The Journey of Josephine Cain (10 page)

Hudson tried not to stare at the Indians, but as this was his first look . . .

They were darker skinned than all but the Negros, and he let a quick question enter his brain: was that because they were outside all the time? Their hair was coal-black and straight as a horse’s tail, and not one had any facial hair—or hair on their chests. Most were without shirts, and their muscles were impressive. The clothing that covered them from waist to feet was more of a legging than a true pair of pants, and they wore soft shoes without hard soles. He hoped none of them stepped on a
stray spike, lest their pain cause some commotion.

He didn’t have time to ponder more, as the general started the rail-laying demonstration. When it was Hudson’s turn to hit the spikes, he did his duty. It only took him two hits to get the spike in, and it occurred to him he was showing off.

No one would blame him. Showing strength to Indians was a good thing, wasn’t it?

Yet was it wise to show these Indians how track was put in? Would they use the knowledge against the railroad and tear it up?

Such questions were not his to ask. He’d trusted the general with his life before; he would do so now.

A length of rail laid, the general invited the Indians to see a bunk car. Spotting Hudson, General Cain said, “Show them inside.”

Hudson lost his breath for a moment but followed orders, getting in the car and even helping the Indians step up into it.

One Indian paused a moment after Hudson helped him in, looking at him eye-to-eye. His eyes were nearly as black as his hair, which hung down his back. He had a scar on his cheek. A ripple of fear sped through Hudson’s gut. “Welcome,” he said, then felt stupid for it. For the Indians weren’t welcome. If he had his way, they’d never have gotten close to the train, much less come inside a car.

And did they speak English? He certainly didn’t speak their language. “This is where we sleep,” he said to the group as they stood between the bunks.

One Indian seemed to understand, for he immediately translated. A few of the Indians lay on the mattresses, marveling at the pillows, making comments to each other. A few others held their noses. The stench left behind by hundreds of working men
was
hard to take.

But then one of them looked upward and pointed to a goodly number of rifles stacked horizontally along the roof. Their joviality left them, and they slid off the bunks. They whispered to each other, and one Indian put his hand out the window, measuring the thickness of the car’s wall. As he looked to another, Hudson could imagine him saying, “I wonder if a bullet could go through the walls.” Or an arrow shot from the other side?

He quickly led them outside. Was their motive friendship—or were they on a scouting mission?

“Now the butcher’s and baker’s cars, Maguire,” the general said.

Again, Hudson wasn’t sure it was wise to show them the store of meat and food supplies. But he did as he was told.

The Indian interpreter spoke for the group when he said, “Much food. Hard winter.”

Hudson could only nod. He knew that it
had
been a hard winter on the plains. Were the Indians hungry?

By now there was a crowd of hundreds of workers watching the Indians step out of the food cars. One of them said, “Let’s see how accurate they can shoot their arrows.”

Hudson thought that was a horrible idea, but other men hopped to, and soon there was a shovel placed in the ground, and the Indians were steered to a point fifty feet away.

The general spoke to Spotted Tail through the interpreter. Then Spotted Tail instructed each brave to try to shoot through the shovel’s handle. The first arrow sliced through the air and went through the hole, to the appreciative shouts of the workers.

Then another.

And another.

“They’re good,” Raleigh whispered.

“Too good,” Hudson said.

Others nodded.

As the show continued, the encouraging shouts dimmed as every arrow was successful. Hudson could feel the nerves of the workers tighten, for in proving their accuracy, the Indians were also proving that if their mark was a railroad worker, they wouldn’t miss.

Finally, the seventeenth Indian shot his arrow—and it hit the handle, knocking the shovel down. He looked to the ground, disgraced. But Hudson and the workers were relieved, and he heard more than one mumble of “Good” and “It’s about time.”

“I don’t think it’s wise to give them confidence,” he said.

“It’s just a game,” Oscar said.

Hudson was not alone in shaking his head. “This may look like a game, but I assure you, it’s not.”

“Let’s have a race!” someone yelled. “Ponies against our locomotive!”

A cry of assent rose up. Hudson hated the idea. This day couldn’t end soon enough.

He saw the Indians mount their ponies and get in a line. They seemed eager for the race.

Hudson looked upon the scene, feeling wary. Then he heard the general’s voice from near the cab of the locomotive.

“Come, ride inside,” the general said to Spotted Tail.

At first the chief seemed reluctant, but he climbed on board. The Indians lined up even with the front of the locomotive, ready for the signal.

Hudson felt his gut grab. “This will not end well—either way.”

One worker went out in front of the line of riders, raised his arm, then lowered it. “Go!” the workers yelled.

The ponies sped forward, ahead of the train. The Indians were thrilled with their certain victory and let out a whoop that made Hudson shudder.

But then the engine gathered speed and easily passed them. Victorious, the engineer blew the whistle full blast. The sound so startled the Indians that they bodily swung to the off-side of their ponies, hanging on with their legs over the back.

And then, it was over.

“We won! We won!” the workers yelled.

Hudson shook his head. There might be a price to winning.

The Indians returned, their heads down, clearly crestfallen at their defeat.

“Now they can leave,” he said.

“Are you really afraid of them?” Raleigh asked.

“I’m cautious. I just know if I had strange people building across the land my ancestors had held for centuries, I’d be upset and want them
gone
.”

Raleigh stared after the Indians, as if taking this in. “Surely the general knows what he’s doing.”

I hope so
.

Spotted Tail was talking with General Cain, making arm gestures to include his braves and . . . eating?

“Oh no,” Hudson said. “They’re wanting food.”

Sure enough, the general ordered the cook to set out a meal.

This was getting out of hand.

But General Cain asked a few of the railroad men to eat a meal with the Indians—Hudson included.

When they sat around the tables in the dining car, the Indians tried to pick up the plates but found they were nailed to the table. Yes, it
was
odd, but necessary. Otherwise the jostling of the train would bounce them all over the place.

Food was served. Immediately, the braves ate it with their eyes. But they hesitated and looked to Spotted Tail. He, too, held back. Did they think it was poisoned?

General Cain filled his plate then passed the bowl around. “Eat,” he said.

The rest of the workers did just that, and as soon as they did, the Indians dug in, shoveling food into their mouths with their fingers.

Hudson felt sorry for them. It was clear they hadn’t eaten in a long time. No one spoke, which was fine with him. The sooner they were done eating, the sooner they’d be gone.

When the serving bowls were empty, the braves picked them up and swiped the last bits with their fingers.

Spotted Tail stepped over a bench. He said something to the translator, who told the general, “He says you are to fill our horses with sacks of flour and quarters of beef.”

The general also stood and freed himself of the confines of the bench. “No. We let you eat with us here, but you can’t carry any food away with you.”

Spotted Tail let off a long discourse, his brow stern. The translator said, “If you don’t give us what we want, we will come at night with three thousand warriors and clean you out.”

The general’s chest heaved and Hudson held his breath. “Tell Spotted Tail exactly what I say.” Then he put his doubled fist against Spotted Tail’s nose and let out a string of oaths such as Hudson had never heard.

Spotted Tail didn’t answer but quickly led his band to their horses. They rode away.

“Will they be back?” Hudson asked the general.

He stared after them. “Double the night patrol.”

“Yes, sir.”

Time would tell whether the Indians would come back—as friend
or
foe.

Dowd entered the parlor carrying a silver salver. “The mail, Mrs. Cain.”

“Set it down. I shall look at it later.”

Dowd did as he was told, but said, “There is a letter for you, Miss Josephine.”

She popped out of her chair and retrieved it. “It’s from Papa!” She broke open the seal and began to read, “‘
Dearest Josephine and family. I
—’”

Mother lifted her hand. “Please do not read it aloud. You may inform us if there is anything of interest after you have read it through silently.”

Josephine stared at her mother.
It is
all
of interest
. But she read it to herself, voicing the highlights. “Papa had Indians visit the train!”

Aunt Bernice made use of her fan. “Indians!”

“They were friendly,” Josephine said, realizing she should have made that clear. “They just wanted to have a tour. Papa had a meal with them.”

“He’s lucky
he
wasn’t the meal,” Mother said.

“Indians don’t eat people.”

“Then why are they called ‘savages’?”

Josephine went back to the letter. Her heart began to beat wildly—and not for more mention of Indians. “Papa has invited all of us to come west for a huge celebration they are having when they reach the one-hundredth meridian!”

“Median?” Aunt asked.

“Meridian.” Josephine found the explanation in the letter. “‘It is a point of longitude measured from Greenwich, England.’”

“England?” Mother asked. “I thought they were in Nebraska.”

Josephine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “They are. It is only a measurement, a milestone.” She consulted the letter. “It is two hundred forty-seven miles west of Omaha.”

“I thought they passed the hundred-mile mark,” Mother said.

So she
had
been paying attention to Papa’s letters. “One hundred miles is not the same as the hundredth meridian. And they will not reach it until October, when they will host a grand celebration.”

Mother gave her head a little shake. “I do not care when it happens. We shall not be going.”

Josephine was stunned. “Of course we shall! We must go.” She shook the letter. “Papa says Dr. Durant, the head of the Union Pacific, is leading a promotional excursion. Three hundred invitations have been sent out, and we three have one of them. It is an honor.”

“An honor to be put in harm’s way? Did he not just mention Indians?”

Josephine wondered what Papa had been thinking, putting mention of Indians in the same letter as the invitation. And why had
she
read that part aloud? “We would not be alone. Hundreds of people will be going west. Hundreds of dignitaries. They would not let us come if it was not safe.”

Mother’s head began its slow back-and-forth. “We are not going.”

“But—”

“Go see if lunch is ready.”

Josephine was incredulous. “You think about lunch when we have just been offered the most thrilling excursion of our lives? And we would see Papa! Don’t you want to see your own husband?”

Mother’s face reddened, and Josephine knew she had gone too far. “Lunch, Josephine. And not another word about the excursion.”

She turned on her heel. “I’m not hungry.” Then she ran upstairs, slammed her bedroom door, and flung herself on her bed.

She knew it was childish, but she couldn’t help herself. The chance to see Papa! The chance to see the West!

Frieda came in to check on the commotion. “What’s wrong, Liebchen?”

Josephine sat up and told her. “I have to go see Papa. I have to!”

Frieda smoothed a stray strand of hair, tucking it behind Josephine’s ear. “There is not much you can do if your mother says no. Take solace in the fact Lewis is here to provide you some diversion.”

Josephine drew in a breath and held it as an idea formed. “Lewis! He could take me!”

“Your mother will not allow you to travel across the country with a man who is not your husband.”

True
. But then she thought of the solution. “You can come with us! Papa invited me, Mother, and Aunt Bernice. Three people. And three people can accept: you, me, and Lewis.”

Frieda put a hand to her chest. “Me? See the Wild West?”

“Why not? You are Papa’s cousin. Your family and Papa’s came over from Ireland when you both were young. That was a much longer voyage than an expedition to Nebraska.”

Frieda sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. “We did, didn’t we?”

Josephine saw her chance and sat beside her. “See? You have adventure in your blood. The itch to see new worlds . . .”