Josephine

by Beverly Jenkins

  Jo raised a fingernail to her teeth. The habit helped her think better. “Now you have me full of doubts, Belle. Thanks.”

  Belle ignored the sarcastic tone. “I’m just being Cecilia. Better you know the answers now than not.”

  Although Belle’s advice was sound, Jo didn’t believe George was married; at least, he hadn’t acted as if he were.

  Belle said, “Well, now that we’ve established that George is a fine, upstanding gentleman, and probably not married, what did you wish to talk to me about?”

  Jo thought for a moment. “The way I feel when I’m around him.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’m not me.”

  Belle glanced over. “Explain.”

  “Well, I get all tingly inside and I want to spend a lot more time with him.”

  “Maybe you are measuring him for beau material.”

  “But I don’t want a beau.”

  “So you say.”

  “So I know, Belle Best. I’m going to be an independent working woman.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that, but sometimes your heart has other ideas.”

  “You mean, I may fall in love with him?”

  Belle shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Jo leaned back against the seat. “I’m not falling in love with him.”

  “No one says you have to, silly, but don’t become so set on your life’s goals that you shortchange your heart. If George is the one for you, you’ll know. If he isn’t, you’ll know that, too.”

  Jo thought Belle’s advice felt right. “Thanks, Belle.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  four

  The field surrounding the church was filled with buggies and wagons. To Jo, it appeared as if everyone in town had turned out to pay their final respects to the Firestone men. Belle finally found a place to park the buggy, then she and Jo joined the silent procession heading for the church.

  Jo and Belle took a seat in the filled-to-capacity sanctuary. When Trudy arrived, she slid in next to them. The air in the church was heavy with grief, the mourners subdued and sitting quietly. Everyone had on black.

  Jo could see her mother seated up front with Mrs. Firestone. Beside Vera sat her husband’s last living family member, his brother, Carl. Carl and Vera were famous for not getting along, and had never seen eye to eye over anything except their mutual love for Dexter and Isaac, but there would be no arguing today. They’d come to bury two men who’d made the ultimate sacrifice.

  A soft rustling in the crowd made everyone turn around to see what was going on. Entering the church was Mrs. Oswald and her veterans. Each man had on a starched clean uniform, and whether on crutches or being pushed in chairs, they exuded a soldierly pride. Jo’s heart swelled with pride, and she discreetly attempted to spot George. But Trudy clutched Jo’s arm tightly and whispered ecstatically, “There’s Dred.”

  Jo saw him, but she didn’t dare tell Trudy that Dred had asked after her, at least not here. Again, there was no telling what Trudy might do or say, and Jo wanted nothing marring the funeral, at least nothing started by Trudy.

  Jo found George. Their gazes met, but in keeping with the serious atmosphere, he simply nodded respectfully. Jo nodded a similar response, then turned away.

  Belle leaned over to Jo and whispered, “He is a nice-looking man.”

  Jo simply smiled.

  The true purpose of the gathering came back into focus with the appearance of Reverend Harmony standing at the front of the church. He looked properly solemn in his long black robe. The congregation quieted and waited for him to speak.

  “Although I did not know Dexter Firestone, or his son, Isaac, the fact that all of you are here today in their honor tells me they were respected and well-loved members of this community.”

  A few soft amens affirmed his statement, and Jo added one, as well.

  The service lasted less than an hour. At the conclusion, the twin flag-draped coffins were wheeled out of the church. The Firestone family exited next. Vera Firestone looked heartbroken. Jo wiped at her own tears. The congregation followed the family’s exit, then assembled outside for the traditional walk to the cemetery.

  During the wait for the coffins to be hoisted into the hearse, Cecilia came over to where Jo stood with Belle and the cane-clutching George. Mrs. Best stuck out her hand to him. “My name’s Cecilia Best. I’m Josephine’s mother.”

  George seemed not to know what to say to the forceful Cecilia. Jo loved her mother but sometimes wished she weren’t so diligent. Poor George appeared scared to death as Jo watched him shake her mother’s outstretched hand.

  “I’m George Brooks, Mrs. Best. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you, too. I saw you at Mrs. Oswald’s gathering last Sunday.”

  “Yes, ma’am, you did.”

  Cecilia added, “The family appreciates your coming.”

  “Well, Miss Josephine told us about the funeral, and we decided we would come to pay our respects.”

  Belle asked, “Are you going to the cemetery?”

  He raised his cane. “No, this cane and I don’t do well on long walks, at least not yet. The men and I are going back to Mrs. Oswald’s.”

  Jo was admittedly disappointed.

  Mrs. Best said, “Well, I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

  The coffins were now loaded and the procession was ready to begin.

  Cecilia said, “I must go. George, as I said, it was a pleasure meeting you. Jo and Belle, I’ll see you at the cemetery.” She gave George a parting smile, then hurried off.

  Jo quipped, “Now, that wasn’t so bad, George, was it?”

  George fidgeted with his collar. “Your mother’s very forceful. Your father allows it, though, I suppose.”

  Jo wasn’t sure how to take that, but decided to give George the benefit of the doubt. Surely he didn’t think there was anything wrong with a forceful woman, but before she could question him further on the matter, Belle said, “Jo, we should be going. The line’s starting to move.”

  Jo saw that Belle was right, so having George clarify his comment about her mother would have to wait until another time. “I’ll see you on Sunday, George.”

  “I’ll be counting the minutes,” he teased. With a grin and a wave he hobbled off.

  Jo watched him for a moment, then she and Belle got in line with the congregation for the traditional walk to the cemetery.

  Jo had only a few appointments on Thursday, but by Friday, she had clients up to her ears. She didn’t mind the work; the money she earned would help with the family’s household expenses. But she did mind that her last customer of the day, Mrs. Waterman, had taken it upon herself to ferret out all she could about George Brooks.

  Jo was in the process of fitting Corinne with a long rat so that her hair would coil atop her head, when the Dragon Lady asked, “So, Josephine, who was that soldier you were with outside the church at the Firestone funeral?”

  Jo wasn’t surprised by the question. The Dragon Lady was known for sticking her long nose in other folks’ business. “His name is George Brooks. He’s staying with Mrs. Oswald.”

  “I’d never let a daughter of mine go anywhere near a soldier. I would think your mama would be more discriminating.”

  “It isn’t as if he’s courting me, Mrs. Waterman. I met him at Mrs. Oswald’s on Sunday along with everyone else from the church.”

  “All the more reason your mama should be wary. How much do you know about him?”

  Jo kept her mouth shut and concentrated on fitting the rat. When it was finally positioned, she pinned it down. A few more touches and she was done. She handed Mrs. Waterman the hand mirror, then stepped back to await her comments.

  “This looks very good, Josephine. The color matches very well, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Jo was handed back the mirror. The very short and very wide Mrs. Waterman then stood and picked up her handbag. She took a moment to count out wh
at Jo was owed, and added a five-cent tip. Jo stuck the coins in the pocket of her apron. “Thank you, Mrs. Waterman.”

  “You’re welcome, Josephine. Between you and me, I wish my Bert had fallen in love with you. Granted, you were quite the handful growing up, but now you seem to know where you’re going. Sadly, I can’t say the same for Gertrude.”

  Jo came quickly to her best friend’s defense. “You aren’t being fair to Trudy, Mrs. Waterman. Trudy is an intelligent young woman, and she loves Bert very much.”

  “She’s too flighty for my liking.”

  “Bert loves her, as well.”

  Jo dearly hoped Mrs. Waterman wasn’t intent upon breaking off her son’s engagement because it would break Bert’s heart, but Mrs. Waterman had nothing further to say, it seemed, because she put on her coat and walked to the door, saying, “I still don’t think you should be seeing a soldier. You wouldn’t want folks talking about you and him all over town.”

  “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t.” Jo could just about imagine what would happen should Mrs. Waterman ever get word of Trudy’s sudden infatuation with Dred Reed. Whittaker was a small town. Gossip was one of the few entertainments offered. In fact, when she and Trudy were younger, gossip had been their whole life, but now that they were older Jo had no desire to be the subject of falsehoods and innuendos.

  Mrs. Waterman went to the door. “Remember what I said, Josephine.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

  And she was gone.

  After church on Sunday, the Bests once again led the caravan to Mrs. Oswald’s. Out in front of the house, Cecilia set the brake, then turned to her daughter and said, “So, tell me about this George.”

  Jo’s eyes shot to Belle, but Belle looked off across the fields. “Well, I don’t know much.” Jo rattled off the list of “George facts” she’d told Belle previously.

  Cecilia listened, then said, “He seems to be a nice young man.”

  “I thought so, as well.”

  “All right, then, let’s go on inside.”

  Jo was surprised to have gotten off so lightly. Letting out her pent-up breath, she let her mama and Belle go ahead so she could wait for Trudy.

  Once they were out of earshot of their mamas, Trudy whispered excitedly, “Do you think Dred is still here?”

  Jo shrugged. “What about Bert, Tru?”

  Trudy waved her hand dismissively. “He and his mama went to Ypsilanti to have dinner with one of the Dragon Lady’s friends.”

  “Trudy, why are you flirting with Dred when you have Bert?”

  “I’m not flirting. I’m just being nice.” Trudy then asked, “Wouldn’t it be something if he remembered me long after he left here? You know how in the novels the soldier always remembers the young woman he met during the war and spends the rest of his life pining for her? Just imagine, I could be the last thing Dred thinks back upon right before he dies.”

  “Trudy!” Jo had heard Trudy spout some ridiculous notions over their lifetime, but this one had to be the worst.

  “Don’t you think that’s romantic?”

  Jo threw up her hands. “No. You’re supposed to be thinking about Bert and only Bert.”

  Trudy’s chin rose and she sniffed, “Well, I think it’s very romantic. Just because you’ve decided to put business before matters of the heart doesn’t mean I have to, too.”

  Jo snapped her mouth shut. She wanted to shake Trudy from now until Christmas Day, but knew it wouldn’t do to have a fight here, nor would it matter. Trudy had always been stubborn and rarely took advice that didn’t suit her purpose. Jo supposed some folks would describe Jo in those same terms, but she wasn’t silly enough to think she would be the last thing George would think about on his deathbed. Lord, it was a good thing she loved Trudy.

  Jo and Trudy spent the first part of the day’s visit writing letters for the men who could not do it for themselves. Some were hampered by injuries to their arms or shoulders, but others were hampered by their inability to read or write. One man wanted a letter written to his mother in Ohio, so she would know he’d been injured. Now that he was recovering he would be unable to visit her as he’d planned because he’d been ordered to rejoin his unit in three days’ time. Jo found the news sad but knew his mother would be happy to hear from him in spite of the spoiled plans. Having received no word from the men in her own family, Jo thought the soldier’s mother a lucky woman indeed.

  After all the letters were written, Jo rejoined her mother, who was seated on a bench stitching up the torn shoulder of a Union jacket. “Mama, would it be all right if I spent a few minutes talking with George?” He was over at a table playing chess with the Reverend Harmony. Jo had been keeping a discreet eye on his location since her arrival.

  Cecilia looked up from her needle. “I don’t see why not, but do me a favor first, if you would. My scissors must have fallen out of my sewing basket on the trip over. Would you go out to the wagon and see if you see them anywhere?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

  Jo hurried out to the wagon, and after a short search found the scissors beneath the wagon seat. After hopping back down to the ground her intent was to head back to her mother, but Jo stood there a moment to enjoy the silence and the gentle June breeze. She looked out over the fields toward the horizon and drank in the green, lush countryside. Michigan was so lovely in the spring, Jo could never imagine living anywhere else.

  She was just about to head back when the sight of a rented hack pulling up to the front of the house made her stop. The driver, a short, gnarly old man, hurried around to open the door. Out stepped a light-skinned man on crutches. One leg was heavily bandaged from his knee to his toes, so she assumed him to be another veteran coming to stay with Mrs. Oswald. He hopped around a bit to get himself steadied, then said something to the driver. Jo watched the driver firmly drop a valise at the feet of the crutch-bearing man. The men spoke for a moment. Their voices rose. She was too far away to hear the entire argument, but it seemed the man on the crutches wanted the driver to carry the bag to the door, but the tight-jawed driver climbed back into his rig and drove away. The man didn’t appear able to pick up the valise and handle the crutches, too, so she went to his aid.

  As Jo neared, however, she realized that she knew him. Although she hadn’t seen him since she was thirteen, Jo was ready to bet every hair iron she owned that the golden-skinned man with the golden brown eyes was her brother’s friend Adam Morgan. Happiness and surprise filled her. What was he doing here?

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  Jo stopped, then stared up into the handsome, sculpted face of Adam Morgan. Beautiful? When she was young, her brother and his friends called her nothing but “Pest.”

  Adam regained her attention by adding, “I lived in Whittaker for ten years. I don’t remember ever seeing you back then.”

  Jo blinked. He didn’t recognize her? She almost burst into laughter but decided to play along. She’d tease him later. “I’ve lived here all of my life.”

  “Really? I would remember someone as lovely as you.”

  “I bet you say that to all of the girls.”

  He clutched his heart. “You wound me, mademoiselle. Weren’t the Rebs enough?”

  Jo giggled in spite of herself. He was as silly as ever.

  He then introduced himself. “I’m Adam Morgan.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Adam.”

  Silence.

  “Now you’re supposed to give me your name,” he pointed out.

  Jo replied with sparkling eyes, “I don’t think I will.”

  “Ah, a woman of mystery. I like intrigue.”

  “Do you?”

  His voice softened. “I do.”

  Jo felt something come over her that she’d never felt before. George made her flutter, but this feeling was deeper, stronger somehow. It was like comparing the wind from the wings of a butterfly to that from the mighty wings of a red-tailed hawk.

  “How old are you?” he asked.
r />   It took Jo a moment to answer. “Seventeen.”

  “You’ve a mama nearby, I’m betting?”

  Jo nodded. “Yes.”

  “Does she let you have dinner with soldiers?”

  “No.”

  “Smart woman,” he offered in tandem with his heart-melting smile.

  As an adolescent, Jo never understood why girls swooned every time Adam or his brother, Jeremiah, walked by. Now she did. Shaking herself free of his spell, she said, “I came to help you with your bag.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jo picked up the valise. It was heavy, but not so much so that she couldn’t lug it the short distance to the porch. When they reached the door, Jo set it down. “I’ll go and find Mrs. Oswald for you.”

  His eyes were all she could see. She seemed to be drowning in them. It was an oddly pleasant feeling. Then remembering that this was Adam Morgan, she shook herself free again. “Nice meeting you, Adam.”

  “Nice meeting you, as well, beautiful. You aren’t going to tell me your name.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Jo smiled secretively. “No, but I’m certain you’ll learn it soon.”

  Trudy had apparently come looking for Jo, because she suddenly appeared at Jo’s side. Jo sensed Trudy was about to say something, but upon seeing the man Jo was talking with, Trudy offered nothing but a look of utter surprise. Jo assumed Trudy recognized him, too. He didn’t seem to recognize Trudy though, if the polite but distant nod he sent Trudy’s way was any indication. Jo supposed she and Trudy did look different from the short, skinny, ringlet-wearing adolescents they’d been the last time he’d seen them. They were both taller and no longer skinny. Trudy was a bit more round than Jo, but they were young women now.

  Before Trudy could open her mouth and ruin Jo’s game, Jo told Adam, “You go on inside and take a seat. I’ll fetch Mrs. Oswald. That is who you’re here to see?”

  “Yes, the hospital in Detroit recommended I stay here until I recover.” But he seemed more intent upon Jo, and she could feel the interest as well as she could feel the breeze on her cheeks. She grabbed the still-staring Trudy’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get Mrs. Oswald.”