The Journey of Josephine Cain (27 page)

Frieda raised a finger. “Everything you’ve said about Lewis is factual—”

“Thank you.”

“But something is missing.”

“And what is that?”

“Love.”

Why hadn’t she even thought about mentioning love? Every point Josephine had made was a cold fact, not an emotion or a desire. Josephine knew her feelings for Lewis had changed, but now she began to question what she had
ever
felt for him.

Frieda put her hand upon Josephine’s, her voice soft. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad, but I am a bit mixed up.”

“About?”

Everything.

Hudson pulled his heel across the metal boot scraper outside the boardinghouse. The owner was having a fit about all the mud the men were tracking in. Especially at dinnertime. “Mud and meals don’t mix” was her oft-repeated saying. If someone was a repeat offender, he would end up hungry.

Hudson was using a stick to scrape the worst of it off the side of his heel when Lewis Simmons approached.

“Hey, you. Maguire.”

He glanced up but kept working on his boot. “Simmons.”

The man moved close enough that Hudson could see his shoes. Threateningly close. His work complete, Hudson stood, glad he was a good three inches taller and fifty pounds heftier. “You need something?”

“I need you to stop carrying on with my woman.”

The phrase
my woman
struck Hudson as funny, making him smile. “I didn’t know Miss Cain was anyone’s woman.”

“Well, now you do. We’re engaged.”

“Are you now.”

“We are. Ask the general.”

“Actually, it was the general who asked me to show them around.”

“Only because I was busy with my photography.”

“Yeah, I saw you busy with your . . . photography.”

Simmons’s head drew back an inch. “I’m earning good money for my work.”

“Are you selling copies to the women at Miss Mandy’s? Or to their customers who want a memento?”

Simmons started to take a swing, but it was so pathetically accomplished that Hudson had plenty of time to see it coming and grab his wrist.

“You really want to start this?” Hudson squeezed. Hard.

Simmons winced. “Let go!”

Hudson did let go but gave Simmons a push in the process. “Stay out of my way.”

Simmons regained his footing, massaging his wrist. “You stay out of
my
way. With Josephine.”

Hudson tossed the muddy stick on the ground between them. “I think it’s up to Miss Cain to decide that.”

He walked inside the boardinghouse and was greeted with cheers and a few slaps on the back, as the men who’d been listening from the dining room offered their endorsement.

Lewis stood in front of the building across the street from the boardinghouse, and stared at it.

Glared at it.

Hated it.

Hated a certain man inside.

If Hudson Maguire ruined his plan to exact revenge on General Cain through his daughter, he’d be the next victim on Lewis’s list.

Josephine slipped out of bed, being careful not to awaken Frieda. She took her clothes into the main part of the railcar and got dressed as best she could without help. She was in such a hurry that she shunned her corset completely and fastened as many buttons as she could on the back of her dress. She swept her hair into a quick twist and secured it with a few pins, then donned her short cape—which thankfully hid the undone buttons.

The sun was just beginning to rise as she left the railcar and hurried to Papa’s office. She found him just sitting down to his desk.

“Josephine. What’s got you up so early?”

She had decided to say it straight out. “Nelly.”

It took him a moment to comprehend. Then he said, “I told you I’d look into it.”

“Would—would today be a good day for that?”

He took the top page from a stack. “Not today.”

“But—”

He pointed to piles of papers. “All of these railroad problems need to be handled immediately. I have hundreds of men awaiting my direction.” He pointed toward the west. “Out west where the surveying crews are working, a hundred Sioux raided the camp and stole all their horses and mules.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Not this time. They just wanted the animals. But earlier this spring they attacked a work train and killed three workers. The Indians are a constant threat. The issue of Nelly will have to wait.” He rubbed his eyes. “In fact, I’m having second thoughts about your even being here.”

“But Papa, I’m fine. I am here with you. I am safe with you.”

“Perhaps. But you see why I don’t have time for one girl? Please remember that patience is a virtue.”

Patience
was
a virtue. One she did not own.

Back at the railcar, Frieda was still asleep, clearly enjoying having the bed to herself. Josephine hated to wake her, but . . .

She gently jostled the bed. When she got no response, she did it harder. And harder.

Finally, “Get up!”

Frieda sat upright, panicked. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

Negotiating the limited space in the tiny sleeping area, Josephine plucked a brown calico from a hook and tossed it on the bed. “Plenty is wrong, and it is time to fix it.”

Frieda rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Get dressed.”

While Frieda dressed, Albert brought them breakfast. Josephine took a few bites of dry toast. A few minutes later, Frieda emerged, still pinning her hair into a bun. “Oh good. Breakfast.”

“We can eat later.”

Frieda lifted the lid on a serving bowl of oatmeal. “It will be a leaden lump later.”

“So be it.” Josephine handed her a hat. “We need to go now, catch them unawares.”

“Catch who?”

Josephine tied her own hat beneath her chin and strode toward the door. “The ladies at Miss Mandy’s.”

Frieda grabbed a fistful of skirt and yanked her back. “Oh no, you don’t.”

Josephine pulled herself free. “Oh yes, I do. Just this very morning Papa said he didn’t have time to deal with Nelly. But I can’t wait for when he
has
time. I can’t go about my day with that little girl being mistreated a stone’s throw away. God won’t let me.”

“That’s all well and good, though I don’t presume to know what God wants you to do at this very moment. But the Almighty repeatedly tells us to be wise. This is not wise. It’s impulsive.”

“But it’s right. It is on the side of good. There is nothing good about that girl being brought up in a brothel.”

“I agree with you.” Frieda took her hand and led her back to the chairs. “Sit.”

“But—”

“Indulge me.”

Josephine sat, hating that her zeal was being squelched.

Frieda spooned the oatmeal into two bowls. “We will eat and be fortified.”

“But I don’t want to eat.”

“We will eat.” Frieda pushed the bowl in front of her and handed her a spoon.

She reluctantly took it and started to take a bite.

But Frieda stopped her with a hand. “But first, we will pray for God’s direction and protection. You want both, don’t you?”

She hadn’t thought about it until now. “I suppose I do.”

“I suppose you do.” Frieda bowed her head and began to pray aloud. “Let us be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might. Help us put on the whole armor of God, that we may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. . . .”

Josephine hated to admit it, but Frieda was right. They needed God’s help in this.

Josephine stood near Miss Mandy’s and put a hand to her churning stomach. “I shouldn’t have eaten.”

Frieda put a hand to her own midsection. “Remember, we’ve put on the breastplate of righteousness—for Nelly.”

Her words were strong, but Josephine could tell she was nervous too. The workers were in the rail yard, but people in town were stirring. It was best to do it now, before they risked too much of an audience.

Josephine took Frieda’s hand and stopped before the front door-flap
of the brothel. If she knocked on the wooden frame, would they answer? She didn’t dare just go in. Who knew what they might see.

And so, she knocked, then cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me? Ladies? Anyone?”

She heard voices and shuffling inside, then someone said, “Whatcha want?”

“If I may speak to . . . to Miss Mandy, please?”

There were some half-asleep voices, then a middle-aged woman pulled open the flap. Underneath the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she wore a chemise and pantaloons. She squinted at the full sunlight. “Well, if it ain’t the general’s daughter. Bored so soon? Lookin’ for some diversion? I could keep ya real busy.”

Frieda stepped between Josephine and the madam. “You watch what you say. You are speaking to a lady.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon I’m sure.” She dug sand out of one eye, then glared at Josephine. “Enough of this chitchat. You woke us up. What do you want?”

“Nelly.”

Her painted eyebrows rose, and Josephine noticed one was drawn higher than the other. And they were smudged. “How do you know Nelly?”

“I don’t know her. I just saw her at the store the other day, and . . . and I want her to come with me.”

“Just like that? You ask and I’m supposed to hand Nelly over?”

“She will be safe with me.”