Joy's Return (Unconventional Series #4)

by Verna Clay

  The church was similar in style to the one in Joy's hometown of Two Rivers with its wide double-doors and tall steeple. As she entered, she was aware of the heads of parishioners turning in her direction. A short, thin man approached and said with a booming voice while pumping Jake's hand. "Welcome Jake!" He turned to Pauline. "And welcome to you, too, Miz Pauline. My wife is in the back getting the nursery helpers lined out, but I know she'll beeline it in your direction as soon as she returns."

  Jake said, "Pastor Pearly, I'd like you to meet Joy Ryder, the niece of one of our closest friends. You remember him—Luke Samson—the writer who goes by the pen name of Dawson Jeffries and has written numerous adventure tales."

  Pastor Pearly grinned. "I do remember Mr. Samson. He visited our town a few years back interviewing old-timers and families whose ancestors had traveled here along the Oregon Trail." He clasped Joy's hand and she smiled down at him. Joy wasn't a tall woman, but the pastor was even shorter.

  He said in that resonate voice, "Welcome, Miz Ryder." His eyes twinkled. "You have a very intriguing name. Do you, by chance, enjoy riding in automobiles?"

  Joy's own eyes twinkled. "I do. However, I don't think my mother realized the significance of naming me Joy. I'm often teased about it."

  A large-boned woman, perhaps six inches taller than Joy, rushed toward them. She halted beside the pastor and gushed, "It's so nice to see you here Mr. and Mrs. Jerome!" She glanced down at Joy and stuck out her hand. "I'm Mrs. Pearly, the preacher's wife, and you must be the Jeromes' guest from Texas. Welcome to our community." The woman's friendly, middle-aged face was etched with fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth, no doubt from smiling so much.

  Joy grasped the woman's hand and told her how happy she was to be in Oregon. Suddenly, a baby's wail was heard through the door leading beyond the sanctuary and Mrs. Pearly said, "Oh, goodness, excuse me, that sounds like the Michelson baby. I better check on him." As quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared in order to carry out her duties as the pastor's wife.

  A voice behind Joy started her heart thrumming. She heard Walker say, "Good morning, Pastor, Jake, Pauline, Joy."

  The pastor said in his loud voice, "Well, well, it's a good day indeed when parishioners I haven't seen for some time return to the flock. The Lord is mighty pleased! Mighty pleased, indeed!"

  Joy suppressed a smile at Pastor Pearly's mini-sermon. She turned around and her breath caught. Walker, his blond hair shining and his eyes more gray than blue today, was beyond a doubt the handsomest man she'd ever laid eyes on. And holding his hand was his daughter, Misty. The girl whose eyes and hair were almost identical to her father's stared at Joy unwaveringly.

  Joy said, "Good morning, Dr. Flemming." She bent down beside Misty. "And good morning to you, too. I love your dress, especially this color here." She pointed to a lavender flower, and although the child didn't say anything, her sad eyes seemed to light up for an instant.

  Joy stood up again and listened to the conversation between the pastor, the Jeromes, and Walker, but her eyes kept straying back to Misty. And it seemed Misty's eyes kept straying back to Joy. Joy winked at the girl and Misty looked down at the plank flooring, but not before Joy saw another flash in her eyes.

  The approach of an elderly woman distracted Joy and she inwardly groaned. It was Walker's aunt by marriage.

  Pastor Pearly also saw her. "Welcome, Miz Stephens. I can't tell you how happy we are to see Walker and Misty here today. Perhaps you had something to do with that?" He grinned.

  The cantankerous old lady replied, "Actually, I did not." She glanced toward Joy and frowned. "It was Walker's decision to return to church. Apparently, however, someone influenced him." She nodded a greeting toward Jake and Pauline, patted Misty's head, and motioned across the room. "Please, excuse me, Pastor Pearly. Mrs. Brookstone and I need to discuss the upcoming bake sale."

  Joy watched the older woman with the posture of a soldier walk away. No one said anything for a moment, and then someone called out to Pastor Pearly from the entrance. His jovial manner returned and he excused himself.

  Jake said to Joy, "Pauline and I are going to find our seats; we'll save a place for you. Walker, would you and Misty like to join us?"

  "Thank you for asking, but we'll be sitting with my sister and aunt. Octavia and Solomon should be arriving any time."

  Jake said, "You and Joy just go ahead and talk." To Joy he said, "You can join us whenever you're ready." He touched Misty's shoulder. "And we'll see you later, young lady."

  Pauline smiled warmly at the child and then followed her husband across the room.

  Walker said softly, "I thought we were on a first name basis. Earlier you called me Dr. Flemming. Please call me Walker."

  Joy blushed and nodded.

  He moved his gaze across the room and back to Joy. "Once again I apologize for my aunt. I'll speak with her about her curtness."

  Joy blurted, "No! Please don't do that. She's just being protective of you." She felt her face flame when Walker stared curiously at her.

  A boy's voice called, "Hello, Uncle Walker!"

  Walker turned and grinned at his approaching nephew and sister.

  Joy smiled warmly at them.

  Octavia said, "Hello, Miss Ryder. It's a small world, isn't it? I had no idea we would meet again after our train excursion. Imagine my delight when Walker said he'd made your acquaintance and asked you to give my beautiful niece art lessons." She patted Misty's head and then glanced at her son. "Solomon, say hello to Miss Ryder."

  Solomon bashfully kicked his toe against the plank flooring. "Howdy, Miz Ryder."

  Joy said, "And howdy to you, too. I'm so happy to see you and your mother again." She glanced across the room to see Aunt Zena scowling at her.

  Walker said, "Perhaps we should take our seats. It looks like the service is about to begin." He touched Joy's arm. "I'll meet up with you after church and drive you to my home. Later this afternoon, I'll drive you back to the Jeromes."

  Joy excused herself and took her place beside her hosts. She only half listened to the booming voice of the short preacher. His wife sat in the front pew and said amen to almost every word out of his mouth. Joy covered her grin with her gloved hand. This church wasn't sedate in any sense of the word. The parishioners, following the lead of Mrs. Pearly, vocalized their own amens. She glanced at Pauline to see that she, too, was suppressing a smile.

  Pastor Pearly practically shouted, "Someday we'll all stand before St. Peter and hope he opens the gates. Of course, there is one way to know for sure…"

  He continued his sermon and Joy almost giggled aloud.

  Chapter Thirteen: Lavender

  After the church service, Joy was introduced to parishioners she had yet to meet. Everyone proved to be friendly, but curious, and she understood their curiosity. If she were to meet a young, single woman traveling the West to paint it, she would be curious, too.

  Finally, she said goodbye to Jake and Pauline and settled into the front seat of Walker's automobile. He explained that his aunt was spending the afternoon with friends. Joy wasn't fooled. His aunt was avoiding her.

  She turned around to smile at Misty in the backseat. The child sat demurely with her hands folded in her lap. Joy remembered her own childhood growing up with her cousins, Eva and Charity. The three girls were impish, and always brought their favorite dolls wherever they went. Joy wondered if Misty had a favorite doll.

  Unlike Jake's car, Walker didn't have to turn a hand crank to start it. The motor turned over from his dashboard and Joy marveled at yet another modern advancement. He pulled out from the church's dusty parking lot. "My home is on the outskirts of Oregon City. I wanted to be close to town, but still have some acreage, so I purchased six acres with three dogs, several chickens, and a slew of cats."

  Joy asked, "Do you have any horses?"

  He appeared to hesitate and then said, "No. The horseless carriage is easier on the pocketbook." Although he smiled when he said the w
ords, he didn't appear to be jesting.

  It took about twenty minutes to reach his home and Joy's breath hitched. It was beautiful and reminded her of her own home outside of Two Rivers in Texas. His house faced the east so the morning sun would be beautiful while sitting in rockers on the front porch. She was surprised that the porch held no furniture. But then she guessed a doctor would be so busy there wouldn't be time for lazing around. Still, it was a shame not to take advantage of such lovely scenery.

  Walker pulled to the front of his house and rushed to open Joy's door. He said, "My aunt won't be returning until late this afternoon. So you needn't be concerned about her being here." He opened the door to the backseat and reached to lift his daughter out, swinging her high in the air before setting her on the ground. She gave a little smile, which made Joy's heart glad. Holding Misty's hand, he sprang up the steps and held the door open for Joy.

  Again, her breath caught at the beauty of his home. Paneled walls of oak in a large foyer opened into a huge living room with the same paneling that gave the home warmth. A couple of couches and several plump chairs, tables, and ottomans, all faced a stone fireplace of overly large river rocks. Hallways on opposite sides intersected the living room.

  Walker turned to face her and pointed to her right. "The kitchen and dining room are down that hallway." He pointed in the opposite direction. "And the bedrooms and water closet are that way. Follow me and I'll show you Misty's room. After that, we'll eat a bite and then get you set up. My aunt made sandwiches for us and they're in the refrigerator."

  Joy said, "Your home is beautiful and the paneling exquisite. How long have you lived here?"

  "About five years." He didn't elaborate. He stopped at the last door and opened it.

  Joy entered a bedroom fit for a princess and inwardly frowned. It was immaculate. She had never met a child with a room so neat and tidy. Rather than voice what she was thinking, she said, "This room makes me feel like I'm living in a palace." She glanced down at Misty to see the child watching her. She knelt and said, "When I was your age, I had a doll that never left my side. Maybe someday you'll show me your favorite doll."

  Something flickered in the child's eyes, but Joy couldn't discern what it was.

  Walker said, "I'll get your valise and easel and be right back." To Misty he said, "Why don't you show Miss Ryder your own paints and supplies?"

  Walker left the room and Misty walked over to the only window. Joy followed. "I see you've picked out the best place for lighting, which is one of the first things an artist does." Her eyes were drawn to several watercolor paintings neatly stacked on top of each other. She asked, "May I look at what you've done?"

  There was a barely perceptible nod of Misty's head.

  Good. She responded to me. Joy studied the first picture. It was a lavender house under a blue sky. She flipped to the next one. It was a field of lavender flowers. The next was a mountain with a lavender sky. Each picture revealed innate talent and the same dominate color of lavender.

  Joy grinned at Misty. "You do love the color lavender, so I'm thinking your first lesson should be painted primarily with that color."

  Walker returned carrying Joy's valise of supplies and her easel. He asked, "Where would you like to set up?"

  She said, "If it's not an inconvenience, I'd love to give Misty her first lesson on your beautiful porch. It's such a lovely day we could begin by painting flowers."

  Although Walker did not seem pleased by the idea, he said, "It's not a problem at all. We'll set up there after lunch." He led the way to the kitchen and began pulling items from the refrigerator and setting them on a small table.

  Joy said, "Jake predicts that someday all ice boxes will be replaced by refrigerators after all houses are hooked up to electricity."

  Walker grinned. "I think Jake's right."

  Joy assisted Walker by pouring Misty a glass of milk while he laid out the finger-size sandwiches of chicken and cheese prepared by Aunt Zena. Lunch was tasty and Joy made a mental note to thank the woman when she next saw her. Perhaps they could at least come to tolerate one another.

  After they returned to Misty's room, Joy reached for the child's small easel and said to Misty, "Why don't you carry your holder with all of your brushes and I'll carry your easel. We'll leave your watercolors here because I have plenty for both of us."

  Misty didn't respond, but she did pick up her brush holder. Joy was pleasantly surprised by the quality of Misty's brushes. Her father had spared no expense on supplies for his daughter.

  Walker carried Joy's valise and easel and the girls followed him to the porch. He looked questioningly at Joy. She pointed to the far end, close to a grove of pines, and exclaimed, "That's a perfect place to set up!"

  Walker stayed and helped until everything was readied and then he knelt in front of his daughter and pulled her into a hug. From her vantage point, Joy could see a glistening in his eyes. To Misty he said, "Sweetheart, I know how much you love painting, so you have a wonderful time with Miss Ryder, okay?"

  Misty remained motionless and Walker stood to his feet. He blinked rapidly and turned to Joy. He mouthed the words, "Thank you," and then strode across the long porch to the door.

  Misty stood staring out at the yard and Joy suddenly wondered what the child was thinking…or remembering. Perhaps that's why Walker had appeared hesitant to set up there. She berated herself for not being more sensitive. Quickly, she said, "Okay Miss Misty, I think before we get started you should call me Miss Joy. Miss Ryder sounds so formal."

  The child continued staring at the yard and Joy decided to use another tactic. "Let's go find a flower to paint." She didn't want to be overbearing, so she started toward the porch steps without taking Misty's hand. She wanted to see if the child would follow—and she did.

  Joy stepped off the porch and pointed toward the thicket of trees. "Perhaps we can find a lavender or purple flower in there." She started walking that way and was happy when Misty stayed by her side.

  The lovely pines provided shade and an ambiance of mystery. It was as if she and Misty had stepped into a magical forest of fairies and gnomes and sprites. Joy's imagination took flight and she began describing the tiny, make-believe creatures that inhabited the forest with the animals. When she felt tiny fingers clasp her hand she almost sobbed. She so much wanted to help this child.

  They continued to traipse through the trees, with Joy always keeping the house within view. She had been raised in the country herself and knew the importance of having a fix on your location.

  Suddenly, she spied the most beautiful and perfect lavender flower with veins of purple and pink. It was as if God had created it especially for this little girl. Joy pointed and exclaimed in a loud whisper because of the specialness of the moment. "Look Misty, there's your flower! I think God and the fairies put it there just for you." Joy watched Misty's eyes widen in wonder, and then the little girl glanced around as if looking for fairies.

  Joy grinned and led Misty to their precious flower and they both knelt beside it. Gently, Joy touched the fragile petals and described how they would first pencil the flower and then paint the lavender color, followed by the purple and pink veins, and finish up with the green leaves. "But not too many leaves because this painting is all about the flower. We want whoever looks at our pictures to smell the fragrance in their mind and touch the petals in their heart."

  Joy reached to pluck the blossom so they could take it back to the porch, but Misty darted her hand out to stop her. Joy looked at Misty's stricken face. "You don't want me to pick the flower?" she asked.

  The child's eyes, now the color of gray metal, spoke without words, and Joy pulled her hand back. "Okay, Miss Misty, I won't pick it. But do you think you can remember how it looks so you can paint it?"

  Joy's heart warmed when Misty nodded. "Okay, sweet pea, let's go back to the porch and paint ourselves happy." She was rewarded by the hint of a smile from her student.

  Chapter Fourteen: Under the Petals


  Walker had been nervous after leaving Misty in the care of a virtual stranger and he'd paced while having second thoughts about the wisdom of doing so. When he'd heard footsteps on the porch, he'd stepped to his bedroom window and peeked around the curtain to see Joy leading Misty down the steps. Panic had assailed him and he'd rushed to the front door and outside. He'd watched them for several minutes and was relieved when Joy stayed close inside the tree line. Returning to his room he'd continued his vigil.

  Now, he heard footsteps again and peeked around his curtain, the girls were returning to their easels. Joy was making animated gestures and Walker watched his daughter's expression. She seemed captivated by Joy and her eyes never strayed from her teacher.

  Soon they were both painting with Joy making a brush stroke and Misty following her example. Not only was Misty captivated, but Walker was too. Although he could only see her in profile, he recognized joy on the face of Joy. He grinned at his choice of words.

  For several minutes he watched from his window. Finally, he no longer wanted to be an outsider and ventured onto the porch. Joy looked over at him and smiled, and he got that same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd had for his wife. He pushed the feeling aside. Joy was a young woman enthralled by her freedom and wanting to travel the world. He was a stodgy doctor whose wild oats had already been sown, and he was at least ten years older than she. He said, "Don't mind me, I'll just sit on the banister and you'll never know I'm here."

  Joy giggled and motioned him over with the paintbrush she held. "Oh, you must come see our paintings. Misty and I strolled into the forest and discovered the most exquisite flower. We didn't pick it, so we're painting it from memory, and Misty remembers more detail than I."

  Walker joined them and when he saw his daughter's painting, his heart expanded. He'd always known she was talented, but now, with guidance, he realized she was very gifted. A stranger would never have guessed that the watercolor had been painted by a five year old. He knelt beside his daughter and liberally praised her efforts. Glancing up, he moved his attention to Joy's watercolor and the warmth in his heart overflowed. She was more than gifted, she was brilliant! Her picture was not as detailed as Misty's, but the muted colors created mystery and a longing in the observer to experience such beauty. He exclaimed, "Both your paintings are superb! Do you remember where the flower is? I'd love to see it."