by Nancy Moser
It sounded as if a train were barreling down on them, yet she knew the train was stopped.
“Keep your heads down!” Hudson yelled above the wind.
Nelly whimpered beneath them.
And then it hit. The world moaned and wailed around them, a monster screaming at its prey.
It wasn’t the only scream they heard, as the other passengers released their fear. Men, women, children—no one could be brave against nature’s hellish fury.
Josephine’s skirt whipped against her legs, and the rain felt like nails shot through the air.
“Please God, please God, please . . .” Her prayers melded with those of the others, a communal plea for mercy.
Then she heard the sound of metal straining and creaking. Was the train fighting its own battle against the storm? She wanted to see.
“No! Head down!” Hudson yelled.
And then, as quickly as it attacked, it retreated. Or moved on.
Josephine let herself breathe and felt Hudson’s protective cover release her.
“Is it over?” Nelly asked.
“For us,” he said as he got to his knees to look. “Unless it turns back on us.”
He helped them stand. They were all soaked and muddy, with grass and leaves pasted to their bodies.
But they were alive.
Josephine threw her arms around his neck, and Nelly did the same around his waist. He opened his other arm to Frieda, and the four of them stood as one shaking, soggy, grateful mass.
“Thank God,” Josephine said.
A conductor scurried among the people. “Are you all right? Anyone hurt?”
A few had cuts, but nothing worse than that. It was a miracle.
Only then did they turn to look at the train.
“It’s still there!” Nelly yelled.
The sides of the cars were plastered with mud and debris, but they were intact.
“Everyone back on the train,” the conductor said. “We’ll stop in Omaha and let you get cleaned up.”
As they slogged through the muddy ground, Josie looked to her left. “Wasn’t there a shed over there?”
“Used to be.” Hudson helped them board the train.
Everything was covered with muck and damp, but they sat anyway, Nelly huddled with Frieda, and Josephine with Hudson. He wiped a leaf from her temple. “I thank God you’re all right,” he said.
“I thank God—and you.”
She leaned her head against his chest as the train began to move.
It took four hours for everyone to get cleaned up and boarded onto a new train heading east. According to the chatter, the only casualty was one missing valise. It was probably in Iowa by now.
“We could have stayed overnight in a hotel,” Hudson said as the train pulled away.
But Josephine shook her head. “I just want to get home as soon as possible.”
“Amen to that,” said Frieda. “And again, Mr. Maguire, we can’t thank you enough for getting us to that ditch. I swear we would have wholly blown away if it weren’t for your solid anchor.”
Their gratitude embarrassed him. “You’ve thanked me enough. In fact . . . could I ask a favor of you three?”
“Of course,” Josephine said.
“We’ve traveled five hundred miles and have fifteen hundred to go. Plus, we’ve survived a tornado. Enough of ‘Mr. Maguire.’ Please call me Hudson.”
When Josephine smiled, a dimple appeared in her right cheek. “And you can call me Josephine.”
“And me Frieda,” said Mrs. Schultz.
Then Nelly piped up, “You can call me anything but late for dinner.” She giggled.
“Where did you hear that saying?” Josephine asked.
“Vera taught it to me.”
Hudson tried not to think of what else Vera might have taught her. “I am very glad to call you Josephine, but . . .”
“But?”
“The name doesn’t suit you.”
“Oh?”
It was hard to explain, and he didn’t want her to take offense. “Josephine is the name of a lady of society, and though I know that’s what you were born into, I don’t think that’s who you are.”
“Who am I then?” Her hazel eyes were alive with the challenge.
“You are more a . . . Josie.”
She cocked her head and looked into the air, considering it. “Josie. I think I like that.”
He was relieved. “It has spunk and vigor. Like you.”
She nodded, and her smile cemented the transformation. “Then Josie I am.”
The miles went on. And on. And on.
The ladies impressed Hudson with their patience. They hardly complained—and that surprised him. He’d expected Josie to grumble about the delay caused by the tornado, the food, the minimal facilities, the noise and soot in the depots, or the constant chatter of the other ladies seated at the far end of the car. Would they ever stop talking?
He was glad the four of them had commandeered two benches that faced each other, which made for easier conversation. Though there was one conversation they had avoided since leaving Cheyenne.
Hudson studied Nelly a moment. She was lying on the bench across from Josie and him, her head in Frieda’s lap. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be sleeping.
It might be now or never . . .
He touched Josie’s arm, pulling her attention from the window. “What are you planning for Nelly when you get home?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “I should have thought ahead when I got the notion to pull her out of there, but I didn’t.”
“You’re impulsive,” Frieda hissed.
Josie shrugged, then said, “I also never expected Papa to send me home. Us home.”
“What will your mother think of her?”
Josie made an odd shudder, and Frieda shook her head in short bursts.
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
This wasn’t good. If the mother rejected her, where would Nelly go? “Is there a local . . .” He didn’t want to say it out loud. “A home for her?”
“I’m sure there is,” Josie said. “Or a boarding school perhaps.”
“I doubt she can read,” Frieda whispered.
“Then she will have to learn.” Josie sighed. “Let’s just pray an answer comes to us.”
Frieda nodded, as did Hudson. Josie returned her attention to the view.
It was then Hudson saw Nelly open her eyes. She didn’t move otherwise but simply looked at him. What had she heard?
Enough and too much.
What could he say? Or do?
She closed her eyes again, pretending to sleep.
Hudson closed his own eyes and prayed for answers.
Lewis didn’t mean to end up in front of Miss Mandy’s, but with Josephine breaking off their engagement, and then seeing Maguire on the train with her, and then the browbeating he’d gotten from the general . . .
The women were packing up to move on with the crews.
A pretty woman with black hair looked up at him. “Instead of gawking, you could help.”
“I’m not gawking.”
“Ogling, then.”
He couldn’t deny it. No man in his right mind could avoid looking at the women in their scanty attire. Lewis strolled over from across the street. “So you’re heading out?”
“In a few days. The next big town is Laramie. It won’t take the men long to get there, and where the men go, we go.” She pointed to the row of crates the women used to sit upon while they showcased their wares on the porch. “Help me pry these open so we can pack stuff in ’em.”
“And what’ll I get in return?”
She stopped work and gave him an annoyed look. “Really? You won’t help me just to help me?”
I suppose. He took up the pry bar and removed a lid.
“That’s the way,” she said. “As far as payment, we’ll see how good a worker you are.”
Lewis worked all the
harder.
Her name was Vera.
After paying him for his help with the packing, she got dressed and said, “I do hope Nelly will be all right.”
It took him a moment to understand who she was talking about. “She’s better off anywhere but here.”
She stopped hooking her corset. “Why would you say that?”
He sat up on his elbows. “Come on . . .”
“The girls and I love that little girl. Miss Mandy saved her.”
“Saved her for what?”
She smacked him. “What kind of women do you think we are?”
He was confused. “So she didn’t . . . work here?”
“No! At least not like that. She did our laundry and mended our clothes.”
“That’s not what Josephine and the general think.”
She pulled a skirt over her head. “Everyone always thinks the worst. Nelly was living on the streets when we came through Council Bluffs. She’d be dead by now if it weren’t for us. She was like a little sister.”
“Then why did you let her go?”
She fastened the skirt in front, then twisted it so the placket was at the back. “Because she was growing up. There are a few men around here who’ve shown interest when they shouldn’t.”
The thought made him shudder. “That’s disgusting.”
“That man Sweetin is disgusting.” She put on a blouse and buttoned it. “That’s why it’s good she’s gone, and though Miss Mandy grumbles about it, and we all have more work to do now, I think she’s glad too.”
All dressed, she threw him his pants. “Now git outta here. I have more packing to do.”
“You need more help?”
She put her hands on her hips. “You wanting to work so I’ll pay you again?”
He shrugged.
“Go on. I’d rather do it myself.”
Josephine looked around the Chicago depot. Memories flooded back. “There! Right over there is where we caught the thief.”
Hudson looked in the direction she was pointing. “Caught what thief?”
“The one who stole my reticule last time we came through.”
Frieda carried the tin of milk they’d bought. “If it weren’t for Josephine and me, she never would have gotten it back.”
No thanks to Lewis.
Nelly bobbled one of the apples, and Josephine saved it from the floor.
“How did you stop him?” Nelly asked. “Did you hit him? Hit him hard?”
“We didn’t hit him.” Josephine started to laugh. “Actually, Frieda sat on him, and I poked him with my parasol.”
“Really?” Hudson adjusted the stack of sandwiches so they wouldn’t fall.
Josephine shrugged. “How else could we hold him until the police showed up?”
Hudson just shook his head. “That’s my Josie.”
She liked the sound of that.
“Now I know better than to rile you, don’t I?” he asked.
“Yes, you do.”
They boarded the train and set about eating. From his place by the window Hudson passed the sandwiches around. Ham. Again.
Frieda spread a napkin in Nelly’s lap, then in her own. “I will say this trip is a much better experience than the last time.”
“I bet,” Hudson said.
She glanced at Josephine. “Not just because of the thief incident, but because of the difference in our escort.”
Josephine was shocked that Frieda would bring up Lewis. Thinking of him, she looked down at her left hand and noticed . . . the ring.
“Ah!”
“What’s wrong?” Frieda asked.
“I didn’t give Lewis back his ring!”
As they passed the milk jug around, Hudson asked, “Give it back?”
She realized she hadn’t mentioned the broken engagement to him. Actually, she’d hardly thought about it at all since they left Cheyenne. Didn’t that prove it was for the best?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You don’t have to answer.”
She passed the milk to Nelly. “Right before we left Cheyenne, I ended our engagement.”
“Why?” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m prying again.”
Josephine waved away his apology, and then she noticed the ruby bracelet that still adorned her wrist. “Oh dear. I need to give this back too.”
“Let me see your jewelry,” Nelly asked, standing up to get a better look.
Josephine extended her left hand across the space between them.
“That ring’s really showy,” Nelly said. “I bet it cost more’n a dollar.” She sat down again.
Josephine pulled her hand back. “It probably did cost a pretty penny, but I don’t need showy.”
Frieda snickered.
Josephine flashed her a look. Frieda was diluting her point. “I like showy, but I don’t need showy.”
Why did she feel the need to stipulate in Hudson’s presence?
“You can give the ring and bracelet back to Lewis when he returns to Washington,” Frieda suggested.
Josephine stared at her hand, then tried to remove the ring. “My hand must be swollen. It won’t come off.”
“Just as well,” Frieda said. “It’s safer on your hand than loose in your bag. Wait until we’re home.”
It was good advice, and Josephine went back to eating. But when she brought her sandwich to her mouth, she caught another glimpse of the ring and lowered her hand so as not to see it. The memory of her last encounter with Lewis flew through her mind and made her shudder as if the wind of it were very, very cold.
Hudson touched her hand, his voice soft. “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’ve upset you.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. My thoughts and feelings are just a bit tangled at the moment.”
“Regarding?”
“Lewis. And . . .”
“And?”
You. Even though she ached to say it aloud, she couldn’t. She might be free of her romantic ties, but Hudson was not.
Josephine looked out the window, feeling envy for a girl named Sarah Ann.
Chapter Twenty
It was time to reboard the train heading from Pittsburgh to Washington, but Hudson couldn’t move. He kept staring at the sign that read Allegheny City. He was only a few miles from home.
He should go there. He should see his parents and Ezra.
And Sarah Ann.
He took a step toward the sign, toward the track that would take him home.
But then General Cain’s voice played in his mind: I need someone I can trust with my most precious jewel, my Josephine. Someone I can completely, absolutely trust to see her safely home.
He stepped back to his original position. He’d promised. And he’d never forgive himself if he left them and something happened.
But can you forgive yourself for being so close to your family and ignoring them?
“Hudson? Is something wrong?”
It was Josie. He shut his eyes against the sign pointing home, and found a smile.
Luckily, where Josie was concerned it wasn’t hard to find.
As they neared Washington, Josephine’s nerves began to dance in a syncopated rhythm. “I wish we’d had the chance to buy Nelly a new dress and coat. She looks like a ragamuffin.”
“I look like a muffin?”
“Shush, girl,” Frieda said, halting the near-constant swing of Nelly’s legs.
Hudson stood and spread his arms. “Am I presentable? Or do you want to doll me up too?”
Actually, he was shabby by eastern standards. His boots needed a dozen coats of polish, there was a small rip in the knee of his right trouser leg, his wool coat was missing a button, and his rawhide vest—which had looked so appropriate on the prairie—looked primitive among the city folk on the train. And his brown, fur-felt Stetson hat . . .
The men around him wore top hats or derbies, long sack coats, checkered vests, and narrow trousers. Rugged boots were nowhere to be seen.
Apparently, with
her delay, he made his own conclusion. “So be it. I am what I am.”
Yes, you are. Which was one reason she was so attracted to him.
But then he contradicted himself as he added, “Out west I couldn’t care less about my appearance, but the thought of meeting your mother and aunt has me worried.”
“Don’t worry another minute about them.” I will worry enough for the both of us.
Nelly sat on her knees and stuck her head outside the carriage window. Her hair blew every which way.
“Sit down, girl, or I will never get a comb through your hair,” Frieda said.
“No, let her see,” Josephine said. The girl’s enthusiasm for Washington sparked her own pride.
“What’s that?” Nelly asked, pointing to a large square stack of limestone about a hundred feet high.
“That’s going to be a monument to George Washington, but they stopped building it before the war.”
“I suppose they had a few other things on their minds,” Hudson said.
A few minutes later, Nelly let out a long “oooh.” “Who lives there?” she asked.
“The president.”
“Who’s he?”
Josephine exchanged a glance with Frieda and Hudson. Nelly’s ignorance was alarming, yet considering her background and childhood . . . president, king, or queen, what did it matter?
“President Johnson is the president of the United States,” Josephine said.
“All thirty-seven of them,” Frieda added.
“It’s a fancy house,” Nelly said.
“Actually, it’s in a sorry state. The floor needs refinishing, and some visitors have even pinched tassels off the furniture or been bold enough to cut souvenirs from the draperies and carpets. Mrs. Lincoln bought some wonderful new furniture but despaired at how the public treated what was already there.”
“I don’t like that aspect of human nature,” Hudson said. “People should never just take something because they want it.”
Josephine nodded, yet she couldn’t help letting her mind move from souvenirs to more personal subjects—and inclinations.
Frieda returned to the description of the president’s home. “The First Lady is ill with consumption, so the president’s daughter has been acting as hostess, and is overseeing renovations.”