Almost one year later…
Joy watched the California countryside speed past from the dining car of the Oregon and California Railroad and heard the young woman at the table next to her say to an elderly woman and a young boy, "Soon, we'll pass the border into Oregon."
The boy who was perhaps five or six, replied, "Mama, I can't wait to get home!"
The mother smiled. "I agree, Solomon."
The other woman said, "Solomon, eat your vegetables and stop gawking out the window."
The little boy glanced from the sour expression of the lady who had admonished him, to the boiled spinach on his plate, and screwed up his face. However, rather than argue, he picked up his fork and began pushing the wilted leaves hither and thither.
Joy stifled a grin and glanced at the uneaten spinach on her own plate. The child's eyes met hers and then shifted to her spinach. The boy and Joy exchanged a knowing look and both tried not to smile. In an effort to keep young Solomon from further chastisement, she quickly glanced back out the windows at tall pines marching upward from the valley they traveled through. Northern California was beautiful and if Oregon could compare with this, she would consider herself as having arrived at heaven on earth.
Surreptitiously, she glanced back at the table with the child. While the spinsterish woman complained to a server, the boy's mother quickly reached to spoon the spinach from her son's plate onto her own. Solomon and his mother smiled at each other when she covered the distasteful vegetable with a slice of bread. The pretty woman lifted her eyes, saw Joy watching them, and grinned before returning her expression to one of solemnity when her elderly companion finished scolding the waiter.
Joy covered her laughter with her napkin and shifted her gaze to the forest, imagining her next painting. It would be the twelfth in a series she had entitled Lest We Forget.
While the forest rushed past, she happily remembered the past year. After leaving Bingham, the rails had taken her to Ft. Worth, where she had boarded the Colorado Special operated by the Ft. Worth and Denver City Railway Company and traveled to a small town outside of Denver named Georgetown. The lovely township had been settled in the 1850s after the Pike's Peak Gold Rush, but it was the discovery of silver in the 1860s that gave it the quirky nickname of "Silver Queen of Colorado." During her months there, Joy had immersed herself not only in painting the mountains that nestled the town, but also the history. She loved visiting the museum and speaking with old-timers. Her hostess had been a friendly, middle-aged woman who owned a local hotel and also wrote adventure tales that were circulated by several newspapers, just as Joy's Uncle Luke's were. Many years ago, she and Luke had become friends when introduced by a newspaper editor and asked to work on a joint project.
From Denver, Joy had again traveled by rail to Santa Fe, New Mexico. In that picturesque city her host and hostess had been artist friends of her parents whose sculptures rivaled those of her Uncle Nate's. Privately, though, Joy considered that no one could sculpt as well as her uncle. He was as famous for his sometimes lifelike, sometimes whimsical renditions, as her mother and father were for their paintings. In fact, Joy's mother had met Nate in New York when they'd studied together at Jake Ryder's Academy. Nate's artistic gift was so profound that the nuns at his orphanage were instrumental in obtaining a scholarship for him.
Although Joy's mother had returned home brokenhearted and pregnant, she hadn't forgotten to bring paperwork for the adoption of Nate. Brandt and Abby had welcomed the boy into the Samson family and raised him as one of their own.
As in Georgetown, Joy had immersed herself in the history of Santa Fe, the oldest capital city in the United States. The translation of its name into "Holy Faith," was appropriate to its beginnings, having been dedicated to Saint Francis of Assisi. The barren land held a beauty that attracted more artisans than full time residents and Joy painted mountain vistas encompassing the southern end of the Rocky Mountains. She also hired a guide to lead her to picturesque areas in the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Her last month had been spent in the town proper painting adobe buildings, some as old as three hundred years, that ranged in color from shades of red to yellow to white.
"Excuse me, young lady," an abrasive voice said, interrupting the history lesson Joy was having in her head. She glanced at the table with the boy and his mother. The elderly woman with a penchant for spinach repeated, "Excuse me, Miss?"
Joy replied, "Yes, ma'am?"
The woman frowned and lifted her chin to stare down her nose at Joy. "We've been at our table for quite some time and I couldn't help but notice that you are an unaccompanied female. Where is your companion?"
Several times throughout her journey Joy had been asked that same question, but never with such disdain.
"I do not have a companion, ma'am. I am traveling alone."
The woman inhaled sharply. "I must say that I am flabbergasted and I cannot believe what this world is coming to. When I was your age, I would never have ventured far from home without a companion, let alone travel on a train carrying every temperament of individuals. I feel it is my Godly duty to warn you that such travel can only eventually lead to trouble." The old woman's nose seemed to grow longer as her eyes narrowed with indignation.
Joy was quite taken aback by the attack. She glanced at the young mother and the boy. The mother looked apologetic and the boy's eyes had widened.
Considering how to respond, Joy smiled and said, "I have been traveling alone for the past year and encountered no danger. I believe in the early days of railroads, your warning would have been quite appropriate, however, in this modern era, women are not as repressed as they once were."
Because Joy had spoken so sweetly it took a second for the rebuke to settle with the disgruntled lady. But when it did, her slits for eyes widened and she sniffed loudly. "Young lady, you are impertinent! And don't say I didn't warn you when you come to harm." She glanced at her companions and ordered, "Come. It's time to return to our accommodations. It's past Solomon's bedtime."
The child whined, "But I don't want to go to bed."
The indignant woman stood, placed her napkin on the table, and walked stiffly from the dining car. Other diners who had witnessed the war of words watched her retreat and then shifted their gazes back to Joy.
The young mother reached for her son's hand and said before she stood, "I'm so sorry. My Aunt, actually my sister-in-law's aunt, is very set in her ways and no amount of arguing will change that. Perhaps her disposition is partly because she's never married and had a husband to challenge her." With resignation, she added, "So I don't even try."
Joy nodded her understanding. "My name is Joy Ryder. I'm traveling to Oregon City."
The woman grinned. "I like your name. You know, don't you, that they call people who enjoy riding in automobiles, joyriders?"
Joy chuckled. "Yes, I've been teased about that before. I don't think my mother realized that my name would one day be associated with autocars."
"My name is Octavia Pickard and this is my son, Solomon. We're also headed to Oregon City, maybe–"
"Octavia, are you coming?" called the unfriendly spinster from across the room of diners.
Mrs. Pickard blushed and said quickly, "It was nice meeting you. And again, I'm sorry." She hurried from the table pulling her son behind her. Solomon looked back at Joy and grinned.