by Verna Clay
An hour after leaving his office, he pulled to the front of the Jeromes' comfortable cabin. Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm his raging heart. The reason for his anxiety stemmed not from meeting the woman he'd encountered at the general store, but from the possibility of seeing Murphy, the horse that had thrown his wife and caused her death.
The familiar guilt clutched his heart and he squeezed his eyes shut. If only he'd walked away from that equine auction and not purchased the high-spirited gelding; if only his wife had heeded his warning to stay off the horse until he'd had time to gentle the beast; if only Misty hadn't been the first one to reach her mother; if only…"
He heard a noise and opened his eyes. He inhaled sharply. The young woman from the store was galloping Murphy across the pasture in front of the house. He'd recognize that beautiful grey and white speckled gelding anywhere.
He'd loved Murphy, but he'd almost shot him after his wife's death. It was only through the intervention of Jake Jerome that he'd been waylaid. Walker had always considered it providence that Jake showed up just as he was leading the horse into the woods to shoot and bury. He'd been crazy with grief and the older man had gently taken the reins from him and asked if he'd consider selling the horse because killing him would only add to his sorrow. Walker had stared at Jake without seeing him, but registered the truth in his words and walked away.
From that day until this Walker hadn't seen Murphy and his eyes watered. Swiping a hand across his face, he stared mesmerized at the woman and beast soaring across the field in innocent abandon. Before they reached the tree line she slowed Murphy to a canter, then a trot, and finally a walk. She leaned over to hug his neck. Walker was hypnotized by the sight. She turned Murphy toward the Jeromes' house, a long building that had once been one room, but now comprised several rooms with a porch spanning half of the cabin.
A voice startled Walker.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Jake Jerome stepped beside Walker's door.
Walker had to clear his throat to speak, and even then nothing came out. Finally, he rasped, "Yes."
Chapter Ten: Arrangement
Joy dismounted and held Murphy's reins as she neared the barn. The gelding nuzzled her shoulder and she reached to pat his neck, crooning love words. He was a wonderful horse. Although a bit temperamental, he followed her instructions. Having been around horses all her life, she knew he would mellow with the years. Right now, he was still an adolescent. She already knew she was going to hate leaving him when the time came to return home. In fact, she was going to hate leaving the beauty of Oregon and her hosts who had become her dear friends.
While riding, she had noticed a motorcar parked at the front of the house and her eyes widened when she came close enough to recognize the doctor who had questioned her ability to hear. His attitude had put her out of sorts the day before, but on the drive home she'd asked Jake and Pauline about him and been told his sad story. The doctor's wife had died only a year earlier when she'd been thrown from a horse and the little girl, Misty, hadn't spoken since then. Any animosity Joy had been feeling toward Dr. Flemming had evaporated, and now, seeing his pale blond hair against his sun bronzed complexion, started her pulse racing.
She was surprised when Jake rushed toward her and grabbed Murphy's reins. He said, "I'll take care of Murphy. Dr. Flemming is here to see you."
She smoothed a hand over her wind tousled hair trying to tame some of the curls, and replied, "Okay. Thank you, Jake."
As Jake walked Murphy toward the barn, Joy walked toward the automobile Dr. Flemming was leaning against. Inhaling a calming breath, and smoothing her hands down her split riding skirt, she gave him a shy smile as she approached.
He straightened up from the fender on the passenger side and nodded in response. He was hatless and his hair looked as tousled as hers felt. When she came close enough, he said, "Miss Ryder, I was wondering if I could speak with you for a few minutes."
"Of course, Dr. Flemming."
The doctor motioned toward the pasture Joy had just ridden in. "Would you walk with me?"
She nodded and accepted the arm he held out to her. The moment her hand touched his elbow her breathing quickened and she felt lightheaded. Ridiculous.
They had walked several paces before the doctor stopped and turned toward her. He said, "I want to apologize for my behavior at Beecher's General Store. I was just so," he hesitated, "shocked by what you said. I haven't heard Misty speak a word since her mother's death."
Joy remained silent.
The doctor continued, "Would you mind telling me what happened from the beginning? I need to make sense of this so I can help my daughter." He sighed. "She's been in a dark place since her mother passed on and I've been trying to find a way to reach her. I want her to understand that although terrible things sometimes happen, life must go on. I want her to be happy again."
Joy's heart broke for this man and his daughter and she had the feeling he was speaking the words as much for himself as for his child. She said, "I am so sorry for your loss and I'm more than willing to relate the entire incident." Dr. Flemming's gaze penetrated all the way to her heart.
"Thank you," he said softly.
While Joy related the incident they walked toward the line of pines enclosing the field. Long before they reached the trees, she had told him everything.
Dr. Flemming leaned against the trunk of a tall ponderosa and met her brown gaze with his sapphire one. He said, "Please call me Walker. May I call you Joy?"
Joy felt herself blush. "Yes. Call me Joy and I'll call you Walker, even though I feel like I should call you Dr. Flemming."
He smiled slightly. "I much prefer Walker." Then he closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. "I also want to apologize for my Aunt's rudeness. Actually, she's my wife's aunt and very set in her ways, but I don't know what I would have done without her after Emily's death. While I worked through my grief she moved into my home to care for Misty and run my household. Although her own home is in Portland, she's stayed with us all this time. My sister and her son, whom I understand you also met on the train, live here in Oregon City. I went to see Octavia and she tells me that Aunt Zena was terribly rude to you. I am so sorry."
Joy lifted her hand to stop any further apologies. "At the time, I must admit I was quite taken aback by your aunt, but upon further reflection, I realized she was actually acting out of concern for my safety. Back in my own community in Texas there are many residents very much like your aunt living in the old ways. Times have changed drastically over the past twenty years and some people are having difficulty adapting to the changes." She chuckled. "The only elderly person I know who would encourage a young, single woman to strike out on her own is my grandmother, Abby Samson. She, herself, traveled from a comfortable home in Philadelphia to become the mail order bride of my grandfather, who was living in a cabin and raising three children while trying to run a cattle ranch in Texas."
Walker laughed. "She sounds like a very courageous woman."
"Yes, very. She's one of a kind and my family loves her dearly." A note of sadness entered her voice when she said, "My grandfather died about a year and a half ago and I understand the pain of loss."
A breeze kicked up and they both became silent, listening to the rustle of leaves in the scattering of maples among the pines.
Walker broke the silence when he asked, "So, since you were buying art supplies, I'm assuming you're an artist?"
"Yes. Mostly I paint with oils or watercolors, but occasionally I use charcoal. In fact, that's why I'm in Oregon City. For the past year I've been traveling the country and creating a series I call Lest We Forget."
Walker squatted and picked up a crackly maple leaf. He glanced up at Joy. "Other than my aunt, have you encountered many, ah, shall we say, difficult people?"
Joy grinned. "Not many who are difficult; mostly just curious."
The half smile Walker gave Joy as he stood again started her heart thumping. He was so handsome that she felt
plain by comparison, and then she chided herself for feeling that way. She had never been one to preen in front of a mirror or become overly concerned about her appearance. She was a plain woman with a pale complexion, medium brown hair, brown eyes, a thin face, an average mouth below a straight average nose with no cute tilt, eyebrows that tended to be so bushy she plucked them, and a body that was too thin to be considered curvaceous,. Although makeup was all the rage, she used only a hint of cheek and lip rouge of the palest pink.
Joy was so caught up in her examination of her personal appearance that she missed Walker's question. She said, "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? My mind just went on a flight of fancy."
Walker smiled. "I haven't heard that phrase in a long time."
Joy returned his smile. "My mother sometimes says it. She's also an artist, as is my father, and they tend to have their head in the clouds like me."
"So what was your flight of fancy?"
Joy flushed crimson. There was no way she would admit to sizing herself up in comparison to him. She hedged, "Um, well, I was thinking that you would make a good candidate for portrait painting. With your dark coloring, blond hair and blue eyes, the contrast would be exceptional."
He laughed. "I don't think I could sit still long enough. Actually, what I asked while you were having your flight of fancy is whether you would consider teaching my daughter to paint. She loves drawing and painting and because she spoke to you once, perhaps she'll do so again. I would be most grateful for your help."
Joy's eyes widened. "But what about your aunt?"
"Don't worry about her. She'll come around to my way of thinking." He apparently wasn't worried when he continued, "I could meet you at church on Sundays and bring you to my home. After Misty's lesson I would drive you back here. My medical practice is closed on Sundays and Mondays. So, if Sunday doesn't work, perhaps Monday would."
The look in Walker's eyes almost brought tears to Joy's. His love for his daughter was palpable. How could she refuse? She said, "Jake and Pauline mentioned something about attending church this Sunday. They said they want to introduce me to members of the community. Sunday would probably work out well, Walker." She again felt that awful blush creeping up her neck. Speaking his name aloud seemed so…intimate.
He responded, "Much to the chagrin of my aunt and sister, I haven't attended church since my wife died, but perhaps it's time to return."
Chapter Eleven: Dead Set Against It
Walker studied the small, slender woman beside him and decided there was a depth of character that his visit had only begun to unveil. Perhaps her demure looks and soft voice camouflaged a woman of purpose and ambition. His wife, although fiery and strong-willed, had never indicated a drive for anything other than being his wife and mother to Misty. And he'd been happy with that. Now, seeing the light in Joy's eyes when she spoke of her passion, he wondered if his wife had ever wanted more. She had loved writing poetry. Had she suppressed that part of herself to become his wife, or worse yet, had he stifled her creativity?
As they walked back toward the house, Jake stepped from the barn with Murphy and led him to the corral. Walker stiffened, but if Joy noticed, she didn't say anything. Instead, she said, "I just love that gelding. My grandfather and my uncles have always raised horses. And my parents keep a few at our home, although my father now prefers automobiles as his mode of transportation." They walked on in silence.
When they reached the gate to exit the pasture, Walker said, "You should be careful around any horse, especially one as high strung as Murphy."
"Oh, he's a love. He only needs some maturity to reach his full potential. In fact, he's one of the best horses I've ever been around."
Walker inhaled sharply.
Pauline stepped onto the porch, waved, and called, "Hello, Dr, Flemming. It's good to see you. Please come in. I just pulled a tray of oatmeal cookies from the oven."
Walker was glad to have something to take his mind off Murphy, and replied, "I've tasted your oatmeal cookies and they're the best this side of the Mississippi, and perhaps the other side, too."
Pauline grinned and waved her husband over. He called, "I'm on my way."
Even with his busy medical practice, time seemed to drag by for Walker. Throughout the week he treated migraine headaches, menstrual cramps, cold symptoms, stomach aches, a fractured arm, twisted ankle, appendicitis, and even assisted Birdie in the delivery of twins.
Often he thought of Joy and her quiet demeanor. And when visions of her riding Murphy popped into his head, he didn't readily dismiss them. She was a horsewoman of great skill.
On Wednesday evening after Misty was in bed, he asked his aunt to join him in his study for a nightcap. He knew by her expression that she was surprised by his request. He poured a little brandy for himself and asked her what she wanted. She tilted her head, eyed his snifter, and smiled. "I'll have the same."
He returned her smile, poured the amber liquid into another snifter, handed it to her, and lifted his glass. "Here's to a better future."
His aunt eyed him curiously, but remained silent. She tilted her glass and sipped.
Walker sat beside her on the divan, placed his glass on the coffee table, and reached to hold his aunt's free hand. He said with sincerity, "I want to thank you for all you've done for me and Misty. Without you, we would have been lost."
His aunt squeezed his hand. "My dear boy, I think of you as my own nephew, and wouldn't have had it any other way. However, are you politely asking me to leave your home?"
Walker reared back. "No! Of course not!"
"Then what's on your mind? I've felt something troubling you for days now."
Walker sighed and leaned back against the cushions. "There is something I've avoided telling you, I will admit."
His aunt sipped her brandy again and waited.
He continued, "Remember the woman you met on the train and again at the general store? The one who was traveling without a companion." He met his aunt's narrowed gaze.
"Yes, of course. Such an impertinent young woman."
Walker sighed again. "I went to see her at the Jerome homestead and I've asked her to give Misty art lessons."
Aunt Zena gasped, "Why ever would you do that? Surely you don't believe she actually heard Misty speak?"
"Actually, Auntie, I do." He hastened to add, "But even if she only thought she did, this is an opportunity I can't let slip. If there's even the remotest chance that Misty has taken a liking to her enough to talk, I've got to know. And the only way to do that is to bring the two of them together." He sipped his drink and waited for his aunt's reply.
With her back now ramrod straight, she stretched forward to set her glass on the table. "Misty is your daughter and I won't interfere with your decision, but I will voice my objection. I think the woman is young, irresponsible, and probably looking for a husband to support her, and when she saw you, she saw opportunity deposited on her doorstep. Beware, my boy." She stood and walked from the room.
Walker watched his aunt's retreating back and downed another nip of brandy. He'd known she would protest his decision, but he hadn't realized she would be so dead set against it.
Chapter Twelve: Pearly Gates
Joy was so nervous about meeting up with Walker and his daughter on Sunday that she slept fitfully all week. On Sunday, she woke before dawn and grabbed her brushes to paint by the light of an oil lamp. Painting always had the effect of easing her mind and taking her to a place where worries were forgotten.
As dawn birthed the new day, she set her oils aside so she could dress. The Jeromes had a comfortable home with the convenience of an indoor bathroom; however, there was no electricity. Because they did not have that luxury, the home retained the charm of earlier years when lit by oil lamps. The glow from the lamps was so inviting that Joy often tried to mix colors that would evoke feelings from yesteryear. She'd sampled several earth tones in an attempt to create a shade she'd call "home," but so far, that color had eluded her.
/> She was dressed and preparing coffee when Pauline stepped into the kitchen. Pauline said cheerfully, "I hope heaven smells this good."
Joy grinned. "Now that's another color I need to mix."
Pauline lifted an eyebrow waiting for an explanation.
"I've been experimenting with colors trying to create something appropriately named 'home.' Now I need to ascertain the color of 'heaven'."
Pauline laughed. "My dear, you are an artist down to the marrow of your bones. Only an artist would attempt to discover the colors of 'home' and 'heaven' and when you do, you must share them with me."
Jake entered the room. "My goodness, this kitchen smells heavenly. Do you think we can bottle that smell and sell it?"
Both women laughed heartily and he questioned, "Was it something I said?"
The ride to church in the Jeromes' Model T was pleasant and full of cheerful conversation. Although Joy tried to concentrate on everything being said, the butterflies in her stomach kept distracting her. She had already informed Jake and Pauline about the art lessons she would be giving Misty, and they had been delighted.
Pauline, who was sitting in the back seat beside Joy, reached to pat the younger woman's hand. "You'll be wonderful for the child. And since she spoke to you once, I have faith that she'll do so yet again. It's as if fate brought you here for her..." she hesitated, and finished softly, "and her father."
Joy was saved from having to reply when Jake said, "Ladies, we're here." Joy adjusted her brown bowler hat and white gloves, and then smoothed a hand down her simple cotton, purple-and-white checked, A-line dress with a wide matching collar.