The Journey of Josephine Cain

by Nancy Moser

  “Come, ride inside,” the general said to Spotted Tail.

  At first the chief seemed reluctant, but he climbed on board. The Indians lined up even with the front of the locomotive, ready for the signal.

  Hudson felt his gut grab. “This will not end well—either way.”

  One worker went out in front of the line of riders, raised his arm, then lowered it. “Go!” the workers yelled.

  The ponies sped forward, ahead of the train. The Indians were thrilled with their certain victory and let out a whoop that made Hudson shudder.

  But then the engine gathered speed and easily passed them. Victorious, the engineer blew the whistle full blast. The sound so startled the Indians that they bodily swung to the off-side of their ponies, hanging on with their legs over the back.

  And then, it was over.

  “We won! We won!” the workers yelled.

  Hudson shook his head. There might be a price to winning.

  The Indians returned, their heads down, clearly crestfallen at their defeat.

  “Now they can leave,” he said.

  “Are you really afraid of them?” Raleigh asked.

  “I’m cautious. I just know if I had strange people building across the land my ancestors had held for centuries, I’d be upset and want them gone.”

  Raleigh stared after the Indians, as if taking this in. “Surely the general knows what he’s doing.”

  I hope so.

  Spotted Tail was talking with General Cain, making arm gestures to include his braves and . . . eating?

  “Oh no,” Hudson said. “They’re wanting food.”

  Sure enough, the general ordered the cook to set out a meal.

  This was getting out of hand.

  But General Cain asked a few of the railroad men to eat a meal with the Indians—Hudson included.

  When they sat around the tables in the dining car, the Indians tried to pick up the plates but found they were nailed to the table. Yes, it was odd, but necessary. Otherwise the jostling of the train would bounce them all over the place.

  Food was served. Immediately, the braves ate it with their eyes. But they hesitated and looked to Spotted Tail. He, too, held back. Did they think it was poisoned?

  General Cain filled his plate then passed the bowl around. “Eat,” he said.

  The rest of the workers did just that, and as soon as they did, the Indians dug in, shoveling food into their mouths with their fingers.

  Hudson felt sorry for them. It was clear they hadn’t eaten in a long time. No one spoke, which was fine with him. The sooner they were done eating, the sooner they’d be gone.

  When the serving bowls were empty, the braves picked them up and swiped the last bits with their fingers.

  Spotted Tail stepped over a bench. He said something to the translator, who told the general, “He says you are to fill our horses with sacks of flour and quarters of beef.”

  The general also stood and freed himself of the confines of the bench. “No. We let you eat with us here, but you can’t carry any food away with you.”

  Spotted Tail let off a long discourse, his brow stern. The translator said, “If you don’t give us what we want, we will come at night with three thousand warriors and clean you out.”

  The general’s chest heaved and Hudson held his breath. “Tell Spotted Tail exactly what I say.” Then he put his doubled fist against Spotted Tail’s nose and let out a string of oaths such as Hudson had never heard.

  Spotted Tail didn’t answer but quickly led his band to their horses. They rode away.

  “Will they be back?” Hudson asked the general.

  He stared after them. “Double the night patrol.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Time would tell whether the Indians would come back—as friend or foe.

  Dowd entered the parlor carrying a silver salver. “The mail, Mrs. Cain.”

  “Set it down. I shall look at it later.”

  Dowd did as he was told, but said, “There is a letter for you, Miss Josephine.”

  She popped out of her chair and retrieved it. “It’s from Papa!” She broke open the seal and began to read, “‘Dearest Josephine and family. I—’”

  Mother lifted her hand. “Please do not read it aloud. You may inform us if there is anything of interest after you have read it through silently.”

  Josephine stared at her mother. It is all of interest. But she read it to herself, voicing the highlights. “Papa had Indians visit the train!”

  Aunt Bernice made use of her fan. “Indians!”

  “They were friendly,” Josephine said, realizing she should have made that clear. “They just wanted to have a tour. Papa had a meal with them.”

  “He’s lucky he wasn’t the meal,” Mother said.

  “Indians don’t eat people.”

  “Then why are they called ‘savages’?”

  Josephine went back to the letter. Her heart began to beat wildly—and not for more mention of Indians. “Papa has invited all of us to come west for a huge celebration they are having when they reach the one-hundredth meridian!”

  “Median?” Aunt asked.

  “Meridian.” Josephine found the explanation in the letter. “‘It is a point of longitude measured from Greenwich, England.’”

  “England?” Mother asked. “I thought they were in Nebraska.”

  Josephine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “They are. It is only a measurement, a milestone.” She consulted the letter. “It is two hundred forty-seven miles west of Omaha.”

  “I thought they passed the hundred-mile mark,” Mother said.

  So she had been paying attention to Papa’s letters. “One hundred miles is not the same as the hundredth meridian. And they will not reach it until October, when they will host a grand celebration.”

  Mother gave her head a little shake. “I do not care when it happens. We shall not be going.”

  Josephine was stunned. “Of course we shall! We must go.” She shook the letter. “Papa says Dr. Durant, the head of the Union Pacific, is leading a promotional excursion. Three hundred invitations have been sent out, and we three have one of them. It is an honor.”

  “An honor to be put in harm’s way? Did he not just mention Indians?”

  Josephine wondered what Papa had been thinking, putting mention of Indians in the same letter as the invitation. And why had she read that part aloud? “We would not be alone. Hundreds of people will be going west. Hundreds of dignitaries. They would not let us come if it was not safe.”

  Mother’s head began its slow back-and-forth. “We are not going.”

  “But—”

  “Go see if lunch is ready.”

  Josephine was incredulous. “You think about lunch when we have just been offered the most thrilling excursion of our lives? And we would see Papa! Don’t you want to see your own husband?”

  Mother’s face reddened, and Josephine knew she had gone too far. “Lunch, Josephine. And not another word about the excursion.”

  She turned on her heel. “I’m not hungry.” Then she ran upstairs, slammed her bedroom door, and flung herself on her bed.

  She knew it was childish, but she couldn’t help herself. The chance to see Papa! The chance to see the West!

  Frieda came in to check on the commotion. “What’s wrong, Liebchen?”

  Josephine sat up and told her. “I have to go see Papa. I have to!”

  Frieda smoothed a stray strand of hair, tucking it behind Josephine’s ear. “There is not much you can do if your mother says no. Take solace in the fact Lewis is here to provide you some diversion.”

  Josephine drew in a breath and held it as an idea formed. “Lewis! He could take me!”

  “Your mother will not allow you to travel across the country with a man who is not your husband.”

  True. But then she thought of the solution. “You can come with us! Papa invited me, Mother, and Aunt Bernice. Three people. And three people can accept: you, me, and Lewis.”

>   Frieda put a hand to her chest. “Me? See the Wild West?”

  “Why not? You are Papa’s cousin. Your family and Papa’s came over from Ireland when you both were young. That was a much longer voyage than an expedition to Nebraska.”

  Frieda sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. “We did, didn’t we?”

  Josephine saw her chance and sat beside her. “See? You have adventure in your blood. The itch to see new worlds . . .”

  “Indeed. My husband and I had planned to homestead in Ohio.”

  “What?” All thoughts of Josephine’s plight left her. “You have never mentioned a husband before. I thought Schultz was your maiden name, and the ‘missus’ was just a courtesy.”

  “My maiden name was Cain.” Frieda took a few steps away from the bed before turning around. “My husband was Karl. Karl Schultz. He was from Germany. We met shortly after we both arrived in America.”

  Josephine was embarrassed by her ignorance. “What happened to him?”

  “We were living in Boston at the time, but he went back to Hamburg to settle some business with his father’s estate so we’d have the funds to homestead. But while he was back in Germany, a fire destroyed much of the city, and he died trying to save his family home.”

  It was Josephine’s turn to offer comfort. “Why didn’t I know this? Why have you never mentioned him?”

  Frieda pulled a handkerchief from her cuff and dabbed at her eyes. “I try not to think about him and all that could have been.” She shook her head as if wanting to dispel the memories. “I was carrying Karl’s child when he left, but after I lost him, I gave birth too soon. My baby girl died.”

  Josephine clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. “Oh, my dear Frieda. What you have endured.” All she had known about Frieda’s past was that she was Papa’s cousin. She had never met Frieda’s parents, never bothered to ask the woman much about her life before she’d come to live with the Cains, and just assumed . . .

  Assumed too much. And not enough.

  Frieda blew her nose, then lifted her chin in an act of strength. “After Karl and my baby died, my parents died too, so I was all alone. I remembered your father was in New York City, so I sought him out, and he kindly took me in. He was recently engaged to your mother, and they were moving to Washington. Grateful for the support, I became your mother’s lady’s maid. And then you were born. You became the little girl I lost. . . .”

  Josephine pulled Frieda into her arms. “I love you like a mother. I always have.”

  They rocked each other until their tears abated. Frieda was the one to pull away. “Just know that wherever you go, I go. If you want to go west for the celebration, I will go with you.”

  “Indians and all?”

  “Indians and all.”

  Convincing Lewis to accompany her west was easy. But convincing Mother?

  Josephine had a plan. It was manipulative, but Mother wasn’t giving her a choice.

  She slipped her hands around Lewis’s arm and whispered in his ear. “Use all your charm, Lewis. Make her see that it is imperative we go to the meridian celebration. It is an honor, and as Papa’s daughter, I—”

  “I know what to say. Leave it to me.”

  She kissed his cheek and let him enter the parlor alone. But then he surprised her by giving a wink and closing the doors.

  Josephine hadn’t expected to be in the room with them, but she had wanted to eavesdrop. She put her ear to one of the sliding doors and found the voices muffled. Too muffled.

  The butler came in the foyer and gave her a look. “It is all right, Dowd. I promise.”

  He raised an eyebrow and left her alone.

  “Psst!”

  Josephine was distracted by Frieda, standing on the landing above. “What’s he saying?”

  “I’m trying to hear!” She waved her off and went back to the door to listen.

  But then she heard a very foreign sound.

  Laughter. Her mother’s laughter. And Aunt’s too!

  They hadn’t laughed in over a year. Then she heard Aunt’s snort—which meant she was laughing hard. It had been even longer since she had heard that.

  What was Lewis saying to them?

  She put her hand on the door handle, aching to join the merriment. Thankfully, she didn’t have long to wait. The doors opened, and Lewis said, “Come join us.”

  She looked to his face, wanting answers, but he simply drew her toward the ladies. “Would you like to tell your daughter the good news, Mrs. Cain?”

  Mother nodded and even stood. “After speaking with Mr. Simmons, I have changed my mind about the one-hundredth meridian celebration. You may go, with Mr. Simmons as your escort and Cousin Frieda as your chaperone.”

  Incredulous, Josephine felt her mouth open. “Really?”

  “Yes, my dear. Really.”

  She did not risk asking how or why Lewis had managed it; she just stared at him in wonder. Then she embraced her mother and her aunt. “Thank you, thank you. Papa will be so pleased.”

  When her mother’s smile faded, she realized she had not chosen the right words. “I mean, he would rather that you and Aunt Bernice accompany me, but at least one of us will see all he has accomplished.”

  Mother offered a conciliatory shrug. “Go on now, you two. I am sure you have many preparations to make. Gather Frieda, and then you may use your father’s study for your planning.”

  Josephine kissed each woman’s cheek and left quickly, still fearful they would change their minds. Once in the foyer, she whispered to Lewis, “What did you say to them?”

  “That’s between the ladies and me.”

  “But—”

  He put a finger to her lips. “Let’s make a list of what we need to bring, shall we?”

  Mr. Connelly ran out of the butcher shop when he saw Lewis walk past. “You ever coming to work, Simmons?”

  “Right now. Just let me change clothes.”

  His boss’s eyes gave him a good once-over. “You always dressing in fancy clothes makes me wonder what you got cooking.”

  “Just trying to better myself, that’s all.” He unlocked the door that led up the stairs to his apartment. “I’ll be right down.”

  “The chickens won’t wait,” Connelly said.

  Or the cows. Or the sheep or pigs or ducks or . . . If Lewis could get by with never eating meat again, it would be fine with him.

  Once upstairs, he carefully hung his coat on a hook, put the shirt over the back of the chair, and smoothed the trousers on his bed before draping them across the table. His new boots—pinched from a shoemaker’s shop—were wiped of the day’s dust and set at attention near the door. Only then did he take up his work pants and shirt, and pull on the boots he’d been given when he’d joined the army the first time.

  He looked in the cracked wall mirror as he buttoned his work shirt. “Congratulations,” he told himself. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. To go west with the rich and illustrious notables of society? With Josephine? Finally, his luck was changing.

  Luck. He didn’t believe in luck. He was making this happen.

  He gave himself another congratulations for winning over her mother and aunt. Telling them he wanted to ask the general for permission to marry his daughter . . . It was a stroke of genius.

  And a central part of the plan. She was a prize—and a means to an end.

  Although she was an expensive one to woo, he’d reap the spoils after the wedding. If not immediately in money, in the satisfaction of fulfilling a promise he’d made to himself after seeing his father murdered.

  He heard a broom banging on the ceiling below.

  Off to work.

  Chapter Seven

  “Sergeant Maguire. If you please.”

  Hudson was not surprised to be singled out by General Cain, because ever since he’d helped the general during the Spotted Tail visit, he’d successfully handled some other special assignments.

  They had not gone unnoticed. By anyone.
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  He set aside his spike maul and followed the general back to the railcar that housed his office.

  “Yankee favoritism, that’s what it is,” said a Confederate who seemed intent on keeping the war alive. He spit on the ground, barely missing Hudson’s boots as he walked past.

  “Why don’t he ever give a Reb special duties?” asked another Southerner.

  “Because everybody knows you Rebs don’t have the brains of a prairie dog,” said a former Union soldier from Maine.

  A fistfight broke out, but Hudson didn’t stay to see who won. No one ever won. Boss would break it up, and the men would go back to working side-by-side until the next time. He couldn’t blame them for getting testy. He wasn’t too keen on working with ex-soldiers from the South who would have shot him on sight eighteen months ago.

  Of course, he would have shot them too. War was strange that way. Men shot each other, not seeing the man but the uniform of an opposing philosophy. Seeing his brother John get shot, knowing how impersonal the bullet was . . .

  The general was waiting for him to catch up. “I hope my singling you out isn’t causing many problems.”

  “None I can’t handle.”

  “Good, because I need someone I can trust, and you’ve proven yourself that man—during the war, and now.”

  “I appreciate that, General.”

  They reached the last car on the train, which was exclusively the general’s. They entered at the back along a small landing. The car was outfitted with furniture like a parlor, but with a desk at the near end, along with a table set up with a telegraph machine. As they added more track and moved on, the telegraph line was the first thing they set up. It was their link to civilization.

  Hudson spotted two open doors at the far end, one revealing the edge of a bed and the other showing a washbasin on a stand. The perks of being in charge.

  “Have a seat, Sergeant.”

  “If you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather you just called me Maguire.”

  The general hesitated the smallest moment, then nodded. “Of course. I should have realized that. Maguire it is.”

  Hudson sat in an oak slatted chair, and the general sat behind his desk. The man took a deep breath, as if needing to fuel his words. “The vice president of the Union Pacific, Dr. Durant, is eager to show off the progress of the railroad and has sent out three hundred invitations to important people back east—including President Johnson and all the members of Congress. Two excursion trains are going to meet up in Omaha, and the guests will head west to witness what we’ve done to reach the one-hundredth meridian.”