The Journey of Josephine Cain (43 page)

Yet to have captive customers with nothing to do but spend money until the train was allowed to cross the bridge . . . he’d be a fool to let the opportunity pass. Money was money. That was why he’d already traveled to the end of the line to take pictures, and had come back for some more of the bridge. As Rosewood had predicted, the railroad was his best customer.

He gripped the drapery and looked through the lens. The subjects were a motley crew of workers, most wearing the leftovers from their Union Civil War uniforms. But motley or not . . .

“Hold it. Hold . . .” He held the cover off the lens, counted, then put it back on. “Done.”

The men let out the breath they’d been saving. But just as Lewis removed the plate for developing, he heard his name.

“Lewis! Lewis Simon.”

Simon?

He turned toward the voice.

Toward Josephine.

His stomach clenched as he saw her stride toward him like an oncoming storm. He pasted on a smile until he saw that she was accompanied by Hudson Maguire.

Lewis put the plate in its box and stepped away from the group of potential customers. He needed whatever was going to happen to happen away from prying eyes and ears.

Simon?
That was the clincher. Somehow she’d discovered his real name, which begged the question of what else she knew.

He held out his arms, trying to act as though nothing was wrong. “Josephine! What a surprise to find you out here in the middle of—”

She stopped ten feet away and held up her left hand. “See this?”

There was nothing there.

“The ring you gave me? I don’t have it anymore, because it’s now back on the finger of the woman you stole it from.”

Lewis glanced at the crowd that had gathered, then moved to take her arm. “Let’s go talk about this alone.”

She stepped out of reach. “You don’t appreciate public humiliation? Well, neither do I. How do you think I felt when I found out that you—my one-time fiancé—are a thief, a fraud, and a deserter?”

The ex-soldiers who’d just had their photograph taken stepped forward. “Deserter? What’s this about, miss?”

Lewis wanted to flee, but his feet were leaden. The knowledge that the truth was about to demand payment caused the moment to lengthen, as if his sins would be given extra time and attention as part of his punishment.

Hudson put a hand on her shoulder. “Josie, don’t. Not here.”

“Why not here? He certainly had no compunction leaving the Union army, only to join again for the signing bonus.” She stared at him. “How many times did you play that game, Lewis? Two? Or was it more?”

The urge to flee spurred him to pack up his equipment. “That has nothing to do with you.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Nothing to do with me? The woman you were going to marry? How about the fact that your name isn’t Simmons but Simon? Don’t you think I should have known your real name?”

An army soldier in full blues stepped forward. “If what you say is true, miss, then this man needs to be tried for theft, desertion, and fraud, maybe even treason against the Union.”

Josephine let out a little laugh. “Like father, like son, right, Lewis?” She turned to the crowd. “His father was hanged as a spy after working both sides of the war for profit.”

The faces of the soldier and the ex-soldiers hardened, and two of the roughest men started toward him. Their eyes promised pain.

He dropped his equipment and ran toward the bridge. Away from the trains. Away from accuser and jury.

Away from judgment.

Hudson took Josephine’s arm. “What have you done?”

“Told the truth,” she said. But her throat was dry and her heart beat too fast.

“Let’s go get ’im,” an ex-soldier said. He looked to the officer. “Hanging is what’s due a traitor, right?”

“That’s right, but . . .” The officer stood before them, blocking their progress. “The proper thing is to bring him to Fort Russell and let those in charge dole out justice.”

One man pointed to the bridge. “There’s plenty of trestles to hang him from. Save everyone the trouble of a trial.”

What have I done?
Josephine stepped toward the men. “Please don’t kill him. I didn’t mean—”

The officer faced her. “Were you speaking the truth about him?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then he needs to face the consequences.”

“But—”

The whistle of the first train shrieked and a conductor walked toward them. “All aboard!”

While creating her own whirlwind, Josephine hadn’t noticed that the wind had died down.

Hudson walked toward the conductor. “There’s a man who’s run away from the group. We need to wait for him.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Saw a man running over the bridge. Yelled after him, but he kept running.”

“That must be him!” Josephine said. “We need to pick him up.”

“We can’t go more’n four miles per hour over the bridge. If we see him on the other side he can run to catch us.”

“But if he’s not there?”
If he’s run away?

“Then God help him.” The whistle shrieked again. “All aboard!”

She tugged on his sleeve. “How far is it to Laramie from here?”

“Twenty miles.” His face softened. “Sorry, miss, but I can’t hold up hundreds for one man who got a bee in his bonnet. He can walk to Laramie. Or catch the next train coming.”

The others got on the train, but all Josephine could do was look west,
across the bridge.
Lewis, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had it out with you in front of everyone
.

“Josie,” Hudson said from the steps to the car. “Come on. We’ll try to spot him on the other side.”

Reluctantly, Josephine boarded. She heard passengers talking about the exchange but ignored them. She went to a window and opened it as wide as she could, leaning out in order to look for him.

“Get yerself back in the train, miss,” a conductor said as he walked through the car. “Going over the ravine is precarious enough without you upsetting the balance. Besides, many a mighty man has got sick looking down.”

She sat, and Hudson sat beside her, locking her in by holding her hand. “Lewis will be all right. He’s a survivor. He got through the war without a scratch, didn’t he?”

“But war back east is not the same as the open plains and mountains, lands full of Indians and wild animals and—” She shuddered, unwilling to think about the dangers that lay beyond the tracks. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I shouldn’t have attacked him like that, right in front of everyone.”

“You’d been lied to. He was
not
the man you thought he was.”

She appreciated Hudson trying to make her feel better—and she did. A bit. But the truth remained. “We’re to show mercy. We’re supposed to forgive. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’ God’s, not mine.”

He kissed her fingers. “Feeling angry isn’t a sin, Josie. And yet, acting on it like you did . . .”

May God forgive her.

Lewis hid behind a rock outcropping and watched as his train moved across the trestle, and shortly after, Josephine’s train. His only hope was to grab on to that last train and ride to Laramie. He had no idea which passengers had witnessed Josephine’s tirade, but he had no choice. Get on that train or die in the wilderness. It was nearing dark. He’d seen the blackness of the night out here. He’d heard the howling of the coyotes.
He’d even seen bands of Indians on the horizon, watching the trains as they passed. Just a few weeks ago Indians had attacked a construction party at the bridge, killing two and injuring four others. He’d also heard of men getting scalped and shot straight through with arrows, left for buzzards and critters to pick their bones clean.

He
had
to catch that last train or he’d die.

When the second train passed, he saw Josephine at the window, looking for him. Her concern seemed genuine. He couldn’t believe that she’d been the one who’d done the digging into his past. It had to be Maguire’s doing. Had to be.

The second train moved on, and the last train started its pass over the bridge. It was only three cars long. He waited until the second car passed, then burst out of his hiding place and ran toward the final car. His left ankle screamed as he ran, but he kept going. The train took up speed. He reached for the handle of the stairs, missed, then ran some more and grabbed it, swinging up onto the steps. Other passengers must have seen his plight, because they came out on the landing and helped him up.

“That was a close one,” the man said. “You miss your train?”

“Almost,” Lewis said. Then he settled into the back of the passenger car, hunkered down, and willed himself to disappear.

For now.

“Laramie!” called the conductor. “All off for Laramie!”

Lewis didn’t waste any time but slipped off the back of the train before it was completely stopped. He hurried past the depot, away from all those who would accuse him.

He had a destination in mind. Only one person in the entire world would understand and give him comfort.

Two men were hanging a sign above Miss Mandy’s new establishment—a permanent place this time. No more pulling up stakes every time the railroad moved on. Laramie was a town of thousands. There was a sense of permanency here. Unlike a lot of the railroad towns, people thought this one would stick.

He passed the men and went inside. The lamps were being lit, and one of the girls recognized him. “Now there’s a loyal customer.”

“Where’s Vera?”

She nodded to the back. “Where she always is.”

He started in that direction, then stopped. “Is she alone?”

The girl smiled. “For now.”

He only paused a moment at the curtain that divided Vera’s space from the hall. Then he pulled it aside.

She was lying on her side, reading a book. “Back from the bridge so soon?”

He took off his hat and hung it on a hook, then sat on the bed, his head hanging low. “I’ve had a hard day.”

Vera set the book down and moved beside him, pushing his hair behind an ear. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“You know you can tell me anything.”

Vera was the only person in the entire world he could talk to. He turned sideways, bringing a bent leg onto the bed. “I had a run-in with Josephine.”

“I thought she was in Washington.”

“Not anymore. But the trains were backed up on the east side of the bridge because of the wind, so her train caught up with mine, and . . . and she attacked me.”

Vera raised an eyebrow. “Attacked?”

“Verbally. I was taking photographs, making good use of the opportunity to make some money, and she came barreling toward me, screaming that I’d stolen the engagement ring I gave her, and calling me a deserter, and—”

She held up a hand. “You stole her engagement ring?”

That seemed beside the point. “I couldn’t very well afford one to her liking. She’s a pampered rich girl. I did what I had to do.” He tilted his head to the side. “I always do what I have to do. That’s how I get through hard times.”

She studied him a moment. “Hard times like the war?”

He nodded.

“So you
are
a deserter?”

He wished he hadn’t brought that up. “Of a sort. I wasn’t alone. There were many of us who joined the army, ran away, then joined up again for the signing bounty.”

“That’s awful.”

He was shocked by her reaction. “It was
smart
. It was a way to get through the war alive.”

She stood and moved her book from the bed to a dresser. “Did you ever fight in battle?”

“Why would I want to do that? I didn’t care if the South had slaves or whether they even formed their own country. My father said smart people could get rich in wartime.” He grinned. “Once I left the Union side, I worked with my father for the Rebs. We didn’t get rich, but we were getting by far better than the poor slugs who died for nothing.”

She faced him, her jaw hard. “My brother was one of those poor slugs who died.”

He expelled a breath, then took another. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“We don’t usually spend our time talking.”

And he shouldn’t have talked now. He went to her, stroking her soft shoulders.