by Verna Clay
Joy could no longer watch Zena's pain without doing something, so she enfolded her in her arms. With tears streaming down her own cheeks, she said, "Please don't leave. Your granddaughter needs you. Walker needs you. I need you. No one has to know anything about this unless you want to reveal it. Your secret is safe with me."
Against Joy's shoulder, Zena sobbed, "Thank you, my dear girl."
After their crying had quieted, Zena stepped back and said, "I see Walker waiting by his car. Will you send him over? I'm ready to confide in him. I think it's something he needs to know."
The warmth of the sun shifted Joy's thoughts and she smiled. It was time to turn her attention to this special day—her wedding day!
Chapter Thirty-Six: Fairy Tale Wedding
Joy walked the aisle with her father toward her future—Walker. Dressed in a tux he looked so handsome and he smiled so lovingly that it sent sunbeams through her heart. In front of her, Misty's gossamer wings glittered. She was truly a wee-one fairy princess.
Remembering Misty's reaction when Joy had stepped off the train a month earlier sent more sunbeams through her heart. The little girl had jerked free of her Aunt Octavia's hand and run to Joy, throwing her arms around her legs, and shouting, "Joy, Joy! You're back!" From that day until now, the child had talked every day.
For Misty's sake, Joy had planned a fairy tale wedding, and Walker had hired a photographer from Portland to capture magical moments from the wedding and reception.
Amidst ooohs and aaahs from the guests, they reached the altar. Pastor Pearly asked, "Who gives this woman to this man?"
Joy heard the catch in her father's voice when he said, "Her mother and I." Then he leaned over to kiss her cheek before placing her hand in Walker's. Walker also lifted her hand to kiss it, and the guests sighed audibly.
While planning their wedding Walker had said with conviction that it would be talked about for years to come because, to his knowledge, no one had ever been to a fairytale wedding. Everywhere flowers and greenery abounded with miniature fairies hiding beneath petals and leaves, thanks to Mrs. Piper's sewing skill. Even now, a tiny tot said, "Mama, there's another fairy!"
Joy glanced up at Walker and they both laughed. Then she turned her head to see her loved ones and smiled. Every member of her family had made the journey from Two Rivers, and rather than separate the groom's family from the bride's, they had all mingled together, with Aunt Zena sitting in their midst beside Joy's cousin, Eva. Her cousin was beautiful beyond words, with a heart to match.
On the other side of Eva sat Cookie. Her friend gave a big wave. Joy had recently confided to Cookie that she considered her to be the sister she never had, and the girl had placed her head in her hands and wept the words, "I never thought I'd be part of a fam'ly again. Thank you, Joyrider!"
Joy thought about the surprise she and Walker had for Cookie. After returning from their honeymoon, they were going to announce their purchase of the milliner's shop. Cookie would now have the business she'd always dreamed of. When she and Walker had approached the proprietress about possibly buying her out, the woman had been overjoyed. She'd said it was an answer to prayer because her arthritis was making it difficult to continue her craft, and she wanted to move to Seattle to be with her son.
Joy glanced at the pew behind Cookie where Crusty sat with his ladylove, Aliza. He winked at Joy. The revelation that he was the author of the famous book, Stage Coaches West, still amazed her. His secret had been discovered when her Uncle Luke, meeting Crusty and Aliza after their arrival for the wedding, said, "Laird Decker, is that you?" Crusty had looked dumbfounded, and slowly nodded. Luke had extended his hand. "We met years ago in New York when you received the Western Writers' Award. This is certainly an honor, sir."
Crusty had shaken Luke's hand and said, "From the first time Joy chastised me on the train for my rudeness, I knew she was special. But finding out that Luke Samson, alias Dawson Jeffries is her uncle, goes above and beyond the realm of coincidence. Luke Samson, you are my favorite author."
Luke had replied, "As you are mine. Perhaps we should think about collaborating."
Joy sighed with contentment and shifted her gaze back to Walker as Pastor Pearly began the ceremony. Silence blanketed the sanctuary while she and her beloved promised to love and cherish each other until death. Inwardly, Joy smiled. Her experience had revealed that not even death had power over love.
Finally, the pastor said those miraculous words, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. Walker, you may kiss your bride!"
Walker grinned at Joy and bent to kiss her long and deep. The guests sighed yet again. Then the pastor asked the newlyweds to turn and face the congregation. Joy laughed when Walker reached to lift Misty into his arms and her wings bumped his nose. Placing her hand in the crook of her husband's elbow, the three of them happily exited the church amidst shouts of congratulations.
Joy's eyes sparkled as they descended the church steps under showers of rice. She now wore many hats: wife, mother, homemaker, artist, teacher, and she loved every one of them.
Epilogue
At their reception held in the banquet room of a local hotel, Joy and Walker greeted a multitude of guests and invited everyone to eat, drink, and be merry. Then they cut their fairytale cake. They also danced until their feet hurt. Walker finally insisted that Joy sit and rest until he brought her a glass of punch, and she wholeheartedly agreed.
Arranging her beautiful and luminous skirt with its many sparkling white sequins, she sat in a chair near the back door that had been opened to allow for a breeze. Misty approached from across the room with her hand behind her back. "Mama, I have something for you."
Joy smiled lovingly at her daughter. "And what is that, sweetheart?"
Misty said, "That nice lady with the little boy said to give you this." She pulled her hand from behind her back. Perched on her finger was a magnificent multicolored butterfly.
Joy was speechless. Suddenly, dozens of butterflies flew in through the open door and alighted on Joy and Misty. The photographer, having set up his camera for more pictures, turned his tripod in their direction and captured the moment.
Surprise Guest
Author's Note
This story has been a rollercoaster ride for me, or perhaps a tightrope walk. I wanted to stay anchored in the land of the living, yet add a whimsical touch by incorporating Brant and Abby Samson, hero and heroine of book one, in such a way that readers would not be overly saddened by their deaths. I also wanted to include Ty, the baby, and Wally, the dog. As the story progressed, more characters that had passed on were added.
I also did something unconventional and united the Unconventional Series with the Finding Home Series. It was challenging but fun to catch up with a few of those characters.
Lastly, I had a desire to introduce another character that will perhaps find her way into her own book in the Unconventional Series—Cookie. And wouldn't it be a kick if Cookie were to meet one of Joy's cousins and fall in love? Of course, Joy's cousin would be younger than Cookie by about ten years, but I always thrill at writing mismatched romantic characters. The timeframe for Cookie's story would be the early to mid 1930s because I want to allow enough time to elapse for Cookie to have built a successful milliner's shop that catches the eye of top designers in New York City. Anyway, Cookie is being added to my list of characters wanting their stories told.
Until the next story, I wish you joy and wisdom and happy reading.
Cry of the West: Hallie (excerpt)
Finding Home Series
One: Finding Courage
The crackling fire usually so comforting on a cold night did little to dispel Hallie's anxiety. Staring into the flames, she took deep breaths and closed her eyes, but her mind refused any semblance of peace.
Tom, why did you have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Why did fate send you to St. Louis on the same day as a tornado?
In the week since Thomas’s burial, Hallie and Timmy had mourned hi
s loss, although in different ways. Usually outgoing and rambunctious, Timmy became reserved and quiet, while Hallie, hoping to still her fears for a while, weeded flower beds and scrubbed and cleaned the cabin that had been her home with her husband and childhood sweetheart for the past seven years.
Now, with Timmy in bed and her head drooping from exhaustion—sorrow, laced with fear of the future for her son and herself—could no longer be held at bay, and her tears coursed unhindered. That awful day when Pastor Murdock galloped to her farm with the sad news of her husband's demise replayed itself in her mind. The kindly pastor had tried to offer some consolation by explaining that Thomas, shielding a little girl from debris thrown by the tornado and saving her life, was struck himself, and according to the deputy, most likely did not suffer since he never regained consciousness.
The thought of her sweet husband being so brave brought a fresh wave of tears, but for a few minutes Hallie allowed herself the unreasonable feeling of anger toward Thomas for dying and leaving her and Timmy alone. Her anger was soon replaced with self-pity because now they had nothing, all their worldly belongings having been sold a month earlier in anticipation of their upcoming travel.
Finally, with her anger and sorrow spent, Hallie inhaled a shuddering breath, stared into the orange flames, and resolved to find a solution to her dilemma. Methodically, she inventoried her predicament—she had no home, no employment, and practically no belongings. What she did have, however, was the reason for Thomas's trip to St. Louis. In his pocket were three tickets for passage aboard the steamboat Mirabella leaving in mid April from St. Louis to Westport Landing. She also had enough money to purchase a wagon, oxen, and supplies necessary to continue from Westport with the train headed west on the Oregon Trail.
You have more than that; you have the dream Thomas inspired.
For the first time in days, Hallie smiled.
Tom, your dream of adventure and new beginnings was infectious.
For a few minutes, she envisioned the land her husband had diligently researched—the Willamette Valley in Oregon. Even now, his enthusiastic voice rang in her ears. "It's the next best thing to heaven, honey. So beautiful it steals your breath away. We'll start a new farm with crops that fairly burst from the ground they're so happy at being sown. We'll build a home to last through generations. We'll have the adventure of a lifetime. Can't you hear the Cry of the West? Come on, Hallie, say you'll consider it."
A log popped, hissed, and crumbled, the sound bringing Hallie back to the present and crumbling her memory of that magic moment—but not her reply, which was the same today as it had been on that glorious day—"Yes, I'll go!"
Shoring up her resolve to continue onward to Oregon, Hallie determined that her next step was to hire a man to drive the wagon she'd purchase in Westport. She would have to budget carefully in order to pay him and the expenses of their journey, as well as the beginnings of her new life in Oregon, but it was all doable.
Finally, she dozed in her rocking chair dreaming of beautiful Oregon, a new state full of opportunity in this vast United States
Stranded In Oasis (excerpt)
Oasis Series
Two: Trailer Park Blues
Following the winding road to Oasis past prickly cacti and blowing sand pushed Max's attempt at anger management past the red mark. He pulled his RV over in a turnout that barely fit its forty-five foot length. He had a sudden craving for a smoke, a nasty habit he'd kicked five years back. Rounding his Mercedes CLS550 that was being towed behind the RV, he paused to gaze out across flat arid land dotted with sparse vegetation, toward a ridge of mountains. Leaning against the RV he sucked some calming breaths and closed his eyes. What a nightmare!
His anger morphed into determination when he visualized his grandfather shaking his head in disgust if Max was to turn the damn rig around, head back to New York, and refuse to go along with this idiotic request. But if he did that, he'd blow his chance of inheriting control of his grandfather's empire, something he'd been groomed for since the age of seventeen, when he'd joined the corporation as a mail sorter. It had taken eight years and a university education for him to move into the ranks of management, and now, at the age of thirty-four, he was a mover-and-shaker in the world of corporate reorganization and resale. His grandfather needed his expertise, which made his demand that Max waste half a year in some God forsaken place called Oasis, unfathomable.
Max opened his eyes and felt a little calmer. Movement at his feet caught his attention as a finger-sized lizard skirted across the toe of his Hogan sneakers. For a second, remembering his fondness as an adolescent for all things reptilian, he almost reached to pick it up.
With the craving for a cigarette gone, and his anger manageable, Max climbed back into the driver seat of his luxurious RV. At least I'll live in comfort in this godforsaken place.
* * *
Pilar stepped out the front door of her trailer, actually, the only door, and breathed deeply. She'd worked a morning and evening shift the day before at Desert Princess Diner. Her employer, Belle Starr Thatcher, named after the notorious female outlaw of the nineteenth century, had lived in Oasis for over fifty years. To those who managed to get on the receiving end of Belle's sharp tongue, she was known as BS, but to most in the community, she was called Princess. Her critics said she was older than the distant mountains, but Pilar guessed her to be in her mid to late seventies. When she'd asked Pilar to work extra hours because Aggie was out ill, Pilar had readily agreed. Princess had given her a job five years earlier when she'd desperately wanted to move to Oasis.
Moving her gaze to her new white picket fence, Pilar grinned. Willie was going to love it when he got back from visiting with his father in Phoenix. So what if the fence wasn't surrounding a cute cottage nestled in the midst of mountains or perched on a jagged coastline. So what if it surrounded a forty-two foot, 1984 trailer, in a trailer park in the tiny community of Oasis located in the middle of nowhere. It was still her pride and joy. She'd always wanted a white picket fence and she'd saved for over a year to buy it. Life was good!
A dust cloud in the distance captured her attention. It was too early to be a snow-birder. Usually, they began arriving in October. She wondered if it was old Mr. Howard who always drove down from Canada, but then decided it was too early even for him. Pilar smiled. Mr. Howard, who insisted everyone call him Howie, always had a story to tell and a piece of hard candy for Willie. Her son hated the stuff, but never let on to Howie. Her boy was kind and courteous; traits she was enormously thankful for.
Turning on a faucet, she watered the few cacti she had growing in pots and then raked the ground of her newly enclosed tiny yard. Running her hand lovingly over the pickets of her fence, she turned her attention back to the RV that was now discernable. It was a big one. A big fancy one. A big expensive one. And it was towing an expensive Mercedes. Pilar figured the owner must be lost because RVs of that caliber never stayed at Desert Princess Trailer and RV Park.
The motorhome braked at the entrance to the park and Pilar wondered if the driver was going to attempt to turn around. There was barely enough room. She was surprised when he continued forward and followed the sign that said OFFICE with an arrow pointing to the right. She watched the RV navigate the short stretch to Belle's 1970s-ish trailer and then brake. Belle liked to garden, so she had a profusion of odd plants selected to survive in the desert growing haphazardly around her trailer. Like Belle, the plants were unique.
Pilar lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun as she watched a tall man descend from the RV. He was far enough away that she couldn't distinguish facial features, but not so far that she didn't pick up on his air of authority. He was a man with attitude. Pilar grinned. Well, Mr. Attitude, you've met your match in Belle.
Briefly, the newcomer glanced in her direction. She watched him scan her trailer and new fence and then her. Standing a little taller, even though she was dressed in a lightweight moomoo that looked better suited to a sixty year ol
d than a thirty-two year old, she returned his stare.
Instantly, she knew when the man dismissed her as inconsequential, and it angered her. She'd met his kind before—arrogant, self-absorbed, and probably handsome. She'd been married to one. Turning her back on him, she continued raking the ground around her trailer.
* * *
Max drew his gaze away from the woman raking dirt. Although she was young, she was wearing one of those old lady things and it looked like hell. If she had curves, he certainly couldn't see them. Not that he expected to see anything like that in this wasteland.
Returning his attention to the trailer housing the "office," obviously a throw-back to the sixties or seventies, he made his way through vegetation that looked more like weeds than landscaping flora, and knocked on the metal door that had been painted bright red. Bemused, he wondered if this was a trailer of ill-repute, and shrugged off that notion when an elderly woman opened the door. Her startling blue eyes, not faded with age, perused him from head-to-toe.
The elderly woman's face suddenly broke into a smile. "My guess is you're Maximilian. Old Max told me you'd be here soon." She stepped back and waved him inside.
He entered a small living room. "You know my grandfather?"
"Shore do. We go way back. Had more fun together than a passel of monkeys." She tilted her head and asked, "How's the old rascal doin'?"
Max gave her a sour look. "If doing well means controlling my life, he's doing fabulously."
The perky old woman shot out her hand. "My name's Belle Starr Thatcher. BS to those who don't like me. But I go by Princess, to everyone else. Looks like you got your grandfather's dry sense of humor. Time will tell whether you call me BS or Princess."
