by Nancy Moser
“I’ll do that, ma’am. I promise.”
She nodded, and the door closed between them.
Hudson ran toward the station.
PART THREE
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.
Live the life you’ve imagined.
—HENRY DAVID THOREAU
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Josephine, look!”
They all turned toward the window. A large herd of antelope raced the train, keeping up with it. The engineer let go a shriek on the whistle, making the animals run faster. The train picked up speed.
“They are keeping up with us,” Josephine said.
“Astounding,” Frieda said.
“And breathtaking,” Aunt added. “I would never see anything like this back in the city.”
Josephine was relieved and surprised that Aunt Bernice had taken such a liking to everything “west.” It was as if the West was an old friend she hadn’t met until now.
After six or seven miles, the antelope finally gave up and veered away from the track. Nelly sat with her nose to the window and waved to them as the train surged forward. “They didn’t lose,” she said. “They just gave up.”
“Giving up is losing,” Aunt said.
Josephine did a double take. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”
“It’s the only way to think of it. ‘Let us run with patience the race that is set before us.’” She gave Josephine a pointed look. “We are in this race together, niece.” She nodded at Frieda. “‘A threefold cord is not quickly broken.’”
“Hey,” Nelly said, leaving the window behind. “Three? I make four.”
Aunt nodded once. “All the better.”
The train pulled into the Cheyenne depot. It seemed a thousand years had passed since Josephine had left with Nelly and Frieda. And Hudson.
Where was he now?
She suspected he was at the end of the line, back at work. After being so rudely sent away by her mother, was he trying to forget her? Or did he still have feelings for her?
She certainly had feelings for him, deeper now than ever before.
Josephine had thought about him mile after mile, minute after minute. The notion of seeing him again kept her awake, and when she closed her eyes she imagined different scenarios of how their first meeting would come about. In doing so, she gave others the impression she was dozing.
But she wasn’t dozing. She was daydreaming.
And praying. She had honed her prayers to a few words that mimicked the rhythm of the train. Let us be together, let us be together . . .
“We’re here!” Nelly popped out of her seat. “The very first thing I want to do is see Vera.”
That pushed thoughts of Hudson aside. “You will not see Vera,” Josephine said. “We cannot risk going back to Miss Mandy’s. Or even close to that place.”
“I agree,” Frieda said.
“As do I,” Aunt said. “Though I am rather curious about such an establishment.”
“Aunt!”
“I have never seen a brothel before.”
“And you shan’t see one today.”
Nelly sank onto a bench. “It’s not fair.”
Josephine pulled her to standing. “Come now. First, I need to check for a wire from Papa. When I sent the letter, I asked for him to leave a response in Cheyenne.”
They stood in line to exit the railcar. Frieda stood behind Nelly, a hand on her shoulder. “I do wonder what he thinks about the store idea, and all three of us returning.”
“He doesn’t know about my coming along,” Aunt said.
What would Papa say to that?
That he was angry Josephine was rebelling against his directive by coming back?
That he didn’t want Nelly in this wild place?
That with Aunt Bernice along, he worried after his wife, left alone?
And by the way, a store? What made Josephine think she could start a store in the first place, and out west in the second?
She stepped off the train and headed to the depot office. Whatever Papa said, she would take her licks.
She deserved them, each and every one.
“Read it aloud,” Aunt said.
“‘Surprised by your letter. Proud of you. Try Laramie for store. Ask for Adolf Richter.’”
“What’s Laramie?” Frieda asked.
The railroad employee pointed west. “Next big town. Fifty miles.” He raised an eyebrow. “Laramie’s a wild place.”
“Wilder than Cheyenne?”
He shrugged. “As regular folks come to both places, they’ll settle down. Eventually. Last I heard we got two hundred kids here. Talking of building a school for ’em.”
“That sounds promising,” Aunt said.
“Lots of promises going around.” He nodded toward a table nearby. “Sandwiches for sale. Train’s leaving soon.” He pointed at the telegram. “Want to send a reply?”
She took up a pencil and tried to condense her swimming thoughts into a few words: On to Laramie. Trust me. I love you.
Josephine was asking for his trust.
Did she trust herself?
The train came to a halt in the middle of nowhere. Everyone looked out the window, trying to see the cause of the stoppage.
A nice man who’d been on the train since Omaha took charge. “I’ll go see—”
But a conductor came into the car. “Sorry for the delay, folks. But the Dale Creek Bridge has some restrictions. When it’s windy out . . . you don’t want to be on that bridge when it’s windy as it sways a bit.”
“A bit?” Josephine asked.
“You shoulda seen the workers building it. I ain’t never seen men so scared. They added some steel cables, but it still ain’t fit for crossing when there’s more than a breeze. Yet it’s the tallest such bridge in the entire world. Worth looking at, if you want to get out and stretch your legs.”
“How long will we be delayed?” Aunt Bernice asked.
The conductor smiled. “If you get God to tell you His plans for the wind, let me know and I’ll tell the watchman.”
“The bridge has a watchman?” someone asked.
“Watching for wind and fire from the locomotive’s sparks. Wood trestles don’t take kindly to neither.”
Frieda shuddered. “I’m not sure I want to cross such a bridge in the best of weather.”
“Then this’ll be the end of the line for you. No other way to cross.”
The passengers filed out of the cars and walked toward the locomotive, shielding their faces from dust blowing in the gale-force winds. There was another waiting train ahead of them.
And then they saw it. A massive trestle bridge spanned a canyon, rising over a hundred feet above a creekbed. It was five times as wide as it was high.
The passengers didn’t stay outside long, as the wind made it hard to even stand.
There was nothing to do but wait.
The wind didn’t bother Nelly. She was outside, hopping from stone to stone on the rocky soil. But then she stopped and pointed east. “There’s another train pulling up behind us!”
Dozing, Aunt Bernice opened an eye. “You would think they’d figure out a better way to do this.”
Josephine agreed. Although it had only been a few hours, the wind still hadn’t let up. A few enterprising men from the nearby hamlet of Dale Creek had brought some food from car to car, charging exorbitant prices that Josephine had refused to pay. But now, as her stomach growled, she wished they would come back. One of the perks of having a new train arrive might be another chance to buy something to eat.
The passengers from the newest train began to stroll past, seeking their own look at the bridge. As usual, it was a contingent of regular-looking people, railroad workers wearing much-worn clothes, cowboys with dust on their boots, soldiers heading to man the next fort to protect against the Indians, and fancy men who looked like they were aching for a way to take other people’s money.
But then she saw a br
own Stetson and thought, That hat is just like Hud—
Josephine sucked in a breath. “Hudson!”
She rushed out of the car and ran to him.
Hudson looked up and saw a woman running—
“Josie!”
He met her halfway, and she flew into his arms. He swung her around, the wind of his emotions forcing him to make an extra circle.
Then he gently lowered her to the ground. But they didn’t let go of each other, keeping hold in a fierce embrace. He whispered in her ear, “I don’t dare let go lest you’re a figment of my imagination.”
“I am real,” she whispered back. “And I am really here. We are both here.”
Finally assured that it was safe to let her go, he gazed upon her bright eyes and delightful freckles, then took her face in his hands. “I feared I’d never see you again.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “Mother had no right to send you away.”
“I went back for you,” he said.
“To Washington?”
He nodded. But that could wait.
Right now all he wanted to do was hold her.
And never let her go.
The couple was joined by Frieda, Nelly, and Aunt Bernice. Hudson kept his arm around Josie as he talked. “To say I am shocked to see all of you is an understatement. Your mother said you were starting a store?”
“We have the goods with us, at least enough for the first goround,” Josie said. “Women’s items like face cream and ribbons and toiletries and—”
“All the luxuries of home.”
“Even some toys,” Nelly added.
“I commend your entrepreneurial spirit.” He looked down at her. “I always knew there was a fire in your belly. I just didn’t expect it to spark Josie’s Emporium.”
“Neither did I.”
He had so many questions. Personal questions—and explanations. He tipped his hat to the other ladies and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like a little time with Josie.”
“Don’t mind a bit,” Aunt said. “We—”
A boy ran toward them from the front of the train. “There’s a man taking photographs up ahead and selling them. You can have your picture taken by the canyon.”
Many passengers took the bait and headed forward. But then Josephine said, “Lewis? Do you suppose it’s Lewis?”
Lewis Simmons was the last person Hudson wanted to see.
Josephine took Hudson’s hand and led him forward. “Come on. If it is him, I have something I need to do.”
“Need . . . ?”
She gave him a single nod. “Need. Come with me.”
Hudson felt sorry for Lewis Simmons.
The wind whipped the drapery that Lewis pulled over his head in order to see the scene to be photographed. More than once he’d had to collect his tripod from the dust and set it right again. Logically, he should call it a day.
Yet to have captive customers with nothing to do but spend money until the train was allowed to cross the bridge . . . he’d be a fool to let the opportunity pass. Money was money. That was why he’d already traveled to the end of the line to take pictures, and had come back for some more of the bridge. As Rosewood had predicted, the railroad was his best customer.
He gripped the drapery and looked through the lens. The subjects were a motley crew of workers, most wearing the leftovers from their Union Civil War uniforms. But motley or not . . .
“Hold it. Hold . . .” He held the cover off the lens, counted, then put it back on. “Done.”
The men let out the breath they’d been saving. But just as Lewis removed the plate for developing, he heard his name.
“Lewis! Lewis Simon.”
Simon?
He turned toward the voice.
Toward Josephine.
His stomach clenched as he saw her stride toward him like an oncoming storm. He pasted on a smile until he saw that she was accompanied by Hudson Maguire.
Lewis put the plate in its box and stepped away from the group of potential customers. He needed whatever was going to happen to happen away from prying eyes and ears.
Simon? That was the clincher. Somehow she’d discovered his real name, which begged the question of what else she knew.
He held out his arms, trying to act as though nothing was wrong. “Josephine! What a surprise to find you out here in the middle of—”
She stopped ten feet away and held up her left hand. “See this?”
There was nothing there.
“The ring you gave me? I don’t have it anymore, because it’s now back on the finger of the woman you stole it from.”
Lewis glanced at the crowd that had gathered, then moved to take her arm. “Let’s go talk about this alone.”
She stepped out of reach. “You don’t appreciate public humiliation? Well, neither do I. How do you think I felt when I found out that you—my one-time fiancé—are a thief, a fraud, and a deserter?”
The ex-soldiers who’d just had their photograph taken stepped forward. “Deserter? What’s this about, miss?”
Lewis wanted to flee, but his feet were leaden. The knowledge that the truth was about to demand payment caused the moment to lengthen, as if his sins would be given extra time and attention as part of his punishment.
Hudson put a hand on her shoulder. “Josie, don’t. Not here.”
“Why not here? He certainly had no compunction leaving the Union army, only to join again for the signing bonus.” She stared at him. “How many times did you play that game, Lewis? Two? Or was it more?”
The urge to flee spurred him to pack up his equipment. “That has nothing to do with you.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Nothing to do with me? The woman you were going to marry? How about the fact that your name isn’t Simmons but Simon? Don’t you think I should have known your real name?”
An army soldier in full blues stepped forward. “If what you say is true, miss, then this man needs to be tried for theft, desertion, and fraud, maybe even treason against the Union.”
Josephine let out a little laugh. “Like father, like son, right, Lewis?” She turned to the crowd. “His father was hanged as a spy after working both sides of the war for profit.”
The faces of the soldier and the ex-soldiers hardened, and two of the roughest men started toward him. Their eyes promised pain.
He dropped his equipment and ran toward the bridge. Away from the trains. Away from accuser and jury.
Away from judgment.
Hudson took Josephine’s arm. “What have you done?”
“Told the truth,” she said. But her throat was dry and her heart beat too fast.
“Let’s go get ’im,” an ex-soldier said. He looked to the officer. “Hanging is what’s due a traitor, right?”
“That’s right, but . . .” The officer stood before them, blocking their progress. “The proper thing is to bring him to Fort Russell and let those in charge dole out justice.”
One man pointed to the bridge. “There’s plenty of trestles to hang him from. Save everyone the trouble of a trial.”
What have I done? Josephine stepped toward the men. “Please don’t kill him. I didn’t mean—”
The officer faced her. “Were you speaking the truth about him?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then he needs to face the consequences.”
“But—”
The whistle of the first train shrieked and a conductor walked toward them. “All aboard!”
While creating her own whirlwind, Josephine hadn’t noticed that the wind had died down.
Hudson walked toward the conductor. “There’s a man who’s run away from the group. We need to wait for him.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Saw a man running over the bridge. Yelled after him, but he kept running.”
“That must be him!” Josephine said. “We need to pick him up.”
“We can’t go more’n four miles per hour over the bridge. If we see him on the other side he can ru
n to catch us.”
“But if he’s not there?” If he’s run away?
“Then God help him.” The whistle shrieked again. “All aboard!”
She tugged on his sleeve. “How far is it to Laramie from here?”
“Twenty miles.” His face softened. “Sorry, miss, but I can’t hold up hundreds for one man who got a bee in his bonnet. He can walk to Laramie. Or catch the next train coming.”
The others got on the train, but all Josephine could do was look west, across the bridge. Lewis, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have had it out with you in front of everyone.
“Josie,” Hudson said from the steps to the car. “Come on. We’ll try to spot him on the other side.”
Reluctantly, Josephine boarded. She heard passengers talking about the exchange but ignored them. She went to a window and opened it as wide as she could, leaning out in order to look for him.
“Get yerself back in the train, miss,” a conductor said as he walked through the car. “Going over the ravine is precarious enough without you upsetting the balance. Besides, many a mighty man has got sick looking down.”
She sat, and Hudson sat beside her, locking her in by holding her hand. “Lewis will be all right. He’s a survivor. He got through the war without a scratch, didn’t he?”
“But war back east is not the same as the open plains and mountains, lands full of Indians and wild animals and—” She shuddered, unwilling to think about the dangers that lay beyond the tracks. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I shouldn’t have attacked him like that, right in front of everyone.”
“You’d been lied to. He was not the man you thought he was.”
She appreciated Hudson trying to make her feel better—and she did. A bit. But the truth remained. “We’re to show mercy. We’re supposed to forgive. ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.’ God’s, not mine.”
He kissed her fingers. “Feeling angry isn’t a sin, Josie. And yet, acting on it like you did . . .”
May God forgive her.
Lewis hid behind a rock outcropping and watched as his train moved across the trestle, and shortly after, Josephine’s train. His only hope was to grab on to that last train and ride to Laramie. He had no idea which passengers had witnessed Josephine’s tirade, but he had no choice. Get on that train or die in the wilderness. It was nearing dark. He’d seen the blackness of the night out here. He’d heard the howling of the coyotes. He’d even seen bands of Indians on the horizon, watching the trains as they passed. Just a few weeks ago Indians had attacked a construction party at the bridge, killing two and injuring four others. He’d also heard of men getting scalped and shot straight through with arrows, left for buzzards and critters to pick their bones clean.