by Nancy Moser
For the briefest moment, Josephine saw her mother’s eyes clear, as if she had emerged from the well of death and glimpsed the sunlight.
Then the veil returned, and Mother sank into the pit of sorrow once again. “You must change your gown, Josephine. You will not disrespect our sacrifice.”
Aunt Bernice shook her head. “No disrespect.”
But before she could plead her case a second time, the front door opened.
“Papa!” Josephine ran into his arms, pressing her cheek against the wool of his coat. “I have missed you so much! I’m so glad you’re finally home.”
He wrapped his arms around her, and she felt his beard brush against her hair. He kissed her head. “My sweet girl. How I have missed you.”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply the scent of him: the musk that had always been his special scent, and the hint of cigar smoke and manly work that was Papa.
He gently pushed her back, taking her hands in his. “Let me look at you.”
Her choice to wear the green dress was brought front and center. Would he chide her for her choice?
Papa spun her under his arm, allowing the wide bell skirt a full swirl. “You take my breath away, daughter. You are a vision of beauty.”
“She is a vision of impropriety.”
Mother had left her den and stood in the doorway.
“Lizzie,” Papa said, extending his arms to her.
But Mother shook her head and took a step back. “I wish you would do something about your daughter, Reginald. For her to wear a party dress when we are in mourning, and more than that, the dress she wore the night the president was shot.”
Josephine drew in a breath and looked down at the dress. Her memories rushed back. This was the dress she had worn on that dreadful night.
The president of the United States had been assassinated while Josephine watched, while she envied Clara Harris for sharing the presidential box. Josephine still suffered the guilt of her frivolous nature.
But more was lost that night than their president. With the assassination, Josephine’s faith faltered. For how could the Almighty allow such a thing to happen to so great a man? Especially when peace had just been achieved.
The president’s death had marked the beginning of her family’s descent into sorrow. As the nation grieved President Lincoln, the Cains received news of the deaths of their boys. Thomas had died in the last days of the war at Sayler’s Creek, and William had died in a Confederate prisoner-of-war camp. With that news, Josephine’s mother and aunt had donned their bereavement black and had silently declared their own lives over but for the bothersome breath in their bodies.
Josephine was drawn out of her memories by Papa’s voice. “Actually, I am relieved to see some color. With more than six hundred thousand dead, the entire nation is wearing black. Enough, I say. It is time to move forward.”
Mother shook her head. “We must not forget the past.”
“We must not forget, but we must not let it drown us.” He looked at Josephine, as if his next words were mostly for her. “As I hinted at in my last letter, I have good news. I have been officially offered the position to oversee the construction of the Union Pacific rail lines as they head west across the Nebraska territory.” His shoulders straightened as if his next statement were especially important. “Work on the railroad has already begun in California, heading east, and I am to supervise the construction heading west. I have some business to attend to here in Washington, but then I shall be leaving again.”
Josephine took a deep breath. If everything goes as I’ve planned, I shall be going with you.
Mother shuddered. “You are a general, not a railroad worker.”
“I am not a general anymore, Lizzie. That duty is done.”
Aunt Bernice offered the next hurdle. “You are a lawyer.”
Papa waved his hand. “I was a lawyer, as I was a general. There are enough lawyers in Washington. Besides, since the war, the soldiers have gone home to reclaim their lives, and many need jobs. The railroad will provide those jobs. I am used to soldiers, and they are used to me. It’s a good match. And now, to be chosen to oversee such an important task . . . it is an honor. And it would be a continuation of the president’s dream.”
Mother shook her head. “But the West, Reginald. It is so very . . . west.”
He looked to the floor. “That it is. The line starts in Omaha and will not end until it connects with the Central Pacific’s line coming east from Sacramento. They have been laying track for eighteen months. We have barely started. There is much at stake for the line that lays the most. Compensation, land, property. And power.”
Mother shook her head, her expression heavy with distaste. “So you’re battling again? West versus East? Hasn’t this country seen enough battles between North and South?”
He cocked his head as though he’d never thought of it in that manner. “This is not a war, my dear, but a competition. The United States thrives on competition. It brings out our best. And it brings about progress.”
Aunt Bernice’s eyebrows rose, as if she were considering his words. “The West always intrigued my George. The thought of unknown worlds . . .”
“Men,” Mother said. Her tone suggested the species was deplorable.
Papa turned to look at his wife. “If it were not for the ambition and vision of men, this country would still consist of thirteen colonies under British rule.”
“That is true,” Aunt conceded.
Mother flashed her sister a look and then led her back to their chairs by the fireplace.
Good riddance. Josephine linked her arm in Papa’s. “May I speak with you, please? I have something important to talk to you about.”
His eyebrows rose. “Is everything all right?”
“Well, of course . . . actually . . . not really.” She sighed deeply. “If we might go to your study? Alone?”
Before he could answer, Dowd announced that dinner was served. As they moved toward the dining room, Papa leaned close and whispered to his daughter, “We will talk after dinner.”
“Good, because what I have to say is really important and—”
He put a finger to his lips, then left Josephine in order to escort his wife in to dine.
Throughout dinner, Josephine’s thoughts strayed from the table conversation to the one she would be having after dinner. She must convince Papa to take her with him rather than abandon her to life with the she-bears.
Had they not been separated long enough? He’d already been gone for much of the war, and now he would be off again, his focus turned from battles to railroads.
They had always been close, closer even than Papa had been to Thomas. Josephine was the one to listen to Papa’s stories and lessons, and her fondest memories involved sitting on his knee and playing with his beard while listening to his mellow bass voice. Thomas did not have the patience nor the interest to sit still and listen to anyone, much less Papa. When the South seceded from the Union and war was declared, Thomas had been in his element. She’d never seen her brother happier than when he’d stood before them in his Union blues, ready to leave for battle. Thomas was born to be a soldier.
And died one.
She shook the thought away, causing the footman to think she was rejecting another helping of yams.
So be it. She didn’t feel like eating anyway. She wanted time with Papa. How would he respond to her idea? She set aside her fork and felt inside the waistband of her dress to assure herself that her list was still tucked away, ready to share with him. It was ready. She was ready. Beyond ready.
As she sat back in her chair, Papa gave her a questioning look. She grinned, and he offered a wink.
At the other end of the table, she caught her mother’s disapproving stare. Mother subtly pointed her fork to her plate, indicating Josephine needed to eat. The stare did not dissipate until Josephine took up her fork, stabbed a yam, and brought it to her mouth.
But that still was not enough for M
other. She straightened her spine, pressing her shoulders back, wanting Josephine to sit up straight. Only after she complied did Mother relinquish her to her own volition.
Dinner dragged on interminably, but finally it was done, and the she-bears were safely ensconced in the parlor. Papa invited Josephine into his study, where he took a seat behind the desk.
She sat in the leather chair across from him, suddenly nervous. What if he said no?
She was glad when he initiated the conversation. “I know some of what you have been enduring, my girl. Before I left, I tried to help your mother and Aunt Bernice move forward from their grief. But the more I tried, the more they dug in their heels. I do think they find some kind of contentment in their lives—at least I hope they do.”
“I have also tried to help them, but it is impossible when all they want me to do is sit with them in silence. They are suffering, but I am suffering too. The war ruined everything. And now I am stuck—”
“Careful, daughter. You cannot compare your loss to what the boys lost.”
Josephine sighed. She hated when her selfishness slipped into view. Of course the boys had lost more than any of them. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Josephine ran her hand up and down the nap of her velvet skirt, waiting for courage. Up, back. Smooth, rough.
“You wanted to talk to me about something?”
It was now or never.
Josephine removed the folded note from her waistband and opened it.
Papa laughed. “You have always been a list-maker.”
She took no offense. But before she could get to the list, she had to tell him the core of her plan. “I want to go out west with you.”
He sat back in his chair with a gentle outlay of breath. “Go with me. While I work on the railroad.”
She held her list front and center. “Number one. I miss you—and you miss me. Out west we can be together.”
“You hit the element of sentiment first, I see.”
With good reason. “Number two, and I mean no disrespect, but I am suffocating here.”
She did not like it when he only shrugged, so she pressed on. “Number three. Seeing new country will be an education. You have shared some of what you’ve seen in your letters, but it is not the same as experiencing it firsthand. You have always been the one to teach me about the world, Papa. All Mother seems concerned about is whether I wear the proper gloves at the proper time, whether I play Chopin without mistakes, or whether I read aloud her books of sermons to her satisfaction.”
“Those are worthy pursuits.”
Josephine stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Not compared with seeing history being made. With you. Out west.”
He smiled. “I am curious to hear number four—if there is a number four.”
This was the weakest reason. “You were going to let me go to Europe alone.”
“Not alone. With Thomas and William. And Cousin Frieda.”
She had expected that response. “But out west I will be with you.”
“The Nebraska and Wyoming territories are not Europe, Josephine.”
“Of course not, but . . .” She set the list on her lap. “Please, Papa. I need to get away from here.”
“Need is a strong word.”
“It’s an apt word. Please let me go with you. Let me witness some good being done in this country. Let me see people working together again.”
He put a hand to his face, stroking his beard. She held her breath.
“I would love to have you there, but . . .”
But . . . ?
“But I simply cannot. The land and the people are too wild.”
“I would take wild over tedious!”
“You must be reasonable, Josephine.” He swept a hand to encompass the room. “You are used to lavish surroundings, servants, fashionable dresses, and people with manners. Life in the Nebraska Territory is as straightforward as the people. Manners lose their importance out there.”
“I don’t need manners! And yes, I complained about wearing mourning, but I would wear those clothes forever if I could be with you.”
He moved around the desk and cupped her cheek with a hand. “What we have here is an impossible situation. You wish to be saved, but by saving you I put you in a volatile situation where your safety might be jeopardized.”
“But Papa, I will be all right because I will be with you.”
He dropped his hand. “Thomas was with me at Sayler’s Creek, and I could not keep him safe.”
Sorrow aged his face, and Josephine stood and wrapped her arms around him. Would they ever rid themselves of this awful grief and regret?
“Will you think about it?” she asked. “Please?”
He put his finger under her chin and looked into her eyes. “My answer is no, Josephine. I am sorry, but . . . no.”
Stunned, she took a step away from him. Hot tears pricked her eyes.
“Please don’t look at me like that.”
She ran out of his study, hiked her skirt, and raced up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she slammed the door and rushed to the fireplace where she proceeded to tear her list into little pieces and feed them to the flame.
Within seconds, Frieda came in. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
When the last piece met its death, Josephine stared into the fire.
Her life was over. Completely and utterly over.
Chapter Two
Omaha, Nebraska
Every muscle ached.
Hudson Maguire groaned as he sat up in bed and let his feet touch the floor of the boardinghouse.
“Don’t groan so loud,” came a complaint from the other bed.
Using his foot, Hudson shook the neighboring mattress. “Get up, Raleigh. Time waits for no man.”
Raleigh sat up on his elbows. “All work and no play makes Raleigh a dull boy.”
“Dull but rich.”
“Hardly.”
Hudson tossed a pillow at his little brother’s face. “Hurry up or they’ll run out of ham again.”
That got Raleigh out of bed. Working fourteen hours a day in the rail yard of the Union Pacific caused a man to need some hefty fuel to get going: eggs, ham, bread and butter, potatoes, and coffee strong enough to eat through metal. But at the boardinghouse it was first-come, first-served, and with every room occupied with two workers—with a few sleeping in the halls besides—there had been a few mornings when he and Raleigh had been left with only bread and butter. Live and learn.
Hudson washed in the cold water in the basin. He looked in the mirror, wishing he had a pair of scissors to trim his beard. Even though it occasionally itched something crazy, he’d grown used to it during the war. Besides, there was never time or hot water to shave. He ran a comb through his hair, which touched his shoulders. He had no idea where there was a barber in Omaha. And who had the time and money to waste on vanity?
Not him. Every nickel Hudson earned was for his girl, Sarah Ann, back in Pennsylvania. He’d gone home to Allegheny City after the war, and checked in on the cotton mill where he and his entire family worked. Their oldest brother, John, had been killed in battle, moving Hudson to the top of the hierarchy of the remaining three boys. As the new eldest, it was his responsibility to do everything he could to keep the family stable. But for that they needed more money than the mill could provide.
When Hudson heard General Cain was going to head up the work crews on the new Transcontinental Railroad—and was going to pay good wages—he’d known it was the best way for him to earn seed money he could plant for the rest of his life. So he and his youngest brother, Raleigh, had left their middle brother, Ezra, to work at the mill and take care of their mother, father, and Sarah Ann, who lived nearby with her family. Once the railroad was completed, Hudson would go home, marry Sarah Ann, move away from the Pittsburgh area, and find another way to make a living. Maybe carpentry. He liked building things.
Sarah Ann had promised to wait for him, and he’d
vowed not to disappoint her.
The West held so many possibilities that he considered bringing his entire family out to join him. Anything to be away from the stagnant and difficult life in the mills. He’d build them their own houses with plenty of windows, and a porch where they could all gather in the evenings to watch the sunsets. There was something about the prairie sunsets that fascinated him.
He heard the thunder of feet going downstairs to eat.
Sarah Ann might wait, but breakfast wouldn’t.
Raleigh ran a finger across the front of his teeth while he and Hudson walked to the work site. “I think that butter was rancid. I feel it coating my teeth.”
“You could consider brushing them.”
He held up his index finger. “This’ll be fine. Back home a stick or a feather did the trick.”
“You make us sound like hicks. We had toothbrushes. That you chose never to use one is your problem.”
“Yes, it is,” Raleigh said, stretching his arms high. “I like being on our own.” He pointed west. “We’ve got the whole world in front of us.”
Hudson hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “And our responsibilities back in Pennsylvania. The family’s depending on us to earn enough to make their lives better too.”
Raleigh shrugged. “I’m not going back.”
Hudson stopped his brother, shoving his shoulder to confront him face-to-face. “Neither of us wants to go back there for good. But we can’t forget about them. You know Da’s back makes it hard for him to work like he used to.”
“That he ever thought he could load that barge like he was still twenty . . .”
“See? He needs us. So does Mum and . . . Mum.”
Raleigh grinned. “Mum and Sa-rah-ann.” He sang her name.
Which was fitting because Sarah Ann was like a song, a gentle melody that hung in the air.
Hudson pushed his brother to get him going again. “It might do you good to find a woman to tame your mangy hide and get you to settle down.”
Raleigh shook his head. “I’m only eighteen. You had your time for adventure during the war while I was stuck at home with Mum and Da. I’m not near ready to settle for anything.”
