by Verna Clay
Chogan said, "Your friends like to talk and argue much."
Joy chuckled, "Yes, they do. But they're the best friends anyone could have."
Chogan nodded. "I can see how much they care for you."
A few minutes later, she sighed and said, "For years I've dreamed of finding the meadow my father painted from; I just know it's nearby."
"You said your father was here in the late 1800s. Things have changed much since then. Some of our land is now a National Park and many white men have come here." There was sadness in his voice and Joy empathized with him. She touched his hand. "I'm so sorry for what has happened to your people. On every continent there are those who take what belongs to others by force, destroy those whom they fear, and proclaim they are conquering in the name of their God."
Chogan smiled. "You are a wise young woman. I will do my best to locate your meadow. Will you please describe the landmarks again?"
Joy closed her eyes and envisioned her father's paintings. When she had the landmarks set in her mind, she opened her eyes, reached for a stick, and began drawing in the dirt.
Chapter Thirty-One: Close Behind
Walker followed behind Ryder as they rode their steeds alongside a trail hugging Bowman Lake. Ryder had become quiet after they started their quest, only speaking when necessary. Walker could only imagine the pain he must be experiencing by returning to the place his family and adopted tribe had been slaughtered. The fact that they were tracking Joy was unnerving.
They had been on the trail for two days and inquiries before departure had gotten information that another party had ridden in the same direction only four days earlier with an Indian guide. The description of two women and a man wasn't detailed enough to confirm that Joy was one of the women, but it gave Walker hope.
Ryder halted his horse and turned to face Walker. "Someone is camping ahead of us. I've seen their horse tracks since we left the main road and I've smelled their campfires."
Walker nodded, because he had gleaned the same thing.
Ryder said, "I don't think they're more than a mile or two away now."
Walker nodded again and they urged their horses forward.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Stalkers
Joy lifted her head to the brilliant sunshine and slowly turned in a circle. She had done it! She had found her father's meadow! She felt as if her entire life had been on a collision course for this very moment; although she had no idea why that would be so.
Enclosed by trees and in the center of a verdant landscape of bear grass, Indian paintbrush, and glacier lilies, she imagined her father with his easel set up in this very location. She imagined a beautiful Indian maiden watching him from behind the tree line and then venturing into the open. She envisioned him startled by her approach.
Lifting her brush and bringing her attention back to her watercolor, she silently thanked Chogan, Cookie, and Crusty for allowing her this time alone. It had taken only another day for them to locate the meadow that Joy immediately recognized from her father's paintings.
That night, back at their campsite, she'd made her proclamation with determination, "Tomorrow, I must go to the meadow alone."
Cookie immediately scolded, "Now, that's jus' 'bout the dumbest idea I ever heard. There're wild animals in the woods. Why, we've already seen–"
Crusty interrupted. "You do what you have to, Joy. We won't interfere."
Cookie frowned at Crusty and defied him, "We could move our camp next to the meadow and–"
Joy lifted her hand to stop the conversation. "No. This is something I have to do alone. Besides, it's not that far away."
Chogan picked up a stick and said, "I will draw the way for you." Although Joy watched and listened, she remembered the way. Raised among ranchers, she had been trained at a young age to know directions and wilderness markings.
Having departed at dawn, she had arrived early at the meadow. Now, mixing her colors, she painted and painted and painted.
Hours later, she finally lay her brush aside and stepped back to view her creation. It was a masterpiece, beautiful beyond words, with the backdrop of Thunderbird Mountain against a colorful field of grasses and flowers bordered on every side by lush pines. Near the trees were shadowy figures of unknown people Joy had felt compelled to paint.
She sighed, completely contented. Her mission, whatever it was, was finished.
A noise distracted her and she glanced to her left. At first she didn't see anything, and then fear clutched her heart. Two wolves slowly stalked her.
She had seen firsthand what wolves did to cattle.
Suddenly, she realized that in her haste to paint, she'd stupidly left Chogan's rifle in its scabbard on her horse. Moving cautiously backward, but still facing the wolves, she edged toward the trees. The wolves continued their game of cat and mouse. When she was halfway to her horse they finally sprinted toward her. She had no option but to turn and run. Her pulse pounded and she saw spots before her eyes. Her horse, frightened by the wolves, reared upward again and again until finally breaking free of the tree.
Joy watched her only hope of salvation disappear into the dense forest. Even knowing she was about to die, she kept running, expecting large fangs to pierce her body at any time.
She had almost reached the pines when her foot caught on a rock and she went down…hard. Her head hit something that caused terrible pain and the last thing she remembered was staring up at the beautiful azure sky before everything went black.
Walker and Ryder approached an empty campground, but Ryder called out anyway, "Hello. My name is Jake Ryder and I am the father of Joy Ryder. Is my daughter here?"
Nothing happened for an instant, and then a middle-aged Indian stepped from behind a tree. He said, "I am Chogan. Welcome."
From behind other trees, a young woman dressed like a boy, and an old man of indeterminate age, also walked into view.
The girl said, glancing between Walker and Ryder, and finally settling her stare on Ryder, "You got some stubborn daughter."
The old man motioned to rocks set around the unlit fire pit. "Please have a seat so we can enlighten you as to how we all became traveling companions and ended up in God's country."
Walker frowned. "First, where is Joy?"
The girl said, "Like I said, she's stubborn. She had some crazy notion 'bout paintin' some meadow, but insisted she had to do it alone. No amount o' arguin' would change her mind."
Walker glanced at Ryder who was almost smiling.
Ryder said, "My friend and I will talk with you later. For now, we must find Joy."
He nudged his horse forward. The girl called, "Hey, don't you want directions?"
Ryder responded over his shoulder, "No. The way to that meadow will be with me throughout eternity."
Chapter Thirty-Three: Culmination
Joy felt a presence and opened her eyes. She expected to see growling wolves' with fangs extended, so when her eyes alighted on a beautiful Indian woman kneeling beside her holding a baby in one arm, she gasped. The woman spoke something in her native language, smiled, and then said, "Hello Joy, daughter of Ryder."
Joy asked, "Who are you?"
The woman's smile widened. "Don't you know? You painted me."
Joy gasped, "I don't remember painting you."
The woman shrugged.
Joy said, "Am I dead?"
"No, my sweet, you are very much alive."
"Where are the wolves?"
The beautiful lady motioned with her free hand and Joy followed the movement with her eyes. Two wolves lay docile on their bellies near Joy's feet. Her first reaction was to jump up and run, but the Indian woman touched her arm. "They will not harm you."
Unexpectedly, a laughing toddler ran up and the woman placed her arm around him.
Joy said, "You're Perfect Feather, my father's first wife, aren't you?"
"I am. And I am pleased to meet you, Joy. Your painting is beautiful. The Great Spirit has blessed you with the same gift as your fathe
r and mother."
A burning question lodged in Joy's heart that had to be asked. "When I was a child, I secretly heard my father telling my mother about how you sent him away to save his life. Why didn't you go with him to save your own and the lives of your children?"
Perfect Feather replied, "Because that was not our destiny. If I had done so, your father would not have met your mother and you would not be here now."
"But it doesn't seem right. I wouldn't want to live because of the death of another."
Perfect Feather kissed her children's cheeks before answering, "That is because you do not have full understanding. As you fulfill your own destiny, clarity will come."
"What is my destiny?"
"You will carry on your father and mother's work. You will paint landscapes and peoples from many walks of life. Through your paintings you will sow seeds of joy that will grow in the hearts of a many and reach far into the future. When you finally join us, you will have taught another to continue this eternal cycle. It is the way of wisdom."
Joy listened enraptured to Perfect Feather's words. She felt as if she almost understood.
Perfect Feather said, "Enough about me. There is someone here wanting to say hello. But before I leave, dear Joy, I want to give you a gift." She stretched out her hand and in it she held a perfectly formed white feather. Joy reached to accept the beautiful gift and admire it. When she glanced up again, Perfect Feather was gone, but her grandfather now squatted beside her with a toddler resting on his knee.
"Grandpa!" she exclaimed. She started to push up into a sitting position, but he placed his hand on her shoulder. "No, my dear child, you must rest. Soon help will arrive."
The little boy giggled and Joy smiled at him. She asked her grandfather, "Is this Ty?"
He chuckled. "Yes, this is your Uncle Ty."
Joy felt tears prick her eyes. "Grammy will be so happy to know you're together."
"Honey, she already knows."
Joy gasped when she saw her grandmother kneel on the other side of her. "Grammy!"
Abby laughed. "You've had quite the adventure, haven't you, little one?"
"Oh, Grammy, I've missed you so much. I was going to get married, but…well, it didn't work out."
Abby lifted Joy's hand and kissed it. "I wouldn't jump to conclusions, dearest. I have a feeling things are going to work out beautifully."
A dog waggled up to Abby and she reached to hug his neck.
Joy asked, "Is that Wally?"
Abby laughed. "It sure is."
Ty exclaimed, "Wawie!"
Abby held out her arms and Brant handed Ty to her over the top of Joy. Tears streamed down Joy's face when her grandmother cuddled the little boy to her breast and murmured in his ear.
Joy said, "Grammy, I want to stay here with you and grandpa and Ty and Perfect Feather and…" She scanned what she could see of the meadow, "and all those other people out there."
A woman stepped beside Abby, and Abby said, "Just a moment, Joy, while I hand Ty to his mother." She kissed the baby's forehead, stood and smiled at the woman Joy recognized from photos as being her grandfather's first wife, and handed Ty over. The woman smiled sweetly at Joy and then faded as she walked away, followed by Wally happily trotting alongside.
Abby knelt again. "Now, my sweet, your father and your beloved are close by. It's time for you to awaken and fulfill your destiny. Always know that your loved ones are with you not only in times of joy, but in times of heartbreak, and that will comfort you. We love you."
Joy's grandparents each leaned down to kiss her cheeks."
Tears clouded her eyes until she could no longer see. "I love you, too, Gramps and Grammy."
Again, darkness enfolded her.
Chapter Thirty-Four: Continuation
"Joy, Joy!"
Someone was calling her name. It sounded like Walker. She felt something cool being gently brushed over her forehead.
"Can you open your eyes?"
The pain was horrible, but she finally managed to lift her lashes. It was Walker!
"What are you doing here?" she rasped, as he moved a wet hankie over her face again.
Relief flooded his face. "I've been searching for the woman I love."
"I don't understand. I thought–"
"Honey, we'll talk about what happened later. Right now, we need to get you back to civilization. I didn't feel any broken bones and your head has stopped bleeding, but it may be painful riding back to camp. Before I lift you, there's someone else who's been searching for you."
Walker moved aside and Joy's father took his place.
"Daddy!" she sobbed, tears flooding her eyes.
Her father had tears dripping down his own cheeks.
"Oh, Joy, my baby girl," was all he said, and lifted her hand. He suddenly paused and stared at something she was holding. It was the feather Perfect Feather had given her. His eyes met Joy's and she said, "I saw her, Daddy. I talked to her and she gave me this feather. I saw the children, too. And," her voice wobbled, "I saw Gramps and Grammy and Molly and Ty and Wally. Daddy, Grammy is with them now."
With incredulous eyes, Ryder said, "Yes, Joy, she passed-on the day before we received your emergency wire. We were going to tell you when we arrived."
Joy gave her father a tremulous smile. "She's young again and she's with lots of people, and she looks so happy. Daddy, death isn't an ending, it's a continuation."
Chapter Thirty-Five: Confessions
Just after dawn, Joy sat on the side of her bed contemplating the watercolor she had created in the meadow below Thunderbird Mountain. For the hundredth time she studied the figures near the tree line. Had she been in a trance when she painted them? She moved her gaze over the hazy shapes—an Indian woman with a toddler beside her and a baby cradled in her arms, a tall man also holding a toddler and flanked by two women, a dog beside one of the women, and a host of others, some Indian, some not. Her family had been speechless when she told of her experience and then gasped when they saw the painting and the feather. Everyone had shed tears. Losing their beloved Abby had been heartrending, but seeing the watercolor had mingled laughter with their tears.
For Joy, her sense of completion had soon been replaced by anticipation—anticipation for her future. She had followed the deep urgings in her heart and painted what fate dictated, but now fate was moving her in another direction.
She lovingly smoothed her hand over the figures in her landscape, and then walked to the window to breathe in the new dawn. In the month since her return to Oregon City, so much had happened.
After a few days recovery at a hotel in West Glacier, she had returned by rail to Oregon City with Walker, her father, and Cookie. Crusty had remained in Whitefish with Aliza. The way he'd explained his decision put a smile on Joy's face. He'd said, "My dearest Joy, as much as I adore your company and the company of Cookie, I find myself, as they say, head-over-heels in love with Aliza. We have known each other for over thirty years, and although we started out as lovers, our relationship soon progressed to one of friendship. And so, with that in mind, I would be dim-witted to again leave my friend, who is also my lover."
Joy had blushed at his words and Cookie had shaken her head, saying, "Crusty, I got a feelin' you ain't tellin' us everything 'bout yerself. Are you ever gonna spill the beans?"
Crusty had laughed heartily. "Perchance one day; but not today."
Joy inhaled the fresh morning air and shifted her thoughts to Aunt Zena. Their fateful meeting a week after she'd returned to Oregon City to stay with Jake and Pauline until her wedding, still amazed her.
Walker had said that his aunt was staying with his sister and preparing for her return to Portland. At his news, Joy had been both relieved and saddened by Aunt Zena's soon departure, but also plagued by a conviction that she should at least talk with her one last time.
That conversation had come about in a most unusual way. Joy had been in the car with Walker when he drove past the church. In the graveyard behind t
he sanctuary, she had seen a lone figure that looked like Zena. Immediately, she'd asked, "Walker, is that Aunt Zena in the graveyard?"
He'd slowed the car and craned his head to see. "Yes."
Joy had nervously chewed her lip, but asked, "Is she standing beside Emily's grave?"
He'd nodded and said softly, "Yes, she is."
"Walker, please park in front of the church. I must do something."
"Joy, you're not going to talk to her, are you?"
"I can't explain why, but I just have to."
Although Walker frowned, he'd parked the car. When he opened his door, Joy said, "I want to talk to her alone."
He'd studied her eyes, seen her resolve, and acquiesced.
Joy's heart had pounded unmercifully as she approached the hateful woman, but she'd forged onward. When her foot crunched a stick, Aunt Zena had glanced up and Joy had been startled by her tear-drenched face. The woman quickly turned away, but Joy remained firm in her resolve. "Zena, I was wondering if we could talk?"
The old lady lifted a tissue to her eyes and sobbed quite pitifully. Joy rushed to her. "Can I help you?"
Zena had shaken her head, covered her face with her hands, and cried, "I'm so sorry, Joy. It's…it's just that no one understands."
Softly, Joy asked, "What don't we understand?"
Zena removed her hands from her face, met Joy's gaze, and said through tears, "Emily was my daughter, not my niece. I was unwed when I became pregnant. Her father didn't love me and he left, never to return. My sister and her husband were childless, so we conceived a plan to travel abroad for a year until I had the baby and they could claim Emily as their own. The plan worked beautifully. My sister had the child she'd always wanted and I was part of my daughter's life. When she married Walker, I was so pleased. He's a good man. And when Misty was born and they allowed me to visit, it was wonderful. My sister died shortly after Emily's marriage, but Emily didn't forget her Auntie Zena." The sad woman covered her face with her hands again. "And then my daughter died!"