The Journey of Josephine Cain (33 page)

“And what’ll I get in return?”

She stopped work and gave him an annoyed look. “Really? You won’t help me just to help me?”

I suppose
. He took up the pry bar and removed a lid.

“That’s the way,” she said. “As far as payment, we’ll see how good a worker you are.”

Lewis worked all the harder.

Her name was Vera.

After paying him for his help with the packing, she got dressed and said, “I do hope Nelly will be all right.”

It took him a moment to understand who she was talking about. “She’s better off anywhere but here.”

She stopped hooking her corset. “Why would you say that?”

He sat up on his elbows. “Come on . . .”

“The girls and I love that little girl. Miss Mandy saved her.”

“Saved her for what?”

She smacked him. “What kind of women do you think we are?”

He was confused. “So she didn’t . . . work here?”

“No! At least not like that. She did our laundry and mended our clothes.”

“That’s not what Josephine and the general think.”

She pulled a skirt over her head. “Everyone always thinks the worst. Nelly was living on the streets when we came through Council Bluffs. She’d be dead by now if it weren’t for us. She was like a little sister.”

“Then why did you let her go?”

She fastened the skirt in front, then twisted it so the placket was at the back. “Because she was growing up. There
are
a few men around here who’ve shown interest when they shouldn’t.”

The thought made him shudder. “That’s disgusting.”

“That man Sweetin is disgusting.” She put on a blouse and buttoned it. “That’s why it’s good she’s gone, and though Miss Mandy grumbles about it, and we all have more work to do now, I think she’s glad too.”

All dressed, she threw him his pants. “Now git outta here. I have more packing to do.”

“You need more help?”

She put her hands on her hips. “You wanting to work so I’ll pay you again?”

He shrugged.

“Go on. I’d rather do it myself.”

Josephine looked around the Chicago depot. Memories flooded back. “There! Right over there is where we caught the thief.”

Hudson looked in the direction she was pointing. “Caught what thief?”

“The one who stole my reticule last time we came through.”

Frieda carried the tin of milk they’d bought. “If it weren’t for Josephine and me, she never would have gotten it back.”

No thanks to Lewis.

Nelly bobbled one of the apples, and Josephine saved it from the floor.

“How did you stop him?” Nelly asked. “Did you hit him? Hit him hard?”

“We didn’t hit him.” Josephine started to laugh. “Actually, Frieda sat on him, and I poked him with my parasol.”

“Really?” Hudson adjusted the stack of sandwiches so they wouldn’t fall.

Josephine shrugged. “How else could we hold him until the police showed up?”

Hudson just shook his head. “That’s my Josie.”

She liked the sound of that.

“Now I know better than to rile you, don’t I?” he asked.

“Yes, you do.”

They boarded the train and set about eating. From his place by the window Hudson passed the sandwiches around. Ham. Again.

Frieda spread a napkin in Nelly’s lap, then in her own. “I will say this trip is a much better experience than the last time.”

“I bet,” Hudson said.

She glanced at Josephine. “Not just because of the thief incident, but because of the difference in our escort.”

Josephine was shocked that Frieda would bring up Lewis. Thinking of him, she looked down at her left hand and noticed . . . the ring.

“Ah!”

“What’s wrong?” Frieda asked.

“I didn’t give Lewis back his ring!”

As they passed the milk jug around, Hudson asked, “Give it back?”

She realized she hadn’t mentioned the broken engagement to him. Actually, she’d hardly thought about it at all since they left Cheyenne. Didn’t that prove it was for the best?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t have to answer.”

She passed the milk to Nelly. “Right before we left Cheyenne, I ended our engagement.”

“Why?” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m prying again.”

Josephine waved away his apology, and then she noticed the ruby bracelet that still adorned her wrist. “Oh dear. I need to give this back too.”

“Let me see your jewelry,” Nelly asked, standing up to get a better look.

Josephine extended her left hand across the space between them.

“That ring’s really showy,” Nelly said. “I bet it cost more’n a dollar.” She sat down again.

Josephine pulled her hand back. “It probably did cost a pretty penny, but I don’t need showy.”

Frieda snickered.

Josephine flashed her a look. Frieda was diluting her point. “I
like
showy, but I don’t need showy.”

Why did she feel the need to stipulate in Hudson’s presence?

“You can give the ring and bracelet back to Lewis when he returns to Washington,” Frieda suggested.

Josephine stared at her hand, then tried to remove the ring. “My hand must be swollen. It won’t come off.”

“Just as well,” Frieda said. “It’s safer on your hand than loose in your bag. Wait until we’re home.”

It was good advice, and Josephine went back to eating. But when she brought her sandwich to her mouth, she caught another glimpse of the ring and lowered her hand so as not to see it. The memory of her last encounter with Lewis flew through her mind and made her shudder as if the wind of it were very, very cold.

Hudson touched her hand, his voice soft. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’ve upset you.”

She shook her head. “It’s all right. My thoughts and feelings are just a bit tangled at the moment.”

“Regarding?”

“Lewis. And . . .”

“And?”

You
. Even though she ached to say it aloud, she couldn’t.
She
might be free of her romantic ties, but Hudson was not.

Josephine looked out the window, feeling envy for a girl named Sarah Ann.

It was time to reboard the train heading from Pittsburgh to Washington, but Hudson couldn’t move. He kept staring at the sign that read
Allegheny City
. He was only a few miles from home.

He should go there. He should see his parents and Ezra.

And Sarah Ann.

He took a step toward the sign, toward the track that would take him home.

But then General Cain’s voice played in his mind:
I need someone I can trust with my most precious jewel, my Josephine. Someone I can completely, absolutely trust to see her safely home
.

He stepped back to his original position. He’d promised. And he’d never forgive himself if he left them and something happened.

But can you forgive yourself for being so close to your family and ignoring them?

“Hudson? Is something wrong?”

It was Josie. He shut his eyes against the sign pointing home, and found a smile.

Luckily, where Josie was concerned it wasn’t hard to find.

As they neared Washington, Josephine’s nerves began to dance in a syncopated rhythm. “I wish we’d had the chance to buy Nelly a new dress and coat. She looks like a ragamuffin.”

“I look like a muffin?”

“Shush, girl,” Frieda said, halting the near-constant swing of Nelly’s legs.

Hudson stood and spread his arms. “Am I presentable? Or do you want to doll me up too?”

Actually, he was shabby by eastern standards. His boots needed a dozen coats of polish, there was a small rip in the knee of his right trouser leg, his wool coat was missing a button, and his rawhide vest—which had looked so appropriate on the prairie—looked primitive among the city folk on the train. And his brown, fur-felt Stetson hat . . .

The men around him wore top hats or derbies, long sack coats, checkered vests, and narrow trousers. Rugged boots were nowhere to be seen.

Apparently, with her delay, he made his own conclusion. “So be it. I am what I am.”

Yes, you are
. Which was one reason she was so attracted to him.

But then he contradicted himself as he added, “Out west I couldn’t care less about my appearance, but the thought of meeting your mother and aunt has me worried.”

“Don’t worry another minute about them.”
I will worry enough for the both of us
.

Nelly sat on her knees and stuck her head outside the carriage window. Her hair blew every which way.

“Sit down, girl, or I will never get a comb through your hair,” Frieda said.

“No, let her see,” Josephine said. The girl’s enthusiasm for Washington sparked her own pride.

“What’s that?” Nelly asked, pointing to a large square stack of limestone about a hundred feet high.

“That’s going to be a monument to George Washington, but they stopped building it before the war.”

“I suppose they had a few other things on their minds,” Hudson said.

A few minutes later, Nelly let out a long “oooh.” “Who lives there?” she asked.

“The president.”

“Who’s he?”

Josephine exchanged a glance with Frieda and Hudson. Nelly’s ignorance was alarming, yet considering her background and childhood . . . president, king, or queen, what did it matter?

“President Johnson is the president of the United States,” Josephine said.

“All thirty-seven of them,” Frieda added.

“It’s a fancy house,” Nelly said.

“Actually, it’s in a sorry state. The floor needs refinishing, and some visitors have even pinched tassels off the furniture or been bold enough to cut souvenirs from the draperies and carpets. Mrs. Lincoln bought some wonderful new furniture but despaired at how the public treated what was already there.”

“I don’t like that aspect of human nature,” Hudson said. “People should never just take something because they want it.”

Josephine nodded, yet she couldn’t help letting her mind move from souvenirs to more personal subjects—and inclinations.

Frieda returned to the description of the president’s home. “The First Lady is ill with consumption, so the president’s daughter has been acting as hostess, and is overseeing renovations.”

Josephine pointed out the window. “It used to have a greenhouse over there, but it burned down. I assume they’ll replace it.”