Joy brought her grandmother the cup of tea she'd steeped and dashed a dollop of cream into. Joy's own tea was liberally laced with sugar. Her Grandpa Brandt had always teased her about her sweet tooth.
Handing the china cup to Grammy Abby who was resting in her rocking chair in front of the unlit hearth, she knelt on her knees beside her and cradled her own cup. This had been her favorite spot growing up. Abby would gently rock while talking to Brandt in the other rocking chair, and Joy would contentedly read a book. Her Uncle Luke had collected hundreds of books and publications, many of which were dime novels that thrilled her. His own publications were also thrilling and she'd devoured them when she was old enough. However, her grammy, having been a teacher in Philadelphia before coming to Texas, had encouraged her to read great literary works, insisting that her education wouldn't be complete without doing so. Joy had read most of the classics, but her heart always returned to the adventure stories of the Wild West.
Now, lazing beside Abby, she sipped her tea, set it in the saucer next to her on the floor, and then rested her head on her grandmother's lap.
Abby gently stroked her granddaughter's hair, and asked, "Joy, are you ready to tell me what's bothering you?"
Joy smiled against Abby's knee. "How do you always know when something's going on with loved ones?"
Abby laughed softly, a sound that always reminded Joy of tinkling chimes, and responded, "I think the key words are loved ones. Love knows all things. So, my sweetness, are you ready to talk?"
Joy nodded against the soft cloth of Abby's old dressing gown. "I feel…" She choked up. "I feel restless. I want to do something."
Abby remained silent.
Joy blinked back tears. "My father traveled the West painting its wonders; my mother traveled to New York, a place she'd never been, to study at my father's art academy; my Uncle Luke traveled everywhere writing his stories; my Aunt Angel was on her way to San Francisco when she met Luke." She fingered a tear. "And you, Grammy, you came west after answering an advertisement for a mail order bride." She gave a little sob. "I've never done anything."
Abby continued smoothing Joy's hair. After a moment, she said, "Then you must do something. What is it that burns in your heart, little one?"
Joy's voice hitched. "I…I want to travel like my father and paint the West. Oh, I know it's not the same now with the railroads and modernity, but I just know there are still places that would take my breath away they're so beautiful."
Abby placed a finger under Joy's chin and lifted her head. "Then you shall paint those places. We must make plans for your departure."
Joy's eyes widened. "But what about Mama and Daddy?"
"What about them? Are you living their life or your own?"
A creak caused both women to glance toward the other rocking chair where Brandt used to sit. The chair imperceptibly rocked. Joy jerked her gaze to Abby's.
Abby smiled. "See, your grandfather agrees with me."