Joy's Return (Unconventional Series #4) Read online

  Joy's musings were halted by the screech of the train into the station and she excitedly watched the conductor and attendants prepare for the departure and boarding of passengers. She clasped her gloved hands together and inhaled deeply. Her father, assisted by her Uncle Luke, carried her small trunk to the loading platform. Her mother hugged her tightly, followed by her cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews. Her father and Luke returned and joined in the hugs, admonitions, and good wishes.

  Lastly, Abby stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of Joy's face. Lifting it to meet her gaze, she said, "My darling, Joy, you are a gifted artist just like your parents and you must paint on canvas, but more importantly, you must paint the beauty of nature upon your heart where it will never grow old or tarnish. Go and have the adventure of a lifetime."

  Chapter Four: Chastisement

  Almost one year later…

  Joy watched the California countryside speed past from the dining car of the Oregon and California Railroad and heard the young woman at the table next to her say to an elderly woman and a young boy, "Soon, we'll pass the border into Oregon."

  The boy who was perhaps five or six, replied, "Mama, I can't wait to get home!"

  The mother smiled. "I agree, Solomon."

  The other woman said, "Solomon, eat your vegetables and stop gawking out the window."

  The little boy glanced from the sour expression of the lady who had admonished him, to the boiled spinach on his plate, and screwed up his face. However, rather than argue, he picked up his fork and began pushing the wilted leaves hither and thither.

  Joy stifled a grin and glanced at the uneaten spinach on her own plate. The child's eyes met hers and then shifted to her spinach. The boy and Joy exchanged a knowing look and both tried not to smile. In an effort to keep young Solomon from further chastisement, she quickly glanced back out the windows at tall pines marching upward from the valley they traveled through. Northern California was beautiful and if Oregon could compare with this, she would consider herself as having arrived at heaven on earth.

  Surreptitiously, she glanced back at the table with the child. While the spinsterish woman complained to a server, the boy's mother quickly reached to spoon the spinach from her son's plate onto her own. Solomon and his mother smiled at each other when she covered the distasteful vegetable with a slice of bread. The pretty woman lifted her eyes, saw Joy watching them, and grinned before returning her expression to one of solemnity when her elderly companion finished scolding the waiter.

  Joy covered her laughter with her napkin and shifted her gaze to the forest, imagining her next painting. It would be the twelfth in a series she had entitled Lest We Forget.

  While the forest rushed past, she happily remembered the past year. After leaving Bingham, the rails had taken her to Ft. Worth, where she had boarded the Colorado Special operated by the Ft. Worth and Denver City Railway Company and traveled to a small town outside of Denver named Georgetown. The lovely township had been settled in the 1850s after the Pike's Peak Gold Rush, but it was the discovery of silver in the 1860s that gave it the quirky nickname of "Silver Queen of Colorado." During her months there, Joy had immersed herself not only in painting the mountains that nestled the town, but also the history. She loved visiting the museum and speaking with old-timers. Her hostess had been a friendly, middle-aged woman who owned a local hotel and also wrote adventure tales that were circulated by several newspapers, just as Joy's Uncle Luke's were. Many years ago, she and Luke had become friends when introduced by a newspaper editor and asked to work on a joint project.

  From Denver, Joy had again traveled by rail to Santa Fe, New Mexico. In that picturesque city her host and hostess had been artist friends of her parents whose sculptures rivaled those of her Uncle Nate's. Privately, though, Joy considered that no one could sculpt as well as her uncle. He was as famous for his sometimes lifelike, sometimes whimsical renditions, as her mother and father were for their paintings. In fact, Joy's mother had met Nate in New York when they'd studied together at Jake Ryder's Academy. Nate's artistic gift was so profound that the nuns at his orphanage were instrumental in obtaining a scholarship for him.

  Although Joy's mother had returned home brokenhearted and pregnant, she hadn't forgotten to bring paperwork for the adoption of Nate. Brandt and Abby had welcomed the boy into the Samson family and raised him as one of their own.

  As in Georgetown, Joy had immersed herself in the history of Santa Fe, the oldest capital city in the United States. The translation of its name into "Holy Faith," was appropriate to its beginnings, having been dedicated to Saint Francis of Assisi. The barren land held a beauty that attracted more artisans than full time residents and Joy painted mountain vistas encompassing the southern end of the Rocky Mountains. She also hired a guide to lead her to picturesque areas in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Her last month had been spent in the town proper painting adobe buildings, some as old as three hundred years, that ranged in color from shades of red to yellow to white.

  "Excuse me, young lady," an abrasive voice said, interrupting the history lesson Joy was having in her head. She glanced at the table with the boy and his mother. The elderly woman with a penchant for spinach repeated, "Excuse me, Miss?"

  Joy replied, "Yes, ma'am?"

  The woman frowned and lifted her chin to stare down her nose at Joy. "We've been at our table for quite some time and I couldn't help but notice that you are an unaccompanied female. Where is your companion?"

  Several times throughout her journey Joy had been asked that same question, but never with such disdain.

  "I do not have a companion, ma'am. I am traveling alone."

  The woman inhaled sharply. "I must say that I am flabbergasted and I cannot believe what this world is coming to. When I was your age, I would never have ventured far from home without a companion, let alone travel on a train carrying every temperament of individuals. I feel it is my Godly duty to warn you that such travel can only eventually lead to trouble." The old woman's nose seemed to grow longer as her eyes narrowed with indignation.

  Joy was quite taken aback by the attack. She glanced at the young mother and the boy. The mother looked apologetic and the boy's eyes had widened.

  Considering how to respond, Joy smiled and said, "I have been traveling alone for the past year and encountered no danger. I believe in the early days of railroads, your warning would have been quite appropriate, however, in this modern era, women are not as repressed as they once were."

  Because Joy had spoken so sweetly it took a second for the rebuke to settle with the disgruntled lady. But when it did, her slits for eyes widened and she sniffed loudly. "Young lady, you are impertinent! And don't say I didn't warn you when you come to harm." She glanced at her companions and ordered, "Come. It's time to return to our accommodations. It's past Solomon's bedtime."

  The child whined, "But I don't want to go to bed."

  The indignant woman stood, placed her napkin on the table, and walked stiffly from the dining car. Other diners who had witnessed the war of words watched her retreat and then shifted their gazes back to Joy.

  The young mother reached for her son's hand and said before she stood, "I'm so sorry. My Aunt, actually my sister-in-law's aunt, is very set in her ways and no amount of arguing will change that. Perhaps her disposition is partly because she's never married and had a husband to challenge her." With resignation, she added, "So I don't even try."

  Joy nodded her understanding. "My name is Joy Ryder. I'm traveling to Oregon City."

  The woman grinned. "I like your name. You know, don't you, that they call people who enjoy riding in automobiles, joyriders?"

  Joy chuckled. "Yes, I've been teased about that before. I don't think my mother realized that my name would one day be associated with autocars."

  "My name is Octavia Pickard and this is my son, Solomon. We're also headed to Oregon City, maybe–"

  "Octavia, are you coming?" called the unfriendly spi
nster from across the room of diners.

  Mrs. Pickard blushed and said quickly, "It was nice meeting you. And again, I'm sorry." She hurried from the table pulling her son behind her. Solomon looked back at Joy and grinned.

  Chapter Five: Arrival

  Joy returned to her roomette and watched dusk morph into night, musing over how different the spinster was from her Grammy Abby. She grinned when she imagined informing the churlish woman that it had been the urging of her grandmother that sent her on her unchaperoned adventure.

  A knock on her sliding panel interrupted her thoughts. A voice said, "It’s the steward, ma'am. Are you ready for me to pull down your bed?"

  "Could we do it in an hour, sir?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'll return then."

  For the next hour Joy watched an evening made mysterious by the interplay of shadows dancing from trees that whizzed past her window. Occasionally, a distant light punctuated the expanding darkness and inspired a vision of covered wagons camped for the night under a canopy of pines, with their oil lamps casting circles of illumination on the forest floor. She would paint the vision and call it Finding Home. She couldn't wait to get started on it.

  The next morning she woke at dawn and hung a small placard outside her door indicating she was ready for the porter to lift her bed and bring her fresh towels. Within the hour she had washed in the tiny basin built into the wall, dressed in clean clothing, and combed her short bob of brunette hair until there were no more tangles. She'd known soon after her journey began that her long, naturally curly locks would have to go. She had cut them herself to shoulder length, and then she'd shrugged and gone shorter—to her chin. Her curls now hugged her face. Her new hairstyle was not only the current fashion rage, but it was so easy to manage she couldn't imagine having the burden of long hair again.

  Reaching for her serviceable bowler hat, she pulled it down to the top of her eyebrows and set out for the observation car. There was a lightness to her step and she felt unencumbered by the strict mores that only a decade or two ago would have repressed her adventuresome spirit. She silently thanked all the women who had painstakingly, and for years, fought for the equal rights of women. Why, just last summer, Congress had passed the 19th Amendment that granted women the right to vote, and more than likely, the amendment would be ratified this year. Joy felt giddy knowing that women everywhere would soon have a say in electing those who would govern the populace, and she wondered if that freedom would provoke women to run for office. Perhaps someday a woman would win the presidency! She silently giggled at the audacity of such a notion.

  Settling into a seat in the observation car that only a few early risers had ventured into, she watched green forests flash past and thought about her next destination.

  When her grammy had told her she must follow her heart and paint the West, Joy had envisioned traveling to unknown towns and staying at local inns. How naïve she had been. Of course her family would insure the safest of accommodations for her.

  After agreeing to her desire for travel, her father and mother, along with her grammy and Luke, had plotted a course that would bring her to nature's wild country, but also keep her protected. Her father and mother and uncle, each being famous in their own right—her parents for their artistry and her uncle for his writings—had contacted friends living in beautiful locations and asked if they would be willing to host Joy for up to three months. Everyone contacted had replied enthusiastically in the affirmative, and thus, Joy's itinerary had been established.

  Outside the observation windows, a raging river came into view and Joy got goose bumps imagining setting her easel up in such a wilderness. She almost clapped her hands with delight. How she longed to start her Finding Home painting that would become part of her Lest We Forget collection.

  She continued watching the river until her stomach growled loudly. It was time to head off to the dining car.

  She ordered a breakfast of scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and a hot cross bun. The door to the dining car opened and Octavia, with her son, Solomon, and her cranky aunt entered. The aunt saw Joy and lifted her chin haughtily, leading her group to a far table. Solomon waved at Joy when his great-aunt wasn't looking and Octavia smiled a greeting.

  After breakfast, Joy returned to the observation car for an hour and then retired to her roomette to prepare for disembarking. Her heart raced and her stomach danced with butterflies. Everyone she had stayed with thus far had been friendly, accommodating, and more importantly, nonjudgmental. All she knew about the family hosting her in Oregon was that they were an older couple who lived outside Oregon City, a town with the alternate title of "The End of the Trail." To pioneers who had traveled the Oregon Trail in the 1800s by covered wagon, sometimes for as long as five or six months, Oregon City had been the most welcome sight imaginable.

  Joy had studied the history of the trail and knew the heyday of travel had begun in the 1840s and lasted until around the mid 1880s, with some traffic even into the 1890s. Her Uncle Luke had told her that the property owned by the couple she would be staying with still bore the ruts of wagon wheels. Joy's heart sang at the prospect of painting Old West scenes in the presence of such visible history. Of course she would have to use her imagination to paint the oxen, mules, milk cows tied to the wagons, bonneted women, children, and burly men plodding westward. Inwardly, she smiled. Her grammy had told her many times that she had been blessed with an amazing imagination, and she supposed Abby was right.

  The blowing of the train's whistle caused her to jump and she placed a hand over her heart. It was time to return to the present and leave her pioneer family on the Oregon Trail.

  Chapter Six: Seeing the Invisible

  Gathering her reticule and valise, Joy followed other passengers in disembarking. With the assistance of a porter, she descended the portable stairs onto Oregon ground. The depot bustled with people calling greetings and rushing to and fro. She inhaled deeply, glancing around. A tall, elderly man, with an equally tall woman beside him, stood a few paces from her.

  The gentleman called, "Excuse me, Miss, but is your name Joy Ryder?" He smiled slightly as he said her name.

  "Yes, sir, it is. Are you Mr. Jake Jerome?"

  "I am one and the same, and this is my wife Pauline."

  The couple, with the wife's hand tucked in her husband's elbow, approached until they were directly in front of Joy.

  Mrs. Jerome said, "It's so lovely having you here. When your uncle contacted us about opening our home to you so you could paint our lovely countryside, we couldn't have been happier. Welcome to 'The End of the Trail'!"

  Joy felt relief replace her previous apprehension over meeting her new hosts.

  Mr. Jerome said, "Why don't we locate the loading dock so you can point out your trunk?"

  While the small trunk was being unloaded and carted to the running-board luggage rack of Mr. Jerome's shiny vehicle, Mrs. Jerome said, "Now, Joy, you must call us by our first names. None of this formal stuff. We're just simple, country folk. Speaking of which, we'd like to treat you to lunch at our favorite country diner before heading home. As for our property, it's rural and lovely and will give you many hours of painting pleasure. We're about an hour west of town."

  The diner Mrs. Jerome was so fond of was appropriately named, "Trail's End," and after a delicious meal of fried chicken, potato salad, corn bread, and apple cobbler for dessert, they began their journey in a vehicle Mr. Jerome proudly said was a 1915 Ford Model T. Although there were buckboards pulled by horses clogging the roadways, he exclaimed, "Automobiles are the wave of the future. One day all these horse-drawn vehicles will be replaced by the horseless carriage. You mark my words."

  Mrs. Jerome turned to smile at Joy in the backseat. "And Jake is never wrong. Why twenty years ago he predicted that women would receive the right to vote. And now it's upon us."

  Mr. Jerome smiled lovingly at his wife. To Joy, he said, "If we can do anything to make your stay more comfortable, you just let us know."

&n
bsp; Joy replied, "Thank you for your kindness in taking me into your home. I know I shall be perfectly content."

  Jake said, "Your Uncle Luke is a good friend and when he contacted us about hosting you for several weeks, we were thrilled at the prospect. Meeting your uncle has been one of the highlights of our lives. Several years ago he came here seeking interviews with folks who had traveled the Oregon Trail so he could incorporate that bit of history into his adventure stories. Of course, I didn't travel the trail, but my dear wife did and lost her parents to cholera. She was taken in by the Prudence Pittance Orphanage here in Oregon City. In fact, the orphanage was founded by a woman who traveled on the same wagon train as my father and stepmother back in the late sixties. Their journey began in Westport Landing, Missouri, and ended here in Oregon City. It's quite a story. My father was contacted by a widow with a young son and asked to drive her oxen on a cross country trip that could take as long as five months or more. He was reluctant because he'd just returned from the Civil War—of course at that time it was called The War of the States—but his conscience finally made him accept the job. Over the course of their travels, they fell in love and later married. My father and birthmother had divorced when I was a baby, even though that was unheard of at the time, and I hadn't seen my father since the age of three, that is until he came to visit me in Texas when I was fifteen. At the age of eighteen, I traveled to Oregon, mostly by rail, and fell in love with the state. And if I hadn't already decided to make it my home, I certainly would have when I met Pauline at a local hoedown when I was nineteen."