A short while later, Jo locked up the shop and walked the short distance back to the house. She decided that tomorrow she would spend her whole day helping Mrs. Oswald with the veteran boarders.
three
Tuesday morning, Jo dressed herself in a blue skirt and a matching short-sleeved blouse, then walked over to the mirror to see how she looked. After turning so she could view herself from all angles, she decided the outfit met with her approval, even if the cuffs and hem were frayed. She then took a moment to study her reflected image. She supposed the lines of her face were pleasant enough; she couldn’t claim to be a great beauty like her mama, though. She had her papa’s rich dark skin and her mama’s sparkling eyes. Jo had no quarrels with her features; she’d never been one of those girls always wishing this was different or that was bigger. She did consider her hair to be her best feature, though. In keeping with the style of the day, she’d parted her thick black hair down the middle and pulled it back into an elaborately braided coronet that was pinned low on her neck. She had no need for a rat to make her hair long enough. As Trudy once remarked, Jo had enough hair for two people. The only hairpieces Jo employed were the ones she added to the heads of her customers.
All in all, Jo liked her looks, but in keeping with the thoughts of most young women she wondered what a young man would think of her. When she was younger, she’d often dreamed of being swept off her feet the way Dani had done with Belle, but now, at seventeen, she doubted that would ever happen. Not that she really cared. Even though she’d already made up her mind to be an independent woman, all girls wondered, no matter their goals in life.
Declaring such thoughts silly and youngish, Jo set them aside. She took a moment to hook a pair of earbobs in her lobes, then went across the hall to her mother’s room.
Cecilia was readying herself for a drive to the Ann Arbor train station with Vera Firestone. The bodies of Vera’s soldier husband, Dexter, and her son, Isaac, were due in on this afternoon’s train, and Vera had to claim their caskets. Cecilia was going along because she didn’t want her dear friend to have to handle the heartbreaking task alone. The funeral would be tomorrow.
Jo asked her mother, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Cecilia was standing before her mirror putting the last touches to her hair. She turned and responded somberly, “No, sweetheart. You go on over to Mrs. Oswald’s and help the living. I’ll help Vera deal with the departed.” Cecilia paused, then whispered emotionally, “Lord, I wish I had some word from your father.”
Jo walked over and stood behind her mother, then said softly, “If something bad had happened, we would have been notified. Dani and Papa are probably too busy chasing Rebs to write. I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”
Cecilia’s soft smile was filled with love. “My Jojo has grown up. Who would have ever thought you’d be offering me comfort?”
Jo turned serious. “You’ve been comforting me all of my life. It’s about time I started returning the favor, no?”
Her mother opened her arms and embraced Jo in a hug. Cecilia held on to her daughter for a long moment before saying, “Have I told you lately how proud you make me?”
Jo looked into her mama’s eyes. “Yes, but I never get tired of hearing it.”
Her mother playfully pushed her away. “Silly girl. Get on over to Patricia’s. I’m sure her soldiers will appreciate that wit of yours.”
The statement made Jo recall the thoughts she’d had in her room. “Do men like women with wit, Mama?”
Cecilia studied her daughter’s face as if trying to determine the cause of the question. “Some men do. Why?”
Jo shrugged. “Just asking.”
Cecilia scrutinized her daughter as only a mama can. “Is something bothering you, darling?”
Jo shook her head. “No, Mama. Just a question.”
Cecilia looked skeptical. “Are you certain?”
Jo lied firmly, “Yes.” Since her mother didn’t appear convinced, Jo decided a change of subject was in order. “Is Belle downstairs, or has she gone?”
“Gone. She’ll be back later this evening.”
Belle was creating a trousseau for a wealthy young woman in Ann Arbor, and for the past few weeks had been driving back and forth in order to complete the fittings. Belle was one of the best seamstresses around. Even with the war on, Belle and her Singer stitching machine were in great demand.
“Will you be staying overnight with Mrs. Firestone?”
“I may. If I’m not back by eight or so, assume I am. I’m taking clothes for the funeral with me just in case Vera doesn’t want to be alone tonight.”
“Everybody loved Mr. Firestone.”
“Yes, they did, but as I recall, you didn’t love him much that day he spanked you for climbing his prized apple trees.”
Jo met her mother’s smile. “No, I did not.” Jo remembered the confrontation vividly. She’d been ten years old.
“He told you time and time again not to climb his trees. Your papa did, as well,” her mother recalled wryly.
Jo came to her own defense. “But it was the best hide-and-seek place around. Nobody could find me way up there.”
“But the man said stay out of his trees.”
“I know.”
They both chuckled.
Jo said then, “Well, I did love him. Mr. Firestone put up with my terrible piano playing for the three years I took lessons at his house, and never once complained. How could I not love him?”
Cecilia’s eyes were misty. “Well, he adored you. He’ll be missed.”
Jo could only agree. “As will Isaac. I can’t imagine never seeing him again. Trudy and I thought the world of Isaac, especially when we were young.”
“You two were sweet on Isaac Firestone?”
“No, he would help us bait our hooks when we went fishing—unlike Dani and the Morgan brothers. They would just chase us around with the worms until we screamed. They made us so mad.”
Mrs. Best chuckled. “I wonder how those Morgan brothers are doing. Last I heard, they’d both come down from Canada and joined the war. Hope they’re all right.”
Adam and Jeremiah had lived near the Bests for more than a decade. Right before war was declared, they moved back to their native Canada. Jo hoped they were all right, too. “I should get going, Mama. If you don’t return tonight, I’ll see you at the funeral in the morning.”
“Okay, darling. Give my regards to Mrs. Oswald and the young men. Tell her I’m going to try and get over there by week’s end.”
Jo kissed her mother’s brown cheek. “I will.”
Cecilia nodded, and Jo left the room.
Jo’s drive to Mrs. Oswald’s took less than thirty minutes. After parking her buggy, she walked up and knocked on the front door. To her surprise and delight, George answered the door.
He beamed at her. “Well, how are you, Miss Josephine?”
“I’m well, George. How are you?”
“I’m doing well, too. Thanks for asking.”
“Is Mrs. Oswald in?”
“She sure is. Come on in.” He hobbled backward on his cane so she could enter. He appeared to be very pleased to see her again. Jo was pleased to see him again, too.
“Is your beau off fighting for Mr. Lincoln?”
The unexpected question caught Jo by surprise. “I don’t have a beau.”
He looked at her with disbelief. “You’re joshing?”
Jo shook her head. “I’m going to be a businesswoman. Well, I am a businesswoman, so I don’t really need a beau, at least not right now.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a hairdresser.”
He seemed impressed by that. “Do you barber, too?”
“No. I do ladies’ hair only.”
He looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“There’s a fine barber over in Ypsilanti, though.”
He ran his hand over his hair. “That’s good to know. I’ll be needing one soon.”
Although Jo wouldn’t have minded talking the afternoon away with George, that hadn’t been her purpose for coming. “I really should find Mrs. Oswald. Do you know where she might be?”
“Kitchen, probably. How about we go and look?”
“That sounds fine.”
On the walk through the quiet house, Jo asked, “Where is everyone?”
“Those who were able went to Detroit with Calvin Oswald. Everyone else is either outside or up in their rooms.”
“I see.”
Mrs. Oswald was indeed in the kitchen and washing the largest stack of dirty dishes Jo had ever seen.
Mrs. Oswald paused in her task to say, “Well, good day, Josephine. How nice of you to come by. Are you just passing through or planning to stay and visit awhile?”
“I came to visit. Thought you might need some help.”
“As you can see, I do.”
“Well, how about I wash for a while and you dry?”
George said, “I’ve an even better idea. How about I dry and Mrs. Oswald can turn her attention elsewhere?”
Jo knew he wanted to spend more time with her, and she didn’t mind. In fact, she didn’t mind at all.
Mrs. Oswald asked, “Are you amenable to that, Josephine?”
“Yes, ma’am. George impresses me as a gentleman.” Jo met George’s brown eyes and he smiled.
“Then I will let you two get to work. I’ve laundry boiling outside.” She took a quick moment to fetch Jo an apron from a cabinet near the sink, then departed.
Jo suddenly felt shy being in the kitchen alone with George, but swallowed it and dug into the mass of dishes.
Jo hated washing dishes. Only George’s presence and the knowledge that she was helping the war effort made the task ahead palatable. Starting in on the plates and cups, she washed them into another cauldron of warm water to rinse. George took a seat on a stool, then with cloth in hand dried each piece and set them on the counter nearby. They soon developed a rhythm and were working and talking away.
Jo learned that George had a mother and sister waiting for him in Jackson, and that his war injury disqualified him from any further combat. “When I saw the doctor last week, he told me I could go home in another ten days or so.”
“How old is your sister?”
“Twenty-five. She’s married, lives in Lansing and has two young sons.”
“Which makes you an uncle.”
He grinned proudly. “Sure does.”
“And your father? Is he fighting?”
“No. He died last year. Hunting accident.”
Jo said genuinely, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. Do you live nearby?” George then asked her.
“About a thirty-minute drive. How long have you lived in Jackson?”
“Since I was about ten. Man down in Indiana owned us, but one day, my pa got tired of being a slave, so one night he put the family in a wagon, and we got on the Road. Jackson is where we ended up.”
Jo knew all about the Road. “Our home has been a station on the Underground Railroad all of my life.”
He appeared surprised. “Your parents are conductors?”
“Yes. They’re staunch abolitionists.”
“Never met a conductor’s daughter before. Are they all as pretty as you?”
Jo felt heat creep over her cheeks again. “I wouldn’t know.”
“You act as if nobody’s ever called you pretty before.”
“No one ever has.”
George dried a saucer, then shook his head with wonder. “The men around here must be blind.”
Jo didn’t know how to respond to that, so she smiled.
They spent some time talking about the war. Jo told him about Dani and her father. “We haven’t heard from them in weeks.”
George told her reassuringly, “I’m sure they’re well. Last I heard, the Rebs were on the run. Lincoln was smart to let the black men enlist. We’ve made the difference for the Union.”
Jo agreed. Her father, like scores of black men across the nation, wanted to join the fight from the moment the secessionist guns rained down on Fort Sumter in 1860, but because of their race, their enlistment had been forbidden. It had taken three years, many petitions and even more Union defeats on the battlefield to get President Lincoln to change his mind and release the Emancipation Proclamation. Once he did, one hundred and eighty thousand men of color joined the army, and twenty-nine thousand more joined the United States Navy. Now that the South was on the run, even the newspapers were saying that the addition of the black troops and sailors were turning the war in the Union’s favor, and Jo was glad the men were proving their worth.
Word must have gotten around the house that Jo was in the kitchen working, because moments later other soldiers began trickling in to say hello and to visit. She smiled a warm greeting to the men she knew and was introduced to the few new faces who’d arrived yesterday.
Dred Reed sauntered in. When he saw Jo his eyes sparkled. “Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Jo.”
Jo wondered if he flirted in his sleep. “How are you, Dred?”
“Fine, but I’d be much better if you’d brought Miss Trudy along with you today.”
A smiling Jo shook her head with amusement. It occurred to her that she might do everyone involved a favor by confessing the truth and telling Dred about Trudy’s upcoming marriage, but she decided against it. Who knew how Trudy might react, and besides, it was none of Jo’s business. She said instead, “I haven’t seen Trudy in a few days, but I will let her know you asked after her.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said.
For the rest of the afternoon, Jo held court in Mrs. Oswald’s parlor, surrounded by soldiers all competing for her attention. She’d never experienced anything like it before, and she had a grand time. They laughed and talked; she wrote letters, sewed on a few buttons and played the piano.
Jo was having such a good time that she shared the men’s disappointment when it became time for her to depart. After she said goodbye to Mrs. Oswald, Jo was walked to the door and out onto the porch by George. Both he and Jo ignored the good-natured razzing and teasing George received for his chivalry.
Once the two of them were outside, George said genuinely, “You made us real happy with your visit today, Miss Josephine.”
“I had a good time, as well.”
“Are you coming back soon?”
“Probably not until after church on Sunday. I have a funeral to attend tomorrow, and for the rest of the week I have appointments to honor at my shop.”
“You have your own place?”
“Yes, my papa built it for me a few years back. It’s tiny, but it’s mine.”
“You really are a working woman, then, aren’t you?”
Jo smiled. “Sure am.”
There was silence for a moment, and he looked a bit odd, so Jo asked, “Is there something the matter?”
“No, not really, just not accustomed to being around a woman who runs her own business.”
Jo thought his confession sweet. “Well, it’s a new world, or at least it will be once the war’s over. Women are going to be doing things they’ve never done before.”
“I suppose you’re right. It’s just going to take us men some getting used to, I guess.” Then George asked, “Who’s the funeral for? No one in your family, I hope.”
“No. It isn’t a family member, but the men being buried are father and son, and they were close to us. Their names are Dexter and Isaac Firestone. They are our first war deaths.”
George appeared saddened. “Two deaths? That’s a terrible burden for those left behind to bear.”
“Yes, it is. That’s why my mother went to Ann Arbor with Mrs. Firestone today to claim the caskets.”
George said solemnly, “My condolences to Mrs. Firestone.”
“Thank you. I’ll pass them along.”
“Maybe some of the men and I will come to the church and offer our respects.”
&nbs
p; “That would be a nice gesture, and I’m sure Mrs. Firestone will think so, as well. Service is at ten.”
Silence fell again.
George finally said, “Well, if I don’t see you at the funeral tomorrow, I’ll be looking for you on Sunday. I mean, if that’s not too forward of me to say.”
Jo shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”
He smiled. “Good.”
For a girl who had no use for a beau, Jo wondered why her heart seemed to be beating so rapidly. “Thanks for the help with the dishes.”
“My pleasure.”
Jo left the porch and headed for her buggy. She swore she was walking on clouds.
The next morning, Jo and Belle drove to the church for the funeral. Cecilia had not returned last night, so they would meet her at the church as planned.
Belle was driving the buggy and Jo was on the seat beside her.
Jo said, “I know we’re on our way to a funeral, but I need to talk to you about something.”
Belle looked over. “What is it?”
Jo paused a moment to try and gather her words. “George.”
Belle smiled. “Ah. How is George?”
“He’s doing well. I saw him yesterday.”
“And what does George do for a living?”
Jo chuckled. “You sound like Mama.”
“Just helping you get ready for the Cecilia Inquisition.”
Jo found the words amusing even though they were true.
“You measuring George for a beau?”
Jo giggled. “No. I barely know him.”
“Well, what do you know?”
“That he’s very nice.”
“And?”
“That he’s from Jackson, and his family escaped slavery when he was ten.”
“And?”
“His father is dead, but he has a mother and a sister.”
“And?”
Jo shrugged. “That’s all I know.”
“Is he married?”
Jo paused over that question. “I don’t think so. He didn’t mention that he was.” She then stated, “Surely he would have told me, if he were. Wouldn’t he?”
Belle shrugged. “I don’t know, but I suppose you’re right.”
Josephine Page 3
