The Journey of Josephine Cain (35 page)

“Because . . . ?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

She looked into the fire, then at him. Both were full of comfort and warmth, flicker and flame. But as her gaze included the rest of the room—the room she’d known all her life—she acknowledged what was wrong.

“I am home here,” she said, clasping the armrests of the chair. “But not here.” She crossed her hands over her heart.

He placed his hand on his own heart and nodded.

Suddenly she began to cry. He hurried to kneel beside her, taking her into his arms. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said amid her tears. “I don’t know what I should do.”

He stroked her hair and whispered. “You will. We will.”

She pulled back in order to see his face. “We will?”

He stood and drew her up beside him. “But not tonight. Let’s go check on Nelly and get some sleep.”

With a gasp she realized she hadn’t even shown him his bedroom. “I am so sorry. You’re probably dead on your feet, and I didn’t even show you where you’ll be staying.”

“I know where I’ll be staying,” he said as he led her to the staircase.

When she gave him a questioning look, he paused and put his hand upon her heart.

His touch was barely there, yet she felt as warm as if he’d wrapped her in his arms.

Too soon he pulled his hand, away and they walked upstairs.

Josephine quietly opened the door to the yellow guestroom. Nelly was curled in a ball, looking tiny in the wide bed with the congregation of pillows and cushy covers looming around her. Josephine’s childhood dresses were strewn on the chairs and window seat. Frieda must have gotten them out for Nelly to try on. Josephine felt bad for not thinking of it herself.

She adjusted a down coverlet over the little girl’s shoulder. The poor thing. To be brought into the house and sent away like something offensive or inconsequential.

I should have insisted you stay in the parlor to talk. I should have insisted you eat dinner with us
.

But it had been easier to let Mother shoo her away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Josephine stroked her hair. “Tomorrow I will do better.”

Nelly opened her eyes and touched Josephine’s hand. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Tomorrow can I come downstairs?”

Josephine wanted to cry. “Absolutely. And we’ll do something fun.”

“Really?”

Josephine kissed her good night.

Really.

Hudson lay in bed, his hands clasped behind his head. He stared at the window, at the moonlight that bent and curved over the window seat and floor and foot of his bed.

He held his fingers in front of his face. He could still feel the beat of Josie’s heart . . .

Then he abruptly made a fist. What was he doing? What were
they
doing?

The trip from Cheyenne to Washington had been like a dream. Each moment he’d spent with Josie was painted with exquisite detail in his memories, a masterpiece to enjoy for all time.

Yet this place was not for him. It wasn’t for Josie either, but he knew it would be difficult for her to completely let it go.

She
had
spoken fondly of the sunsets they’d shared.

But Hudson didn’t create the sunsets. They were God’s doing, not his own. That he’d had the great privilege of sharing them with a girl like Josephine Cain was a gift he cherished, another portrait for his mental gallery. But that didn’t mean they had a future together.

She’s not bound to Lewis anymore
.

But you’re all but promised to Sarah Ann
.

Josie had a position in high society. Hudson’s family worked in a cotton mill and belonged to the invisible working class. To find a future with each other would require that some very high walls be breached—or torn down. Either way there would be a battle. And casualties. Victory would come at a price.

He turned on his side and forced his eyes to close.

Josie’s image met him there in the dark.

A woman worth any price.

Josephine sat at the dressing table so Frieda could arrange her hair. The tug of the brush was more forceful than usual, so Josephine stopped it with a hand and turned on the bench to face her. “Please tell me what’s wrong before I end up bald.”

Frieda smacked the brush against her palm. More than once. Then she said, “I know I’ve always taken on the role of governess, and I don’t mind taking care of Nelly. What I object to is your ignoring her all last evening.”

“I know,” Josephine said. “I was wrong.”

Frieda looked surprised at the confession, but she still had more to say. “Nelly is not a piece of luggage to be unpacked and set aside.”

“I know that too. I have already made amends and promised her we would do something fun today.”

“You did? When?”

“Last night before I went to bed.”

“Oh. Well then.”

Since they were on the subject . . . “Yesterday I was so overwhelmed, dealing with Mother’s rudeness and the tension of being home.”

“What did she say about Nelly? What did you say?” Frieda leaned close. “Did you tell her where she’d been living?”

“We simply said she was an orphan.”

Frieda sighed. “Good.”

“For now, at least.”

Frieda made a turn-around motion, and Josephine returned to her place, facing the mirror. “So where are you two taking her today?”

“We two?”

Frieda pointed the brush at Josephine’s reflection. “Hudson isn’t a piece of luggage either.”

No, indeed, he was not.

“I thought I would show them some of the city.”

“That takes care of today, but what about tomorrow and the next day? What are you going to do with her? And him?”

“Hudson will be wanting to head back. His assignment is complete.”

“This was not just an assignment for him. That’s clear to anyone with eyes and ears.”

There was no use denying it. “Nelly and Hudson. What
am
I supposed to do with them?”

“Perhaps you should ask them what
they
would like to do.”

That
was
an option. And yet, “What if I don’t like their answers?”

Frieda raised her hands and gazed toward heaven. “God? Are You listening to this? Make sure these three very confused people do what’s right, for everyone’s sake. And Yours.”

Amen.

They sat at the breakfast table, waiting. Josephine saw Nelly eyeing the scones. The smell of eggs and bacon coming from the chafing dishes on the buffet was intoxicating.

“Do you think Mother’s coming down?” Josephine asked Aunt Bernice.

Aunt glanced toward the stairs. “You know she rarely misses a meal . . . except if she decides to be indisposed.”

“Decides to be?” Hudson asked.

“She has frequent . . . ailments.”

“Has a doctor been called?”

“They see nothing wrong.” Aunt leaned toward him and whispered, “I think she gets bored.”

“So is she
bored
this morning?” Josephine asked. “The food is getting cold.”

Aunt nodded, then lifted her arm. “Dowd, please serve. And start with Miss Nelly.”

“What is this?” Nelly asked, holding up the hoop and the stick.

“It is a game my brother and cousin used to play,” Josephine said. She tried to demonstrate on the marble floor in the foyer. “You balance the metal hoop upright, then roll it forward with the stick.” She tried to do it, but the hoop fell to the floor with a rattle.

“Here,” Hudson said. “Let’s go outside, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“So you are an expert?”

He smiled at her. “I believe I am.”

“This, I must see.” She followed them outside, where Hudson soon had the hoop rolling down the walk at a tremendous speed. Nelly ran beside him, her long hair flying, her laughter returning with the breeze.

It was quite a sight seeing the little girl in one of Josephine’s childhood dresses, running alongside the grown man wearing a rawhide vest and Stetson, in upscale Washington. A well-dressed couple was forced to step out of the way. When they approached, Josephine nodded. “Good morning.”

They responded politely, but as soon as they passed, Josephine ran in the direction of the fun. By the time she caught up, Nelly was taking her own try at it—quite successfully. “Stop at the end of the street!” Josephine called after her.

“She’s a quick study,” Hudson said, a bit out of breath.

“You are a good teacher. Did you and your brothers play this often?”

“Not often enough. We didn’t have much free time as we worked in the cotton mill for twelve hours a day, six days a week.” He held up a hand, his fingers splayed. “Believe it or not, these fingers used to be small enough to fit into the small crannies of the weaving machines to fix them. Me and my best friend, Andrew Carnegie, nearly got them cut off a few times, but—”

“You worked in a factory as a child?”

“I started out when I was only seven. Andrew and I were bobbin boys for a dollar a month.”

Josephine thought about the dollars she spent on trinkets without a second thought.

“There was a gentleman in town, Colonel Anderson, who owned hundreds of books. But on Sundays, he let us boys borrow them. We lived for Sundays.”

“And your family still works at the mill?”

“My father worked his way to supervisor. My brother Ezra works there too. And Sarah Ann’s been a spinner for years.”

They shared an awkward silence. Then Hudson looked down the street, toward Nelly. “We’d best catch up with her. I have more I can teach her.”

And me
.