Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus (6 page)

“Oh, oh, I am so glad you got one of those. That will be a big help. Help you find hotels and restaurants too.”

“I miss you already, Martha.”

“I miss you too. But I’m sure I’ll see you soon. Did you tell Henry your plan?”

Harriet laughed. “Yes. He’s not so happy. He wanted to come meet me and travel along. I told him no. I am quite capable of traveling cross-country all by myself.”

“Good for you,” Martha said.

Harriet clicked off her phone after they said their good-byes and set it on the table. She noticed she had only a tiny bit of battery left. The phone salesman told her she would need to give it a full charge once she got settled somewhere. She rooted through her tote bag, looking for her charger. She dumped the contents out and sorted through, but no charger. Panic wriggled through her body.

“Oh dear, where is it?” She checked her dress pockets, her tote bag. Nothing.

Harriet felt tears begin to well up at the corners of her eyes. She swiped them away. “I will not cry because of a lost phone charger.”

She sighed. “Some traveler I am.”

A
FTER CHECKING THROUGH ALL OF HER BELONGINGS ONE
more time Harriet decided to call the main desk.

“I … I don’t know if you can help me, but I seem to have lost my cell-phone charger. I must have left it on the train or at the train station, and I only have a tiny bit of the green left.” She looked at her phone. “Make that less than tiny.”

“That’s not a big problem,” said the sweet voice on the other end of the connection. “I’m sure there’s a store around here where you can get a replacement.”

Relief filled Harriet’s chest and stomach. “Really? You mean I can just go right into a store and buy one. It doesn’t have to be —”

“That’s right, as a matter of fact, ma’am, if you like I can check with the concierge. We might be able to have one brought to your room.”

Well, this news just about floored Harriet. As a matter of fact, she had to steady her shaking knees. “No kidding, really? You people will do that for me? It has been a terribly long day, and I have never been in Baltimore before.”

“Let me check,” said the voice. “Solomon will have the answer.”

“Thank you,” Harriet said. “Should I wait here?”

“Yes, you hang tight, and I’ll call your room the moment I have an answer. Now what kind of phone do you have?”

After sitting at his desk for nearly three hours — checking email, googling stupid stuff, playing a few rousing games of Solitaire, and writing a little, Henry decided it was time for lunch. Humphrey must have heard Henry’s stomach growl because he scrambled to his feet with a terribly excited expression. Henry patted his head. “Don’t tell Prudence, old man, but I much prefer you over that hairy cat of hers.”

Humphrey rolled over onto his back and let his tongue loll out as Henry rubbed his belly. “Are you hungry, boy? Do you like tuna sandwiches?”

A few minutes later Henry sat at the kitchen table with Humphrey at his feet. They were both enjoying tuna. “So what do you think?” Henry said, looking down at the dog. “What bug bit Mom that made her decide to travel clear across the country on a bus or … or whatever. I mean, what is she trying to prove? Her last chance, she said.”

Humphrey simply stared at Henry.

Henry’s stomach wobbled. He swallowed. “Is she okay? You don’t suppose she’s … she’s sick or something and this trip —”

Humphrey barked.

“Nah, you’re right. She wouldn’t have kept that from us. Would she?”

Harriet yawned and kicked off her shoes.

“Next order of business,” she said, “buy a pair of sneakers.” Harriet wore leather shoes, and they were beginning to bite back. She lay down on the bed, a queen-size beauty, and closed her eyes. She had only been traveling for a few hours, and already it felt more like a few days.

“I miss Humphrey,” she said out loud. “At least I could talk to him.”

She yawned. Then the next thing she knew she was awakened by a knock on her room door. She saw five-thirty on the clock.
Goodness. I was tired.

She scrambled to her feet, checked herself in the mirror on her way to the door, and was just about to open when she thought to ask, “Who is it?”

“Bellman. I have your charger.”

Harriet thought from his tone that he had been standing there for a few minutes, knocking and calling. Harriet was a sound sleeper. She pulled open the door. The same young man who showed her to her room stood there holding a package.

“Your phone charger, ma’am.”

Harriet grabbed the young man by the hand and practically pulled him into the room. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “That was quick.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stood a moment staring at Harriet. She stared back and then realized he was waiting for a tip. “Oh, oh, dear me, I’m sorry. Let me get my purse. Should I pay you for the charger?”

“No, ma’am, it will show up on the credit card you presented at check-in.”

“Now, isn’t that nice and convenient?” She opened her wallet and discovered she only had two twenties, a ten, and a five. “Oh dear.” But having a new charger without needing to go to the store herself was worth a good tip. She handed the young man another five-dollar tip thinking he would be pleased. But he simply smiled and said, “Thank you.”

She opened the package and plugged in her phone. A huge wave of relief washed over her as she saw the tiny little lightning bolt flash on her phone. She decided it would be prudent to map out the next leg of her journey, so she spent the better part of an hour with Amelia, and much to her delight, Baltimore and Washington, D.C., had an incredible array of public transportation routes available. It was almost too much for her to decide. She could have
taken the train clear to Winston-Salem, but where was the fun in that?

She saw the room-service guide sitting on the credenza and perused the hotel offerings but decided against them. This evening Harriet wanted to go out. So after a refreshing shower and changing into clean clothes, Harriet made her way to the hotel lobby. It seemed even bigger than when she first arrived. Bigger and busier. She spied the concierge desk, and since he was so kind as to get her a phone charger she thought he might be able to suggest a nice restaurant. Nothing too nice, but nice enough.

“You could try our own Bistro 300,” he said with a smile. “It’s on level three.”

“Level three.” Harriet said. “The Bistro. It sounds delightful, young man.”

“I’m certain you will enjoy it.” He smiled again.

The restaurant was nice, and Harriet had to wait only a few minutes before a table was ready. She had to admit that she felt odd sitting at a table alone and even odder when the server attempted to remove the place setting meant for a companion.

“I was wondering,” Harriet said, “would it be such a bother if you left all of that there?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the server said. “Are you expecting —”

“No. No, it just makes me feel … not so alone.”

“I understand.”

Harriet figured the only thing he really understood was that Harriet was off her noodle and was entertaining an invisible guest, a pukka of sorts like Harvey. And so, after thinking about it for another minute and before she could even open the menu, she decided to allow the server to remove the place setting. And besides, the notion struck her that others might think she had been stood up. And that was worse than dining alone, even for a woman her age.

She caught her server’s eye, and he returned to the table. “I’m
sorry. I changed my mind. You can take the extra plates and water glass and … and stuff away.”

He looked at her kind of funny. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, I am. Please.”

And so Harriet enjoyed what she thought was her official first meal on the road. First real meal, now that she was out of Pennsylvania, totally committed and ready for adventure.

Harriet finished her meal around seven o’clock. Dessert was scrumptious. She always did have a soft spot for cheesecake. And the hotel’s cheesecake was something special, made with pecans, chocolate, and caramel. The server asked her to sign the bill. “You mean, no money. Just sign?”

The server smiled, although Harriet thought it might have been a kind of smirky smile. “Yes, ma’am, it will be added to your hotel bill.”

“Oh, that’s fine.” She took the pen and signed her name.
Harriet Beamer.
She thought about adding the word
Adventurer
after her name but figured that would cause trouble. But she did cross her
t
with a flourish she never knew she had.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
H
ARRIET JOINED THE EARLIEST TOUR
group at the National Aquarium. Fortunately, she was able to check her suitcase at the coatroom inside the museum. She especially enjoyed the stingrays and sharks. She had hoped the souvenir shop would have jellyfish shakers, but she had to settle on a blue dolphin pair with the words Baltimore Inner Harbor on them. She tucked them safely into her tote bag, and set off to find a FedEx or UPS office so she could send the shakers. Harriet worried that toting brand-new souvenir shakers around could become not only a heavy ordeal but a dangerous one — they could break. Amelia helped her locate a FedEx a couple of blocks from the aquarium and Harriet overnighted the dolphins to California.

Then Harriet made her way to the first bus stop of the day just in time to catch the 1:07. The Baltimore bus was attractive: green along the bottom and then white with the usual advertisements splayed across the wide sides like traveling billboards. The destination display of the bus she boarded read: Johns Hopkins Hospital.

Harriet climbed aboard and smiled at the driver. “The bus station, please.”

The driver, a young man this time, said nothing, which made Harriet feel a little put off. So far, all of the drivers had been quite
cordial. She chose a seat toward the middle and sat next to a woman who appeared to be about her age.

“Hello,” Harriet said.

The woman looked out the window, obviously not wanting to be bothered. Harriet didn’t press it. The ride to the station was only a few minutes long, not enough time to form a real connection anyway.

Six minutes later Harriet’s stop came up. She wasn’t the only one getting off, and in some odd way that made her feel as though she was part of a group.

Harriet checked with Amelia one final time. Amelia still said that Winston-Salem, North Carolina, would be her next destination by way of Greensboro, with many little towns in between. If she saw something that tickled her fancy along the route, then she’d stop. She had all the time in the world to explore — the entire rest of the spring if she wanted.

Harriet bused clear to Bowie, Maryland, a lovely suburb of Baltimore. From there it seemed a little more difficult to find connecting buses. So, after several frustrating moments she stopped at a small coffee shop for pie and coffee and asked the waitress if she knew how to get to North Carolina. But the waitress only looked at her like she had sprouted asparagus from her head and asked the cashier who asked the cook who asked the cop sitting at the counter. He made a call on his radio and suggested she hop the Amtrak train in Washington, D.C. Harriet had been to the capital once in her life, and that had been on a school field trip in the sixth grade and at a time when security was not the huge issue it was today. After a round of hearty thank-yous, Harriet boarded a bus to Union Station, where she’d snag a train for North Carolina.

Washington Union Station was the most incredible place Harriet had ever seen. For a second she thought she might have taken a wrong turn and ended up in Europe outside a palace. The place was huge, so huge she had to grab a map to find her way around. It
was like its own city, complete with shops and restaurants. It was here that Harriet decided to purchase jeans.

The station was more like a big mall. She checked a large, lighted directory and found her way to Chico’s on the mezzanine level. It took the better part of half an hour, but Harriet finally settled on a pair of light blue denim jeans that just barely reached her ankles. The important thing was that they fit comfortably around her middle.

“Thank you very much,” she said to the young saleswoman. She seemed a bit jaded for being only around thirty, Harriet thought. Then again she must see millions of people pass through the station every day. It was old hat to her. But for Harriet, purchasing jeans at a train station was something extraordinary and unique. On her way back to the train platform Harriet was delighted when she found a Godiva Chocolatier on the concourse level. She would have to tell Martha.

Harriet had a one-hour wait before the Crescent train was scheduled to leave the station at 6:30 p.m. This did not make her happy. She was starting to feel tired and was anxious to settle into a comfy train seat and rest. Harriet found a store that sold magazines. She purchased two postcards, one with a picture of the Washington Union Station and another with a picture of the National Aquarium.

“Martha will love this,” she said, looking at the Union Station postcard. “She’ll be so impressed that I am here and finding my way around.”

Harriet decided to send the National Aquarium postcard to Henry and Prudence. She found a bench to sit on and wrote out her postcards. First to Henry. She wrote:

Next she wrote to Martha.

She dropped the cards in a mailbox. On her way to the platform she came across a souvenir shop where she was able to find a set of salt and pepper shakers in the shape of the Washington Monument and the White House. The Monument was the pepper. From there it was a short walk to her platform where she found another bench closer to the trains. She took her journal from her tote and for some odd reason remembered her feet. “I need sneakers. I wonder if I have time to buy a pair of sneakers.”

She still had about a half an hour before the train.

“Excuse me,” she said to a young woman who reminded her a bit of Lacy.

“Yeah?” the girl said.

“Is there a store nearby where I can buy some sneakers? I mean there must be, there’s every kind of store here, but I don’t want to waste time.”

“Don’t know.”

This young woman no longer reminded her of Lacy. Oh well. It was probably not such a good idea to take the chance on missing her train anyway. She had seen enough of Maryland and was anxious to get to North Carolina. According to her ticket she would arrive in Greensboro at a little past midnight, late but doable.

Henry clipped the lead onto Humphrey’s collar. “Come on. Maybe a walk will help clear my head enough to write.”

Henry had been sitting at his desk since six o’clock in the morning trying to write what he hoped would be the final three chapters of his novel. It was now nearly three o’clock, and he had only written a dozen words. They were good words but still only a dozen.

Humphrey pulled slightly away as they made their way down the street aiming for his favorite bush.

“Okay, okay,” Henry said. “You’ll make it.” Henry paused when Humphrey sniffed around the bush.

“Go on,” Henry said, “do your business.” Then Henry said, “Good boy, Humphrey. Maybe we should stop by Mrs. Caldwell’s. She usually has pie.”

Mrs. Caldwell had been the first person on the block to greet Henry and Prudence when they moved into the neighborhood. Henry liked her right off the bat. Prudence said it was because she was a bit like his mother. Maybe so.

“Well, hello there, Henry,” Mrs. Caldwell said as she pushed open the screen door. “What brings you by this afternoon and … oh my, who’s your friend?” Mrs. Caldwell appeared younger than his mother, but Henry still figured her to be in her sixties. She was tall and skinny with short gray hair. She wore fashionable bluish glasses, which almost matched her bluish hair, and white jeans and a yellow blouse.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Caldwell. This is Humphrey. He belongs to my mother.”

Mrs. Caldwell pushed the door open and allowed Henry and Humphrey inside.

“It’s okay,” Henry said. “He can sit outside.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Caldwell said. “I love doggies.”

“Are you sure? He smells a bit.”

Henry followed Mrs. Caldwell into her kitchen, a delightful, comfortable country kitchen with cherry-decorated curtains and lots of cabinets with glass windows in the doors. Her colorful dishes and cups were arranged so artistically.

Henry spied what looked like a homemade apple pie on the counter. His stomach grumbled.

“That pie looks great,” he said. “Just like my mother used to make.”

“Used to make,” Mrs. Caldwell said as she grabbed two
white plates from a cabinet. “You mean she doesn’t make them anymore?”

Henry dropped Humphrey’s leash on the floor.

“Oh, no, she still makes pies, but for the people back home and when we visit, of course. Yours just reminded me.”

“I see, well, then, I’ll cut you a nice big piece.”

“But she’s moving here … she’s on her way — kind of.”

“Really. That will be so nice for her and you.”

Henry took the pie from Mrs. Caldwell. “Thank you. If she ever gets here.”

“What does that mean, dear? I’m a little slow on the draw.”

“Oh, nothing really. She seems to be taking her time traveling cross-country. When she said she was taking the bus, Prudence and I thought she meant she was taking Greyhound, but I’m pretty sure she’s decided to take the regular bus, the locals all the way. And anything else she might need, a donkey for all I know. She has no plan. No schedule to keep.”

Mrs. Caldwell busted into such a loud laugh that she startled Henry and nearly made him choke on a slice of apple.

Humphrey yowled and wagged his tail. He spun around three times and yowled once more.

“Why is my mother’s wild trip across the country funny?” Henry asked. He felt a little hurt.

“It’s not only funny,” Mrs. Caldwell said, “it’s genius.”

“Genius?”

Mrs. Caldwell chewed and swallowed, all the time looking straight at Henry. He thought she was sizing him up or something. “Yes, dear, did she
want
to move?”

Henry shook his head. “I … I suppose. She’s coming.”

“Seems to be taking her time.”

“Ahhh, so you think this is her way of …”

“Avoiding the inevitable. Feeling young again? Making one last stand?”

“Oh, gee, I never looked at it that way. So maybe I should just let her do it her way? She did say she wanted to see the country.”

“Well, then, she knows what she’s doing. She’s a grown woman. She’ll ask for help if she needs it.”

“I’m worried she’ll get lost or meet with some unsavory individuals.”

“She might. But that could all be part of the adventure. I admire her.”

Henry finished his pie. “Thank you, Mrs. Caldwell. Maybe I need to look at this from her perspective.” He scraped the side of the fork across the plate, getting the last of the cinnamony apple goodness.

Mrs. Caldwell sliced a second piece for Henry. “Here you go. Now, tell me what else is on your mind.”

Humphrey made a noise. He wagged his tail. He even twirled around and chased his tail just for good measure.

“Would Humphrey like some pie?” asked Mrs. Caldwell. “Or is that not allowed?”

“I can’t see a problem with pie. My mom feeds him donuts.”

“Your mother sounds like a woman I can be friends with,” Mrs. Caldwell said as she gave Humphrey some pie. She looked into Henry’s eyes and said, “I’m glad we talked about your mother, but I get the feeling your heart is still heavy. You want to tell me?”

Henry swallowed. “Writer’s block.”

Mrs. Caldwell smiled. “Don’t know much about writer’s block, but if it’s anything like constipation, well, that I know about.”

Henry laughed. “As a matter of fact, there are similarities.”

“Well, it just seems to me, dear,” Mrs. Caldwell continued, “that the best thing for you to do is go back to your desk and start writing. Even if you don’t write what you like I suspect the good words will find their way out. Sitting here with me — as delightful as that is — won’t get that book written.”

“I know. You’re right.” Henry eyed the remaining pie in the tin.

Mrs. Caldwell laughed. “Oh, go on, take the rest of the pie.
Maybe it’ll help you figure out your story or whatever you writerly types do.”

“You sure?” Henry said. “I mean, I don’t want to take the last of your pie.”

Mrs. Caldwell grabbed a box of plastic wrap from a drawer. “Yes, you do. And that’s okay. I always have pie.”

Henry and Humphrey said their good-byes to Mrs. Caldwell.

“Come on, Humphrey,” Henry said with a tug on the leash. “Let’s go home. I think I have an idea that will work for my ending.”

Humphrey barked and looked up at Henry as if to say, “I believe in you too.”

Henry leaned down and patted his side. “You’re a good dog.”