Harriet Beamer Strikes Gold (11 page)

“Ah,” Harriet said. “That’s so sweet. But, well … can I be honest with you?”

“Wee doggies, little lady. If you can’t be honest with your business partner, who can you be honest with?”

Harriet fiddled with the salt shaker. Standard restaurant issue. Nothing memorable. “Don’t get me wrong but, are you sure of this … this mine?”

Win leaned back in the chair. “As sure as sure can be. As sure as I am that the sun will shine tomorrow. As sure as I am that God is in his heaven.”

Lily returned with the cheesecake.

“Now, what do you say we mosey over to the bank and finish our business,” Win said.

It didn’t take long for Harriet to hand over more cash to Win.

“Cash on the barrelhead always gets the best deal,” he always said.

“That’s fine,” Harriet said. “Now I guess I should be on my way. My friend from Philly is arriving tomorrow.”

Harriet watched Lily’s eyes grow wide with interest.

“Would you like to come along with me right now, Lily?” Harriet asked. “I have a little shopping to do.” She really didn’t, but something inside told her she should spend some time alone with Lily. And another hour wouldn’t matter much.

Lily looked at her father. He hesitated, hemmed and hawed, but then finally he agreed that Lily could go along with Harriet. But only for an hour or so.

“I’ll meet you at the café, at Rachel’s,” Win said, looking at his watch.

“Thanks, Pop,” Lily said.

“Good,” Harriet said. “We won’t be long.”

Win took hold of Lily’s hand. “Would you excuse us a second? I just want to have a couple of father-daughter words with Lily.”

“Sure,” Harriet said.

Win led Lily a few paces away, out of earshot.

Harriet watched as Win seemed to have something mighty important and serious to say. Lily wasn’t saying a word until Harriet was pretty certain she saw Win squeeze her wrist a little too hard. Most of the time, Win and Lily appeared to get along pretty well, but she supposed that the stress and worry of being a single parent could get to him now and again. Maybe he was telling her to mind her manners and not overstay her welcome.

Harriet and Lily headed toward the shops. “Now, I don’t know if I told you this, Lily, but my son is having an addition put onto his house. It’s a mother-in-law suite, but I think that sounds so … old. So I’m calling it the Grammy Suite.” She looked at Lily who didn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Is everything all right, dear?” she asked Lily.

Lily smiled, but it was a forced smile, the kind that has so much truth behind it. “Oh sure. I’m all right. I was just thinking about how nice it is to shop. Pop never takes me—unless it’s to the Goodwill. That’s where I got these Converse sneakers. Or sometimes we snag clothes out of those clothes collection boxes in parking lots. I’ve raided lots of drop boxes all across the country.”

Harriet felt her heart drop just a little. Something just wasn’t adding up. “All across the country?”

Lily stopped walking for a fraction of a second and then sped up. “Yeah, like I said before, Pop and I have to keep moving because of jobs.”

Harriet stopped in front of a small boutique. “But maybe now with the gold mine your traveling days could be behind you.”

Lily let go a nervous laugh. “Yeah, right.”

Harriet looked at the store window. It was filled with a lovely assortment of household treasures—statues of birds and small boxes that could hold any little treasure you’d want. There was a dolphin lamp and a perfect little Goldilocks and the Three Bears lamp that appeared to be handcrafted. “Now, that would be just right for the nursery. I don’t think you heard me tell your father that I’m going to be a grandmother.”

Lily didn’t say anything.

“You know what?” Harriet said. “Here I am thinking about myself, and you have such a need for some new clothes. What do you say we take care of that? Let’s get you some more … stylish clothes.” She didn’t dare say what she really thought.

“Really? You mean it?”

“Sure do.”

That was when Harriet saw a true smile on Lily’s face.

“And then if we have time, I’ll come back and get that lamp. I can always take it back if my daughter-in-law doesn’t like it.”

“Thank you,” Lily said. “But … I don’t want to be a problem.”

This time Harriet’s heart broke just a little.

Henry assumed his mother would be home soon. It was nearly six o’clock, and he had already fired up the gas grill on the deck. This was something that Humphrey especially enjoyed. The grill always meant hot dogs. He watched intently as Henry worked. It was a perfect evening for steaks and salads. And there was enough potatoes au gratin left over from when Harriet made them to make a nice side dish. She always made extra.

He even thought he had time to whip together a nice peach cobbler and fresh whipped cream. But he needed to check the fridge. Yep, a full container of heavy cream. And there were six, large peaches on the counter. Prudence’s boss, the senior partner at her Sacramento law firm, had given the peaches to her. It seemed his wife had an incredible garden, including a small orchard of fruit trees. She was always sharing the fruits or vegetables of her labor.

At one point, maybe even while he was still running his father’s construction business, Henry imagined himself a chef at a four-star restaurant. But he never pursued it. It seemed the writing virus never left him, even when he prayed for it to go away, prayed that God would give him another mission in life. But the desire always came back stronger. But now with the baby on the way, Henry was thinking about alternative means to make ends meet. It was hard to make it as a writer, and if Prudence didn’t want to work anymore, he would have to do something about their income.

He closed the refrigerator door with his foot as his arms were full of various ingredients. Maybe cooking school was in the future. Or, who knew, a bestseller.

Henry assembled the ingredients for the cobbler and got to work. And it wasn’t long before he had the peaches prepared and the cobbler mixture—flour, sugar, and milk—ready to go.

Humphrey was sticking close by, ready to lap up anything that might spill on the floor.

“The secret is the cinnamon,” Henry told Humphrey. “You wouldn’t think peaches and cinnamon make a good taste combo, but they do.”

Henry mixed sugar, cornstarch, and a little water, for the peaches, together and set it on the stove to boil. He stirred it constantly. “This is where it takes patience to be a chef,” he said.

Humphrey whimpered.

“Ah, you don’t care. You just want to eat.”

He added the peaches, folded them into the mixture gently, and then poured the whole glorious, wonderful smelling mixture into a pie tin. Yes, he knew that was a little unorthodox, but he preferred to make peach cobbler in a pie tin. Actually it was Florence Caldwell who gave him the idea.

Then came the final step of mixing the cobbler part, the batter, which he dropped by spoonfuls onto the peaches.

“Now, we just bake for thirty minutes or so and there you have it.”

He set the timer.

“So, Humphrey, did I tell you about the cowboy I saw at JavaScone? He was talking about gold mines. I wish I had talked to him. Maybe the next time I go to JavaScone he’ll be there, and I can ask him a few questions.”

Humphrey said, “Woof.”

Harriet and Lily finished their shopping. Lily was very pleased with her new clothes and even some new underwear.

“Thank you,” Lily said when they were standing in front of the café. “I haven’t had new underwear in a long time. Pop says I don’t need it.”

“Do you?” Harriet asked.

“Kind of. Makes me feel pretty and, you know, all … womanly.”

Harriet patted Lily’s cheek. “You are beautiful. And I’m not saying to dress all flirty and flaunty, no siree Bob, but I am telling you it’s okay to look nice and feel nice.”

Lily dropped her shopping bags and threw her arms around Harriet, who in turn dropped her tote and hugged Lily back.

Harriet thought Lily wanted to say something else, but Win strolled out of the café. “There you are. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Lily picked up her bags. “Hi, Pop. Harriet got me the nicest clothes.”

“Did she now?” Win said. “You can show me later. Right now, it’s time for meat loaf.”

Harriet waited a second or two for Win to say thank you or something, but he never did. “I guess I need to get home also. I’m sure Henry has been cooking. He’s quite the chef, you know. You’d think he was trained at the Cordon Bleu.”

“Thank you again, Harriet,” Lily said.

“Okay, now, you two run along for dinner. I just thought of something I forgot,” Harriet said.

Harriet still thought she needed to show up at home with something for herself. She did not want Henry to get suspicious. She walked past several shops until turning into The Wild Onion, a store boasting fine home furnishings. She was nearly knocked over by the sweet potpourri when she entered, a mixture of balsa and rosehips, sage and vanilla, and maybe a hint of
cinnamon—according to Harriet’s nose. It smelled nice enough, just a little too strong.

The store carried many specialty items like flower arrangements, vases, brass and stone statues of horses and angels, garden ornaments, shiny gazing balls, and the like. But her eye fell almost immediately on a small, wrought-iron plant stand.

She ran her hand over the cool, black metal. It was twisted and gnarled like vines and had two shelves for plants. And two gargoyles. One on each shelf. At first she thought they were just taking up room, but then she liked them. The stand gave her a twinge of homesickness. Harriet had gotten quite good at raising and propagating African Violets. Perhaps she could again.

“Oh, that’s a lovely piece. Handmade right here in Grass Valley.”

It was the voice of a middle-aged woman, short, a little dumpy, and Harriet thought she had the prettiest face, almost angelic. She also thought she had been pegged for a tourist. But that was okay.

“Oh, I do like this little stand. How much is it?”

“That’s three hundred and twenty-six dollars. It’s all hand-wrought by a local craftsman. It’s the only one like it.”

Harriet liked that idea but not the price. She had already spent a king’s ransom since coming to Grass Valley. But she really hadn’t bought anything for herself, for her new Grammy Suite. “It would be like owning a work of art,” Harriet said as she touched the ear of the gargoyle on the left. “It’s very … interesting, different. I like it.”

“It is a work of art,” the woman said. “It’s so pretty. And even the gargoyles were handmade, casted and sculpted by the artist. A woman by the name of Zee Blush.”

“Zee Blush?”

“Yes. She’s rather eccentric.”

Harriet glanced around the shop. She saw many things made from grapevines and burlap. Nothing else spoke to her the way the
gargoyles did. “I think it will work just perfectly under one of my windows. I’d like to keep African Violets on it.”

“Oh, that would be lovely,” the woman said.

“Do you think violets would like gargoyles?”

“Oh, certainly. Gargoyles are lucky.”

“I didn’t know that. Not that I believe in luck very much, but that’s neither here nor there. I’ll take it.”

A few minutes later Harriet left The Wild Onion with the plant stand, a bag of potpourri, and two candles that smelled like butter cookies. It was a touch awkward carrying the items back to the SUV, but she managed. After all, she had managed to lug a tote bag and a wheelie suitcase across the country, so a three-block walk with a plant stand was a piece of cake.

H
ENRY WAS PRETTY MUCH READY FOR DINNER
. A
LL HE
needed now was for Harriet to come home. He had the steaks rubbed and ready to go. Six ears of corn ready for the grill and the cobbler had come out of the oven looking as good as any cobbler on the cover of
Food Network Magazine
or
Bon Appetit
. And the smell in the kitchen was an amazing blend of spices and sweet and smelled just the way late summer or early fall should smell.

“You know something,” he said to himself out loud, “you really can cook.”

He assembled dishes and utensils, glasses and napkins—the ones with the purple dots on them—and carried them out to the deck.

Prudence was happily sitting there looking over some legal papers, the kind of stuff that, frankly, made Henry’s brain hurt.

“I thought we’d eat out here,” he said. “Long as the bugs don’t bother us.” It was still warm enough to eat outside but not for long. Henry looked out over the yard and the mountains. Fall was definitely settling in, and soon he would bring the deck furniture inside and grilling would be difficult at best.

Prudence did not look up from her pages. “That’s a good idea. It’s such a nice evening.”

Henry set the table as Humphrey sauntered past. Although it
was hard to tell, Henry thought the dog was looking a little forlorn. “Have you heard from my mother?” he asked Prudence.

“No, I thought she’d be back by now. It is getting late.”

“I hope she’s okay. I worry about her sometimes. I don’t want her to get into trouble.”

“Oh, what kind of trouble could she get into?” Prudence said. “She’ll come home, wagging her tail behind her.”

Henry sat down at the table. “Do you think we’ll be able to barbecue once the builders get started?”

“Sure,” Prudence said. “Maybe not while they’re working, but I don’t see why not after they’ve left for the day.”

“I can’t wait to see it—the building, I mean. Mom’s gonna love it.”

“Me either,” Prudence said. She looked at him. “Henry, why do I get the feeling you have something else on your mind? Are you worried about me? Or is it your mother? Your new book?”

“Oh, a little of everything, I suppose, but, well, mostly I’m worried about money. I mean, can we afford the lifestyle we’ve gotten used to? And what if you want to quit working? I’m just a writer.”

“Henry, we’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I guess, but—”

“But what?”

“What would you think if I went to culinary school and became a chef? Got a real job with an actual paycheck?”

Prudence swallowed and then burst into laughter. “Really? You? Wow. If that’s what you want. I mean, you are a really good cook. But to do it all day long? Could you? And what about your writing? You love to write.”

Henry stood, moved behind Prudence, and put his hands on her shoulders and massaged lightly. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking it might be more steady. My father always had steady work. I mean, he didn’t get paid unless someone bought the houses he built. But it wasn’t like writing. You know?”

Prudence reached back and took one of his hands. “Henry. You’re doing great. But if you want to go to culinary school, that’s fine too.”

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so supportive.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

Henry took a deep breath through his nose. “It just means if you were the demanding sort of wife, you’d just tell me what to do.”

Humphrey leaped up, well, more like he hauled his low belly off the ground, and headed toward the deck. He trotted right past Henry and Prudence.

“She must be home. I swear that dog knows it’s her coming from a mile away.”

“Okay,” Prudence said, “now don’t forget we have to talk about the airport run tomorrow.”

“That’s right, I almost forgot.”

“Henry, yoo-hoo, Henry,” he heard his mother calling. “I’m home, dear.”

“On the deck,” Henry called. “Getting ready to grill some steaks.”

“Come see what I bought today.”

Henry smiled at Prudence. “I better go see what she bought. I kind of blew her off the other day.”

“Okay. I’ll go see too. And then can we eat? I’m starving.”

“You bet.”

Harriet stood in the living room. “Isn’t it spectacular?” she said. “Don’t you just love it?” She was holding her new plant stand so they could both see.

“Um, yeah, what is it?” Henry said.

“It’s a plant stand,” Harriet said. “It’s going right under the south window of my new Grammy Suite.”

“Are those gargoyles?” Prudence asked, moving in for a closer look.

Harriet touched one of the grotesque figures. “Yes. Aren’t they
sweet? The whole thing, gargoyles and all, was made by a local artist. An eccentric woman named Zee Blush. It’s one of a kind. An original Blush.”

“That’s nice, Mom. Real nice,” Henry said. “You can keep it in your room until the building is done.”

“Henry,” Harriet said. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Henry said. “It’s just … different.”

“Well, I like it,” Prudence said. “It’s … whimsical.”

“Thank you, dear,” Harriet said. “I’m going to put African Violets on the little shelves.”

“That will be so pretty,” Prudence said.

“I also got some candles and potpourri. Martha likes potpourri.”

Meanwhile, Humphrey moved closer and sniffed the plant stand.

“And speaking of Martha,” Henry said, “she arrives tomorrow.”

“I know,” Harriet said. “I am so excited.”

“So are we,” Prudence said. “Let’s start dinner and we can discuss the details.”

“Details?” Harriet said, following Henry and Prudence outside. “What details? Her plane lands, she gets off, goes to baggage claim, and I snag her from the sidewalk like the brass ring on a carousel.”

Henry dropped three steaks on the grill. Prudence and Harriet sat down at the table to start on their salads of baby spinach.

“Mom,” Henry said, “there’s a little problem.”

Harriet’s heart pounded. “Problem? Did something happen? Is she still coming?”

“Yes, of course,” Prudence said. “It’s just a slight scheduling conflict. I have to get an ultrasound tomorrow.”

Harriet looked at Prudence. “Ultrasound? Isn’t it a little early for one of those?”

“The doctor thought it was a good idea considering … my history. I made the appointment before we were sure of Martha’s arrival time. I’m afraid it creates a conflict.”

“Conflict? Why should it create a conflict?” Harriet said. “You guys can drive the BMW and I’ll take the SUV.”

“No, Mom,” Henry said.

Harriet dropped her fork. “Wait. You don’t expect me to ride the Vespa all the way to Sacramento and then bring Martha and her luggage home on the back like I was Jed Clampett or something?”

“No, no, of course not,” Henry said. He sat down at the table. “I just meant that I don’t want you to drive by yourself all the way to the airport. It’s a long drive. I’d rather go with you, but it means Martha might have to wait a couple of hours.”

“Yes, Mother,” Prudence said. “Henry will take you after our appointment. I’m sure Martha will understand. She can have lunch at the airport. There’s a lovely restaurant called La Bou, where she can get a sandwich and have a terrific view.”

“No, she’s having lunch with me,” Harriet said. “I’m going myself. I’ll be fine. I have a GPS. Remember? For heaven’s sake, I made it clear across the country by myself; I can certainly find the San Francisco airport.”

“Sacramento, Mom. It’s Sacramento.”

Harriet looked at Prudence. “He’s so easy.”

Prudence laughed. “I know.”

“Are you sure, Mom?” Henry asked.

Harriet picked up her fork and stabbed a spinach leaf. “Of course I am. And I’ll only be alone going one way.”

Henry went back to the steaks and opened the grill cover. Savory smoke poured out. “As long as you’re sure,” he said, waving away the cloud.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll be fine. You just go and have a nice ultrasound.”

Henry looked at Prudence. “Yeah. It will be exciting.”

Harriet felt a wash of pride and joy fill her heart. She sighed and let the feeling grow like ripples on a smooth lake. She was
pleased with Henry’s accomplishments, but more so, Harriet was proud of the man she and Max raised. In that brief moment that passed between Henry and Prudence, Harriet saw so much, so much love and concern and joy. She was convinced that seldom did any mother get to experience something so sweet. And yet, in those few seconds, Harriet also felt disappointment. Why couldn’t Henry continue in his father’s business, and why had he kept selling it a secret?

Harriet poked at a crouton, trying to keep a threatening tear from dropping onto her plate. It was the secrecy and the hushed phone calls through the whole transaction that troubled her the most. Was it her fault?

Henry served the steaks, perfectly charred with nice grill marks and just the perfect amount of juices.

“I hope it’s how you like it, Mom.”

“I’m sure it is, dear. You always know what’s best for me.”

Henry took a step back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just that you’re good at making choices for me without asking.”

Henry dropped the serving plate onto the grill. “Here we go. I’ve been waiting for this, Mom. You just can’t let it go. I did the right thing. For you and for me.”

“How was selling your father’s business, the one he built from … a jar of nails, a hammer, and one customer good for me? It was … it was all I had left of him.”

“Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Prudence said. “Let’s talk after dinner.”

“No,” Henry said. “Let’s have this out now.”

“There’s nothing to have out,” Harriet said. “It’s over.”

“Mom, listen. If I had kept the business I would have destroyed it. It wasn’t for me.”

Humphrey trotted onto the deck and laid his head on Harriet’s knee. He looked up at her with wide eyes. Harriet patted his snout
and rubbed behind one ear. “Even Humphrey knows what you did was underhanded and unfair to your father’s memory.”

“Oh, so Dad would have preferred me to sink the business in Chapter 11 and leave you nothing. Mom, you forget, you made out pretty well on the deal.”

“Money,” Harriet said. “It’s not just about money.”

Henry took a huge breath, which he let out slowly as though he were counting down seconds. “No. It’s not just about money. But I mattered also.”

Humphrey ambled to Henry and laid his head on his knee.

“I don’t care to discuss this anymore,” Harriet said. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Well, well, well,” Prudence said in her best lawyer courtroom voice. “I think the two of you have much to discuss, but I recommend eating the elephant one piece at a time.”

“Good idea,” Henry said. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner.”

After a couple of minutes of silence, Prudence asked, “So what have you got planned for Martha’s visit?”

“Planned?” Harriet said. “I … I don’t know. I hadn’t planned anything. I’ve been so busy with getting my room ready, and the baby news, not to mention the Grammy Suite.”

“I’m sure you two will find plenty to do,” Prudence said.

“I’m sure we will,” Harriet said.

Henry pushed some potatoes around on his plate. “Who’s ready for peach cobbler?”

“Oh, you made cobbler?” Harriet said, hoping to diffuse things.

“And homemade whipped cream,” Prudence said.

“I’ll be back in a flash,” Henry said.

Harriet gathered the dinner plates. And as she did, she couldn’t help but notice that Prudence was all of a sudden looking a little pale.

“Are you okay, dear?” she asked. “Did that little … kerfuffle
upset you?” And here she was the person telling Henry to watch Prudence’s stress level.

“No, no, I’m glad you two are talking but—” Prudence leapt from the table and made a mad dash inside to the bathroom.

“Is she all right?” Henry asked when he returned with the cobbler and dessert plates. “I’ve never seen her run so fast.”

Harriet smiled. “Morning sickness can hit anytime.”

Henry flopped into his chair. “I don’t like this, Mom. She wasn’t this sick with the … before.”

“As hard as it is to believe, honey, this is actually a good thing. As long as she stays busy and happy. This will pass, probably very soon, and believe me, your baby will grow strong and healthy.”

“But it’s taking so much out of her. She’s so tired.”

“Par for the course, Henry. She’s just coming up to the end of her first trimester. It could last a few weeks. It lasted almost the whole time for me.”

“I hope you’re right, Mom. I’m thinking about asking her to stop working. I have even thought about going to culinary school so I can get a real job.”

“Really?” This was the first Harriet had heard about that idea, “But Prudence will never quit now. She can work right up until the baby’s due date. And you should let her if she wants to. No, Henry. She’ll know when she needs to stop working. Trust your wife and her doctor.”

“I know but—” Henry put his hand on his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

“Sympathy pains,” she said. “Did I ever tell you your daddy took to his bed for three days because he said his stomach was upset, and that he had swollen ankles and headaches?”

Henry laughed. “No. Did he really have swollen ankles?”

“Just his ego was swollen.”

Henry filled a dessert dish with the cobbler. “But how can throwing up every day be healthy?”

“It just is,” Harriet said. “Did you forget the whipped cream?”

Henry’s eyes darted. “Oh, sorry, I’ll just go get it.”

But just then Prudence returned to the table carrying the stainless mixing bowl brimming with fluffy whipped cream. “Sorry about that.” She laughed.

“Henry is worried,” Harriet said.

“I know.” She sat down and patted his hand. “Do you know he stays awake at night staring at me? He thinks I don’t know, but I do. I can feel his eyes boring into me.”

“Ah, poor thing. He’s just so worried.”

“I know. I guess I am also,” Prudence said. “That cobbler looks awesome.”

“Really, dear,” Harriet said. “You outdid yourself. That’s quite a cobbler you made.”