The Journey of Josephine Cain (37 page)

And then what?

Aunt Bernice ran to the railing overlooking the foyer and yelled down to Dowd, “Did you send for the doctor?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She ran back to Mother’s room.

With a sigh, Josephine followed.

“All aboard!”

Hudson took one last look around the depot, hoping to see Josie rushing up to stop him. She would run into his arms and say, “Don’t ever leave me. I love you.”

And he’d pull her close and kiss her, right there in public. But neither one of them would care because they would finally and truly be committed to each other.

It was a ridiculous fantasy, but it was one he’d nursed since purchasing his ticket. Alternating with the dream were prayers asking God to bless their feelings and make it all work.

Somehow.

He climbed the steps leading to the railcar, and with one last glance, accepted the fact that she wasn’t coming.

Hudson told himself
so be it
, but the fissure in his heart exposed the words as bravado.

Josie . . . what am I going to do without you?

As the train gained speed, he let the rhythm of the rails lull him into nothingness.

It was better than feeling the pain.

The doctor drew them into the hall and spoke in a concerned tone. “It appears she may truly have suffered some irregularity of the heart.”

Aunt gasped. “Will she recover?”

“She should,” the doctor said. “It seems mild.” He looked directly at Josephine. “There was some confrontation?”

Instead of trying to explain it or even qualify their exchange, she simply said, “Yes.”

“There’s to be no more of that. At least not until she feels better.” He handed Aunt a vial. “Some laudanum to help her sleep. Otherwise, just let her rest and eat as she wishes.” Again he looked at Josephine. “I know your mother very well, and I know she can be difficult and melodramatic. I don’t know what went on between you two, but I ask you to leave it alone for a few days.”

Leave alone that she sent away the man I love?

He was waiting for her response. “Yes, Doctor.”

Aunt left to see him out. Josephine returned to her room and endured the stares of Frieda and Nelly.

“Are we going after Hudson now?” Nelly asked.

“We can’t. Not for a few days.”

Nelly plopped on the bed, her lower lip in a pout. “That’s not fair. Every minute we sit here, he’s gittin’ farther and farther away.”

You think I don’t know that?

“Or,” Frieda said, “are we staying for good?”

That
was the big question. “If we leave, it means we are going out west. Is that where you want to go—permanently?”

“Permanently?” Frieda repeated. “As in forever and always?”

Josephine wasn’t sure how to answer. Impulsively, she wanted to say,
Yes, absolutely. We have nothing to keep us here
, but realistically, the thought of starting over in a wild town like Grand Island or Cheyenne was frightening. Papa had ordered them to leave because of the surrounding danger. And what would they do there?
Was
she a modern woman like Hudson said in his note? Or would she always be a woman of society, finding her comfort by living in affluence and following convention?

Was she Josie or Josephine?

Nelly raised her hand high. “I vote for the West.”

“I am not taking you back to Miss Mandy’s. Ever.”

Nelly climbed off the bed and wrapped her arms around Josephine’s waist. “I don’t want that. I want to be with you. And Mrs. Schultz. The three of us, together.”

Josephine pulled Nelly’s head to her chest and kissed her hair. “Frieda? What do you want?”

Frieda plucked hairs from a brush, her eyes focused on her task. Then she stopped. “I guess it comes down to this. You and I have been joined together since you were born, so as the Bible says . . . ‘Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.’”

Josephine extended an arm and drew Frieda into their circle, three females, determined to conquer new worlds.

Wherever they were.

Pittsburgh.

Hudson stood in the depot, in the same spot where he’d stood on the way to Washington, staring at the sign that read
Allegheny City
, facing the same decision he’d faced then.

Do I go home and see my family, or do I get back on the train?

He closed his eyes and let the sounds of the busy depot fall into a buzzing background.
God? What should I do?

Two words entered his mind, causing him to open his eyes:
Finish this
.

Finish what? His trip west?

No.

He knew what the words meant.

And so he left the westward train behind and boarded another one.

Toward home.

Hudson paid the innkeeper for his room. For as much sleep as he’d gotten, it was a waste of money. Plus, he’d awakened with a cough. How many coughs had his family suffered from working in the dusty conditions of the mills? Spinners lungs, they called it. That’s why his mother had quit the mill and started sewing at home. Yet the conditions there weren’t much better. Bitter cold in winter, stifling in summer . . . but at least she didn’t have to be on her feet all day.

In truth, Hudson could have gone home last night but had lost his nerve. After not hearing from Sarah Ann in months, after choosing to remain in Cheyenne over the winter, he wasn’t sure what he would say to her or his family, and even more, wasn’t sure what he wanted them to say. Would they treat him like the prodigal son coming home? Or would they hold his absence against him?

He passed the docks on the north shore of the Allegheny River and turned onto the street where he grew up. Two towering rows of three-story tenements blocked out the sky. The smells from each building’s communal privy wafted onto the street, making the memories of the aromatic bunk cars seem like perfume.

Although it was barely dawn, workers streamed out of the tenements. And then . . .

“Da!”

Hudson’s father turned and blinked as though not believing his eyes. Then he ran toward his son with open arms, embracing him and clapping him on the back. “Yer here!” Da let him loose to show him off. “Look, men! Me boy is home agin!”

“I’m just visiting.”

Da pulled back. “Visiting? You been gone forever, and you come back only to visit?”

Other workers called out to Hudson as they passed on the way to the mills. He’d known many his whole life.

He changed the subject. “How are Mum and Ezra?” He hesitated. “And Sarah Ann?”

Da pointed to their building. “Go inside and greet yer mum. We see you tonight. Surely you be staying that long.”

Did he have a choice? He nodded.

“I be seeing you then.” He smiled. “Good it is to see you, boy.”

Da joined the other workers, the mass of them like a stream of tad-poles swimming upstream, doggedly flowing against the odds.

As he entered the darkness of the tenement he wondered after Ezra. He and Da always walked to work together. Where was his brother?

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down the dim hall. Babies cried behind paper-thin walls. He reached their apartment, with a painted
5
on the door, though the bottom curve of the number had flaked off. He paused a moment, taking a deep breath. What would Mum say to him? A fit of coughing made his presence known, and the door opened.

Mum’s eyes grew wide before she pulled him into her arms. “Oh my dear boy. You be here! You be back.”

He didn’t contradict her but let himself be drawn inside. Little had changed. There were six mismatched chairs around a square table, with a bed in the corner that Ezra had shared with John. The cots that Hudson and Raleigh had slept on were gone, and in their place was a chair strewn with Mum’s sewing. A stove in the corner was used for cooking, and the walls were covered with makeshift shelves holding crockery and pans. His parents’ bedroom was the only other room.

Mum put a hand to her head, smoothing loose hairs. “I look a fright, I do. You shoulda sent word you was coming.” The familiar Irish cadence of her voice made Hudson feel at home.

“I didn’t know, and you look lovely—as always.”

“Ah you,” Mum said, pulling out a chair. “Would’cha like some coffee?”

“Don’t make anything special.”

“I have some left from this morn’. And some soda bread too, if it please ya.”

Although he didn’t feel up to either, he let his mother flutter over him. She finally sat down across the table from him. “How are ya? Things go bad out west?”

He realized she also thought he’d come home to stay. “Not bad at all. We’re laying track across the Wyoming Territory now. I’m just here for a visit.”

Her once-beautiful face grew old again. “A visit?”

“I’m sorry. But there’s still much work to do, many miles to lay.”

“Your letters mentioned Indians and wild towns. . . . I donna see why you want to be ’round such things.”

It’s better than being around poverty and a job that leads nowhere
.

It was time to ask the question that had brought him here. “How is Sarah Ann? I need to see her.”

Mum looked away, then rose from the table, returning with the dress she was making. “I be making quite the name for me handwork. This dress is for the butcher’s wife. See the tiny stitches?”

“They’re very tight and straight,” he said. But he wouldn’t let her off so easily. “Can I see Sarah Ann after work? I—” He suffered a fit of coughing that forced him to double over. Mum brought him a glass of water, but his throat felt raw from the hacking.

“You lay down now, boyo,” she told him, leading him to Ezra’s bed. “I make ye a compress for yer chest.”

“Sarah Ann . . .”

She ignored him.

But why?

“You should go check on your mother,” Frieda said, as she brushed through Josephine’s hair.

“I will. And I did check on her in the middle of the night. She seemed to be resting well. Too well.”

“Hush. You should be happy she’s all right.”

“I am. Absolutely. But I am also unhappy that her episode prevented us from going after Hudson.”

“At least we can catch up.”