The Journey of Josephine Cain

by Nancy Moser

  “You always just do it. You’re too impulsive. What you want, you take. So far there haven’t been any consequences, but your good fortune cannot last forever. One of these days, your impulsive behavior will get you in trouble. And just because Nelly is here with us, it does not mean she’s completely safe. There are those who might not take kindly to her absence.” He put a finger beneath her chin. “You are the light of my life, sweet girl. I cannot bear the thought of anything happening to you.”

  She nodded, feeling the same way about him. And now she was doubly glad he didn’t know about her meeting the Indian woman. Or the Mormons.

  “That’s why tomorrow I am sending you back home. To Washington.”

  “But I don’t want to go home yet. I just—”

  “We are ready to lay track again. We’ll be leaving Cheyenne, heading west into untamed country—as if anything is tamed out here.” They both turned toward the sound of a coyote in the distance. “You remember what I told you about the Indian attacks?”

  She nodded.

  “General Dodge is determined to clean up the Indians and has asked for more troops. Things could turn nasty. You and Frieda and Nelly are going home.”

  “Nelly too?”

  He gave her a peeved look. “Wasn’t that your plan? You certainly didn’t expect me to take care of her.”

  “No, no,” she said. “Not you. I suppose I thought one of the pioneer families would take her in.”

  “Mormons?” He gave a little laugh. “Mormons who have shunned the town because of its decadence? You thought they would take in a girl from a brothel and make her one of their own?”

  It did seem ridiculous. But in truth, she hadn’t thought much beyond taking Nelly. It was a huge oversight. “But what will Mother say? And Aunt Bernice?”

  He held a finger beneath her chin. “You made this bed, so now you must lie in it. Unfortunately it is not just your problem. It will affect Nelly, and Frieda, and those at home. Now do you see the disadvantage of acting impulsively?”

  “I can’t very well send her back to Miss Mandy’s.”

  “No, you cannot. And so, as a consequence—hopefully as a lesson against future impulsive acts—you must cut short your visit and take Nelly to safety.”

  She thought of the way they had arrived, with Lewis to accompany them. “What about an escort? Frieda and I cannot travel that far by ourselves. And I don’t think Lewis is ready to go back to—”

  “I don’t want Lewis to go with you.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I know you two are engaged, and I also know I supported the match. But after spending time with him here . . . something about him rubs the wrong way.”

  “It does?”

  “I don’t mean to disappoint you or disparage him, but there seems to be a certain . . . deficiency in his character.”

  “Such as?” She wanted him to say it plain.

  “He puts himself before others.”

  Josephine hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until she let it out. “I know.”

  “You’ve seen it too?” Papa asked.

  “I didn’t want to see it. I did my best to ignore it, but . . .” She tried to think of a way to be generous. “He is not you, Papa. You have made me expect high standards in a man, and Lewis . . .”

  “Falls short.”

  She nodded, feeling great relief at having it out in the open. “I thought you supported the match—Mother certainly does—so I left things as they were. But now . . . Would you prefer I was released from the engagement?”

  He looked at her for a long moment. “I would.”

  She let his words sink in and was surprised when the notion did not cause sadness or pain.

  Papa pulled her into an embrace. “You have always spoken your mind, Josephine. Although it sometimes gets you in trouble, I much prefer you be frank rather than suffer because you don’t wish to cause offense.”

  She wondered how Lewis would react to the news. Even the thought of ending their betrothal made her stomach clench.

  “Can you take us home, Papa? I’m sure Mother would so enjoy seeing you.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “There is no way I can leave. It will have to be someone else. Someone I can trust.” He looked south toward the river, then took in a breath. “I know the man. Maguire. Hudson Maguire.”

  Josephine’s heart beat double-time, but she dared not show her eagerness—or even acknowledge the emotion to herself. With a new breath she said quite calmly, “He has proven himself to be trustworthy. And a gentleman.”

  “I will ask him about it.” He walked away as if he was intent on doing just that. But then he turned back. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say anything to Lewis just yet.”

  Josephine nodded, and as she watched him leave, she felt the birth of a smile she had difficulty suppressing. Yes, they were leaving early, and yes, she would have to face the repercussions of bringing Nelly back home. But the fact that Hudson was going to accompany them to Washington?

  Her reaction was surprisingly strong. And pleasant.

  “What do you think?” the general asked Hudson. “Are you up to the challenge of escorting three females halfway across the country?”

  “Well, yes, sir. Though I will say I’m a little stunned by the request. Didn’t Simmons bring them out?”

  “He did, but I have had a change of heart about him. I need someone I can trust with my most precious jewel, my Josephine.” The general looked deep into Hudson’s eyes. “Someone I can completely, absolutely trust to see her safely home.”

  Hudson got the message. “But don’t you need me here? We’re starting to lay rail tomorrow and—”

  “Which only supports my decision to send my daughter home. I must also consider potential trouble with the Indians and the tension Josephine caused by taking the girl.”

  “Has there been more trouble?”

  “Not yet. But I don’t want to wait until there is. And by the way . . .” The general pulled out a wallet. “How much do I owe you for your payment to Miss Mandy?”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “It is. The amount please.”

  “Five dollars.”

  The general pressed that amount into his hand, then another twenty. “For expenses. I need all of you on that train, heading east. Do you agree to do me this very large favor?”

  “I do.”

  Hudson could think of nothing he’d rather do.

  As soon as they finished the meal and Lewis left, Josephine broached the subject of leaving with Frieda and Nelly. “Papa says we are leaving tomorrow,” she declared.

  Frieda stopped her task of trying to run a comb through Nelly’s hair. “So soon? We came all this way for such a short time?”

  “Things have changed.” She nodded toward Nelly. “Actually, the three of us are going back to Washington, where it is—” She left off the “safe” word and changed direction. “Because it is time.”

  “What’s Washington?” Nelly asked as she played with a hairpin.

  “It’s where we live. Where you will live now.”

  The hairpin was forgotten. “But I like it here.”

  Like it? How can you like it?

  “You will like Washington too. My mother and aunt are there and—”

  Frieda interrupted. “What will they think of . . . this?”

  They will hate it. “They always emphasize how we should help those in need.”

  Frieda shook her head. Josephine understood her hesitance and doubt, for it was her own.

  She added the pièce de résistance. “Mr. Maguire will accompany us on our journey.”

  Frieda dropped the comb. “Not Lewis?”

  “Not Lewis. Papa no longer trusts him.”

  “And he trusts Mr. Maguire?”

  “Apparently.” Josephine retrieved the comb and handed it to Frieda. “As do I.”

  Frieda gave her a familiar look. “If the general says so, I will trust Mr. Maguire. But th
at leaves the larger question.”

  “Which is?”

  “Can I trust you?”

  “Me?”

  “I think you know my meaning.”

  She did.

  While Frieda hung Nelly’s now-clean dress to dry on the back platform, a freshly washed Nelly was at the window, looking outside. She was dressed in one of Josephine’s nightgowns, the sleeves rolled high. Her brow was dipped in worry.

  Josephine moved beside her. “What are you looking at?”

  “Will they come get me?”

  “Who?”

  “Miss Mandy or . . . the sweet man.”

  Given the way she said it, Josephine guessed the man was anything but sweet. “What sweet man?”

  Nelly shook her head and gave a little shudder. Then she looked at Josephine. “Was that Lewis fellow right? Do I belong to that man who paid for me?”

  Josephine wanted to cry. She put her arm around Nelly and drew her head against her breast. “No one owns you, Nelly. And you are safe here with me and Frieda and Papa. We won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  “Or let anyone get me?”

  Josephine’s throat grew tight. “Or anyone get you.” Just let anyone try.

  Frieda stood, her work done. “Okay, girl. To bed with you.”

  Nelly climbed between the covers. “This is soft.” She drew the sheet to her nose. “It smells like fresh air.”

  Josephine knelt beside her, looking into the face of not just a child, but her child. In spite of all Nelly had endured, there was innocence there. The knowledge that Josephine was taking Nelly away from anything that could further taint that innocence strengthened her.

  She took Nelly’s hands in hers. “Let’s say prayers.”

  Nelly closed her eyes. “Now I lay me down to sleep . . .”

  Josephine joined in, “I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

  Frieda stood over them and added her voice, “If I shall die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”

  “Amen,” Nelly said with gusto.

  Josephine was pleased—and surprised. “Who taught you that prayer?”

  “One of the ladies. Miss Vera. She made me say it every night.”

  “Really?”

  Nelly let go of Josephine’s hands and turned on her side. “I’m tired.”

  Josephine stood. “You’ve had a hard day.”

  “So have you,” Nelly said.

  She was a smart little whip.

  Josephine leaned down and gave her a kiss good night.

  Josephine awakened in the middle of the night, but she wasn’t sure of the cause. She lay still and held her breath, but the only sound she heard was Frieda’s soft snore beside her.

  But then . . .

  There it was again. Voices. Soft, but there.

  Josephine slipped out of bed and looked through the door to the main room that she’d left ajar, just in case Nelly needed them.

  Nelly was standing beside the town-side of the railcar, leaning out an open window, talking to someone on the ground below.

  Had the “sweet man” come to nab her?

  Josephine burst out of the bedroom. “What’s going on?”

  Nelly jumped back from the window. “I’m just talking to—”

  “Who are you talking to?” Josephine grabbed her parasol to use as a weapon, then looked out the window, ready to jab anyone who dared get close.

  But then she saw it wasn’t a man but a woman with black hair, a shawl wrapped close around her.

  “It’s just Miss Vera,” Nelly said.

  Vera of the bedtime prayer. Vera who’d brought Nelly’s belongings out of the brothel.

  Josephine dropped the parasol and stuck her head out the window. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, thinking about the girl.” She pulled the shawl tighter. “I was just seeing she was all right.”

  Josephine let herself take a fresh breath. Everything was fine. There was no threat in the night. “She is doing well,” she told Vera.

  Nelly nudged her way beside Josephine. “We’re going to Washington tomorrow.”

  “All that way?”

  “My father thinks it best.”

  Vera looked to Nelly. “You all right going so far?”

  Nelly hesitated. “Is it very far?” she asked Vera.

  Vera shrugged. “It’s a ways.” She looked at Josephine. “You take care of her, you hear? She’s special.”

  Josephine was touched by her concern. “I will make sure she’s safe.”

  “And happy. Make her happy.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Nelly turned to Josephine. “Can I go hug Miss Vera good-bye? Please.”

  “I suppose.”

  Nelly ran toward the door of the railcar and fumbled with the lock. Josephine helped her with the latch, and the girl ran into Vera’s arms.

  Together they rocked, and Vera kissed the top of her head. “It’s good you get away, Nell. But I’ll miss you something awful.”

  “I’ll miss you too.”

  Then Vera let her loose and walked toward the town.

  Josephine ushered Nelly back inside and helped her into bed. She was curious about Vera, but her questions could keep until the long trip home. “To sleep now,” she said, tucking her in.

  “Miss Vera’s nice. I’ll miss her.”

  “Maybe we can send her a letter when we get home.”

  “Really?”

  Why not? Sending a letter to a prostitute was nothing compared to taking one into her home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nelly plopped on a chair, her arms crossed. “I don’t want to go to Washington. I want to stay here.”

  Frieda busied herself repacking their trunk. “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing for you here—nothing you should want, at any rate.”

  “But some of the ladies are nice. Vera and Jenny. Not Miss Mandy so much, but she’s busy with the—”

  Frieda pointed at her. “Shush. We don’t want to hear what Miss Mandy is busy with, nor do we want to hear about the ladies who are not ladies at all.”

  “They’re ladies to me,” Nelly said, swinging her legs. “They been nice to me.”

  “Humph.”

  Josephine had heard enough. Yes, she had met Vera last night, and yes, she had seemed like a nice enough woman, but she didn’t even want to think of Nelly’s life at Miss Mandy’s. It only fueled her need to leave. “Come now, Nelly. It will be a great adventure. And when we arrive home, you will have a pretty room all to yourself, with my old dolls and toys, and I shall buy you some new dresses, and—”

  Nelly’s eyes lit up. “Can I have a corset with black lace on it like Vera and Jenny have?”

  Josephine withheld a shudder. “You’re too young to need a corset. Enjoy your freedom while you can. Now up with you.” She handed her a small carpetbag.

  Nelly began packing with all the enthusiasm of someone cleaning out a privy.

  Josephine heard boots on the platform and expected Papa to come in. But then there was a knock.

  Frieda went to answer it.

  “Good morning,” Lewis said. “I wondered if Josephine would like to go for a morning walk to look at the sunrise.”

  That was nice—but very unlike him. And very badly timed.

  Part of her wanted to break their engagement now, before she left Cheyenne, and have it done with. But she dreaded the thought. She had secretly hoped she could leave without having to endure the confrontation just yet.

  “Good morning to you too, Lewis,” she said. She stepped aside to let him see what they were doing. “But I can’t go walking with you, because we are leaving this morning. Going back to Washington.”

  His brow creased. “But I’m not ready to leave. I still have lots of photographs to take, especially now that they’re going to start laying track again. . . .”

  She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t tell him yet. What if he tried to do some
thing to keep them there? What if he tried to come with them as a means to get her to reconsider? “You aren’t going, Lewis. We are.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask for specifics.

  He pointed past her, to Nelly. “Is she going with you?”

  Josephine stepped between Lewis and his view so she could speak with more confidentiality. “Her safety is one of the reasons we are going. I don’t want Miss Mandy to change her mind, or have one of the men . . .” She hoped he wouldn’t insist on more details.

  “Three women traveling alone? How will you manage?”

  Josephine resented his low opinion of her abilities. Who was the one who had run after the thief? “We will manage quite well,” she said, deciding not to mention Hudson. “After all, this will be the second time I have made this return trip.”

  Frieda closed the lid on the trunk. “And we won’t be—”

  Josephine cut her off. “And we won’t be foolish. We will be very careful.” She flashed Frieda a look, and the woman looked away.

  “But what about me?” Lewis said. “What about our wedding plans?”

  She found the order of his concern telling. But Josephine didn’t want to risk either Frieda or Nelly mentioning Hudson’s name, so she motioned Lewis outside and led him a short distance away. “When we first return home I shall be busy getting Nelly settled, and—”

  He stopped walking. “Settled? How can a girl like Nelly get settled back home? Do you really think your mother and aunt will accept her?”

  No, she didn’t, but that was a worry for another day. “I have to do this whether they accept her or not. I can’t not help her, Lewis. Don’t you understand that?”

  He answered with a shake to his head before his words caught up. “No, I don’t.” He leaned close. “She’s a whore.”

  Josephine felt the spark of anger rise, and she faced him. “She is a little girl who needs help. I believe I was placed here at this time and in this place to help her.”

  He laughed. “So you’re the angel of mercy, swooping down to pluck a nothing-girl from a nothing-whorehouse in a nothing-town?”