The Journey of Josephine Cain (32 page)

A passenger they had picked up in Grand Island joined them. “There’s twenty-five square miles of the tunnels on both sides of the railway.”

“They’re cute,” Nelly said. “Can we stop and play with them?”

“You’d never find them,” the man said. “They’d scurry underground. If it weren’t for the sound of the train, you’d hear them squealing and whistling at us.”

Josephine returned to her seat. “Why didn’t I notice them before?”

“Maybe we came through in the dark,” Frieda said.

Whatever the reason, she was glad to see them now. She was glad for anything that made Nelly happy.

The girl had been quiet since they left Cheyenne, glued to the window
and the view. When they’d stopped in Grand Island to eat, she had even refused food. Hudson had bought her a sandwich anyway and taken it on board “for later.” But there’d been no
later
.

Hudson stood beside Nelly now, discussing the prairie dogs, and Josephine had a flash of what the trip would have been like if Lewis had been their chaperone.

Lewis wouldn’t have bought Nelly a sandwich, and he certainly wouldn’t have shared a view with her. Most likely, he’d be sulking in a far corner of the railcar, his sketchpad open, which was his way of erecting a wall when he didn’t want to be sociable.

She would have been worried about him
and
Nelly.

Nelly laughed and swatted Hudson in the arm. Then she turned to Josephine. “Can I have my sandwich now? I’m hungry.”

Josephine got it out, and Nelly took it back to her seat. She tore off a bit and gave it to Hudson as they continued to talk.

Josephine amended her observation. If Lewis were along, they would all be miserable. But with Hudson here . . .

There was nothing to worry about.

Josephine was awakened from her dozing by the train screeching to a halt. She lurched forward, nearly hitting her head on the row of seats in front of her.

“What’s going on?” was repeated by every passenger.

Suddenly, a railroad man ran by the car, yelling at them. “Everybody out! Now!” He pointed to the southwest. “Twister!”

An eerie finger of gray reached down from angry storm clouds. The sky had a sickly, yellow cast as lightning ripped through it, racing the tornado to the ground. Rain began to pelt the train, and some passengers scrambled to close the windows against it.

The inside conductor swatted a hand at their efforts. “Don’t worry about that! Get off! Run toward that ditch. Lie down as flat as you can and cover your heads!”

“But we’ll get soaked. Shouldn’t we stay in—”

“Twisters devour trains and spit them out. You want to be spit out? Now go!”

Two dozen passengers from their car joined a throng of people running the fifty yards to a ditch. “Hold on to each other!” Hudson yelled. He picked Nelly up and pulled Josephine along, and she in turn held on to Frieda.

They lowered their faces against the rain, wind, and debris being hurled and swirled around them.
Please God, keep us safe!

Once at the ditch, they fell into it, facedown. Josephine wrapped her arm around Frieda on one side and Nelly on the other, and she felt Hudson’s protective arm spread over them.

It sounded as if a train were barreling down on them, yet she knew the train was stopped.

“Keep your heads down!” Hudson yelled above the wind.

Nelly whimpered beneath them.

And then it hit. The world moaned and wailed around them, a monster screaming at its prey.

It wasn’t the only scream they heard, as the other passengers released their fear. Men, women, children—no one could be brave against nature’s hellish fury.

Josephine’s skirt whipped against her legs, and the rain felt like nails shot through the air.

“Please God, please God, please . . .” Her prayers melded with those of the others, a communal plea for mercy.

Then she heard the sound of metal straining and creaking. Was the train fighting its own battle against the storm? She wanted to see.

“No! Head down!” Hudson yelled.

And then, as quickly as it attacked, it retreated. Or moved on.

Josephine let herself breathe and felt Hudson’s protective cover release her.

“Is it over?” Nelly asked.

“For us,” he said as he got to his knees to look. “Unless it turns back on us.”

He helped them stand. They were all soaked and muddy, with grass and leaves pasted to their bodies.

But they were alive.

Josephine threw her arms around his neck, and Nelly did the same around his waist. He opened his other arm to Frieda, and the four of them stood as one shaking, soggy, grateful mass.

“Thank God,” Josephine said.

A conductor scurried among the people. “Are you all right? Anyone hurt?”

A few had cuts, but nothing worse than that. It was a miracle.

Only then did they turn to look at the train.

“It’s still there!” Nelly yelled.

The sides of the cars were plastered with mud and debris, but they were intact.

“Everyone back on the train,” the conductor said. “We’ll stop in Omaha and let you get cleaned up.”

As they slogged through the muddy ground, Josie looked to her left. “Wasn’t there a shed over there?”

“Used to be.” Hudson helped them board the train.

Everything was covered with muck and damp, but they sat anyway, Nelly huddled with Frieda, and Josephine with Hudson. He wiped a leaf from her temple. “I thank God you’re all right,” he said.

“I thank God—and you.”

She leaned her head against his chest as the train began to move.

It took four hours for everyone to get cleaned up and boarded onto a new train heading east. According to the chatter, the only casualty was one missing valise. It was probably in Iowa by now.

“We could have stayed overnight in a hotel,” Hudson said as the train pulled away.

But Josephine shook her head. “I just want to get home as soon as possible.”

“Amen to that,” said Frieda. “And again, Mr. Maguire, we can’t thank you enough for getting us to that ditch. I swear we would have
wholly blown away if it weren’t for your solid anchor.”

Their gratitude embarrassed him. “You’ve thanked me enough. In fact . . . could I ask a favor of you three?”

“Of course,” Josephine said.

“We’ve traveled five hundred miles and have fifteen hundred to go. Plus, we’ve survived a tornado. Enough of ‘Mr. Maguire.’ Please call me Hudson.”

When Josephine smiled, a dimple appeared in her right cheek. “And you can call me Josephine.”

“And me Frieda,” said Mrs. Schultz.

Then Nelly piped up, “You can call me anything but late for dinner.” She giggled.

“Where did you hear that saying?” Josephine asked.

“Vera taught it to me.”

Hudson tried not to think of what else Vera might have taught her. “I am very glad to call you Josephine, but . . .”

“But?”

“The name doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh?”

It was hard to explain, and he didn’t want her to take offense. “Josephine is the name of a lady of society, and though I know that’s what you were born into, I don’t think that’s who you are.”

“Who am I then?” Her hazel eyes were alive with the challenge.

“You are more a . . . Josie.”

She cocked her head and looked into the air, considering it. “Josie. I think I like that.”

He was relieved. “It has spunk and vigor. Like you.”

She nodded, and her smile cemented the transformation. “Then Josie I am.”

The miles went on. And on. And on.

The ladies impressed Hudson with their patience. They hardly complained—and that surprised him. He’d expected Josie to grumble about
the delay caused by the tornado, the food, the minimal facilities, the noise and soot in the depots, or the constant chatter of the other ladies seated at the far end of the car. Would they ever stop talking?

He was glad the four of them had commandeered two benches that faced each other, which made for easier conversation. Though there was
one
conversation they had avoided since leaving Cheyenne.

Hudson studied Nelly a moment. She was lying on the bench across from Josie and him, her head in Frieda’s lap. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be sleeping.

It might be now or never . . .

He touched Josie’s arm, pulling her attention from the window. “What are you planning for Nelly when you get home?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “I should have thought ahead when I got the notion to pull her out of there, but I didn’t.”

“You’re impulsive,” Frieda hissed.

Josie shrugged, then said, “I also never expected Papa to send me home.
Us
home.”

“What will your mother think of her?”

Josie made an odd shudder, and Frieda shook her head in short bursts.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

This wasn’t good. If the mother rejected her, where would Nelly go? “Is there a local . . .” He didn’t want to say it out loud. “A home for her?”

“I’m sure there is,” Josie said. “Or a boarding school perhaps.”

“I doubt she can read,” Frieda whispered.

“Then she will have to learn.” Josie sighed. “Let’s just pray an answer comes to us.”

Frieda nodded, as did Hudson. Josie returned her attention to the view.

It was then Hudson saw Nelly open her eyes. She didn’t move otherwise but simply looked at him. What had she heard?

Enough and too much.

What could he say? Or do?

She closed her eyes again, pretending to sleep.

Hudson closed his own eyes and prayed for answers.

Lewis didn’t mean to end up in front of Miss Mandy’s, but with Josephine breaking off their engagement, and then seeing Maguire on the train with her, and then the browbeating he’d gotten from the general . . .

The women were packing up to move on with the crews.

A pretty woman with black hair looked up at him. “Instead of gawking, you could help.”

“I’m not gawking.”

“Ogling, then.”

He couldn’t deny it. No man in his right mind could avoid looking at the women in their scanty attire. Lewis strolled over from across the street. “So you’re heading out?”

“In a few days. The next big town is Laramie. It won’t take the men long to get there, and where the men go, we go.” She pointed to the row of crates the women used to sit upon while they showcased their wares on the porch. “Help me pry these open so we can pack stuff in ’em.”