Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus (18 page)

After saying good-bye to Martha, Harriet did something she had only thought about. She closed her eyes and pointed to the map of Kentucky as it was displayed on her phone and said, “Wherever my finger lands, that’s where I’ll go.”

She opened her eyes, and the closest town to the tip of her index finger was Hopkinsville, Kentucky. “Sounds good to me.” The only problem was that there was no mass transit that would get her there, even though it was only about seventy miles away. Fortunately the hotel desk clerk was able to arrange an airport shuttle bus to pick her up and drop her off at the Best Western in Hopkinsville.

The ride to Hopkinsville, Kentucky, reminded her of Pennsylvania in many ways with its lush green lawns and rolling hills dotted with clumps of trees and azaleas. Harriet loved to watch the azaleas bloom in the springtime. And seeing them here made her miss her old house.

After saying good-bye to the shuttle driver — she never did get his name — Harriet had an urge for pie. Even though her stomach grumbled, she wasn’t really hungry for lunch — just pie. Harriet toted her stuff down the street until she found a coffee shop called Aunt Fran’s. It was small and cute and full of gingham, red and white checked. A tall, skinny woman who introduced herself as
Bunny brought her to her seat. A small table in the middle of the room with an unlit votive candle in the center.

“Excuse me a second,” Bunny said, “but how come you look familiar to me?”

Harriet shook her head and sat down with her suitcase tucked next to her. She plopped her tote bag on the empty seat next to her.

“That tote,” the waitress said. “I know I seen it somewhere. I always notice fashions and such seeing how my daughter, Ginger, is working in fashion. But I got to say that bag don’t look like it just walked off the pages of
Vogue
magazine.”

Harriet felt her eyebrows lift. “Coffee would be great.” She glanced at her bag. “It’s nice enough for travel.”

That was when the waitress snapped her fingers. “That’s where I’d seen you b’fore, honey. You’re that woman that beat up that punk. The one taking the trip across America. You clocked that punk but good with that bag. I like to watch them YouTube videos. Better than TV.”

The waitress called toward the kitchen. “Hey, Marty. We got us a celebrity right here at Aunt Fran’s Pie Shop.”

Harriet felt all the eyes in the little shop turn toward her.

“You go, girl,” called someone from the back of the restaurant.

“I wouldn’t want to tangle with you,” said another voice.

Harriet felt her face warm. “Please. I just came in for pie.”

“Oh, yeah,” her server said. “Let me get your coffee, and I’ll tell you what — coffee — all you can drink — it’s on the house.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said, looking at the menu.

“Can we get a picture?” asked a woman who was walking toward her, leading a teenager with ponytails and braces. Harriet assumed she was the woman’s daughter. The girl looked completely mortified.

“Only if your daughter really wants one,” Harriet said.

“Now, don’t you worry about Juliet. She always looks like that, all sourpussed and wrinkled. It’s the age.”

Harriet looked into Juliet’s eyes. “Do you want your picture taken, Sweetie?”

Juliet shook her head.

“Then how ‘bout if we take one with just your mama? You take it okay?”

That seemed all right. Juliet took the camera from her mother and snapped some shots. First with Juliet’s mother and then with Harriet and practically everyone in the shop.

“Don’t you just love those cameras they stick in phones?” Bunny said. “Can do practically anything with the shots. But mostly they sit inside my phone till I delete them.”

Harriet winked at Juliet.

After the impromptu photo session Harriet returned to her seat. “And do you have pie?”

“Do we have pie?” the waitress said. “Hey Marty, do we have pie?”

Harriet heard a boisterous laugh.

“Honey,” Bunny said, “you’re in Aunt Fran’s. Nobody does pie like Fran.”

“Oh, good. I have been dying for a slice of rhubarb pie.”

“Comin’ up.” Bunny elbowed Harriet’s shoulder.

It didn’t take long for her pie and meal to arrive. Harriet was hungry. The sandwich was homey and good, the coffee strong. She got up for just a minute to use the restroom. When she returned she found a second slice of rhubarb pie at her place.

“That’s on Aunt Fran,” Bunny said. “She’s in the back and shyer than a groundhog in December. She’s so old she went to the prom with Moses and as ornery as a mule.”

Harriet smiled. There was something appealing about being a kind of minor celebrity. And Harriet liked the little coffee shop well enough that she took her time and basked in the hospitality of the owners and patrons. But when she saw what she thought was a local news station truck pull up outside, she wondered if she should make tracks or not.

But there wasn’t time. Before she knew it, a reporter carrying a microphone with a long thick cord that reached clear back to the news van approached her.

“Harriet Beamer,” the reporter said, “my name is Tracy Endicott with the local news station. Bunny called and told us you were here. Mind if we ask a few questions?”

Harriet wiped her lips with the pretty pink paper napkin she held on her lap. “I guess not.”

“It’s not often we get celebrities through town, and I thought folks might like to see how you’re doing and how your trip is coming along. How does it feel?”

“Oh, it feels okay,” Harriet said as she wiped rhubarb from her shirt. “But really, I’m not so important. I’m just taking a little trip.”

“Little?” Bunny called. “You’re traveling clear ‘cross the country. Know how many women wish they had the guts to just up and run like you?”

“But that’s just it. I’m not running,” Harriet said. “I thought I was running by taking the slow route, but now I know I’m on my way to do just what God wants me to do.”

Tracy smiled and signaled to Bunny to refrain from blurting out anymore. Bunny went back to wiping tables. But Harriet could see her listening in. It was fine with Harriet.

“But most of all,” Harriet said, “I like meeting so many dear folks, like Bunny.” The cameraman swung his camera in her direction. Harriet thought Bunny would absolutely die from excitement. She pulled herself up, stuck her rather ample bosom out, pushed a free hand through her long orange hair, and smiled into the camera like she was movie star.

“Will this be on the news this evening?” Harriet asked.

“It sure will,” Tracy said. “And on the AP wire. It’ll be all over the country by morning.”

“And YouTube by afternoon,” Bunny said.

“Oh dear, not another YouTube.”

“What’s your next stop?” Tracy asked.

“I’m not sure; Amelia, my GPS, has me routed through to Saint Louis, but I might make a stop here or there, or I should say
from
here to there in one conveyance or another.”

That was when a big, burly man, wearing a sleeveless denim jacket over a long-sleeved shirt with a picture of a motorcycle on it, approached Harriet.

“Hey, lady,” he said.

He was quickly followed by a woman wearing a leather jacket. “Have some manners, Snake.”

“Pardon us, ma’am,” she said, “but we couldn’t help overhear you with that reporter and all. Well, ma’am, we’d love for you to ride with us. Can take you as far as Collinsville; that’s in Illinois, but it’s only a stone’s throw to Saint Louis, if you want.”

Harriet swallowed and looked around.

“That’s a great idea,” Bunny said. “On account of it ain’t easy to catch buses across Kentucky. Not unless you went Greyhound.”

“Oh, I don’t want to take another Greyhound,” Harriet said. “So far, from what I’ve seen, this looks like a pretty part of the country, sort of reminds me of home. I’d like to see more.”

“Then ride with us,” the woman in the leather said. “You can ride in Snake’s sidecar.”

“Sidecar? But I don’t even know Snake or you well enough to be —”

“Well, where are our manners,” the woman said. “My name is Pearl. Pearl Abscot, and this is my husband Snake. We’re Hogs.”

“Hogs?” Snake was a bit overweight with a Santa Claus paunch, but Harriet wouldn’t call him a hog.

“Harley-Davidson motorcycle owners,” Pearl said. “HOG is one of those … what do you call ‘em … acronyms for Harley-Davidson Owners Group. It’s our club.”

“Ah, go on along with them,” Bunny said. “I’ve known Pearl and Snake goin’ on umpteen years now. They’ll get you close to Saint Louis real easy. Be fun too.”

“But I don’t know … motorcycles? I’ve never ridden one. Aren’t they a little dangerous?”

“Nah, they aren’t dangerous — it’s the other people on the road that’s dangerous. Just sit back in my sidecar and feel the wind in your face and enjoy the scenery.”

“You can use my extra helmet,” Pearl said. “Come on, whaddaya say? We’d consider it an honor to be part of the great Harriet Beamer Beat ‘Em Up Road Trip.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?” Harriet said.

“Nah, I just made that up,” Pearl said.

“Look, why don’t you just think on it a few more minutes while Pearl and me finish up our lunch.” Snake looked at Pearl. “We’ll have you in Collinsville, Illinois, by suppertime, maybe a little before depending on if we make any stops.”

“And look.” Pearl said. “You want to stop and catch a bus at any time, just holler.”

“Okay,” Harriet said. “Maybe if I could sit here and think a minute.”

Bunny freshened Harriet’s coffee. “Really, honey. You got nothin’ to worry about. Snake and Pearl are top drawer. They’ll take good care of you.”

Another voice chimed in. “I can vouch for Snake.”

Harriet turned her head. The voice belonged to a tall, skinny police officer, holding a motorcycle helmet and wearing knee-high black boots.

“You can?” Harriet said.

“Sure thing, ma’am. Snake and Pearl are all right.”

Harriet thought about what happened in Maggie Valley with those two awful crooks. And, of course, the purse snatching. It didn’t seem possible that she could have such terrible fortune three times in a row?

“And believe you me, buses ain’t the way to go in these parts.”

“What about the train?”

“Nope. No train runs through this part of the world either.
And you got to cross over the Ohio River up there. No bus I know of does that except the Greyhound, and I heard you say you don’t want to ride Greyhound. Seems to me you got no choice.”

Harriet thought about what Henry and Prudence would say about her riding on a motorcycle. Henry would flip his lid. But when all was said and done, even if she died today in a fiery crash, she figured she’d lived a good, full life. If it was her time to go she might as well go in the sidecar of a Harley-Davidson.

“Well, okay, let’s … ride.” She looked at the police officer. “Will you be a dear and call my son — his name is Henry — and let him know I’m okay.” She scribbled his number on a napkin. “I’d tell him myself, but I think he might get a little upset about me riding a motorcycle. I fell off the Carousel horse at Playtown Park three times when he was a boy. And with the incident last Christmas, this might just be too much.”

“You take good care of yourself, honey,” Bunny said. “Now here’s another slice of pie. I wrapped it to go. Blueberry this time.”

Harriet smiled. “Thank you, Bunny. It was sure nice meeting you.”

“I wish I could do what you’re doing.”

“You can. It doesn’t take much. A little money. A GPS. And the willingness to see the world and the people in it — maybe in ways you hadn’t expected.”

Harriet opened her suitcase and slid the pie inside right after she removed her stone martens and draped them around her neck.

“If I’m gonna ride, I may as well ride in style.”

“A
IN’T SHE GORGEOUS,”
S
NAKE SAID, REFERRING TO HIS BIKE
and not his wife as Harriet had thought at first.

Harriet stared at the motorcycle with the attached sidecar. The bike was large and looked heavy. It had nice shiny bright yellow paint and black trim. It reminded Harriet of a large bumblebee. The sidecar was also bright yellow and looked a little like half of a torpedo, sliced lengthwise. The seat seemed okay, vinyl with some rips in the seat but plenty of legroom. And she was happy it had its own little windshield. She didn’t want to get bugs in her teeth.

“She’s a 1997 Road King. Custom paint.”

“She’s very pretty,” Harriet said.

“Climb in,” Pearl said. “Snake won’t bite you. I think there’s room for your cute little tote bag but, honey —” she directed her voice to Snake — “You better tie her suitcase down on the back.”

“You are asking me to climb into that … that side bucket?”

“Sidecar,” Snake said. “Closest thing to flying without leaving the ground.”

“And you’re sure I don’t have to worry about it falling off on the highway with me in it.”

“No, ma’am,” Snake said. “She’s a worthy machine.”

“Snake hasn’t lost a passenger yet,” Pearl said. She gave the big
lug a punch in the shoulder. “And he ain’t planning to.” Then she kissed his cheek. “See you on the road.”

Pearl gave Harriet a helmet. “Now just put this on, sweetie, and climb in. We’ll be on the road in no time. You are gonna love the wind in your hair and the scenery whizzing past. There ain’t nothing else like it.”

Harriet took a deep breath and plunked the helmet onto her head. It felt big, but when Pearl snapped it under her chin, it was snug enough.

“Now don’t you just look adorable,” Pearl said. “Them foxes are so elegant.”

Harriet smiled and then stuffed her tote into the sidecar and watched Snake lash her suitcase to the back of the bike. Good and tight.

Harriet settled her rump down into the seat. The vinyl was hot for a second or two. And the next thing she knew Snake had started the engine and yelled, “Geronimo!” And off they went down the country road toward Saint Louis — she hoped.

Henry stared at the computer screen, shaking his head. “It’s dreck. I write dreck.” Then he pulled a copy of
The Sun Also Rises
from the bookshelf. He leaned down and patted Humphrey. “Sometimes it helps to read some Hemingway — not that I’m Hemingway. But I need some inspiration.”

Humphrey opened his formerly closed and resting eyelids. He looked up at Henry.

“It’s like I completely lost control of Cash,” Henry said. “I don’t really know him anymore. Not like I used to. He’s off doing things that … that I never thought he would do.”

Henry carried his book onto the porch, followed closely by Humphrey. “Maybe I’ll call Mother.”

Humphrey howled.

“She should be making her way into Kentucky by now.” He
directed his words to Humphrey. “You know, old man, I wonder if I keep asking her if I should go get her because I don’t want to finish the book — avoidance.”

Humphrey glared at Henry.

Henry reached into his pocket to retrieve the phone, but it jingled just as he did. “Maybe that’s her.”

“Henry Beamer?” said a deep voice on the other end.

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“This is Officer Valquez of the Hopkinsville, Kentucky, police department. Now this is not an emergency call, but —”

Henry had to sit down. His heart pounded.

Humphrey sidled next to him and rested his head on Henry’s knees.

“Your mother asked me to call you and tell you she’s doing fine,” the officer said. “I was down at the luncheonette while the TV crew was there talking to your mother.”

“TV crew? Not again.”

“Well, now, yes, yes, sir, the news people were out there reporting on your mother’s little trip when she started talking about her next destination.”

“Uh-huh. Is she okay?”

“Yes. Yes, sir, as far as I know your mama’s just fine. Leastways she looked fine when she took off with Pearl and Snake on that motorcycle. She was wearing a helmet and all.”

Henry swallowed. “Motorcycle? My mother does not know how to drive a motorcycle. Wait a minute — did you say Snake?”

“Yes sir, Snake — he’s a nice fella, and, well, now she wasn’t exactly driving it. She was riding in Snake’s sidecar.”

“Snake’s sidecar? What in the heck are you talking about? What is Snake’s sidecar? Some kind of traveling show?”

“No, no, Snake … now, that ain’t his real name.”

“Really?”

“No, his name is Louis DuPree. He’s a preacher fella, has a
little church just outside of Slaughters. Nicest guy you’d ever — but he does like to ride his Harley.”

Henry felt a little better until Officer Valquez continued talking.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Dupree and his wife, Pearl, they got quite a following in these parts, especially when they do all the rattlesnake handling during their services, woo hee, but it’s quite a show. That’s why they call him Snake. If it don’t make a believer out of you, nothin’ will.”

“Oh, good grief, my mother is traveling with a band of snake handlers.”

“Kind of, but I thought you’d want to know. They’ll take good care of her.”

“Yes, of course. Did they say where they were headed?”

“I believe it’s Collinsville, Illinois, or nearby there anyway. About a four-hour drive from here. They’ll be there a little after suppertime I imagine, even if they stop for a bite. But you never know with the DuPrees. They can get sidetracked.”

“Thank you,” Henry said. And he closed the phone.

“I don’t believe this, Humphrey. Your mother is gallivanting across Kentucky on a motorcycle with a snake-handling minister. Maybe I should have stayed in Dad’s business. Least then she’d be safe at home.”

Humphrey lay at Henry’s feet. He rolled onto his side, giving Henry an invitation to scratch.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Henry said, trying to convince himself also. Henry took a breath. “But what if something happens? What if she falls out of that thing? You know she used to fall off the merry-go-round at Playtown Park.”

By the time Snake, Harriet, and Pearl pulled onto the main highway, Route 64 headed toward Saint Louis, according to the sign she saw, Harriet had already decided that this would be the last
time she rode in a sidecar. Her tote bag took up most of her feet space. She felt a bit dizzy as they whizzed past trees and houses. She also had a little trouble keeping her furs on. The wind was stronger than she thought it would be. And watching the telephone poles go past one … after … the … other — the wires somehow following the terrain of the road with all its ups and downs — made her stomach churn. She thought this was all very strange considering she was not one prone to carsickness.

Pearl rode next to her at some points but hung behind Snake for most of the time. Harriet’s sidecar had a little sideview mirror, and she could see the other motorcyclists following closely. Her knees started to ache on account of being kind of bunched up toward her chest. And to top it off, she had to use the ladies room. Unlike the local bus, where she could get off at the next stop and find a restaurant, or the train, where she could use the train toilet, she wasn’t even sure if she could get Snake’s attention to ask him to please pull into a rest stop.

She liked Snake and couldn’t help but wonder why he had such a dreadful name. She liked Pearl’s name well enough. It made her think of the ocean. Now there was a positive about moving to California. She’d be near the ocean — or would she? That was when it occurred to her that she really had no idea where exactly Grass Valley was in relation to … to anything.

Soon enough Snake pulled off the main road and stopped at a red light. He leaned over toward Harriet. “Figure we can use a pit stop,” he said very loudly. “We’re about halfway to Collinsville.”

Harriet smiled and nodded even though she wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what he said. She looked in her mirror just to make sure Pearl was still there, but unfortunately one of her foxtails flew across her face, nearly whipped her glasses off and momentarily blinded her.

She regained her composure in time to see the light change, and Snake sped off until they reached a little diner that flashed the name R
ED’s
in bright blue, which made Harriet wonder for a
second. But no matter, she was just glad to get to a bathroom. And from the looks of Pearl, she was happy too.

Red’s was nice. It was cozy, not very big, with a line of booths on one side and a counter on the next. Signs hung above the kitchen window with the diner’s not-so-expansive menu.

“Excuse me,” Harriet said, “but I need —”

“Right over there,” Snake said, pointing toward a sign shaped like a finger pointing to the left with the words LADIES and GENTS burned into it.

“Thank you,” Harriet said.

Snake smiled and headed toward a booth. The others took booths also. Harriet met up with Pearl in the bathroom.

“Snake ain’t his real name,” Pearl said. “He’s Pastor Louis DuPree.”

Harriet looked at Pearl in the mirror as she washed her hands. The rust stains had painted themselves in the resemblance of two hearts. “What? Snake is a pastor? You mean a bona fide pastor?”

“Sure ‘nuff. A good one too.”

“Then why does he call himself Snake of all things?”

“That will take a little explaining. But mostly it’s because the nickname puts folks at ease. Says he can nab folks by the heart quicker when they don’t know his true identity. He’s kind of like a superhero in that respect.”

Harriet and Pearl slid into the booth across from Snake.

“Now listen, Snake,” Harriet said. “I want this to be on me — for everyone. Even those guys. Whatever you want.”

Snake smiled, his eyes softening into two light blue gems. “Why thank you, Harriet. Much obliged.”

Harriet said all she wanted was toast and coffee.

“Oh, my, my, my,” Snake said. “Is that all you’re having? Red’s is famous for their meat loaf. Have more than pie. We still have a couple hours on the road.”

“Well, okay,” Harriet said, “but my stomach was feeling a little queasy.”

“Then you probably need to eat,” Pearl said. “I’ll have the meat loaf too.”

“That makes three,” Snake said.

Harriet laughed. “It must be good. I just hope it settles okay.”

“'Course it will,” Pearl said. “And besides, you need your strength, traveling all over the countryside by yourself.”

Snake and Pearl locked eyes for a second. It made Harriet just a trifle nervous given her encounter in Maggie Valley. It was the same kind of look shared by Pamela and Hank.

A waitress wearing a white dress and a red apron approached the table. “You all ready?”

“Meat loaf all around,” Snake said.

The waitress wrote on her order book. “Drinks?”

“Coffee, I do believe,” Snake said.

“And water,” Harriet added.

“Thank you, I’ll be right back with your drinks,” the waitress said after she scribbled their order.

“She’s not the usual waitress,” Pearl whispered. “Donna must be out today.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Don’t see her anywhere.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Snake said.

“Me too,” Pearl said. “She was looking a little pale when we were in before.”

“Let’s just eat and get back on the road. I need to be at the church by 7:30 tonight.”

“Church?” Harriet asked. “Is that where you’re headed? Church?”

“That’s right,” Snake said. “We have a meeting tonight.”

Harriet peered into his eyes. “Well, that brings me to a question. How come you’re called Snake — if you don’t mind my asking? And why would any self-respecting church have a pastor named Snake?”

Snake laughed so hard he shot water out his nose. “That’s just my street name.”

“Ah, fiddlesticks,” Harriet said. “I’m getting duped again. Are you gonna do something, because just so you know, I bought a canister of mace in Maggie Valley, and I am NOT afraid to use it.” She lied.

Pearl grabbed Harriet’s hand. “No, no, it’s true. We have a church in Slaughters. The Apostolic Church of Moses in the Wilderness.”

“Really? Well, that’s just wonderful. I knew I had a feeling about you. So you all believe in Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit and getting saved and —”

“Yep,” Louis said. “We sure do. They call me Snake because I often preach while handling snakes.”

Harriet choked on her water. “What? I don’t get it. Like in a zoo show? You know when the snake people hold snakes while they teach about them?”

“No, no. Rattlers,” Pearl said. “Poisonous rattlers. They dance with them.”

Harriet gasped until an image of two snakes entwined in a waltz made her smile. “But … but why on earth would you do such a thing?”

“Mark 16,” Snake said. “ ‘They will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.’ ”

Harriet sat spellbound, so much so that when her meat loaf came she grew very quiet and had to ponder all of what she just heard. She knocked the tiny bits of onion floating around the gravy onto the side of her plate. Pearl attempted to lighten things up.

“We didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “It’s not like he carries snakes in his saddlebags.”

“That’s good,” Harriet said. “I … I mean you folks can do what you want, but I am not holding a snake. I hate them.”

“And you should, darlin',” Snake said. “Snakes are the devil’s disguise.”

“That’s why we’re heading to Collinsville in Missouri,” Pearl said. “We’re attending a revival service.”

“Oh, okay,” Harriet said, still stirring her gravy. “Will there be snakes?”

Snake smiled. And then patted Harriet’s hand. “Yep.”

On the outside she was smiling and calm. But inside she experienced a little bit of trepidation and gas.