The Journey of Josephine Cain (39 page)

Ezra put his arm around her shoulders. “Sarah Ann and I fell in love and got married. We’re expecting a baby in the fall.”

Hudson felt as though his breath had been knocked out of him. “But . . .”

Finally, Sarah Ann met his eyes. “I know I said I’d wait for you, but then you stayed away so long, and . . . well . . .” She looked up at Ezra.

Hudson expected to be angry. But he wasn’t.

He was thankful.

He offered his brother his hand. “Congratulations.”

Relief washed over Ezra’s face. “You’re not upset?”

“Not so long as you’re both happy.”

Sarah Ann took a tentative step forward, then kissed Hudson’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Mum whooshed out her breath, her relief palpable. Then she picked up the spoon and stirred the pot. “Now that be settled, let’s eat.”

What now?

After Sarah Ann and Ezra left for their apartment, after Da and Mum went to bed, Hudson was left alone in the main room, the room he used to share each night with three brothers.

John was dead.

Ezra was married.

And Raleigh was out west laying track.

Sarah Ann—the girl he had planned to marry—was married and expecting a child.

And Josie, the woman he . . .

Loved?

She was unavailable. Her mother had made that perfectly clear.

So now what?

Hudson turned on his side and closed his eyes.

God? What should I do?

“I will take six of those brushes with the matching mirrors, ten regular combs, and . . .” Josephine looked at the selection of decorative combs for dressing hair. “And four sets of these.”

The clerk at Hanson Mercantile was nearly giddy writing down the order, while two other clerks scurried around gathering the items as they were purchased.

“What about these?” Nelly asked as she ran her fingers through the lengths of ribbon that hung from spools on a rod.

“Perfect,” Josephine said. “We will take the ribbon.”

“Which colors?” the clerk asked.

“All of them.”

My, this was fun.

They walked back home, with Nelly racing ahead with her hoop and stick. The clerk at Hanson Mercantile assured them the goods would be delivered within the hour.

“You spent a lot of money,” Frieda said. “Are you sure it will be all right with your mother?”

“No, but it will be all right with Papa.”

“But your father doesn’t know about your idea. Maybe you should have sent him a letter or telegram.”

She probably should have, yet that would have taken time, and Josephine didn’t have time to waste. She wanted to purchase the goods and board the train heading west in the span of a few days.

“What are you going to tell your mother when everything arrives?”

Josephine hesitated, for she knew a confrontation was inevitable. “It will come to me.”

She hoped.

Aunt Bernice was waiting for them when they arrived home. She’d found some toys for Nelly that had been her son’s. “You try to flip the ball into the cup, like this.” With difficulty, Aunt accomplished the task, though she lunged forward to do it, nearly knocking over an urn.

Suddenly, Aunt stopped the playing and looked toward the stairs. “Lizzie!”

Mother was being helped downstairs by Audrey. Aunt swept toward her, full of solicitude. “I am so glad you are finally up, sister. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Mother said, as she crossed the parlor to her chair. “No one came to visit me this morning, so I had to come downstairs to see if you had all abandoned me.”

Josephine stepped forward to take her scolding. “I’m sorry. We had some errands to do, and—” She heard a wagon stop on the street out front and turned toward the window.

Nelly ran to see. “It’s here!”

“What’s here?” Mother asked.

Aunt moved beside Nelly, pulling the curtain aside. “A Hanson Mercantile wagon? Josephine, what have you been up to?”

Josephine stood between them and said a quick prayer for the right words. “Frieda and Nelly and I are going back west to start a store catering to women’s needs. The goods being delivered are the inventory.”

Silence.

Aunt Bernice was the first to speak. “What is the name of the store?”

That
was her first concern? Josephine laughed. “I have no idea.”

“Nelly’s Store,” Nelly said.

“Not Nelly’s Store,” Josephine said.

Frieda shook her head. “I certainly don’t want my name on it.”

“Which leaves you, Josephine,” Aunt said. “Josephine’s Dry Goods?”

“Emporium,” Frieda said.

It was a good word. “Josie’s Emporium.”

For the first time, Mother spoke. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t think she is ridiculous,” Aunt said. “I think it is a splendid idea, and a splendid name.” She moved to the foyer where Dowd was accosting the deliverymen.

He looked very confused. “Where should I have them put all this, Miss Josephine?”

Good question. “Perhaps in the dining room? It won’t be there long. We will be leaving in a day or so.”

“Leaving?” Mother asked.

Hadn’t she heard anything? “Going back west. To start a—”

“What does Lewis think about this? Does he approve of a working wife?”

“Lewis is not the man you think he is, Mother.”

“What does that mean?”

It was time she knew he truth. “He has shown himself to have . . .” How could she put it? “Less character than we thought.”

“Oh, I see what is going on,” Mother said, nodding. “If you think your father and I will allow you to marry that other man, you are wrong.”

“If you are speaking of Mr. Maguire, the man
you
sent away . . . you should not disparage him in any way, because you don’t know him. Nor do you have the right to tell me I can’t marry him.”

“So you
are
planning to marry him?”

If only she knew . . . “At this moment, I am not planning to marry anyone.” Josephine couldn’t believe she had said that. Was that really her intent—to marry no one?

Mother pointed to her hand. “You are still wearing Lewis’s ring.”

Yes, she was. Then Josephine remembered the police chief’s odd reaction to it. Something wasn’t right about it, and in that moment, she knew she needed to find out what.

A deliveryman came forward, his hat in his hands. “All through, miss.”

Josephine asked Dowd, “Do you have something for their trouble?”

Dowd gave the men a few coins.

As the door closed, Mother laughed. “You lack a few coins to pay a
gratuity, yet you bought out the store? Where did you procure the money for all this?”

“Papa has given me an allowance for years.”

“That you have spent.”

“Occasionally, but I also saved.”
Some
. “Mr. Hanson agreed to sell on credit.”

“Cains do not buy on credit.”

This one does
. “I know I will be able to sell all these goods, and when I do, I will send Mr. Hanson what I owe him—and order more.”

Aunt Bernice unwrapped a bolt of blue fabric that was dotted with a dainty floral. “I can imagine women liking this piece.”

Mother walked a few steps toward it, then eyed it as if it were soiled. “It is nothing more than a simple cotton.”

“Women out west don’t need silk and velvet,” Josephine said. “Functional fabrics are best—but pretty fabrics.”

Aunt opened another bolt of a tan calico with red flowers. “This would make a nice camp dress.”

“What do you know of camp dresses?” Mother asked.

“I may prefer finer fabrics now, Lizzie, but you may remember George and I weren’t always wealthy. I have worn my share of simple dresses.” She rewrapped the bolt and turned to Josephine. “I don’t want you to worry about paying the bill, Josephine. I will be happy to see it paid.”

“Bernice!”

“I have the money, Lizzie. And what good is it doing me just sitting in the bank? The world is changing, and I want to be a part of it. I am keen on Josephine’s store and want to be its first investor.”

Josephine was stunned—and moved. She embraced her aunt and whispered in her ear, “You are marvelous.”

Aunt whispered back, “So are you.”

Never would Josephine have expected Aunt Bernice to be an encourager or a supporter. Since William’s and Thomas’s deaths, Josephine had always tossed her into the same box as her mother: disapproving, staid, and dour. The she-bears. To see Aunt so full of enthusiasm was an unexpected blessing.

Frieda found the box of jars and said, “Dowd, would you please take these to the kitchen for me? I have some face cream to cook up.”

“Face cream?” Aunt said.

“No one is going to spend money on Frieda’s face cream,” Mother said.

“I met some Mormon women who would love it.”

“Mormons? You met Mormons?”

Josephine sighed. “Yes indeed. I met all kinds of people you wouldn’t approve of. Mormons, Indians, ex-slaves, Confederate soldiers, gamblers, prosti—” She stopped and looked at Nelly.

Unfortunately, Mother perked up. “You were saying ‘prostitutes,’ and then you look at the girl?”

Josephine kicked herself. To have kept the secret so long, only to let it out when they were on the verge of leaving . . . But since they were leaving, what did it matter?

“I took Nelly away from a brothel where she was working.”

Mother gasped. “She was a prostitute?”

“Yes,” Josephine said.

“No,” Nelly said with a shake to her head.

Josephine whipped toward the girl. “No?”

“Oh no. I weren’t one of them. I just did their laundry and washed the dishes.”

Josephine ran to her, grabbing hold of her upper arms. “Really? That’s all?”

Nelly was clearly taken aback. “I guess I scrubbed the floors too.” Then her eyes grew large. “You thought that I . . .” She shook her head. “No, no. The ladies would never make me do any of . . . that.”

Josephine pulled her close, her relief palpable. “Thank You, sweet Jesus! The thought of Nelly . . .” She couldn’t put it into words—and luckily, there was no need.

Mother strode toward them. “You said you were an orphan.”

“I am. I was living on the streets when the ladies took me in.”

“This is . . .” Mother looked toward Audrey. “I am not feeling well. Help me upstairs.”

After she left, Josephine wasn’t feeling very well herself. “I shocked my mother. On purpose.”

Aunt looked through another crate of goods. “Perhaps she needs a little shocking.”

Josephine couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Aunt looked up and swatted the air. “Oh stop your worrying. She will be all right. Come show me what you bought for Josie’s Emporium.”

Josie’s Emporium. She had to focus on that.

Hudson heard his parents stirring, getting ready for another day.

After spending four days at home, fixing every broken item in their apartment—including some fixits done for the neighbors—and listening to their talk of work at the mill, he was more than ready for the day. For during the night, he’d made a decision.

He folded his clothes into his saddlebag and buckled it shut. Then he waited for his parents to come out.

Mum came first, tying her apron. She blinked when she saw him. “Best of the morning to you, boyo. You be awake early. I know we
have
to be up, but you . . .”

“I have to be up too. I have a train to catch.”

She sighed a mother’s sigh and took his face in her hands. “You could stay.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t. I can’t.”

“How long you be west this time?”

He hesitated, then said, “As long as it takes for God to show me His plan.”

“Be we part of that plan?”

He noticed the sunburst of wrinkles around her eyes that made her look old. Yet her eyes were still full of life and vigor. “You will always be a part of the plan, and a part of me, and maybe . . . would you ever like to move west and start over?”

He expected her to say no, or to laugh at the notion. Instead, she said, “Perhaps.” Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, and he held her close.

Actually, he hated telling his mother a half truth. But it couldn’t be helped. He
was
going out west again.