Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus (8 page)

“You were right, Mrs. Beamer. Gordon just texted me.” Tess showed her the phone. Harriet read the words. “Forgive me. I love you.”

“Well, see there,” Harriet said. “It was just a case of cold feet, icy cold feet, but dear heart, do Mrs. Beamer a favor and have a long talk with that man before you say I do — preferably with a member of the clergy nearby.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mrs. Beamer. I love Gordon. And I want to marry him, but we are going to have that talk first.”

“Good girl.” Harriet smiled.

Once she was off the train, Harriet noticed a warm sensation inside that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Maybe this was how it felt to thaw out. For the first time in a long time, Harriet wondered if perhaps God really did have his hand on her, nudging her along.

The Galyon Depot was not nearly as grand as the Union Station in Washington. Harriet didn’t think she’d ever get over that place. But the Depot was still grand, with high ceilings and pillars.

After a brief conversation with a station representative, Harriet learned that buses left regularly throughout the day for Winston-Salem, but she thought for right now the best idea was to find a hotel for the night. She chose the closest, the Biltmore Greensboro Hotel, a historic hotel only a few blocks from the Depot.

Harriet lugged her suitcase through the hotel lobby door and let go a huge breath. Although she would never admit it she was a little nervous walking to the hotel at night. The lobby was large with high ceilings and reminded Harriet of pictures of a gentleman’s club with dark wood and leather, not that she’d ever been to one. She saw pictures. A large portrait of a young man in Colonial garb hung near the fireplace.

The man at the front desk was kind and spoke softly, so softly Harriet had a little trouble understanding him. But he showed her to a nice room on the second floor. It was called the Traveler and was especially designed for people just passing through.

Harriet felt annoyed although not surprised about how tired she was. She wanted to talk to Martha, but it was far too late. As the yawns caught up with her, she charged her phone and fell asleep.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
H
ARRIET BOARDED THE 10:00
P
IED
mont Express Bus to Winston-Salem. She carried a large cup of coffee and an orange-cranberry scone, which she had to tuck inside her tote bag on account of lugging her suitcase.

The big black bus was comfortable, with lots of legroom and large windows that went nearly from the roof to the ground and made Harriet a little nervous, like she could fall out.

“I can’t wait to get to Winston-Salem,” she said to the woman sitting next to her. “It sounds like such a nice town. But I’ve been through quite a few — they’re all the same, yet different, you know?”

The woman, a tall, skinny thing with close-cropped hair and round glasses, looked into Harriet’s eyes. “You a traveler? Kind of a travelin’ grandma?”

“Yep, was on the train awhile yesterday. I’m glad to be on the bus now. I like trains, but with buses you get to see more of the towns and cities.” She glanced out the window. “See, over there, that’s the biggest weeping willow tree I have ever seen.”

“That’s true, that’s true. I been taking the bus ever since I got my license taken away from me.”

Harriet’s stomach made a little flip-flop. “Why was that?”

“DUI,” the woman said. “But it wasn’t my fault. I had to drive the car that night.”

“I’m sure you did, dear. My name is Mrs. Beamer. Harriet Beamer.”

The woman reached out her hand from around the grocery bag she clutched. “Thomasina, but ever’body call me Tommy. You can call me Tommy too.”

“Okay, Tommy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I only got two more stops before mine. Then I’m home and I can see my little girl. The social worker said she’d bring Maize by me tonight.”

Harriet swallowed. “That’s nice. I’m on my way to where my son lives.”

“So you got family somewheres too.”

Harriet let go a soft chuckle. “Sure do. Grass Valley, California.”

“California? Why, Mrs. Beamer, you a long way off from there.”

“I know. I’m taking the long way home.”

“You rightly are.” Tommy glanced out the window and then back at Harriet. “You mean to tell me you be taking the bus the whole way there? The whole, long way?”

“Yep. Just taking my time. Seeing some sights before I die.”

“The dickens you say. Now that’s a trip I wish I could take, but I don’t think my parole officer would let me do that. Not just now anyway.”

Harriet smiled but had to admit to herself that she was beginning to feel a bit nervous even though she did not want to judge Tommy based on one small conversation. Harriet peered into Tommy’s huge, crystal eyes.

“You have the bluest, sweetest eyes,” Harriet said. “Very pretty.”

“Pretty? You think I’m pretty?”

“I do.”

Tommy sniffed. “Not generally the way I get described.”

The bus lurched as it went over a bump. “Turbulence on buses too,” Harriet said.

Tommy laughed. “Well, this is my stop. Glad I met you, Mrs. Beamer.”

“I’m glad I met you, Thomasina. Such a pretty woman. You tell people they need to call you Thomasina from now on.”

Tommy smiled as she stood. The dark circles under her eyes became apparent in the odd lighting of the bus. “You have fun. I hope you find your family.”

“I will. They’re waiting for me.”

Harriet remembered her scone. She reached into her tote and retrieved the small white bag. The scone had begun to disintegrate from being crammed, but Harriet didn’t mind. She had never eaten out of a bag before and kind of enjoyed it.

A little past 11:00 a.m., Harriet’s bus pulled into the Winston-Salem station.

“Last stop,” the driver called. “Everybody out of the pool.”

Harriet had the impression he said that every time.

This time she was the first one off the bus. The station wasn’t anything spectacular, more like a big, covered driveway in a downtown sort of place. The first thing she noticed besides all the pigeons was the chill in the air. It was like the temperature had dropped thirty degrees. She dug her sweater out of her tote and buttoned it on. Before she left the station Harriet had snagged some pamphlets, and from the look of things, Winston-Salem seemed like a great place to do some sightseeing. Besides she wanted an extended rest period.

“Now,” she said out loud, “first I should find a place to spend the night. A base of operations.” She spotted a cab driver leaning against his yellow car.

“Excuse me,” Harriet said, “but can you tell me where I could find a nice hotel close by.”

“Close by here,” the cabbie said. “Um, let me think.” He pulled at his chin. “I guess you could go on down to the Marriott. It’s not far, not even a mile. You can walk it.”

Walk. That sounded good to Harriet after sitting on the bus for an hour. “Thank you, can you give me directions?”

“Sure thing. Just go on down Liberty Street here until you reach Fifth. Turn left on Cherry Street and you’ll see it. Big, tall building.”

Harriet checked that everything was still safely tucked into her tote bag and set off down Liberty Street. She liked the sound of that. Liberty Street. Her rolling suitcase got snagged on some uneven pavement, and it toppled to the side a few times.

“Geeze, the center of gravity on these things must be off,” she said adjusting the bag.

After checking in, Harriet grabbed a quick lunch of a cheeseburger and French fries in the hotel restaurant. And that was when Harriet discovered the hotel had an indoor pool.

“Oh, yes, ma’am,” said her server. “The hotel has many recreational offerings. The pool is open, and so is the fitness room.”

“Fitness room? Oh, dear me, no, I’m not much for lifting weights and such.”

The waiter smiled. “There’s more than weights. Perhaps a walk on the treadmill.”

“Treadmill? Honey, why would I want to walk in place when I can walk and actually see something outside?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”

Harriet raised her hand. “No, I’m sorry. The pool sounds nice. As a matter of fact, I think I will sit by the pool for a while.” Although she hadn’t packed a bathing suit, just the thought of lazing poolside in the afternoon seemed as if it might be a nice change of pace from traveling. She went to her room and grabbed her journal. “I think I might write a nice long letter to Max.” Harriet sat
on the bed and let a few tears slip down her cheeks. Grief was an odd sort of bird that flitted around in the background most of the time, but every so often, the bird would come to settle on Harriet’s shoulder. And at those times Harriet, like so many others, had no choice but to acknowledge its presence with tears.

She thought about calling Grass Valley first. Maybe hearing Henry’s voice would help, or even if she could hear Humphrey bark or whine. How she wished for just a second she had a nice, warm glazed donut to offer him.

But she was just a little too teary-eyed and didn’t want to worry Henry, so for solace she opened her wallet and looked at her picture of Max. He was a handsome man — tall with blond hair and bright blue eyes and one dimple in his right cheek. The picture was taken just two days before what would be their last Christmas together. He wore a Santa hat and had a crazy grin on his face. Next she looked at the picture of Humphrey she carried right next to Max’s. It was taken at last year’s church picnic. Humphrey held an entire hamburger in his mouth. She touched the picture with her fingertips. “I miss you. But I’m coming.” And for the first time since boarding the first bus back in Pennsylvania, Harriet thought maybe, just maybe, she should just get it over with and fly to California.

She snuffed back her tears and opened her Moleskine. Dropped her seeing glasses, put on her cheaters and wrote:

Her eyes felt heavy, and the next thing Harriet knew she woke in a darkened room. The sun had already set, but she took her journal anyway and headed for the pool. The area was nice. Big and spacious with a glass roof that made it possible for Harriet to look out into the night sky. It was too bad that the city lights obscured the sky. Harriet thought the stars would have been spectacular if she could only see them. She settled on a lounge chair
and sighed as she opened her notebook and reread what she had just written. Then wrote:

She stopped writing and thought a moment. Then she wrote,

She stopped writing again. But then hurried to write,

She closed her journal and closed her eyes. When she opened them it was nearly midnight and a man was standing over her.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but the pool is closing.”

Harriet shook her head. “Oh, dear me. I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

“Happens all the time,” the man said.

Harriet stood. “Thank you. I’ll just be going to my room.” She looked at the young man. “You remind me of Henry.”

“Henry?”

“My son. He’s a writer — working on his second novel — I think it’s number two. He’s not famous — well, not yet. I’m on my way to see him.”

“That’s nice.”

Harriet stared for another few seconds. “Well, good evening, Hen —”

“Phillip, ma’am, my name is Phillip.”

She noticed his name badge. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Phillip.”

Harriet had chosen a king guest room for the night. It was large with beautiful white linens, a huge bathroom, and of course a flat screen TV bigger than her dining room table. So after taking a shower and changing into a nightgown, Harriet made herself comfy in the large bed. She clicked on the TV and surfed until she landed on a Bette Davis movie —
Now Voyager.
One of her all-time favorites.

Just as Bette and Paul Henreid were about to kiss for the first time, her phone jingled. She was glad it did because it helped her not get all misty-eyed.

“Hello,” Harriet said with her eyes on the TV.

“Harriet, it’s me. Martha. I know it’s late, but you know me — a night owl. I was hoping you were still up.”

“Oh, Martha, how nice. How are you?”

“Just fine. There’s a big storm here, thunder, lightning. Where are you?”

“Winston-Salem, North Carolina. And yes, I’m still awake.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine. It’s going fine. But for a minute today I thought maybe I should just get on a plane and fly to Grass Valley.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Nah, I was just missing Max and Humphrey. Hold on a second, will ya, Martha. Bette Davis is about to —”

“Who? Bette Davis? Harriet, what’s going on?”

“A movie, Martha. I’m watching a movie.” Harriet set the phone down on the bed. A half hour later she picked it up. Martha had hung up.

“Oh dear. I’ll call her back tomorrow.”

Tomorrow arrived and Harriet woke to the sound of rain splatting against the windows. Thunder rumbled overhead and a crack of lightning illuminated the room. She looked at the clock. “Ten after seven.”

Harriet dressed. She chose a pullover shirt and the blue capris she had packed. Her new jeans needed washing, so she folded them tightly and shoved them into the suitcase. She would rather have worn the jeans and now wished she had bought two pair, but the capris would have to do until she could purchase another pair of jeans and sneakers. Most definitely sneakers. Her leather shoes had become almost impossible to wear. And even though her ankle was fully healed, it still ached from time to time — especially when it rained.

Harriet finished brushing her hair and teeth. She packed away everything she had taken out of her suitcase and tote and then made her way to the hotel lobby. First things first. Harriet desperately needed a pair of sneakers. She found the concierge desk, but he wasn’t there.

Harriet waited and waited until her stomach grumbled and she decided that breakfast was in order. The hotel restaurant was just the place. She ordered a hearty breakfast on account of today was a big traveling day. She wanted to make it clear across North Carolina in search of wide-open skies and stars.

The server brought her a plate of scrambled eggs, grits, toast, and a cup of fresh fruit consisting of strawberries, blueberries, cantaloupe, and watermelon.

“This looks lovely,” she said. “But could I have a little whipped cream on my fruit, please?”

“Of course,” her server said, taking the fruit cup.

“Thank you.”

Harriet liked the look of her server. A tall, graceful young woman who in Harriet’s estimation was working hard for some
reason — maybe she was putting herself through school, maybe she was a single mom trying to support her family. Harriet’s imagination had a tendency to run away with her. It would be best to ask.

The waitress returned with Harriet’s fruit. The large white mountain of whipped cream made Harriet and the server smile.

“Ah, looks great,” Harriet said.

“Thank you. My name is Grace, if you need anything else.”

“I knew it,” Harriet said. “I was just telling myself that you are a graceful young woman.”

The woman looked away.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Harriet said. “I know a hard worker when I see one. And one with your grace and style and sweetness. Well, it’s just such a welcome commodity these days.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Grace said.