The Journey of Josephine Cain (23 page)

She gave him a smile. “Somehow it doesn’t seem appropriate to pair the talk of hope with a grave.”

“It’s very appropriate. For the opposite of hope is apathy and despair.”

Perhaps he had a point. She changed the subject. “Do you think the man who was shot today will be all right?”

“Until the next time.”

She was taken aback. “You are implying he’ll be shot again?”

“If he takes risks by gambling with crooks, yes. If they win, they get shot. If they lose, they shoot. And if they cheat . . . you saw the results of that.” He pointed west. “There are enough risks ahead of us that we can’t control. I don’t choose to risk death when I don’t have to.”

“You sound very wise, Mr. Maguire.”

He shrugged, then pointed to the sky in front of them. “Look. Another day is done.”

The last sliver of the sun fell beneath the earth. Rays of pink and blue shot upward, marking the sun’s passing with fanfare.

“You should get back to the train. It’s not safe out here at night.”

“But I feel very safe with you.” She immediately realized how presumptuous and intimate that sounded. “Yes, I should get back.”

He led her to the platform of her railcar. “Good night, Miss Cain. I hope I will see you tomorrow.”

“That would be nice.”

Once she got inside, Frieda was in her bulwark position, staring at her. “Off with Mr. Maguire? In the dark?”

“I took a short walk and he . . .”
Found me? Sought me out?

“Joined you?”

“Yes.” That was a good word. A safer word.

“What are you doing, Liebchen?”

Josephine tossed her shawl on the sofa. “I am not
doing
anything.”

“But you’re thinking about it.”

Yes. Yes, she was.

Raleigh yawned and put on his shirt. “For your information, the early bird does not get the worm.”

Hudson shrugged on his coat, then grabbed his hat. “Are you sure about that?”

“Honestly, Hud. What’s up?”

“I simply have an idea of how to spend my time today.”

Raleigh’s eyebrows rose. “Does it involve a certain daughter of a general, whom you have no right to see because you’re virtually engaged to Sarah Ann?”

Yes, there was that.

“What are you doing?” Raleigh asked as he skipped a button and had to start over. “You come back here last night, all puffed up like a kid with his first whisker. That girl has riled you but good.”

He didn’t want to answer, yet maybe it would be good to hear it from his own mouth. “She’s earned my interest. I can’t deny it.”

Raleigh yanked him hard and pushed him onto the bed. “What about Sarah Ann?”

“She hasn’t been writing to me.”

“That you know of.”

True. Yet best to get down to it. “Being apart like this for months and months, if not years . . . I’m not having the same feelings for her that I had before.”

“So the first woman who comes along grabs your attention and makes you forget a girl back home? A girl you made promises to?”

“Miss Cain is not just any woman. She’s . . . special.”

Raleigh finished buttoning his shirt. “They’re all special. At first.”

Not all. As the older brother, Hudson had more experience with women—though not
that
much—and he’d met quite a few who weren’t special enough to make him want to share more than a
hello
.

But Josephine Cain
was
different. She had interesting thoughts and opinions. Not that most women didn’t own both, but he’d never met a woman who was so open to sharing what she was thinking and feeling. Good or bad. It was refreshing.

So much so, that when he’d awakened this morning, he’d known that he had to arrange to see her today—or at least try.

“I gotta go. Wish me luck.”

Raleigh shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that.”

Hudson knew he was being presumptuous, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. . . .

General Cain looked up from his desk. “Yes, Mr. Maguire?”

“I was wondering, since your daughter and Mrs. Schultz are here, if you’d like me to . . . I don’t mean to get out of work that needs to be done, but I just thought—”

The general’s eyes revealed his understanding. “You’re offering to entertain them?”

“Yes, sir. Because I know you’re very busy.”

The general waved his hands over the stacks of paper on his desk. “That I am.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. “I left the ladies finishing up their breakfast in the railcar. Keep them occupied and happy.” His face clouded. “But also keep them away from the seedier factions of Cheyenne. Once seen is enough.”

“Will do, sir.”

Josephine and Frieda finished breakfast. Papa had joined them for a cup of coffee, then left to go to work.

She had no idea where Lewis was.

Or Hudson.

“Now what?” Frieda asked.

Josephine had thought about it. “Now, I want to go watch the preparations for the train heading west. Papa said they were loading carloads of supplies that have been accumulated all winter.”

“You can’t go out alone.”

Actually, she
could
, but she said, “I assumed you would come with me. Surely you’re not going to stay in here all day.” She stood, grabbing her shawl. “Let’s go. The day’s a’wasting.”

“Wherever did you hear that awful saying?” Frieda asked, shoving the last corner of toast in her mouth.

Josephine ignored the question, picked up a royal-blue hat that matched her dress, then hesitated. “I feel rather haughty wearing a hat like this. Out here.”

“You’re not haughty, you’re showing yourself to be a lady of bearing and breeding. I insist you wear the hat.”

Josephine plopped it on her head, stabbing the hatpin in place.

“And take your parasol. I will not have you get more freckled, or heaven forbid, tanned.”

She fingered the lace around its edge. “
I
did not pack this.”

“
I
did.”

“But it’s utterly ridiculous. I’m here to see Papa and the men at work, not to go for an outing in the park.”

Frieda set her feet with a quick
plop-plop
and stood. “I won’t go with you unless you’re properly attired.”

Josephine knew the battle was lost. She waited for Frieda to put on her own hat, and they exited the train. She popped the parasol open against the morning sun.

But then she saw the sun glimmer off some water a short distance to the south. Judging by the string of trees, it looked to be a stream. The whole setting seemed so peaceful. She headed toward it.

“Where are you going?” Frieda asked as she hurried to catch up.

Josephine pointed ahead. “Just a little detour. Isn’t that idyllic?”

“It’s just a stream.”

She stopped and flashed Frieda a look. “And when was the last time I saw a stream?”

Frieda hesitated. “Never?”

“I am through with the nevers in my life. I am here, the stream is inviting, and so, we are going.” She set out again.

“You are the most headstrong—”

“Yes, I am.”

The stream was edged by scrub trees, lying low in order to survive the harsh weather. The path of the brook meandered west, varying from narrow enough to wade across to formidable.

“There,” Frieda said, glancing back toward the train and civilization. “Now you’ve seen it. We’d better get back to—”

Josephine heard a baby cry.

She whipped toward the sound and saw an Indian woman bent over her child, who was lying on the ground as if it had fallen.

The woman saw them and grabbed the toddler into her arms. She eyed Josephine, then Frieda.

Frieda ran back a few steps. “Josephine! Come! Run away.”

Josephine shook her head, then smiled at the woman. “Don’t be afraid.” She held out a hand to show it was empty. But her other hand was gripping the opened parasol, so she lowered it.

The woman bounced her baby to comfort it, and Josephine was struck by the universal gesture of all mothers and their children. She stepped closer.

“Josephine, no!” hissed Frieda.

Josephine, yes. Go to her
.

As she slowly walked toward the woman and child, Josephine became aware of the tassel on the handle of her parasol. She slowly unwound its string and held it free. “Maybe your baby would like this?”

The woman eyed the tassel, then Josephine’s face, then the tassel again. When it seemed as though she wasn’t going to flee, Josephine smiled at the baby, who must have been a little over a year old. She held out the tassel. “See the pretty toy?”

The baby did see it and squirmed out of her mother’s arms,
insisting on being set down. Then the little one stood and stared at Josephine.

Josephine knelt down to her level. “Hello there, sweet baby.” The child’s gaze moved from Josephine’s face to the tassel. “Would you like this? You can have it.”

Both women watched as the baby toddled and teetered her way from mama to tassel. Her dark eyes were intent on the prize.

A dimpled hand reached out and got it. The baby smiled at Josephine. Then back at her mother.
See what I got?

Josephine smiled. And the mother smiled. And the baby sat on the ground between them shaking the tassel, making the fringe dance.

But then . . . a train whistle shrieked, and both women turned toward the track and the town.

The moment was ended.

“Josephine, come. We need to go,” Frieda whispered.

The woman scooped up her child and snatched the tassel from her, handing it back toward Josephine. But Josephine shook her head. “It’s yours now. A gift from me to you.”

The baby happily took it. Josephine made eye contact with the mother, nodded, and received a nod in return. Then the woman scurried away with the baby on her hip.

Josephine stood still a moment, stunned. Had the exchange really happened?

She looked in the direction that the woman had gone and saw nothing.

All that was left behind was a tassel-less parasol.

And the knowledge that the memory would never leave her.

As they walked along the length of the train, Josephine had never felt so out of place. She had felt more at ease with the Indian mother and child than among this throng of rough men. She was used to turning heads back in Washington—and had relished it. But here, with all these men from such different walks of life, from all parts of the country and the world . . .

She wished she wasn’t wearing one of her prettiest dresses: a royal-blue moiré with black trim on the shirred bodice, the cuffs, and along the pleated ruffle around the bottom. Her parasol was a peachy ivory with a black lace overlay. She felt for the tassel and found it gone, and immediately remembered that it now belonged to an Indian child.

Frieda whispered out of the side of her mouth, “You have admirers. Ignore them.”

Josephine looked down, avoiding the heat of hundreds of eyes as she picked her way along the muddy path. Some men removed their hats and bowed, some whistled their appreciation, some called out to her, others laughed, others chatted behind upraised hands, and others simply stared.

“Hey there, fancy lady,” one called out.

Josephine looked up and drew in a breath. Fancy lady? It could be taken as a compliment, but judging by the grins of the other men, she realized it might be otherwise. So she stopped walking, pulled her hand free of Frieda’s arm, and faced the men. “Who said that?” she asked. “Who called me a fancy lady?”