The Journey of Josephine Cain

by Nancy Moser

  You should be was kept to himself. Instead he said, “Good.”

  She did a double take, obviously expecting him to be more gracious. “I said I was sorry.”

  “And I said good. It doesn’t mean I don’t accept your apology, because I do.” He set his feet solidly before her and pointed toward the town. “I am sorry about all that too, but I know better than to blame the entirety of mankind for it.”

  She blinked. “We are all sinners.”

  “That we are. And we are all tempted. That’s part of being human. But that doesn’t mean all of us succumb. Some of us awful men choose to forgo the pleasures of the hell-on-wheels, your father and I being but two. As I started to say . . . should I lump you and Mrs. Schultz into the same group as the women at Miss Mandy’s?” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to concede the point.

  “You win.”

  That was easy.

  He was mesmerized by the curved line that formed in her brow when she was concerned. “I know I was wrong,” she said, “and as soon as I said what I did, I wanted to take it back. It was unfair to you. And Papa.”

  “And other men who choose right over wrong.”

  She cocked her head. “Are there many of you?”

  He wanted to encourage her by saying yes, but couldn’t lie. “Not enough.”

  “Oh.”

  Now he had discouraged her. He pointed toward the end of the line where the track would soon be laid. “These men who create the railroad from nothing are hardworking men who are doing the work so thousands and tens of thousands of people can come after them. They are sacrificing months and years of their lives, sacrificing their health and the life they left behind . . .” He thought of Sarah Ann and his parents. They seemed to inhabit a different world. As did he. He was no longer the Hudson they knew and loved. He’d changed. This disgusting, awful, inspiring place had changed him.

  Forever? Could he ever go back?

  “Mr. Maguire?”

  Hudson realized he’d momentarily left the here-and-now. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Of . . . ?”

  “Of what I left behind.”

  “And who?”

  He felt himself redden and hated himself for it. “And who.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  He didn’t want to talk to Josephine about it. “Sarah Ann. And I accept your apology, Miss Cain. Now, I’d better check in with your father and get further instructions.”

  He tipped his hat and walked away.

  It took everything in his being not to turn back to look at her.

  Papa came back to the railcar for dinner, and Josephine could see he was exhausted. She knew it wasn’t a good time to talk to him about much of anything, yet she couldn’t help herself.

  As soon as he’d washed up and sat down to eat, the words spilled out.

  “I met a little girl today, at the general store.”

  “Oh?”

  “Her name is Nelly.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “She works at Miss Mandy’s.”

  His fork stopped in midair. “What do you know about Miss Mandy’s?”

  “We walked by it—with you. I know it’s a brothel. I know it is no place for a little girl.”

  “I told Hudson to keep you away from the seedy part of town. I—”

  “It’s not Mr. Maguire’s fault. We met Nelly in the general store, and I was the one who insisted on taking the shortcut back, through the bad part of town.”

  “She’s right,” Frieda said. “Mr. Maguire tried to steer us ’round it.”

  Papa sat at the table and cut a piece of chicken. “You need to follow directions, daughter. This is no place for a young lady like yourself to go wandering around at will.”

  Josephine set her fork down and pushed her plate away. “This is no place for those women either. Whether they chose that life or had it thrust upon them, it is wrong. And it should not be associated with the railroad.”

  “It’s not. It’s a private enterprise.”

  “But it is here because of the railroad. And it is immoral. It’s disgusting.”

  “So is the liquor they serve in the saloons, and the cheating that goes on at the card tables, and the high prices we’re charged for supplies.”

  She hadn’t thought about any of that. “Then close them all down. Make it against the law for those places to even exist.”

  He ate a piece of meat, chewing slowly. Thinking. “I would like nothing better than to do just as you say, if not for the morals of it, for the work time lost. I cannot count the number of men who don’t show up because they’ve partaken of those vices the night before.”

  “Then talk to Dr. Durant, or General Dodge, or somebody. The railroad is all about money and productivity. They will agree.”

  “I have talked to Durant and other higher-ups. In Columbus—which already had saloons—Durant had us build a sidetrack, away from the saloons, and put our materials over there, hoping to keep the men confined. But the whiskey sellers delivered the booze to the men. Here at Cheyenne, having to be here all winter, the full contingent of temptations has caught up with us and set up shop.” He nodded toward the town. “It’s bad, it’s deplorable, it’s disgusting. All those words and more, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. If I was able to shut them all down, I’d have a mutiny on my hands. When we’re laying track, the men are working sixteen-hour days in atrocious conditions. When we have no work, they are bored. Either way they have to let off a little steam. And not all men partake.”

  That’s what Hudson said.

  “I’m sorry you have to witness it, and to even know about it. But there’s nothing I can do—”

  “But what about Nelly? Grown women selling themselves is one thing, but a little girl . . . there is no excuse for that, no justification.”

  Papa closed his eyes and scratched his head. “No, there isn’t. And I wasn’t aware there was a child involved. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “When?”

  “When I have time. When I get the supply situation worked out, when I find a way to inspire the men to work as hard as they did last fall, when the spring thaw is over so we don’t have to put up with the mud, when I have one day when I don’t get a wire from Durant, pushing me to work harder and faster.”

  “You’re a good man, General,” Frieda said. “You have the weight of the railroad riding on your shoulders.”

  “It does feel that way sometimes.”

  Josephine agreed, and she did appreciate her father’s hard work and the issues that weighed on him. “But, Nelly—”

  Frieda kicked Josephine under the table and gave her a pointed look. “Nelly will be very appreciative of any help you can give her, General.”

  But, but, but . . .

  Josephine let the subject go, yet the thought of little Nelly in that awful place did not let her go.

  Lewis walked toward the general’s railcar. From the lamps inside he could see the general eating dinner with Josephine and Frieda.

  They hadn’t invited him.

  Not that they had to, but Lewis feared he wasn’t invited because of what Josephine had seen this afternoon. More than once he’d thought about approaching the railcar to talk to her about it, about his photographing the whores, but . . .

  Was she telling her father about it? That very thought propelled Lewis toward the car. The general’s good measure was essential for his future.

  He purposely made his boots sound upon the landing, then knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  Lewis removed his hat and entered. “Evening, General. Josephine. Mrs. Schultz.”

  He’d expected Josephine to look away, to ignore him.

  She did no such thing.

  “Care to explain yourself, Mr. Simmons?” she asked.

  The general looked to his daughter, then to Lewis. “What’s going on?”

  “Would you care to tell him, or would you like me t
o?” she said.

  What had gotten into her? He knew Josephine could be high-spirited, but he never thought of her as openly confrontational.

  “Or are you going to deny it?”

  My, my. She was on a roll.

  “I think you’d better explain yourself,” the general said.

  “This afternoon I was taking photographs of some of the towns-people—”

  “The prostitutes.”

  He nodded. “It’s part of my job. They are a part of the western experience that Mr. Rosewood hired me to photograph.”

  “If you were so secure in your right to photograph them, why did you slink around the building when you saw us?”

  Because he was enjoying the task a bit too much. “I apologize,” he said, then thought of an excuse. “I’m as uncomfortable around such vices as you are. I hated being there, and when I saw you I didn’t want you to think I was there for . . . for prurient reasons.”

  “That area of town is bad news,” the general said. “I suggest you stay away.”

  Even if they were good customers and bought a dozen prints?

  He turned back to Josephine. “I’ll do that. But do you understand now? Am I forgiven?”

  She flipped a hand at him, then took up a piece of bread to butter. “So be it.”

  “Josephine!” Frieda said.

  “The man apologized,” the general said. “Where are your manners?”

  With a sigh, she glanced at Lewis and said, “You are forgiven. Now if you will excuse us, we are in the middle of dinner.”

  He left quickly but was pleased to hear Josephine being scolded for not inviting him to join them.

  Josephine sat at the window of the railcar, looking out at the prairie but seeing nothing.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Frieda asked.

  “Before this trip, Lewis and I were making wedding plans.”

  Frieda sat nearby and gave Josephine her full attention. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  Maybe. “You like him.”

  “I liked him.” Before Josephine could let this sink in, Frieda added, “I think you need to answer the most important question.”

  “Which is?”

  “Why are you marrying him?”

  A laugh escaped.

  “It’s not a laughing matter, Liebchen. You should be able to list the reasons, and the list should be long.”

  She was right, and yet the reason that came out first was, “He took me out to the theater and parties and—”

  “He got you out of the house.”

  Well, yes . . .

  “Now that you are free from your mother’s home, do you still have a good reason?”

  “He’s generous. Lewis gave me the beautiful ruby bracelet and my engagement ring.”

  Frieda snickered.

  Josephine didn’t understand. Frieda was the one who had encouraged the courtship.

  “What else makes him good husband material?” Frieda asked.

  She thought for a moment. “He is a talented artist.”

  “Then buy his drawings and photographs. Appreciating his talent doesn’t mean you have to marry the man.”

  What was going on? Josephine shook her head, incredulous. “Why this sudden turnabout?”

  Frieda raised a finger. “Everything you’ve said about Lewis is factual—”

  “Thank you.”

  “But something is missing.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Love.”

  Why hadn’t she even thought about mentioning love? Every point Josephine had made was a cold fact, not an emotion or a desire. Josephine knew her feelings for Lewis had changed, but now she began to question what she had ever felt for him.

  Frieda put her hand upon Josephine’s, her voice soft. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  “I’m not sad, but I am a bit mixed up.”

  “About?”

  Everything.

  Hudson pulled his heel across the metal boot scraper outside the boardinghouse. The owner was having a fit about all the mud the men were tracking in. Especially at dinnertime. “Mud and meals don’t mix” was her oft-repeated saying. If someone was a repeat offender, he would end up hungry.

  Hudson was using a stick to scrape the worst of it off the side of his heel when Lewis Simmons approached.

  “Hey, you. Maguire.”

  He glanced up but kept working on his boot. “Simmons.”

  The man moved close enough that Hudson could see his shoes. Threateningly close. His work complete, Hudson stood, glad he was a good three inches taller and fifty pounds heftier. “You need something?”

  “I need you to stop carrying on with my woman.”

  The phrase my woman struck Hudson as funny, making him smile. “I didn’t know Miss Cain was anyone’s woman.”

  “Well, now you do. We’re engaged.”

  “Are you now.”

  “We are. Ask the general.”

  “Actually, it was the general who asked me to show them around.”

  “Only because I was busy with my photography.”

  “Yeah, I saw you busy with your . . . photography.”

  Simmons’s head drew back an inch. “I’m earning good money for my work.”

  “Are you selling copies to the women at Miss Mandy’s? Or to their customers who want a memento?”

  Simmons started to take a swing, but it was so pathetically accomplished that Hudson had plenty of time to see it coming and grab his wrist.

  “You really want to start this?” Hudson squeezed. Hard.

  Simmons winced. “Let go!”

  Hudson did let go but gave Simmons a push in the process. “Stay out of my way.”

  Simmons regained his footing, massaging his wrist. “You stay out of my way. With Josephine.”

  Hudson tossed the muddy stick on the ground between them. “I think it’s up to Miss Cain to decide that.”

  He walked inside the boardinghouse and was greeted with cheers and a few slaps on the back, as the men who’d been listening from the dining room offered their endorsement.

  Lewis stood in front of the building across the street from the boardinghouse, and stared at it.

  Glared at it.

  Hated it.

  Hated a certain man inside.

  If Hudson Maguire ruined his plan to exact revenge on General Cain through his daughter, he’d be the next victim on Lewis’s list.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Josephine slipped out of bed, being careful not to awaken Frieda. She took her clothes into the main part of the railcar and got dressed as best she could without help. She was in such a hurry that she shunned her corset completely and fastened as many buttons as she could on the back of her dress. She swept her hair into a quick twist and secured it with a few pins, then donned her short cape—which thankfully hid the undone buttons.

  The sun was just beginning to rise as she left the railcar and hurried to Papa’s office. She found him just sitting down to his desk.

  “Josephine. What’s got you up so early?”

  She had decided to say it straight out. “Nelly.”

  It took him a moment to comprehend. Then he said, “I told you I’d look into it.”

  “Would—would today be a good day for that?”

  He took the top page from a stack. “Not today.”

  “But—”

  He pointed to piles of papers. “All of these railroad problems need to be handled immediately. I have hundreds of men awaiting my direction.” He pointed toward the west. “Out west where the surveying crews are working, a hundred Sioux raided the camp and stole all their horses and mules.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Not this time. They just wanted the animals. But earlier this spring they attacked a work train and killed three workers. The Indians are a constant threat. The issue of Nelly will have to wait.” He rubbed his eyes. “In fact, I’m having second thoughts about your even being here.”

  “But Papa, I’
m fine. I am here with you. I am safe with you.”

  “Perhaps. But you see why I don’t have time for one girl? Please remember that patience is a virtue.”

  Patience was a virtue. One she did not own.

  Back at the railcar, Frieda was still asleep, clearly enjoying having the bed to herself. Josephine hated to wake her, but . . .

  She gently jostled the bed. When she got no response, she did it harder. And harder.

  Finally, “Get up!”

  Frieda sat upright, panicked. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

  Negotiating the limited space in the tiny sleeping area, Josephine plucked a brown calico from a hook and tossed it on the bed. “Plenty is wrong, and it is time to fix it.”

  Frieda rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Get dressed.”

  While Frieda dressed, Albert brought them breakfast. Josephine took a few bites of dry toast. A few minutes later, Frieda emerged, still pinning her hair into a bun. “Oh good. Breakfast.”

  “We can eat later.”

  Frieda lifted the lid on a serving bowl of oatmeal. “It will be a leaden lump later.”

  “So be it.” Josephine handed her a hat. “We need to go now, catch them unawares.”

  “Catch who?”

  Josephine tied her own hat beneath her chin and strode toward the door. “The ladies at Miss Mandy’s.”

  Frieda grabbed a fistful of skirt and yanked her back. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  Josephine pulled herself free. “Oh yes, I do. Just this very morning Papa said he didn’t have time to deal with Nelly. But I can’t wait for when he has time. I can’t go about my day with that little girl being mistreated a stone’s throw away. God won’t let me.”

  “That’s all well and good, though I don’t presume to know what God wants you to do at this very moment. But the Almighty repeatedly tells us to be wise. This is not wise. It’s impulsive.”

  “But it’s right. It is on the side of good. There is nothing good about that girl being brought up in a brothel.”

  “I agree with you.” Frieda took her hand and led her back to the chairs. “Sit.”

  “But—”

  “Indulge me.”

  Josephine sat, hating that her zeal was being squelched.