Spring 1919
Joy Abigail Ryder stood beside her grandmother, Abby Samson, and glanced lovingly at the gathering of family members. In all of her twenty-three years, no one in her family, unless they were ill, had missed the annual trek to the graves under the old oak on her grandparents' property. The visitation always took place on the birthday of Molly Samson, her grandfather's first wife, who had birthed Joy's mother, her Uncle Luke, and her Uncle Ty, who had died as a toddler.
Her eyes, alighting on the newest grave, released a floodgate of tears. Only four months had passed since the burial of her beloved grandfather, Brant Samson. Sometimes, Joy missed him so much she cried herself to sleep.
Lowering her lashes, she glanced sideways at her Grammy Abby to see how she was faring. At that moment, her grandmother appeared to be doing better than everyone else. Joy reached to squeeze her hand and the sweetest woman Joy had ever known, firmly squeezed back.
As tradition dictated, each family member, if so inclined, would speak to their dear departed loved ones. Everyone waited for Abby to begin.
In a voice made beautiful with years of wisdom, Abby said, "Brant, honey, we're all here. And although we miss you dearly, we know you're with loved ones. Your death was unexpected, but you died on the land you loved, doing what you loved, riding your favorite horse across your grassy hills. I wish I could have been there to say goodbye, but I know you visited me in spirit before moving on to be with those we so faithfully visit each year. I knew the moment your heart stopped beating, so I was prepared by the time Luke galloped to the ranch."
Joy glanced at her Uncle Luke to see tears streaming down his cheeks, which released a fresh wave of her own, and she lifted a hankie to blot her eyes.
Abby gave Joy's hand another squeeze and continued. "So, my darling husband, we are all here and I pray that our tradition continues throughout many lifetimes." She glanced at the grave beside Brant's. "Molly, it may seem strange for the second wife to pay homage to the first wife, but as always, I thank you for being the kind of woman Brant could love so dearly, and for the beautiful children you birthed."
Abby released Joy's hand and stepped toward another, smaller grave. She knelt and placed her hands over words etched into the stone marker, BELOVED BABY BOY. The tears she had yet to shed found release in her voice. "My sweet, sweet, baby Ty, you are once again in your father's arms and before many years pass, you will be in mine, also."
Joy lifted a hand to her mouth. She couldn't begin to comprehend the death of her grandmother.
Abby lowered her head and now her shoulders shook with heartbreak. Luke stepped forward and knelt beside his stepmother, placing his arm around her. Quietly, his half-brothers, Rusty and James, joined him. Rusty positioned himself on the other side of his mother and James knelt behind her. Next, Joy's mother knelt beside James. And finally, Abby and Brant's adopted son, Nate, joined his brothers and sister. Abby's children had cocooned her in love.
Except for quiet sobs, the only sound was wind rustling leaves in the ancient oak that had stood as a powerful guardian over the family burial site since the beginning. Joy shifted her gaze from Abby and those kneeling, to the rest of her family.
Rusty's wife stood beside James' wife and both women blotted their eyes with handkerchiefs. Rusty's three boys, ages seven, eight, and nine, and James' two girls, ages ten and eleven, stood behind their mothers. Across from them, Nate's wife held their newborn son. Her Uncle Nate hadn't married until the previous year at the age of thirty-five to a much younger woman, and if the sweet girl hadn't been so persistent in pursuing him, he might still be single.
Joy moved her gaze to her cousins Evangeline and Charity, the daughters of her Uncle Luke and Aunt Angel. Like Joy, Eva—short for Evangeline—had never married, even though both women were well into their twenties, with Eva being a year older. Charity, three years younger than Joy, had married a local boy a couple of years back. Heavy with child, she leaned against her husband and turned her face into his chest. He reached his arm around her shoulders offering comfort.
Next, Joy sought out her father, Jake Ryder. She loved her parents dearly and appreciated the fact that they had never tried to hide their turbulent past. She knew her mother had been unwed when she'd birthed Joy. When Joy was three, however, her father had arrived at Luke's Ranch, aptly named, Slice of Heaven, looking for Jenny. He'd just discovered he was a father and was determined to marry her. Jenny had resisted him in a desperate attempt to preserve her heart, but Ryder had been persistent and eventually won her over.
Joy found it difficult to believe that her parents had ever been on the outs with each other. They were so loving and considerate of one another. Both were accomplished artists with no competition or jealousy marring their relationship.
Joy's reminiscences ended when Abby, assisted by her children, rose to her feet. In a clear voice she declared, "I've said my peace. Luke, would you like to go next?"
"Yes, Ma."
For the next hour, each family member said whatever was in their heart. When it was Joy's turn, she dabbed her eyes with her hankie and said, "Gramps, I miss you so much that it hurts. I remember how you used to toss me in the air and catch me when I was little. I remember how you used to tickle me and Grammy and make us laugh until we couldn't breathe. I remember how tall you looked on your horse. I remember–" her voice cracked, "I remember how proud you always were of Ma's and Pa's paintings and mine, too. And I want you to know that whenever I paint, I'll be thinking of you." She could no longer stifle a sob. "You're forever in my heart, Gramps."
Joy felt arms encircle her and it was then that she allowed her sorrow to find release against her Grammy Abby's breast.