by Nancy Moser
The spark fanned into a flame, and she pushed him away, not wanting to be tainted by his boorishness. “If not me, who?”
“No one. Did you ever consider that? Maybe Miss Mandy’s is her lot in life. Her place.”
She stared at him, incredulous. And then Papa’s words returned to her: I much prefer you be frank rather than suffer because you don’t wish to cause offense.
It was the time to be brutally frank. “You are not the man I want to marry, Lewis. I am sorry, but our engagement is over.”
He stepped back, as though her words had physical force. “Our engagement is not over. It can’t be.”
“It can be, and it is.” She stepped away, ridding herself of his presence. “Good-bye, Lewis. Take care of yourself.”
“But . . . what happened?” he called after her. “What did I do to cause this? And what happens now?”
Not knowing the answer to his last question, she kept walking.
You stupid, stupid man. You’ve blown everything.
Lewis strode away from the train, away from the town, walking onto the prairie without seeing or caring.
Why did Nelly ignite his anger and annoy him so much? The brat was the reason Josephine was leaving, the reason she’d called off their engagement.
Surely Josephine didn’t mean it. And she couldn’t leave. If she did . . . there would be no hope for reconciliation with him here and her in Washington.
She’s leaving whether you like it or not.
His thoughts took another tack. With her gone, he’d have to work on the general, slip deeper into his good graces. He would wait a short while, then return to Washington with the father’s blessings fortified. Josephine wouldn’t refuse her father’s wishes for them to marry.
Why had he let his mouth run away with him? He should have known better. The idea of that girl blending into the Cain household was a joke, but he should not have said so to Josephine. If he tried hard enough, he might even be able to muster up some pity for the little scamp. Hadn’t he been through hard times himself? After he’d deserted the Union army for the second time, he’d had to run behind enemy lines to North Carolina to find his parents. It was either that, or get executed as his friend Smith had been.
As his father had been.
He stopped walking and closed his eyes, pressing his hands to the sides of his head, trying to rid himself of the memory of his fellow Union deserter being marched out, accompanied by a band and four men carrying an empty coffin. That Smith had marched along with them, helping to carry his very own casket, was something Lewis would never understand.
Twelve men with rifles had formed a line, and a chaplain said a few words and put a blindfold on him. Then Smith sat upon his coffin. He raised his hand two times, and on the third, held it straight in front of him.
The rifle shots roared and created a cloud of smoke. Smith fell back but was still kicking, so the shooters stepped up and put their guns right against his head and chest and shot some more.
Appalled and frightened, Lewis had fled into the woods and was sick. His insides spent, he curled up on the leaves and lay there a long time.
After Lewis had deserted the first time, he’d run into Smith hiding out in the woods. It was Smith’s idea to re-enlist for the signing bonus, desert a second time, and enlist yet again. It was a good way to make a little money.
But then Smith had bragged about the scheme to the wrong person, and the man had turned him in. He’d gone to his death, arrogant to the last, the soldiers shooting him then mutilating his dead body with gun blasts.
It could have been me.
Lewis felt fairly certain that it would have been him eventually, had he not headed south. After two weeks of hiding out in haystacks and caves, he’d found his parents in North Carolina. There he’d joined his father’s blockade running, working for the Confederacy. They ran their steamships—which had been painted gray to match the water—into Southern ports at night, sliding around the Union blockades. And his father had done more than that, spying for the South while feigning loyalty to the North. The situation was risky and complicated, but when it came down to it, Lewis hadn’t really cared who won the war. A wise man made good use of his circumstances.
He had especially enjoyed the trips to the stunning island of Bermuda, where they stored the goods, until he and some fellow sailors brought yellow fever back to Wilmington. His mother had nursed him to health, but then she’d caught the sickness and died of it. He hadn’t lied to Josephine about her death, though he hadn’t mentioned that a third of the population of the city had also died from a disease he’d brought home with him.
He might as well have died too, for all the guilt he felt about it. But it wasn’t all his fault. If his father hadn’t gotten Lewis involved in the blockade running, none of it would have happened. Unexpectedly, his father accepted the blame. He was never quite the same after his wife died, which made him careless. He made mistakes.
And got caught.
When Lewis heard of his father’s arrest, he’d rushed to the jail where his father was held. But he’d been too late to help him.
Lewis pressed his hands against his eyes to rid his mind of the most horrendous memory—that of a certain general giving the order to have his father hanged as a spy. With one nod, the hangman had pushed his father off the gallows. The snap of his neck was forever embedded in Lewis’s mind. As was the sight of his body twitching and gyrating until it was still.
That accomplished, General Reginald Cain had simply turned and walked away, as if the hanging had meant nothing. As if the death of Lewis’s father was just another task for the day.
With both parents dead, Lewis had gone underground until the end of the war, only bringing with him a few mementos of his life before. He’d ended up in Washington. Working at Ford’s Theatre the night Lincoln was shot marked a turning point for him, for his illustration of the event had brought recognition of his talent and the possibility of a new profession. And then finding out that General Cain lived in the city and had a pretty daughter . . .
That was when he’d decided to stay. He’d found work at the butcher shop to support himself while he devised his plans.
Without Mr. Connelly, I’d be on the streets. He saved me.
He sat upright. Like Josephine saved Nelly.
With a start Lewis recognized the parallel acts of kindness, yet he couldn’t move past another fact: he had needing saving just as much as Nelly had.
They were both victims of bad circumstances.
Lewis pulled in a breath. “I am not like Nelly. I’m not. I’ve risen above my past.”
To prove it, he pushed Nelly out of his mind and headed back to town.
Hudson tied his saddlebag shut. “That’s it then.”
Raleigh sat on his bed and pulled on his boots. “When will you be back?”
He hadn’t really thought about it. “I suppose I could turn around and come back right away. My job is to see the ladies home. That’s it.”
Raleigh stood. “You could stop in Pennsylvania. See the folks and Ezra. See Sarah Ann.”
He hadn’t thought of that. Why hadn’t he thought of that? “I suppose I could.”
“Your enthusiasm is unconvincing.”
Hudson glared at his younger brother.
“If you ask me—”
“I’m not asking you.”
Raleigh began again. “If you ask me, it would be the perfect time to get in good with Sarah Ann again.”
“She’s the one who has stopped writing.”
“Then see what’s what. You can’t chase after a second woman when you haven’t let go of the first.”
Hudson took his coat off the peg. “I’m not chasing after anyone.”
“Only because you don’t have to. The general’s making it easy for you.”
“He asked me to do him a favor.”
“Convenient favor.”
Hudson put on his coat and brushed some dust from his hat. “Take care of you
rself, brother. And behave.”
“You’re the one who needs to be told to behave.”
“I have been—and will continue to be—the perfect gentleman.”
“That’s no fun.”
“Fun or not, it’s who I am.”
“You’re a lovesick fool.”
“I’m no fool.”
“You’re acting like one. You can fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. You’re in love with that girl. It’s probably best you admit it.”
But he didn’t want to admit it. Not to Raleigh, and not to himself.
“She’s engaged to Simmons.”
“Then why isn’t he taking her home?”
“None of our business.”
“Right.”
“Don’t read something into it that—”
Raleigh walked away, shaking his head. “Foolish and blind. That’s quite a combination, brother.”
Josephine wrapped her arms around her father’s waist. “I hate to leave you.”
“I hate to see you leave,” he said. “But it’s for the best—for Nelly’s best, and for your own. I am going to be incredibly busy starting today. I barely have time to say good-bye.”
She hugged him all the tighter. “When will I see you again?”
He gently pushed her back and looked into her eyes. “It may be awhile, sweet girl. You have other responsibilities now, and we’re heading over the mountains. We both have our work to do.”
She fingered the buttons of his coat. “I never meant to be tied down like this. I—”
He tipped her chin upward, and none too gently. “You took that girl away from the life she knew, which makes it your responsibility to give her a better life. And don’t go pawning her off on your mother or aunt either.”
As if they would take her.
“But I’m too young to be the mother of a ten-year-old.”
“Then be her big sister.”
She saw Lewis running toward them. He was the last person she wanted to see.
“Josephine,” he said, gasping for air. “I’m so glad I caught up with you before you left.”
“Lewis, please . . .” She suddenly thought of Hudson getting settled in the car with Frieda and Nelly. Please don’t show yourself. Please don’t let Lewis see you.
“Good-bye, Lewis,” she told him with as much firmness in her voice as she could muster.
“But, Josephine . . .”
Papa put an arm around Josephine’s shoulders and led her toward the train that would take her east. Once on board, he gave her a final kiss. “I love you, daughter.”
“I love you too.”
He stepped back and made an arm gesture to the locomotive. The whistle sounded and the train began to move away. Josephine rushed to the window to wave.
Papa waved back, blowing her a kiss.
Lewis waved too.
But then the others waved their own good-byes.
Too late, Josephine realized that Lewis would see Hudson waving and—
She yanked his arm down. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because Lewis doesn’t know you’re the one taking us home.”
Hudson headed toward the door of the railcar. He opened it and stepped onto the platform.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t have to be here. I can still jump down.”
“No! Don’t.”
“Why not?”
The train was gaining speed. She had to say it. “I want you here.”
“Do you?”
She put her hand on his arm. “I do.”
He turned toward her, and on the narrow landing, he touched her waist. “I want to be here too.”
Josephine felt a tingle at his touch. But then she spotted Lewis, watching them go.
Although she was glad she had ended it with him, although she was glad to have Hudson as their escort home, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
With a silent prayer that God would watch over him, she turned toward the railcar and went inside, letting the distance between them widen.
“Are you all right?” Hudson asked.
“I will be.”
But when Josephine took one last look through the glass of the door, Lewis was gone.
As if he were never there.
Lewis pointed to the train as it pulled away. “Maguire?” He turned to the general. “What is Maguire doing on that train?”
The general walked in the direction of the railway office. “I asked him to go.”
“With them? With your daughter?”
“And Frieda and Nelly.”
Lewis had to rush to catch up with the general’s long strides. “But what about me?”
The general suddenly stopped and faced him. “What about you, Mr. Simmons?”
He was taken aback. “She’s my fiancée.”
The general shrugged. Shrugged! “Has she spoken with you?”
Lewis played dumb. “About . . . ?”
“The truth of it, Mr. Simmons, is that I want my daughter to marry a man of courage and honor, and I am not sure you are that man.”
This wasn’t happening. He’d hoped he still had favor with the general. It was his only chance. “I am that man. What have I done to make you say such a thing?”
The general’s right eyebrow rose, and he began ticking off points on his fingers. “Number one, you let my daughter and Mrs. Schultz run after a thief in Chicago.”
“She told you about that?”
“Number two, during the shooting in front of the gambling hall, you hid in the store, leaving the women open to fire.”
“I—I don’t like shooting.”
The general leaned closer. “And I do?” He eyed Lewis. “There’s no shame in being afraid. Self-preservation makes us all want to run the other way. But thinking only of yourself? That’s unforgiveable—especially where my daughter is concerned.”
He began walking again, and Lewis hurried after him. “So you’re saying our engagement is off?”
“That’s up to my daughter.” They reached the rail office. The general went in and closed the door, leaving Lewis outside.
Flummoxed. And seething.
It was all Hudson Maguire’s fault.
And the general’s.
He’d make sure both paid for their sins against him.
Chapter Nineteen
Josephine watched Nelly gripping the windowsill of the railcar, hunkered low so her chin rested on her hands.
“Is she scared or sad?” she whispered to Frieda. “She’s been like that since we left.”
Frieda took out her bag of knitting. “Maybe it’s because she hasn’t been on a train before. She came west on a wagon.”
Suddenly, Nelly left her perch and pointed. “What’s that?”
They all moved to the windows. For as far as they could see, hundreds of small mounds dotted the land like smallpox. And out of the mounds popped small tan animals. Many stood erect on their back legs and others scurried from one hole to the other.
“That’s a prairie dog colony,” Hudson said. “They dig elaborate tunnels connecting their underground homes.”
A passenger they had picked up in Grand Island joined them. “There’s twenty-five square miles of the tunnels on both sides of the railway.”
“They’re cute,” Nelly said. “Can we stop and play with them?”
“You’d never find them,” the man said. “They’d scurry underground. If it weren’t for the sound of the train, you’d hear them squealing and whistling at us.”
Josephine returned to her seat. “Why didn’t I notice them before?”
“Maybe we came through in the dark,” Frieda said.
Whatever the reason, she was glad to see them now. She was glad for anything that made Nelly happy.
The girl had been quiet since they left Cheyenne, glued to the window and the view. When they’d stopped in Grand Island to eat, she had even refused food. Hudson had bought her a sandwich a
nyway and taken it on board “for later.” But there’d been no later.
Hudson stood beside Nelly now, discussing the prairie dogs, and Josephine had a flash of what the trip would have been like if Lewis had been their chaperone.
Lewis wouldn’t have bought Nelly a sandwich, and he certainly wouldn’t have shared a view with her. Most likely, he’d be sulking in a far corner of the railcar, his sketchpad open, which was his way of erecting a wall when he didn’t want to be sociable.
She would have been worried about him and Nelly.
Nelly laughed and swatted Hudson in the arm. Then she turned to Josephine. “Can I have my sandwich now? I’m hungry.”
Josephine got it out, and Nelly took it back to her seat. She tore off a bit and gave it to Hudson as they continued to talk.
Josephine amended her observation. If Lewis were along, they would all be miserable. But with Hudson here . . .
There was nothing to worry about.
Josephine was awakened from her dozing by the train screeching to a halt. She lurched forward, nearly hitting her head on the row of seats in front of her.
“What’s going on?” was repeated by every passenger.
Suddenly, a railroad man ran by the car, yelling at them. “Everybody out! Now!” He pointed to the southwest. “Twister!”
An eerie finger of gray reached down from angry storm clouds. The sky had a sickly, yellow cast as lightning ripped through it, racing the tornado to the ground. Rain began to pelt the train, and some passengers scrambled to close the windows against it.
The inside conductor swatted a hand at their efforts. “Don’t worry about that! Get off! Run toward that ditch. Lie down as flat as you can and cover your heads!”
“But we’ll get soaked. Shouldn’t we stay in—”
“Twisters devour trains and spit them out. You want to be spit out? Now go!”
Two dozen passengers from their car joined a throng of people running the fifty yards to a ditch. “Hold on to each other!” Hudson yelled. He picked Nelly up and pulled Josephine along, and she in turn held on to Frieda.
They lowered their faces against the rain, wind, and debris being hurled and swirled around them. Please God, keep us safe!
Once at the ditch, they fell into it, facedown. Josephine wrapped her arm around Frieda on one side and Nelly on the other, and she felt Hudson’s protective arm spread over them.