The Journey of Josephine Cain (45 page)

She was sitting on the floor, armed with a pencil and piece of paper.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

“I sent them to the hotel.” She flapped the paper in the air. “Look at this list of things we need to set up, and this list of more things we need to sell.” She pointed to the ceiling. “There’s not a stitch of furniture up there, so we’ll need beds first thing. Frieda is serious about making food to sell so we’ll need a stove of some sort.” She held out a hand, and
he helped her to her feet. “We have decided to put a counter over here with a small table and four chairs, just in case someone wants to eat a bite before they leave. I was thinking of changing the name to Josie’s Emporium and Café, but Frieda doesn’t like the sounds of that, just in case no one likes her food, and she doesn’t want to fully compete with Mr. Richter.” She finally took a breath. “What?”

He laughed, totally delighted by her enthusiasm. “It’s as though you were always meant to do this.”

She considered this a moment, then strode to the front window, looking out at the dark. Lamplight shone from down the street where the saloons’ business was just starting. “That is silly, of course, because there is no way I
should
be doing this, thousands of miles from home, in a wild place that has just decided to become a town.”

He put his arm around her waist. “You didn’t know, but God did.”

Her eyes glimmered in the lamplight. “Do you really think so? Do you really think this is part of His plan for me?”

He nodded.
For us
. But he kept those two words to himself until after he spoke with her father. “It feels right, doesn’t it?”

“Alarmingly so.”

“Feeling peace is a pretty good indication you’re on the right road.”

“Is it?”

“That’s the way I’ve always found it.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest. “I feel peace about us too.”

He wanted to propose right then, but he also wanted to do things right. So he only said, “Me too.”

She looked up at him, clearly wanting more.

In place of words, he gave her a smile.

And a silent promise.

When Josephine felt Aunt Bernice slip out of bed, she greedily spread her limbs into the empty space. The bed in the hotel was barely made for one, much less two.

Aunt groaned, and Josephine opened her eyes enough to see her press her hands against her lower back and arch it. “Not as comfy as our beds back home, is it?”

There was no need to answer, and Aunt moved to the window. She pulled back the width of fabric that sufficed for a curtain, drew up the sash, and stuck her head outside for some fresh air, looking right and then left.

And then she gasped. Her movements were quickly rewound. “Don’t look. You don’t want to look.”

Which, of course, made Josephine
have
to look.

She shouldn’t have.

Putting her head out the window and looking left, she saw a man hanging by his neck. Dead. Just half a block away.

“Is he a bad man, or a good one?” Aunt asked.

“Does it matter?” Josephine hurriedly put on her clothes. “We can’t let Nelly see him.”

Aunt nodded with sudden understanding. “How are we going to stop her?” she asked. “He is right . . . there.”

It would require a two-point attack. “Get dressed and go to Nelly and Frieda’s room. Keep them there. Above all, keep them away from the window.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get him taken down.”

Once dressed, Josephine went to the hotel’s front desk and looked for someone, anyone, in charge. She spotted a man sweeping the floor in a back room and marched toward him. “Sir?”

He looked up as though surprised anyone was up at this time of day. “Yes?”

Josephine pointed outside. “There is a dead man hanging outside.”

He nodded once. “That’s the Kid. Those of us on the vigilante committee strung him up around midnight.”

Why hadn’t she heard anything?
That was beside the point. “I have a child upstairs, and I do not want her exposed to such a sight. I want him taken down.”

He shrugged. “That’s not possible, miss. Not till he serves his purpose.”

“Which is?”

“To warn his friends to get out of Laramie or we’ll do the same to them.”

“But . . . but he looks so young.”

“That’s why he’s call the Kid.” He leaned on his broom. “Don’t have no sympathy for ’im. He and his cronies run the Bucket of Blood. They lure customers in, get ’em drunk, rob ’em, and kill ’em. They toss the bodies in a wagon and haul them outta town for the coyotes to eat.”

She shuddered. “That’s despicable.”

“Which is why the good men of Laramie are banding together to get ’em outta here, one way or another. We’re setting up for a showdown.” He pointed a finger at her. “But it’s a secret. I advise you to keep the knowledge to yerself.”

She took a step back. “I want nothing to do with any of this.”

“As a shop owner, you might change your mind about that. We’re taking care of the scum for the good of the town.” He gave her a final nod and went back to sweeping.

Josephine went upstairs to Nelly and Frieda’s room, where she found Aunt Bernice brushing Nelly’s hair.

“I’m hungry,” Nelly said, “but Aunt Bernice says we can’t go eat.”

The three women exchanged a glance. They couldn’t very well stay
in this room all day. But how to get Nelly from here to the café without seeing the dead man?

Fast. Do it fast
. “I think we
can
go eat,” Josephine said. “In fact, I say let’s race. The first one all the way into the café, touching the counter, gets something extra.”

Nelly rushed to the door of the room. “I can run really, really fast.”

Josephine stood beside her. “So can I. Ready. Set. Go!”

She and Nelly hurled themselves down the hotel stairs. At the door, Josephine let Nelly run ahead of her and hurried from behind, pressing the girl into the café. Nelly slapped the counter. “I won!”

Josephine didn’t have to pretend to be out of breath. “Yes, you did.” She pointed to a table just as Frieda and Aunt Bernice came in. Frieda looked a little green.

“What you eat,
Damen
?” Richter asked.

“What is there?”

“We have eggs and bacon.”

“And?” Aunt asked.

“Eggs and bacon.”

Hudson walked in the door. “Make that five orders,” he said, pulling an extra chair to their table.

She looked at him with questioning eyes and nodded in the direction of the hanged man.

“I saw,” he said.

“What did you see?” Nelly asked.

“I saw that you won the race. Congratulations, speedy.”

He was a gem.

After breakfast, they shielded Nelly and walked from the café to the store. There was plenty to keep them all busy.

“We need something to use as a counter,” Josephine said.

“Let me see if I can scrounge up some wood, some nails, and a hammer,” Hudson said.

“I’ll come with you,” Nelly said.

“No!” the women said all at once. Their smiles were strained.

“We need your help here,” Aunt said.

Just then a man came in with a stack of newspapers draped over his arm. “Newspaper? Just a penny.”

Hudson handed him a coin, and while the others sorted through the goods they had brought from home, he and Josephine looked through it. On the front page they found a column called
Last Night’s Shootings
. “Really?” Josephine said. “They have so many deaths that they must list them in a special column?”

“Apparently,” Hudson said as he read. Then he sucked in a breath. “Oh no.”

“What?”

He pointed at one name on the list: Lewis Simmons.

She snatched the paper from him. “Lewis? He was
killed
?”

Aunt and Frieda came close. “What are you talking about?”

She handed them the paper and stepped away, needing room to air her guilt. “It’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t yelled at him in front of everyone, he would be alive.”

“You can’t know that,” Hudson said.

“I
do
know that.” Memories of Lewis’s humiliation were scathing. She had taken such pleasure shaming him, letting her own pain fuel her tirade. “I blindsided him,” she said. “There was no way for him to defend himself.”

“Because you were telling the truth,” Aunt said. “He was guilty of each and every point.”

“But I didn’t need to share it with the world, in earshot of those soldiers.” She didn’t wait for more comfort, for she didn’t deserve it. She strode out the door and entered the café. Richter looked up from pouring coffee. “Who handles the burials around here?” she asked.

He stepped away from his customers. “If you want Kid get proper burial . . .”

She shook her head vehemently, having forgotten about the Kid. “My friend was shot yesterday, and I want to make sure he gets a Christian funeral. Who do I talk to?”

“
Herr Doktor
. Doc Grant.”

“Where is he?”

He pointed down the street. “Turn at corner, on right.”

Thankfully, as she passed the place where the Kid had been hanging, he was gone.

As was Lewis.

The four women and Hudson stood at the grave of Lewis Simmons. “Will you say a few words, Dr. Grant?” Josephine asked.

He took out a worn Bible and flipped the pages until he found the verse he wanted. “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’” He snapped the Bible shut and looked to Josephine. “You want to say something, Miss Cain?”

What should she say? The man she had thought she knew was a stranger to her. And yet . . .

“I loved him. Once.” But had she? Or had she used Lewis as much as he’d used her? She took a fresh breath and repeated the words. “I loved him once. In my own way.” She wiped away a tear. “He did not deserve to die like this. May God bless his soul.”

The others nodded, and Nelly laid a sprig of wildflowers on his grave. Josephine felt guilty for walking away, but what else was there to say or do?

Suddenly, Nelly sprinted away from the group. “Vera!” She wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist.

“Who is she?” Aunt asked.

“Nelly’s friend.” Josephine strode toward her, and Vera looked nervous. She touched her hair as if checking it, then wrapped her shawl around herself like a shield.

“Hello,” Josephine said.

Vera had a charming smile. A relieved smile. She nodded a greeting.

Nelly pointed to the grave. “That man died.”

Vera looked at Josephine. “I knew that man.” Then her face crumpled. “He died because of me.”

Josephine couldn’t have been more surprised if Vera had said she was president of the United States. “Why do you say that?” she asked.

Vera glanced at Hudson, Aunt Bernice, and Frieda, who were standing close by. “Can you and me talk a minute?”

This would be interesting. “Of course.” She laid a hand on Nelly’s shoulder. “Go join the others. I will catch up with you.”

Nelly was reluctant and gave Vera another hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re here too. We’re starting a store.”

“Are you now?”

Nelly joined the others, leaving Josephine and Vera alone. “Can we get away from this awful boot hill?” Vera asked. “There are too many fresh graves.”

And there were. The land was dotted with heaps of freshly dug earth.

Vera pointed ahead. “There’s a nice rock grouping ahead. I go there sometimes to be alone and think.”

Josephine’s first reaction was unkind. She went there to
think
? But she walked with Vera to the rocks and each found a seat. The silence was awkward. They were from such different worlds.

Vera took a deep breath and pointed to the mountains nearby. “It’s so beautiful here. Peaceful.” She nodded toward the town. “So unlike that place.”

“We saw a hanged man this morning.”

“The Kid. A bad seed for certain. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who shot Lewis.”