The Journey of Josephine Cain (20 page)

Frank looked up at him, pad and pencil in hand. “Where’s it going to? And to whom?”

“Allegheny City, Pennsylvania. To Sarah Ann Daugherty.”

“Keep it short. That’s the key.”

Short. Short was good.

His first inclination was to send: I love you. But somehow, those intimate words sent across the country, over some wire-whatnot . . . it just didn’t seem right.

And you aren’t sure the words are true, either
.

“Come on, man,” Frank said. “I have work to do.”

“Just write, ‘I miss you. Hudson.’”

“That certainly is short.”

“Too short? Because I—”

But Frank had already tapped out the message. “All done.”

Yes then. All done.

Hudson helped himself to the mashed potatoes, then handed the bowl across the table to Raleigh. He wasn’t sure he should say anything to his brother, because if he did, he’d get teased, yet if he didn’t—

Suddenly, he heard himself saying, “She’s coming.”

Raleigh’s helping was twice the size of Hudson’s. He passed the bowl to the next boarder. “Who’s coming?”

Hudson regretted starting this, but he couldn’t stop now. “You’ll never guess.”

“Pass the gravy.” Raleigh poured two ladles full on the moat of his potatoes, and another over his meat. Only then did he look at Hudson. “Surely not Sarah Ann.”

Surely not.

“Josephine Cain. The general’s—”

“I know who she is.” He took a bite of potatoes, breaking the levee, allowing the gravy loose. “Why is this any business of yours?”

“It isn’t. I was just—”

Raleigh pointed his fork at him. “You’re
just
getting yourself into a heap of trouble.”

“What trouble? I was stating a fact, a bit of news.”

“Yeah, she’s some bit-of-news, all right. A five-foot-nothing, perky, freckle-faced bit-of-news.”

Hudson wasn’t sure how to respond. To get defensive would just egg his brother on. “I simply enjoyed talking to her.”

Raleigh leaned close across the table. “Are you sure that’s all you did?”

“Are you accusing me of being disloyal to Sarah Ann?”

Raleigh backed off. “I’m just saying. You told me about showing her the sunset. Sounds romantic, that’s all.”

It
was
romantic.

“I think she could be a convert to the West.”

“Is that your goal? Converting her to liking . . .” He swung his fork around the cramped dining room. “The grand life of the Wild West?”

“There’s more to the West than what we’ve had to endure this winter.” It was Hudson’s turn to point his fork, and he pointed it toward the western point of the compass. “There
is
something grand about what’s out there, beyond
here.”

Raleigh went back to his roast, dragging a piece through the potatoes. “The trouble is, neither you or me know if
beyond
here is better than
here
. You’re thinking it’s heaven, but it could be hell.”

It could be. “The thing that intrigues me the most is that we’re getting a chance to find that heaven.”

“Even if you have to travel through hell to get there?”

It was complicated. This life wasn’t easy. Heading through the Wyoming Territory, water would be scarce, the terrain a challenge, and the days interminably long. The months ahead were totally unknown, with only one guarantee: the work was going to be grueling, as bridges and tunnels would have to be built. Yet Hudson felt a spark in his stomach, as though something was burning there, just waiting for the right time to fire up.

“Now you’re not so sure about that heaven, are you?” his brother asked.

“I am sure. Just because I can’t articulate it—”

“Ar-tic-u-late.” Raleigh laughed. “I’m guaranteeing that no one in this entire town can ar-tic-u-late much of anything.” He turned to the room. “Right, men?”

Grumbles all around. No one was listening.

Was anyone feeling what he felt? Or were they just going through the motions, doing the work, waiting for a paycheck so they could blow it at a saloon or Miss Mandy’s?

Some words came to him. “‘Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.’”

Raleigh dug a piece of meat out of his teeth. “Race? Yeah, there
is
a race between the two railroads. But is it
our
race, Hud? Or are we merely pawns in someone else’s chess game?”

There had to be more to it than that. He felt it deep inside.

He also felt that somehow Josephine Cain was part of it. Not romantically—she was coming out here with her fiancé—but somehow she was the key to . . . to . . .

The heaven that lay ahead?

It did no good to speculate. God’s ways were unfathomable. And talking about any of this to Raleigh or anyone else was not the way to go.

But that didn’t mean he would stop thinking about it.

Cousin Frieda stood before Josephine, her hands on her hips. “Did you ever consider asking me if I wanted to go? Did you, girl?”

Josephine didn’t have time for this. She’d asked Dowd to bring her trunk down from the attic and was already busy packing. “When Mother first said I couldn’t go, I had to think of something. And so I reminded her that you would be going with me. And it worked, because she agreed.”

“
She
agreed,
she
agreed,” Frieda said, pacing back and forth. “I don’t want to go west again. I don’t want to sleep in a tent and worry about Indians and wild animals and, and . . . and whatever other dangers they have out there now. You used me to get your way.”

Josephine stopped folding her nightgowns. Frieda was right. “Yes, I did. And I apologize.”

Frieda stopped her pacing and took the nightgowns from her, refolding them
her
way. “At least you admit it.”

Josephine ran a hand along her back. “It’s just that with Lewis going, and Papa saying yes, I couldn’t
not
go.”

Frieda’s face softened. “You couldn’t
not
go. But . . .”

“But what?”

She looked at Josephine, then away. “I was just wondering if there was someone else involved in your desire to go west.”

Her stomach clenched. “Someone else?”

“Don’t act coy with me.”

Josephine was about to deny everything, but just as Frieda knew
her
, she knew Frieda would never give up until she admitted it.

“If you are talking about Hudson Maguire, then—”

Frieda touched the tip of her nose. “He’s the one.”

She busied herself by going through her jewelry box. There would certainly be no need for much jewelry except for a few ear bobs. “I admit
it will be nice to see Mr. Maguire—if he is still there. Papa has written that worker turnover is a huge problem.”

“Oh, he’ll be there,” Frieda said.

Really? “How do you know?”

She shrugged, then said, “’Tis the way God does things.”

“What has God got to do with this?”

“The Almighty is very adept at getting people to the right place at the right time.”

It was an intriguing thought. “But Mr. Maguire is not the
right
people. He is simply a man I met in Nebraska.”

“Who showed you the sunset.”

“A sunset. He showed me
a
sunset.” But she mentally corrected herself. There was no denying it was
the
sunset. “And I am engaged. I am planning my wedding. To Lewis.”

“Planning a wedding is not the same as being married.”

No, it wasn’t. But Josephine defended herself. “I thought you liked Lewis. I thought you wanted us to marry.”

Frieda took the bracelet Lewis had given her out of the jewelry box and pressed it into Josephine’s hand.

“Of course. I was planning to bring this.”

Frieda sighed. “I do like Lewis, and I do approve of your upcoming marriage. Yet underneath this plump body and wrinkled face, I’m also a romantic at heart. I saw Hudson Maguire looking at you, and I saw you looking at him, and . . . well . . .”

Josephine wanted to hear more. How had Hudson looked at her? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Deny it all you want, but a spark flashed between you two. A big one.”

I know. I felt it
.

“I didn’t think any more about it because you came home and he stayed out there. Some sparks die. But others . . .”

“Others?”

“Smolder, ready to flame again if circumstances allow.”

Circumstances like my going out west again
.

“Enough of such talk,” Josephine said. “I am engaged to a wonderful man, a budding artist. Besides, Papa
and
Mother approve of the match. And they would never approve of Mr. Maguire, an Irish spiker from who-knows-where.”

“Pennsylvania. You told me he was from Pennsylvania. And you’re Irish too.”

The memories of Hudson rushed back.

“Enough talk. We have packing to do.”

Luckily, Josephine was adept at doing two things at once.

Mother did not come to the train station, suffering another bout of avoidance of all things that took effort. Or were her episodes of illness caused by the need for attention, or simply boredom? Josephine supposed it was a little of each.

And so once again, Josephine, Lewis, and Frieda left Washington with no one to see them off.

They watched as the porter loaded their trunks. “It’s thrilling to visit Nebraska just weeks after its statehood.”

“I doubt much has changed,” Lewis said, slipping their tickets in the inner pocket of his coat. “And if passing through Nebraska isn’t wild enough, we shall be slipping into Colorado before we end up in Wyoming. Neither of those are states yet.”

“I am not looking for anything wild,” she said, “just interesting.”

“You may get both.” He took her arm. “Come now. Let’s board. We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“But since we have done it before, it should be easier this second time.”

He shook his head and checked the number of the car before entering. “Should be, but probably won’t be. The first time we had General Dodge and all the others taking care of things for us. This time we’re on our own.”

She squeezed his arm. “You will take care of us and keep us safe, won’t you?”

“I’ll do my best.” He looked for Frieda. “Mrs. Schultz? You first.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Frieda said. With one step to go, she turned back to them. “Do you think they’ll have those delicious teacakes aboard like last time?”

“I don’t think so,” Josephine said.

“We’re on our own,” Lewis repeated.

He did not sound confident.

Eating was always a production. This trip was
not
like the one on the meridian train at all, with wonderful railcars fitted out with a chef and a dining car. Traveling west this time meant meals had to be found in the depots—quickly. With the mass of passengers disembarking for food and the sanitary facilities, one had to move fast, choose with little consideration to appetite, and eat almost without chewing.

In Chicago the lines were monumental, forcing them to take their food with them and eat on the way back to the train. Josephine ate a sandwich as they walked. The crumbs rained down on her skirt. “I am making a mess,” she said.

“We could wait until we get back to the car,” Lewis said.