Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus (15 page)

Harriet fumbled with her wallet but eventually dropped a dollar into the fare box. She chose a seat by herself and enjoyed the short ride. The driver stopped just outside the Welcome Center. “Thank you very much,” Harriet said on her way out of the bus. Her suitcase bumped down the two steps, landed on its side outside.

The visitor’s center was a log structure set on a wooded lot. It had a gray roof and not many windows. It was warm looking and inviting. Harriet walked up the long ramp she knew was for wheelchairs. Inside, Harriet looked through the usual racks of brochures and maps, but she didn’t see any that advertised stargazing. So she thought it best to ask the clerk behind the counter. She stood in a short line and counted nine other people in the center.

“Excuse me,” Harriet said to the young woman behind the counter, “but this is my first visit to this part of the country, and I was told that Maggie Valley is one of the best places to go stargazing. Can you direct me to a specific place?”

“Stars?” the woman, whose name tag read Felicia, asked. She looked at Harriet like she had sprouted onions out the top of her head. “You might see a star or two down at the casino but not so many. Someone said they saw that celebrity-chef woman, Paula Dean, down there the other day, but she wasn’t a hundred percent certain.”

Harriet chuckled. “No, no, I don’t mean celebrities. I mean real stars, the kind in the sky. You know, twinkle twinkle little star. Goodness, doesn’t anybody look at the sky these days?”

“Oh,” the girl said, “you mean real stars. I don’t know of any place in particular, but I know a lot of people talk about how good the camping is up the mountain. Maybe you can see stars from there.”

“I don’t think I’m much for mountain climbing or camping,” Harriet said. “I just thought there might be a nice, dark spot where I could look into the sky and see some stars. Where I come from it’s a rare thing to see a lot of stars. Not like when I was a kid.
David Prancing Elk — I met him back in — in, oh dear, I don’t even remember which town — I’ve been through so many, said Maggie Valley was the best place to find stars.”

“Maybe someone else would have a better idea,” said Felicia. “Try the Village if it was an Indian who told you to come here in the first place.”

“Village?”

“The Oconaluftee Indian Village. It’s not far from here.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. But her heart sank. She thought for sure someone in the visitor’s center would know where she could stargaze. She thought Maggie Valley would be chock-full of places where she could just sit or stand or even lie on her back on a blanket on the grass and watch the night sky.

Feeling a little disappointed Harriet left the visitor’s center.

H
ARRIET DID NOT HAVE A CLUE WHERE TO GO.
T
HE TOWN
looked friendly enough, but her aching back, the imposing dark clouds, and the evening closing in made her mood go from good to decidedly grumpy as she stood there looking at the Smoky Mountains and wondering what in the world she had done even taking the trip.

But she didn’t wallow in self-pity for very long and decided her first order of business would be to find a place to stay. She walked on, pulling her suitcase, seeming to hit every pebble and crack in the walkways. She had passed several small motels on the bus ride from the casino, and if she had to, she could walk to any one of them. It might be nice to spend a night in some place more local than a fancy bed and breakfast. Still she found a bench, sat down with a thud, and sighed deeply. Her heart was set on stargazing, and now it looked like it might not happen.

Harriet opened the town map she snagged at the visitor’s center. Yep, the Meadowlark Motel should be right over there, about two blocks. No problem. She pulled up the handle of her suitcase and was about to set off when a man came out of the visitor’s center and approached her. He wore jeans and cowboy boots and sported a long ponytail.

“Excuse me,” he said, “but are you who I think you are?”

Harriet jumped about a mile when he came near. “That depends. Who do you think I am?”

The man smiled. “The woman from the news. The crime-fighter YouTube sensation. You pack a mean tote bag.”

Harriet sucked a deep breath and felt a little more at ease but still remained cautious. “Yes,” she said and started to turn away.

Just then a woman came out of the visitor’s center.

“Look, honey,” the man said, “it’s that woman who saved that poor woman’s purse. Remember, we saw it on the news?”

The woman, who appeared only a year or two younger than the man, cracked a wide, white-toothed smile. “Harriet Beamer? You’re Harriet Beamer?”

“I am.” More relief washed over her.

The woman held out her hand. “It is such an honor to meet you. You’re a real hero.”

“Hero? Me? I wish people would stop saying that. It’s embarrassing. I didn’t even know what I was doing until about the third swing.”

The man laughed. “Well, you are a hero. Not many women your age would take such a chance. And is the report correct — are you traveling to California?”

“I sure am. Going to live with my son and his wife. But I’m taking my time and whatever it takes — some buses, trains, taxis, a casino bus, and oh, a helicopter.”

The man laughed. “That’s a riot. Have you had dinner yet? Pamela and I would love for you to join us. By the way, my name is Hank.”

“We sure would,” Pamela said. “It’d be an honor.”

“Well, I was just going to check into a motel, but I suppose I should eat dinner. My stomach is starting to rumble.”

“What would you like to eat?” asked Hank. “There’s several good restaurants.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harriet said. “You seem to know the town pretty well?”

“You name it,” Pamela said. “How about a steak? A big juicy steak. There’s a great place right across the street.” She pointed to a rustic-looking restaurant made from log timbers. The sign read J. A
rthur’s.

“I think you’ll enjoy it there,” Pamela said. “The steaks are the best.”

“Sounds good,” Harriet said.

Hank took hold of Harriet’s suitcase, and the three crossed the street. J. Arthur’s was rustic, sort of like a log cabin with maroon awnings and a long front porch with hanging baskets of flowers. Harriet especially liked the stone fireplace chimney.

The hostess led them to a nice table, near a window. Harriet was pleased because she could gaze out at the mountains, which to her looked like a line of party hats sticking up from the horizon.

“I usually have lunch,” Harriet said. “But I had a huge breakfast at my B&B, so I haven’t felt hungry till now.”

“Well, you just order whatever you like,” Hank said. “It’s our treat.”

“Oh no, I can’t let you pay for my meal. As a matter of fact, you’ve been so kind to me I’d like to pay. I am, after all, what you call a rich widow.”

Pamela smiled at Frank. “Well, if you insist.”

“I do.”

Pamela pointed to Harriet’s menu. “Have the prime rib. It’s slow-roasted and succulent. Cuts like butter.”

Harriet let her seeing glasses drop around her neck and slipped on her readers. “That’s better. Prime rib? Sounds good. And maybe with the French fries. I love French fries.”

The server, a man about forty years old with short blond hair and light-blue glasses approached their table and smiled. He spoke with the deepest Southern drawl Harriet had heard since she started her trip. He introduced himself and named the specials, but truthfully, all Harriet could understand was something about French onion soup.

After the small group ordered their meals the conversation continued. Mostly they talked about Harriet’s trip and why she was doing it. She explained the best she could, but Harriet was getting a little tired of talking about it to tell the truth. It never occurred to her that she would need to tell her story so often and thought for a moment to find a way to travel incognito. And besides, that evening, she really just wanted to settle down and go star hunting. But as the meal seemed to drag into a nearly two-hour gab fest, Harriet decided she might as well relax and enjoy the company.

The check arrived after a scrumptious brownie ice cream dessert. Harriet got her credit card from her wallet and tapped it slightly on the edge of the table as she waited for the waiter to return.

Pamela put a hand to her temple. “Oh dear, Harriet,” she said. “I’m getting one of my migraines. Why don’t you give me your card, and I’ll just go find our waiter so Hank and I can get back to the hotel and you can get to yours.”

“Good idea,” Hank said. He turned to Harriet. “She gets terrible headaches. Best to let her take charge when one’s coming on. She’ll get the bill settled, and we can go.”

“Oh, but, that’s fine, why don’t you two just —”

But in that moment, Pamela grabbed Harriet’s card and started toward the front of the restaurant. Then Hank stood. “Excuse me. I just need to use the restroom.” And he headed toward the front of the restaurant.

Harriet suddenly felt like her head was spinning. Something was not right. She could feel it in her bones. Just then Harriet noticed the restrooms were in the opposite direction. Her stomach went wobbly. Her heart palpitated, and she thought for a moment she would pass out when she realized what just happened. She scrambled to her feet, knocking a glass of water to the floor with a crash.

“Stop them,”
she hollered. “Pamela and Hank, those two. They took my credit card.”

She dashed as quickly as she could, tripping on the leg of a chair and hurling herself to the ground. She lay face down and started to sob. “They got my credit card.”

Several patrons rushed to her rescue and helped her up.

“Come on, sweetheart,” her server said. “Sit down. Are you hurt?”

Tears poured as Harriet sat on the very chair she tripped over. “Oh dear, I am so clumsy. I was doing so well until those … rats stole my … card.” She sobbed harder. “And all my money. How will I —”

“It’s okay, dear,” said a woman about her age. “The police are on their way, and you should call the bank and cancel your card right away.”

“Yes,” said the man sitting with the woman. “Call your bank immediately, and let them know what happened.”

“Oh dear,” Harriet said, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “All my money. It’s all on the card.”

Harriet looked back toward her table. “Oh dear, my tote bag. It’s way over there. My phone is in it. They could spend all my money.”

The manager, who introduced himself as Sandy, came by. “No, they won’t,” he said. “Look!”

Harriet looked up and saw three strong men, three strong Cherokee Indians walking toward her. Two of them were holding the arms of Pamela and Hank.

“These the two?” one of the men said. “We ran them down. The lady here is fast as a jackal. Had to tackle her myself.”

Pamela tried to yank her arm away but couldn’t.

“I told you we needed a table closer to the exit,” Hank said. “Last time I let you run a job.”

“Yes, that’s them,” Harriet said through tears. “You terrible people.” Harriet fought the urge to pound Hank’s chest. “You terrible, terrible people. I bet Pamela isn’t even your real name.”

“Oh, can it, lady,” Pamela said. “You rich people think ya own
the whole world, traveling around like … like some teenager. Not a care in the world.”

“I have cares,” Harriet said. “And I’m sorry you have to resort to crime, committing felonies. You should be ashamed of yourselves. And after I told you all about Henry and Humphrey and my salt and pepper shakers.”

The entire restaurant began to chatter and call expletives and words at the criminal couple. One of the Cherokees gave Harriet her credit card back.

“The police are on their way,” Sandy said.

The three men dragged the couple out of the restaurant to a round of applause.

Harriet took a deep breath and settled back in the chair. “Phew. That was close.” Her heart still raced, but the tears had stopped. “I … I feel so …”

“Violated?” said a woman sitting nearby. “Those people had no right.”

The police arrived within a couple of minutes.

“What happened, ma’am?” asked a strikingly tall and beautiful policewoman. “Are you okay? Should we call the EMTs?”

“Oh, no, no,” Harriet said. “I’m okay. Just a little shaken.” And then she proceeded to tell the officers the story. They took notes, then apologized for the situation but assured Harriet that Pamela and Hank, if that was their real names, would never bother her again. She just had to sign some paperwork, leave her contact information, and her part was finished.

After the officers left, the three Cherokee men approached Harriet. “We’d like to drive you to your hotel.”

“Hotel? Oh dear, I haven’t even got a place for the night. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t even bother to make a reservation.”

“Reservation.” The men laughed.

“Oh, I didn’t mean —”

“We know. But why don’t you come and stay with us in the village. You will be our honored guest.”

“Really? You won’t try and steal my credit card?”

They laughed.

“These are some good people,” Sandy said. “I’ve known Ricky and Little Feather my whole life. They’ll take good care of you.”

“Okay, then,” Harriet said. “Let’s go.”

She tucked her credit card into her wallet and zipped it up tightly in her tote. “Do you have a place I can … freshen up in the village?” She straightened her glasses and then pulled her tote up onto her shoulders. “I must look a fright.”

But just as they reached the door Harriet stopped. “Oh, I haven’t paid the bill.”

“No, it’s taken care of,” Sandy said. “You just enjoy the rest of your stay in Maggie Valley.”

An hour later Harriet was sitting comfortably on a sofa that had been draped with a red and yellow wooly blanket in her new friend Ricky’s home. His wife, Shawna, brought Harriet blackberry tea and gave her a pair of comfortable moccasins for her tired feet. Ricky’s home felt like being inside a log cabin. He lived outside the Oconaluftee Village in a small community of mostly Cherokee.

“Henry,” Harriet said into her phone. “I’m surprised I get service out here,” she whispered as an aside to Shawna.

“Where are you now?” Henry asked.

“Oh, you won’t believe it. I am on an Indian reservation. My new friend Ricky and his wife, Shawna, said they were going to take me sightseeing tomorrow and then someplace to see the stars.”

“Stars,” Henry said. “You mean like Doris Day?”

“Oh, geeze!” Harriet said. “People just don’t get it. No, Henry, I mean real stars. Ricky said the Arietids meteor shower is spectacular this time of year.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Are you okay?” It was Prudence’s voice.

“She must have grabbed the phone from Henry,” Harriet whispered.

Prudence said, “I had a worry thought about you.”

“I’m fine, Prudence. Why do you ask? Don’t I sound fine?” For a second Harriet thought the events of the evening — her run-in with those two-bit criminals — might have made it out to California.

“Yes,” Prudence said. “You sound okay. But I … I …”

“Oh, well, now that you bring it up, I did have a harrowing evening,” Harriet said. “But really I’m safe with my new Indian friends; they really don’t mind being called that here in North Carolina. I’ll be on the road again in a day or so.”

“What happened?” Prudence asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No, well, just a couple of bruises on my knee. I thought I was having dinner with a nice couple I met at the visitor’s center, but it turned out they just wanted to steal my credit card.”

“Oh no,” Prudence said. “Did you call the bank?”

“Well, hold on, dear; three nice men captured them, and they’re in jail now. I got my card back. So all is well.”

“I’m sorry,” Prudence said. “Henry was worried something like this would happen.”

“Oh, he’s just being a worrywart. I’m fine, and even if they did get my card, they couldn’t have done much with it. Amateurs.”

Prudence laughed. “Okay, Mother. But make sure you stay in touch.”

“Okay. Can I speak with Henry now?”

“Oh, he can hear you,” Prudence said. “I put you on speaker when you were talking about your run-in.”

Harriet smiled when Shawna handed her a cup of tea. “How’s Humphrey?” she said into the phone.

“He’s fine,” Henry said. “He misses you. But Mom, are you sure you’re okay? I don’t like the idea of you traveling alone, and now … well, now that you were mugged, maybe you should let me come get you.”

“No, I’m fine. Maybe a little tired, but I really am having the time of my life. And that whole mugging thing was just a … just a speed bump on the highway of my adventure.”

“Mother, leave the writing to me, and please, please call me anytime you want to be rescued.”

“Oh, pish, Henry! I don’t need rescuing. Now give Humphrey a scratch behind the ears for me. I’ll talk to you soon.”