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    Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus
    Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus
    Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus
    Ebook357 pages5 hours

    Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

    By Joyce Magnin

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    Aging and recent widow Harriet Beamer insists she’s getting along fine with her dog Humphrey in Philadelphia … until she falls for the fourth time, injuring her ankle, and causing her son and daughter-in-law to cry foul. Insisting Harriet move in with them in California, they make a bet that her ankle is broken, and she foolishly promises to move if they’re right. Four x-rays later, Harriet’s ankle—and her heart—are broken. She packs up, ships her huge salt and pepper collection to California, and prepares to move away from the only life she knows. The only catch? She’s doing it her way. Just wait till her daughter-in-law hears Harriet will travel cross country only by public transportation and alternate means. What follows is a hilarious, heartwarming journey by train, metro bus, ferry, and motorcycle. Along the way, Harriet discovers that although her family thinks it’s time for her to be put out to pasture—God has a different plan.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherZondervan
    Release dateApr 24, 2012
    ISBN9780310333562
    Author

    Joyce Magnin

    Joyce Magnin is the author of five novels, including the popular and quirky Bright’s Pond Series, and the middle grade novel, Carrying Mason. She is a frequent conference speaker and writing instructor. Joyce lives in Pennsylvania with her son, Adam, and their crazy cat, Mango, who likes to eat nachos.

    Read more from Joyce Magnin

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    Reviews for Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

    4/5

    26 ratings6 reviews

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    • 3/5
      I bought this book to read on my plane trip home. It was a book that made my time go very quickly.
      I enjoyed reading abut Harriet's adventures from Pennsylvania to California. The people she ran into all had their own stories, including the ones that didn't talk to her.

      Harriet lost a bet and had to move from living alone to living with her son and his wife. They lived in Grass Valley, CA. She decided to travel by bus, etc.
      The stations she visits, the people she meets, the places she stays all add to the story.

      Is some of it a little unrealistic? Yes
      It is a good read? Yes
    • 5/5
      As someone with a huge salt and pepper shaker collection how could I not love a book about a woman who shares that interest!

      Harriet has reached a certain point in her life when she knows she needs to make a change. Her husband has passed and she feels as though she has never accomplished anything. After losing a bet, she agrees to move in with her son and daughter-in-law. She packs up her huge salt and pepper shaker collection and sends her dog ahead to her son’s home. But Harriet decides that she will set off to travel cross country by bus – not the Greyhound kind - but local transportation whenever possible. Her main goal is to make it to the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum in Gatlinburg TN. (yes, it really exists)

      Harriet Beamer Takes a Bus is a delightful story of an older woman as she discovers things she never knew about travel, people, and her own family. She has quite a few adventures along the way and meets many interesting people. She reaches out to people who are hurting and shares her wisdom, but also opens her heart and learns much in return from them.

      Thank you to Zondervan for the advanced reader copy of this book. I accepted the book with the understanding that I would give my honest opinion.
    • 4/5
      Joyce Magnin’s books are always good for a good chuckle or belly laugh. Harriet Beamer Takes The Bus is no exception. When Harriet loses a bet to her daughter-in-law and is forced to move from her home in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania to Grass Valley, California, she decides that she needs to have some purpose in her life and begins with a cross country trip that involves traveling on public transportation. With the exception of a planned visit to the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum in Gatlinburg, Harriet’s itinerary is based on whim and Amelia, her phone’s GPS. Along the way, Harriet meets people that help her out and many she helps out in return. A journey of discovering what God’s pleasure is all about, Harriet Beamer Takes The Bus is a thoroughly satisfying jaunt.

      Harriet is seventy-two years old and has never really been anywhere. Her salt and pepper shaker collection consists of finds from other people’s travels. Her idea of traveling across the country on public transportation is met with enthusiasm from her best friend and those she meets along the way, and concern from her son Henry, who spends the time awaiting his mother’s arrival with a little discovery of his own. There are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments and not a little bit of envy at the inventive ways Harriet travels and the things she experiences. Harriet Beamer Takes The Bus is inventive, the characters fun and bit a quirky and the trip altogether enjoyable.

      Recommended.

      Audience: adults.
    • 5/5
      What do you do when you look back at the last 72 years of your life and realize you're not getting any younger? The only time you've ever gone anywhere was to the Jersey shore on vacation. Now that she has lost a bet with her son Henry and his wife Prudence over an accident at Christmas, Harriet is forced to sell her home and move in with them. After all, it's apparent to them, you can't be left to care for yourself all alone. Yet rather than jump aboard a plane and head for Grass Valley, CA on their terms, you do what Harriet Beamer does.

      You plan a road trip.

      From Pennsylvania to California.

      Seeing whatever it is you've wanted to see before you die taking whatever means necessary except for a plane if she can help it. Once she has secured her faithful companion, Humphrey, her Basset Hound on board a plane headed to California, she is ready to begin. And with Harriet, that begins with a bus. Not a Greyhound bus mind you but a local public bus and see how far it will take her. Unfortunately for her, it only goes as far as the University, but since she's never seen that, she takes a walk around the campus before heading off on another bus.

      Harriet's goal is not only in seeing the sights she feels she has missed in her 72 years of living, but also to prove to herself and her family that she isn't as incapable in caring for herself as they think she is. The journey that the reader is invited along with Harriet is memorable, fun and often times sobering as she meets with people from all walks of life. She finds herself offering invaluable wisdom to the people she engages with, names her GPS application within her Droid phone, Amelia, and continues collecting her salt and pepper shakers as she journeys to California, one bus, one train, one memorable journey at a time.

      I received Harriet Beamer Takes The Bus by Joyce Magnin compliments of Shelton Interactive and Zondervan Publishers for my honest review. I LOVED this adorable story because it relates to a situation close to my own heart where an elderly woman living alone was asked to sell her own home because they felt she couldn't care for herself and live with them. I would have loved to see her have as much gumption as Harriet Beamer did and take life by the reins and ride it for the best time of her life. I rate this novel a 5 out of 5 stars and it truly shows in the character of Harriet Beamer that age is just a number, and life is truly worth living to the final moment!
    • 5/5
      Great Fun, Totally Enjoyable

      Widow Harriet Beamer still living in the house where she spent her married life and raised her son, awaits that son’s arrival from California. Her son and his wife arrive to discover her on the floor after a fall from a ladder while putting up Christmas decorations. Harriet bets her daughter-in-law that the ankle is not broken and if it is Harriet will move to California if it is broken. After the broken ankle heals, Harriet decides to move to California, but to travel there by local public transportation as much as possible. Along the way, Harriet has many adventures, meets many new friends, and reaches some conclusions.

      I loved this book. Reading about Harriet’s adventures is just plain fun, and definitely reveals that elderly women have a great deal of life left to live. Harriet is a character that you want to pull out of the book to visit with, and make your new best friend. I would recommend this book for women of all ages and men who want more insight into an elderly woman’s psyche.

      Received Galley from NetGalley.com

      Published by Zondervan, May 1, 2012.
    • 5/5
      'Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus' by Joyce Magnin will sit on my "keeper shelf" for re-reading when I need some Harriet in my life! She reminds me of myself when I signed up for a tour of China. I was living alone then and had never been out of the country, but I decided to do it and have never regreted it. If Harriet was real, I would invite her over to share travel stories. She had a lot of amazing adventures on her trip!

      At the beginning of the story, Harriet lives in Philadelphia with her basset hound, Humphrey. Her son and daughter-in-law are coming to visit. Because she lives at home by herself and is 72 years old, they are worried about her. What if she had an accident or got sick? They wanted her to move to Grass Valley, California to live with them.

      She was putting the finishing touches on her Christmas tree when she fell off a chair. She is on the floor when her son and daughter-in-law find her. They make a bet that her ankle is broken and she loses. The stakes are high. After her ankle recovers, she sells her house and prepares to go to Grass Valley. But she thinks to herself, she has always wanted to travel but in all her married years, she had only been to the Jersey Shore. So, instead of flying to California, she decides to do her trip her own way. She would decide how to travel and what to see. She had always dreamed of seeing the only Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum in the United States and now she is going do it. Now she can add to her shaker set collection by herselfy instead just receiving them as gifts.

      Harriet is a "stick your guns" character, caring and funny and amazing. I did not want the book to stop, I had trouble laying it down. I definitely want more. I think what I loved about Harriet the most is that she never held back. Sometimes it put her life in danger but it also demonstrated her love of life and people. We need more Harrietes in this world.

      I hope that Joyce Magnin writes what happens when Harriet stays with her son and daughter in law in the future.

      I really hope that you read this book. It will do you a lot of good!

      I received this book as a part of the Amazon Vine Program but that in no way influenced my review.

    Book preview

    Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus - Joyce Magnin

    Chapter 1

    HARRIET BEAMER NEVER LOST A BET IN HER LIFE. NOT THAT she did much gambling, and she never bet more than a few dollars, but still, she could honestly say she’d never lost a bet. Not until her daughter-in-law, Prudence, enticed her to wager not just a few dollars, but her entire house.

    Harriet lost what she later learned was a sucker’s bet. Not wanting to be known for the rest of her life as a welsher, she did the only thing a woman in her station in life could do: she honored the bet. In accordance with the conditions of the wager she sold her house and agreed to move to Grass Valley, California, even though she had been mostly happy living with Humphrey, her basset hound, in suburban Philadelphia.

    Here’s what happened.

    Christmas came around, as it did every year, with just the right amount of fanfare. Harriet loved Advent — going to church and watching the children recite verses and light candles in preparation for Jesus’ birth. She enjoyed shopping for gifts, attending the Sunday school Christmas pageant, and baking cookies. She had become famous for her butter spritz cookies, which she lovingly decorated with green and red sugar and candied cherries. Nearly every home in the neighborhood and every family at the Willow Street Church received a tin filled to the brim with her one-of-a-kind fudge and a generous sampling of the buttery cookie delights. Last year she counted the number of cookies she had baked, sprinkled, and given away. The grand total was 1,032. She did the math and calculated that if she placed them end-to-end, she had baked 129 feet of butter spritz cookies.

    Christmas gave her great joy. But the busyness of the season caused frequent bouts of distress and, at times, copious amounts of indigestion. And Christmas had taken on a new patina after Max died — her husband of twenty-eight years. He had loved Christmas — every last bit of it from the lights on the trees to the mall Santas. He loved the wrapping and the giving and especially the old Perry Como and Andy Williams Christmas specials on VHS, which he watched almost continuously for the entire week leading up to Christmas Eve. Missing Max was a wound not easily healed.

    So when he died suddenly on Christmas Eve fifteen years ago, Harriet was left to face Christmases yet to come with sadness and regret. Sadness because she missed Max so much that it hurt, and regret because of what their son, Henry, did — and with her blessings to boot!

    Henry called from the airport to let Harriet know they would be arriving soon. They just needed to grab their bags, procure a rental car, and make it out to her Bryn Mawr home in rush-hour traffic.

    You might be better off taking the back roads, Harriet said. Just find Bartram Avenue and then jog over to Lansdowne, you know, past the big Catholic church, and then over that sweet little bridge, past the high school, and —

    No, no, Henry interrupted. Prudence has her GPS programmed, and the expressway’s our surest bet.

    That’s nice, dear, Harriet said. Prudence always has things figured out. I’ll be waiting with cookies. And please be careful. It snowed earlier and the roads might be slippery still.

    Okay, Mom, see you soon.

    Harriet pushed the End button on her phone and sat at the kitchen table. A GPS, she knew, was a gadget that helped people find their way, but since when did Henry need a GPS to find his way home? She folded her hands in front of her and pondered as Humphrey nestled at her feet.

    How about that, Humphrey, Harriet said, I know the initials stand for Global Positioning … something or other, but in this case I say they stand for Grumpy Prudence System. Prudence sounded a little grumpy the last time I spoke to her. Probably that super-duper lawyering job of hers, which is probably why Henry is coming home her way.

    Humphrey let go one of his long, loud howls.

    You’re right, Harriet said. If they would just settle down and have a baby … or two.

    Harriet reached down and scratched behind Humphrey’s long, loppy left ear. I still don’t know how you get around with these things.

    For the next thirty minutes Harriet waited for their arrival. She kept going to the front window and looking out, hoping to see them drive up to the curb. She rearranged all of the snowmen salt and pepper shakers on the mantel, the Christmas tree shakers on the end table, and the elf-shaped shakers that she always liked to line up along the window sill in the living room so they could look out. Harriet owned an extensive novelty shaker collection spanning more than fifty years.

    She had been a proud member of the Shake It Up novelty salt-and-pepper-shaker club for fifteen years and attended their biannual meeting held at the Knights of Columbus. She had a preference for bench-sitter shakers and was proud of her Indian chief and Indian maiden set her friend Martha found in an antique store in Connecticut. A man named Darby offered her sixty-seven dollars for it last year. But she couldn’t part with it. Of course her one dream was that someday she could visit the Salt and Pepper Shaker Museum in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. But that didn’t seem likely.

    After fiddling with the shakers, Harriet checked the water in the Christmas tree. The tree twinkled with multicolored lights. She had planned to wait for Henry and Prudence before hanging any ornaments. She wanted that to be a family thing, with Christmas carols playing in the background and maybe even a fire blazing in the fireplace. But she couldn’t contain herself any longer and opened the Christmas box. She pulled out a couple of glass balls — red and silver — and hung them on the tree. Then she dug around for her favorite — an antique ornament of a little boy and girl wearing Lederhosen on a swing. The boy once had a feather in his cap but that was long gone. The ornament had been made over a hundred years ago in the Black Forest of Germany. She let it dangle from her fingers and looked at it from all angles. She could almost hear Max in the background. Go on, honey, hang it on a good branch, where everyone will see it.

    Max had given it to Harriet on their first Christmas as husband and wife. It was considered an antique even back then and was ever so delicate. Harriet loved it from that moment on. She grabbed a dining room chair and placed it near the tree.

    Humphrey whimpered and looked up.

    Harriet stood on the chair to make it easier to reach one of the higher branches. Unfortunately, Harriet didn’t realize she had set the chair on the wadded-up piece of newspaper used to wrap the ornament, and the chair wobbled. Harriet lost her balance and crashed to the floor.

    She sat there, pain radiating from her foot to her brain and wishing that she had gotten one of those I’ve fallen and I can’t get up buttons. Humphrey toddled over to check on things. He howled. Harriet howled back.

    I don’t think it’s broken, Harriet said. My ankle. I felt it twist and well … I did hear a snap, but that was probably only a tree branch. Did you hear a snap, Humphrey? She looked at the tree. Her ornament dangled from a branch — secure but not secure enough. Good, my ornament isn’t broken either.

    Harriet tried to get up, but as she did the pain went from tolerable to mind-numbing. For a second she thought she saw a circus elephant sitting on her foot. Humphrey tramped next to her and sat. He rested his head on her thigh. She patted his head as a tear slipped down her cheek. Humphrey. I’m so glad you’re here.

    He whimpered and looked up over his wiry eyebrows and let go a solemn doggy sigh.

    It’s okay, she managed as another blast of pain shot through her foot. Don’t fret. They’ll be here soon.

    As she waited, images of her and Humphrey crossed her mind like picture postcards. She remembered how she had rescued him from certain death at the pound. The way his ears perked the moment they made eye contact. There was no doubt that they were meant to be the best of friends, and a bond between woman and dog was forged that seemed to transcend the ordinary.

    She attempted to get up again, but Humphrey held her in place. Fine. I guess you know best.

    The doorbell rang.

    It’s them.

    Humphrey trotted to the door.

    Oh dear. It’s locked, Harriet said. I hope Henry remembered his key. Tears streamed down her face.

    The bell rang again, followed by three sharp knocks.

    Humphrey danced on the linoleum-floored foyer, his toenails clicked on the floor. Then he scratched at the door and yowled.

    Come in, Harriet called as loud as she could, hoping they would hear, but only if it’s you, Henry? Please come in. Harriet managed to remove the fuzzy slipper from her injured foot. The pain felt so intense she could hardly raise her voice. It seemed like her whole leg had caught fire and a gazillion fire ants were crawling all over it. Come in, she called again as she watched her foot turn the color of a plum left in the refrigerator crisper drawer too long.

    The knocks came harder until Harriet finally heard the key in the door.

    Humphrey toddled back to Harriet.

    Henry, Harriet called the instant the door opened.

    Mom! What are you doing on the floor?

    That was when Prudence pushed her way in, dropped a leather briefcase on the floor, and said, Isn’t it obvious, Henry. Your mother’s had an accident. I was worried this would happen. Prudence was a pretty woman, tall — maybe an inch taller than Henry. She always dressed fashionably and wore her hair in what Harriet said looked like tossed salad, but it was attractive, especially with the mahogany streaks.

    Mom, Henry said. Are you all right? What happened?

    Henry lifted his mother up and carried her to the couch. She wasn’t what you would call a slight woman, and Henry was not the biggest man on the block. She stood about five feet four inches tall and weighed just over 170 pounds. She had a bit of a tummy paunch, which probably contributed to her high blood pressure and weak ankles. But at age seventy-two, Harriet Beamer had plenty of energy. She just didn’t know what to do with it sometimes.

    I was hanging the little girl-and-boy ornament and fell off the chair. It’s nothing, really; just a sprain. I’ll be … fine. She tried to hide her discomfort.

    Harriet caught a definite look pass between Henry and Prudence. She knew they’d been talking about her living alone and how they thought it would be safer if she moved to Grass Valley and lived with them in their big sprawling house. The house still without children or a dog or the aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.

    You should really put some ice on that Hari — er, I mean Mother, Prudence said. Harriet had suggested that maybe if Prudence called her Mom or Mother it might help them bond. So far it had only been uncomfortable for Prudence — something Harriet could not understand.

    Ice is a good idea, Henry said. Then I think I should take you to the hospital.

    Oh, it’s just a sprain, Harriet said. Like your Gramma always said, nothing to do but keep it till it gets better.

    Prudence smoothed the back of her skirt and sat on the sofa near Harriet. From the looks of it, she said brushing dog hairs from her lap, I’d say it’s broken.

    Ah, fiddlesticks, Harriet said. Your degree is in law, not medicine. It’s merely sprained. Harriet heard the words leave her lips and felt bad for jumping down Prudence’s throat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —

    I can tell a broken ankle when I see one, Mother, Prudence said. It’s misshapen, purple, swollen, and whether you’ll admit it or not, you are in incredible pain. I can see it written all over your face.

    That’s just wrinkles, dear. Can’t read anything into them.

    Harriet winced again and Humphrey ambled near. He licked her hand.

    Look, Prudence said, even Humphrey knows it’s serious.

    Henry returned from the kitchen with a Ziploc bag filled with half-moon-shaped ice cubes.

    Henry, Harriet said. That reminds me. Do we still call them cubes even if they’re not shaped like that anymore?

    Prudence chuckled. Of course, Mother.

    Oh, well, that’s good to know, Harriet said. "May I have the ice cubes, dear."

    Harriet gently placed the bag on the sorest part of her ankle. Look at that. I’d say it’s the color of DMC embroidery floss number 797. She grimaced.

    Please, Mother, Henry said. Let’s get you to the hospital. What can it hurt?

    Just her pride, Prudence said. She’ll never admit it’s fractured now.

    Fractured? Harriet said. I bet it’s only a sprain. A bad one, but still just a sprain. Harriet winced again. Falling just that little way off a kitchen chair won’t break a perfectly good bone.

    How much would you care to wager? Prudence asked.

    Mom, Henry said, don’t do this. Let’s just get you to the ER before it gets worse.

    Fiddlesticks. Harriet looked Prudence square in the eyes. I’ll take that action, Counselor. What’s the stakes?

    Prudence raised her eyebrows, stood, and then paced three times across the living room like she was in court. Okay, let’s say if it is broken you come live with us in Grass Valley, where you won’t be alone should anything like this happ —

    Hold on a second, Henry said. Let’s think this through. You know how seriously she takes these silly little wagers.

    Yes, Harriet said with a wince. That would mean selling my house. The house your father built with his own two hands.

    Don’t start, Mom, not now, Henry said.

    I’m not starting. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

    Yes, you are. Just another opportunity to bring up Dad’s construction business and —

    Henry, Prudence said. This isn’t the time.

    Harriet moaned. Well, you did quit the business and then talked me into selling the company and then — she snapped her fingers — just like that you moved to California to become a … a writer.

    It’s what I wanted, Mom. It’s what Pru wanted. She had a great opportunity, and I needed to see if I could make it as a writer — something I wanted to do since I was a kid.

    Prudence touched Harriet’s knee. He’s happy.

    Harriet’s stomach went wobbly as the pain grew steadily worse. The ice did not appear to be working at all as her ankle was now the size of a canoe.

    Okay, so back to the bet. If I win then —

    Then you get to stay in the house until you … well until —

    I die. You can say it. I know I’m going to die one day, same as you.

    Well, no one is dying today, Henry said. Let’s get you to the hospital.

    Henry helped his mother off the couch. She hopped toward the front door with Henry’s help. Harriet reached out her hand to Prudence. It’s a bet, Your Honor.

    It’s a bet, said Prudence, shaking Harriet’s hand.

    Three painful hours and four X-rays later, Harriet learned she had lost the bet. Four months after the orthopedist declared her ankle fully mended, Harriet sold her pretty little custom-built Cape Cod and met her obligation. Her bank account grew to a size she had never thought she would see again, and she phoned Henry and Prudence to tell them she was on her way.

    I’m so glad, Mother, Prudence said. It really is for the better. You’ll see.

    Humphrey rested his head on the sofa as close to Harriet as possible.

    It’s going to be all right, boy. We’ll be just fine in California.

    Harriet looked out her bay front window. Spring was definitely on the fringes. I hope so anyway. I hope.

    Chapter 2

    THOSE FOUR MONTHS WERE, TO SAY THE LEAST, A WHIRLWIND — to say the most, heart-wrenching. Harriet’s house sold quickly, being in a fine neighborhood with a good public school district and, of course, the Saint Denis Parish. She didn’t even need a lawn sign — she preferred not to inform the entire neighborhood of her plans anyway. People clamored to be in Saint Denis. So Harriet was mostly pleased when she sold the house to a young couple with four school-age children.

    A month before settlement day, Harriet invited her best church friend for pie and coffee. She decided it would probably be a good idea to let Martha know — she didn’t want to simply up and leave. People might think she had died or been kidnapped or something.

    Martha arrived early as usual. Although she was the same age as Harriet — two months older, in fact — Harriet always thought of her as younger. Martha possessed such a free spirit and was as spry and youthful as any forty-year-old. She wore what Harriet called bohemian clothes — colorful skirts, bandanas, sandals in summer, and sneakers all winter — and made a living creating stained glass windows. Harriet never told her, but she sometimes wished she had even an ounce of Martha’s artistic talent. Harriet, who wore flowered dresses and sensible shoes and concerned herself with keeping a neat house, serving nursery duty, returning her library books on time, and keeping her weekly date down at Saint Frank’s for bingo, never did anything unexpected or out of the ordinary.

    Martha, Harriet said as she opened the door, you’re early — again.

    Martha laughed. You know me. I’ll probably die early.

    Oh, don’t say such a thing. Come on in. I was about to set the table.

    Set the table? You must have something mighty important in that brain of yours if you’re setting a table for us.

    I do, Harriet said. She followed Martha into the living room. But it can wait a few minutes.

    Then at least let me set the table while you get the goodies ready. You made pie, of course.

    That was nice and neighborly and all, but Harriet wanted to set the table herself. Martha had a way of making even the most mundane things prettier and better. Most of the time it was a welcome set of skills, especially at a church supper, but that day, with such an important announcement to make, Harriet wanted to be in charge. Still, since Martha had already started folding the cloth napkins into swans or parrots or something equally exotic, Harriet let her continue.

    You have your good crystal out and china — my, my, what a pretty pattern. Martha peered into a French Haviland pie plate. Now you’ve got me guessing. What in the world could be so terribly important as to warrant good china and your favorite salt and pepper shakers — oh, let me guess, Prudence is preggers. How marvelous.

    Preggers. Harriet swallowed. No, no, Prudence is not … preggers … she’s too busy with her lawyer job, and you know Henry, still writing his books.

    Well, I wish for your sake she’d change her mind. The old bio clock is ticking. She moved her index finger back and forth like a pendulum.

    Harriet placed a deep-dish apple pie with a golden crust on the table. Look who’s talking. Weren’t you forty-two when Wyatt came along?

    Yeah, well. I already had three others, and he was kind of … well, Wyatt was definitely God’s idea. Jack and I were not planning. He’s our ‘You said it would be all right’ baby. ‘Course he’s all grown up now, but he still keeps me young.

    Harriet set out the good silver and watched Martha rearrange the cut flowers in the vase on the table. She magically made them look better than Harriet’s best effort only thirty minutes previous. Harriet sighed. How can they be the same daffodils? Then again, Martha could scrape a dead raccoon off the street and turn it into a lovely centerpiece.

    Oh, where’s your pooch? Martha looked around. He usually greets me.

    He’s out back. I’m not ready for him to hear my announcement yet.

    Martha smiled and moved toward the glass sliders leading to the backyard and looked out toward Humphrey’s doghouse. Honestly, Harriet, sometimes I think you believe that hound is human.

    I never claimed he was human, but I’m fairly certain he understands me. He’s picked up quite a bit of English.

    As opposed to dog speak.

    Yes, and please don’t call him a hound. He’s sensitive.

    "Well, that’s what he is. A basset hound."

    But it’s derogatory.

    Harriet poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred cream into it. She had been thinking about the best way to tell Martha her plan and thought she had come up with the perfect segue. I’ve been enjoying Pastor Daniel’s messages these last few weeks — all about purpose and destiny and such, finding our place in the grand scheme of things. The center of God’s will and all that, even though I’m not certain I know how that feels or if I will ever understand predestination. She glanced at Martha over the tops of her glasses.

    Oh, oh, I know what he means. Martha chimed in as she set a slice of pie on her plate. When I’m working with the glass I feel something extraordinary. It’s like the line in that old movie about the missionary, about feeling God’s pleasure when he runs. I feel God’s pleasure when I work with the glass. It’s like I know God made me an artist and I really have no choice but to do it.

    Harriet stirred her coffee. "You mean Chariots of Fire. Eric Liddell." Harriet stared into her coffee. Nothing fancy. No hazelnut or coconut flavors — plain old coffee — the same brand she had been drinking for over twenty years. Ordinary — that’s how Harriet had been feeling, she just didn’t know it. She could not remember the last time she felt God’s pleasure.

    I’m in a rut, Harriet said after a moment. I wake up the same time every day, make coffee the same time every morning, drink it from the same mug, sit in the same pew, attend the same bingo game every Thursday — never win more than $47.50. And then I give it to the church. She looked away from Martha. My life is boring. I don’t want to believe I was predestined to live out my days baking cookies. I just never had the gumption to try anything different. She looked away and then back at Martha. I never had the courage.

    Martha tapped Harriet’s hand. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Harriet, what are you trying to tell me? You must have something heavy on your heart. Does it have anything to do with Daniel’s sermons? Did you get a bad test result?

    Harriet sipped her coffee. She considered forgetting the whole thing, thinking it couldn’t possibly be as exciting as making art or getting a bad test result. Oh, it’s nothing really. I’m just … moving. That’s all. She looked straight at Martha. I’m moving — soon.

    Martha swallowed a bite of pie without chewing. Moving? You mean into one of those fancy assisted-living places? Or the Presbyterian home?

    Presby Home? No. She looked away from Martha again. The Presbyterian Home was a fine alternative for someone in Harriet’s station of life, and after being a faithful member of the Presbyterian Church (even though she played bingo at St. Frank’s), she certainly qualified for a bed.

    California, Harriet said.

    California? Well, what in the world? Martha looked away and then back at Harriet. Oh, I get it. Isn’t that where Henry and Prudence live?

    Harriet nodded. Yes. And … you can’t talk me out of it. I already sold the house.

    Martha shook her head. Harriet Beamer. I never thought this would happen. You love this house.

    I do, but … well, I’m getting older and —

    Oh so what? You’re not ancient. Did you lose a bet or something?

    Harriet pushed gooey apple slices around on her plate. Yes. It was a stupid bet.

    I knew it, Martha said. I told you one of these days that your gambling ways would get you into trouble. Not everything in life is a sure bet.

    Well, good for you, Nostradamus, Harriet said. Your prediction came true. But it really is all because of that broken ankle I had at Christmas. Henry and Prudence are worried I can’t take care of myself anymore.

    Oh, that’s preposterous, Martha said. You fell off one chair — so what. You are far from a doddering old woman.

    I suppose. Harriet nodded and sipped her coffee, lost in thought. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. I know I can still take care of myself. But I’m not getting younger. What do I have left? Ten decent years? Harriet swallowed a bite of pie. Remember how long ten years was when we were younger, and now — she snapped her fingers — it could go in a flash. I mean, really, what can I do now? My life is practically over.

    Don’t be morbid. Ten years is plenty of time. You can do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. I keep saying I’ll teach you to work with the stained glass. You can take a class in Russian literature, anything. You don’t need to sell your house and move clear across the country. Martha seemed to swipe a tear away.

    Maybe I do, Harriet said. Maybe the kids are right. Maybe I’ve used up my usefulness here, and now it’s time for my children to take care of me.

    Martha shook her head. She sipped coffee and looked around the kitchen. There must be more to this.

    No. Not much more. Harriet stirred her coffee again. "Although I guess there is a part of me that figures when — or should I say if? — they decide to have a baby, I’ll be there. I’d want to be part of the baby’s life. And that trumps any assisted-living home. Come to think of it, it would be assisted living in reverse. I’ll get to assist them." Harriet

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