he said. “Maybe Harriet Beamer will strike gold and we’ll all be rich.”

  Humphrey ambled into the den just as Henry thought to get back to cattle rustling. “Did you know about this?” he asked the dog. “Mom’s … gold mine?”

  Humphrey lay at his feet and whined.

  “I know she is just trying to help us, but really, a gold mine? What was she thinking?”

  The phone rang. “Pru,” he said.

  “What’s up? Everything all right?”

  “I’m not sure. Wait till you hear this. Martha came to see me this morning, and she told me that Mom has leased a gold mine.”

  Silence.

  “Pru?”

  More silence.

  “Honey? Are you there?”

  “Yes, what did you say?”

  “I said my mother has leased a gold mine from some guy she met at the café in town.”

  Prudence laughed so hard Henry thought she might pass out.

>   “No, really. She did,” he said. “And you need to check it out. See if it’s legit.”

  “Hold on,” Prudence said. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes. I’m serious, Pru. She’s handing over lots of money to this guy.”

  “But how is that even possible? How does someone meet a guy at a café and lease a gold mine? These are legal matters.”

  “That’s what makes us so worried. It was all just a little too easy sounding.”

  “Okay, okay, give me names, all the info you have, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “There’s this guy named Winslow Jump who knows a guy they call Old Man Crickets who owns a gold mine called Brunner’s Run—” Henry laughed. “This sounds so silly.”

  “Did you say Old Man Crickets?”

  “I did.”

  “And she bought into this?”

  “Leave it to Harriet Beamer.”

  “Did Martha say where this alleged mine is located?”

  “Downieville, a place called Brunner’s Run. That’s all we know.”

  “Okay, I know there are scams out there. But there are also legitimate mines so maybe, just maybe, your mother got mixed up in the real thing.”

  “I hope so, Pru,” Henry said. “I’d hate for her to lose all her money to this guy.”

  “Yeah, okay, well, let me see what I can dig up. I know a guy at the FBI who owes me a favor.”

  “Okay, should I do anything?” Henry drummed his desk with a pencil.

  “Try to keep her from giving this guy any more money until we get it figured out.”

  “I’ll try, but I don’t know how.”

  “Stall her. Don’t let her go into town. Pretend you’re sick. Martha will help.”

  “But, Pru, they’re already in town.”

  “Oh gee. Well, let me go so I can do some investigating.”

  Henry tapped off the phone. “Humphrey, maybe I should mosey into town and see what I can do.”

  He looked at the screen. “Sorry, Cash. It looks like you’ll need to rest awhile.”

  “Can’t you just imagine your work in the gallery?” Harriet said.

  “Mabel does have a nice gallery,” Martha said as they walked down the street toward the café. “I could see having one or two of my pieces there.”

  Harriet and Martha walked on toward Rachel’s.

  “You sure could have a display there. Sometimes I don’t think you believe in your own talent.”

  “Maybe. But mostly I never really thought about going public. My art has always been so private.”

  “I can sort of understand that,” Harriet said. “But maybe it’s time to share your talent. Think of the people you could bless.”

  “Bless?” Martha said. “With my pottery and stained glass?”

  “Don’t knock it. Didn’t they use stained glass windows to teach Bible stories?”

  “Yes, but me? Bless people?”

  Harriet and Martha stopped out front of the café. “Yes. You,” Harriet said, before they went in.

  A waitress took them to the table in the back. Martha sat facing the kitchen. It seemed Harriet always liked to face the door.

  “Listen,” Martha said. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.”

  “Giving what a lot of thought?”

  “Your gold mine.”

  “Oh, that’s nice, dear.”

  “I think you should tell the kids. Let Prudence check it out. If it’s all on the up and up, then great. If not, you’ve gotten out before you lose everything.”

  Harriet appreciated the way Martha looked out for her. But it was getting a little annoying even though she didn’t say so. Didn’t Martha think Harriet learned anything on her trip across the country? She could take care of herself. Then she had a thought.

  “Who knows,” Harriet said, “maybe you’ll lease a little lot of your own.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Harriet tapped Lily’s number. “I’ll call Lily. She gave me her cell phone number the day we went shopping.”

  “Hi, Lily,” Harriet said. “It’s me, Harriet.”

  “Oh, hi, Harriet. What’s up?”

  “Well, I was just wondering what you were doing. I promised my friend Martha that she could see Brunner’s Run today. Might see some gold.”

  “Oh, oh, I don’t know if I can,” Lily said. “I had some plans.”

  “It wouldn’t take too long. Please?”

  There was a long pause before Lily said, “Okay. Dad and I had plans to visit some relatives in Nevada City today. I guess we can stop by town first. I’ll ask him.”

  “Good. Martha and I are at the café. You know, the usual place.”

  “Okay, give me a little time. Maybe an hour.”

  “Fine. We’ll just stay here. We’re at the usual table.” Harriet tapped off the phone.

  “There, she’ll be here in about an hour.”

  “What about her father?”

  “She’s going to tell him. And see if he can come too.”

  The server stopped at their table. “Can I take your orders?”

  “Sure,” Harriet said. “I would love a cup of coffee and maybe a slice of apple pie.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Martha said.

  “Okey dokey,” the server whose nametag read Tammy said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “She’s different,” Harriet said. “I usually get Cindy.”

  Martha fiddled with the salt shaker. “I miss your collection. You haven’t even talked about it. Have you lost interest?”

  “No, not really. It’s just that while it is still in the garage I find it hard to … care much, and the gold mine is taking up so much of my time and brain space.”

  “I understand,” Martha said. “Since Wyatt went to … went away, I haven’t done any art.”

  “Maybe talking to Mabel about getting a display will help get you motivated again.”

  “Maybe,” Martha said. “But I just don’t know anymore. It all seems like so much bother.”

  Harriet picked up the pepper shaker, the nothing special, just your basic restaurant style glass shaker with the silver cap. “Are we getting old?”

  “Nah,” Martha said.

  Tammy brought their coffee.

  “Thank you,” Harriet said, and as she did she glanced past the server and spied that same woman sitting on the same stool and, if she wasn’t mistaken, reading the same book.

  “Look over there,” she said. “There’s that woman again. I think she’s up to something. Doesn’t she look like someone who is up to something?”

  “Your imagination is getting the best of you.”

  “No, really. Maybe she is a spy.”

  Martha opened a small Half and Half container. “I worry about Lily.”

  “I know you do.”

  “What if this whole thing is a scam and she’s involved? What a terrible start to the rest of her life. Maybe for her sake you could speak to the kids. Let Prudence check it out.”

  Harriet swallowed coffee. “I can handle this. Just give me a little more time. I’ve already decided that if it doesn’t produce a gold nugget or two very soon I’m going to … to renege or cancel or break my lease, whatever they call it.”

  “If you can.”

  “What? I’m sure I can cancel the lease. I mean they can’t force me to keep giving him money, can they?”

  Martha sipped coffee. “I don’t know. That’s why Prudence should have looked at what you signed.”

  The server brought their pie. “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet said as her stomach went a little wobbly.

  Martha poked at her pie. “Are you sure we can’t just drive up there ourselves? I mean, how big is this town? You’ll remember the spot once we get there.”

  “Maybe,” Harriet said with a mouthful of apple. “Let’s give Lily a few more minutes.” Harriet smiled. “Martha, I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you see all that gold floating around in the water. Of course, it�
�s just gold dust, but it means there’s bigger stuff higher up the mountain.”

  The two managed to pass the hour chatting. Mostly about old times. Mostly about husbands and kids and even grandkids, something Martha was now convinced would never happen for her.

  “You know,” Harriet said. “I don’t think we did too bad. Considering.”

  Martha grew quiet. “At least your son didn’t end up in prison.”

  “You aren’t still blaming yourself, are you?”

  “Well, yeah, sometimes. I must have done something wrong to raise a criminal, for heaven’s sake.”

  “He made his choices. I’m sure you taught him right from wrong.” Harriet stirred her coffee even though she had stopped drinking it. “I suspect Wyatt got too curious about the drugs and it got away from him. You know what I mean. He couldn’t help it.”

  “I guess, but it’s not like he was a wild-eyed maniac off his noodle when he did it. The lawyer said he planned the whole thing, start to finish. Only the finish wasn’t what he planned. He got caught. Surveillance camera. You have no idea what it feels like to see your son on a surveillance tape. All grainy and stupid with his hood pulled over his head and holding a gun. It’s … like another world.”

  Harriet’s heart filled with empathy. No, she really had nothing to compare to that experience, but she did know what it felt like to feel betrayed. But no, this was almost too awful to imagine. There was nothing to compare.

  “I am so sorry for you,” Harriet said. “I don’t think I could even imagine what it felt like.”

  “It is weird,” Martha said. “There are things you sort of prepare for—failures in school, the wrong friends, even drugs in a way. But armed robbery? Why would a mother even think that was possible for her child?”

  Harriet still stirred. “You can’t prepare for that. That’s why it’s so awful.”

  Martha looked away and then back at Harriet who hadn’t taken her eyes off her. “Sometimes I wish I could just run away from it all, find a nice quiet place to create my art and live out whatever years God has left for me. In peace. Start over.”

  “Like we’ve been telling you, Grass Valley is a great place.”

  “I can’t leave Wyatt. He’d have no one to visit him if I moved clear across the country.”