The Journey of Josephine Cain (14 page)

“But you cannot run off by yourself, Liebchen,” Frieda said. “There may be people around, but we are still in the wilderness, and it is nearly dark.”

“I am not
running
anywhere. I am simply going to take a stroll. I will be fine. Besides, this is the West. The rules of Washington etiquette do not apply here.”

“Of course they do. Rules follow the people, not the land.”

Josephine hoped this wasn’t true. As they traveled west, she had felt a loosening of the bonds of home, as if with each passing mile the
stifling tether that held her captive was being strung taut. Was it close to breaking?

Did she want it to break?

Frieda looked into a hand mirror and tucked away some stray hairs. Since they’d been on this excursion, she had taken more interest in her own appearance. “Don’t you want to eat?” Frieda asked. “It smells delicious.”

“Bring me back a roll or something. I have eaten enough this past week to last me till Tuesday. My corset is feeling far too tight.”

“At least put on a hat or a bonnet. A lady must wear a hat when out in public.”

Josephine laughed. “But I don’t want to be in public. That’s the point.”

“At least take your shawl. The evening’s crisp.”

Josephine relented and wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. Then she walked away before Frieda could continue the argument. Josephine loved the woman dearly, but being with anyone for a solid week was bound to take its toll. She needed some time to be alone, without chatter or obligatory smiles.

She walked to the westernmost tents and stopped. The town of Columbus and civilization was behind her. In front of her was nothing but prairie. Endless miles and miles of open land, stretching to the horizon and beyond.

Without making a conscious decision, she walked forward a few tentative steps, then moved more swiftly. Only when the sounds of the festivities became an indistinguishable hum did she stop.

She heard her own breathing and found the sound of it astonishing. “I am alone,” she whispered. “Completely alone.”

Josephine made a full turn, quickening through the sight of the camp, and slowing to relish the solitude during the rest of the turn.

And then the sun hid behind the evening clouds. It was as though an artist had swept his brush across the sky, dipping into his palette of pink and blue and purple.

“Oh my . . . oh, God . . .” She lifted a hand to her mouth and let the tears come. The beauty wrapped around her like a heavenly embrace,
and her heart overflowed. “Thank You for letting me see this. Thank You for creating this.”

But then she started as she heard a sound coming from in front of her. To the right.

A wolf? An Indian?

What was she thinking, wandering so far from the camp? She turned to leave.

“No. Don’t go.”

A man came toward her, his form a silhouette against the setting sun.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder to the sunset. “I can’t get enough of it.”

Only when he came close could she see his features.

It was an odd first impression, to see someone walking out of the twilight, but judging by his countenance, he was a thoughtful man whose eyes were used to looking for the good in things. And though his build was that of a man who worked hard, there was also a grace in his walk.

His hair was brown like Papa’s, but long, skimming his shoulders, and he wore a beard and a mustache. She didn’t generally like beards—not even Papa’s—but this man’s seemed to suit him, creating an interesting and rugged frame for his gentle face.

“Sorry to alarm you like that, miss,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She pressed a hand against her chest, letting out a laugh as her heart beat double-time. “I suppose I am as fine as a person can be who has just found her heart tossed into her throat.”

He smiled. “Maybe I should’ve walked around you. But I saw you enjoying the sunset and thought I’d join you, since that’s my reason for being out here too.”

She was taken aback by this admission. “I have never seen anything like it,” she said, looking past him. But then she gasped. The sky had changed again as the sun touched the horizon, burning it up. “We can’t see this in Washington.”

“It happens every night,” he said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Are you making fun of me, Mr. . . . ?”

“Maguire. Hudson Maguire, Miss . . . ?”

“Cain. Josephine Cain.”

“Nice to—” He stopped. “Are you the general’s daughter?”

“You know my father?”

“He’s the one who sent me here, to get this shindig set up. I pinned the name tag on your tent just before you arrived, but I suppose I didn’t put two and two together. Your father is a very good man. Now
and
during the war, when I fought under him.”

“I am very proud of him.”

She wanted to talk with Mr. Maguire more but couldn’t take her eyes off the sunset. “I can’t believe I have never seen this before. I wish it would slow down.”

They were silent for a few moments before she heard his voice again. “‘The sacred lamp of day, now dipt in western clouds his parting day.’”

She looked at him. “How beautiful. Did you write it?”

“I wish I could take credit. It’s by the Scotsman William Falconer from his poem, ‘The Shipwreck.’”

“You read poetry?”

“I can blame or thank my mother, who read poetry
to
me.”

“I would thank her,” Josephine said.

“I’ll do that. Next time I see her.”

“And when will that be?”

He shook his head, looking upon the sun. “I don’t know. My youngest brother and I are out here working to help the family.”

“That is commendable. Where is home?”

“Allegheny City. Near Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania.”

“You are a long way from home.”

“Everyone here is a long way from home. There are a thousand men with a thousand stories of what brought them here. A thousand reasons why this train is our hope for the future.”

“You sound like my father.”

He nodded. “It’ll be pitch-black soon. Once the sun goes down, it’s
gone
.” He pointed toward the tents. “Would you like me to accompany you back, Miss Cain?”

She smiled. “Yes, please.”

As they neared the dining tent, they heard horrible screams and whoops. And drums.

Josephine stopped and grabbed Hudson’s arm. “What is going on? Have we been attacked by Indians?”

He hated that she was afraid. “Everyone’s fine. Dr. Durant hired some of the friendly Pawnees to put on a war dance as entertainment.”

He felt her grip relax. “That’s right. I saw it on the agenda. He has thought of everything, hasn’t he?”

“Thought of too much.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Should he tell her and ruin the surprise? “It’s a secret.”

Even in the low light he could see her face take on a coquettish smile. “Oh, do tell, Mr. Maguire. ’Tis not polite to tease me like that.”

Her flirtation annoyed him. “I wasn’t teasing, it’s just that I was sworn to secrecy, and . . .” He made a decision. “I think it’s best if you’re as surprised as everyone else.”

She let go of his arm, and they resumed their walk toward the bonfire. Once they were close, a dark-haired man came to claim her. “Josephine, I’m glad you’re back. Come and see.”

He glanced at Hudson, and Miss Cain made introductions. “Lewis, I would like you to meet Mr. Maguire. He works for my father—and fought under him during the war. Mr. Maguire, this is my friend, Mr. Simmons.”

Simmons eyed Hudson warily, as though they were rivals.

Which was ridiculous.

Then he nodded once, dismissing him. He extended his arm to Miss Cain. “Let’s get back to the festivities, shall we?”

But as they walked away, she looked back at Hudson.

His stomach danced.

Which was ridiculous.

Really, it was.

Where is he?

Josephine pretended to watch the Indians, who were decked out in elaborate feathered and animal-skin regalia, dancing in a circle around the bonfire to the beat of a drum, chanting and yelling odd syllables. Their faces were painted, and they carried axes, bows, and spears in their hands, shaking them at the sky. It was quite impressive. But her interest lay elsewhere.

She scanned the fire-lit faces of the onlookers, seeking Mr. Maguire. When there was a gap in the crowd, she tried to see past it, but the night was too dark.

Frieda tugged at her sleeve. “Looking for someone?” she asked.

Lewis—who stood on her other side—looked her way. Josephine offered him a reassuring smile and answered Frieda. “No one in particular. I was just taking it all in.”

Hudson watched the war dance from a distance.

Raleigh stepped beside him. “They seem to be enjoying it.”

Hudson shook his head. “I can’t believe the Pawnees agreed to it.” He had mixed feelings about the Indians providing entertainment. There were influential people in the crowd, and they were going to go back east and tell their constituents about the friendly Indians they met.

The Pawnee were generally peaceful, and some of the Sioux. But other tribes were not. Hudson had heard stories of Indian raids and horrific scalpings. No man could think of such a death without a shudder and a prayer.

Peaceful or hostile—such labels didn’t make much difference to Hudson. He knew there were young hotheads even among the friendly Indian nations who could cause plenty of deadly trouble. And hotheads on the white man’s side too. Men who wanted a fight always found a way to pick one.

Hudson wished the railroad would pay for more protection from the military. Becoming lax or too at-ease could be lethal. Sometimes it felt like the railroad was racing west with blinders on, merely hoping for the best.

He spotted Miss Cain in the crowd. Her companion drew her hand around his arm, and she left it there for a few moments before withdrawing it with the pretense of adjusting her shawl. And she only pretended to look at the Indians. Her eyes were clearly scanning the faces, looking for—

“Who is she?”

Hudson let his gaze move to the anonymous crowd. “Who?”

Raleigh leaned close and pointed to Miss Cain. “That pretty girl with the blue shawl and the eager eyes?”

Eager eyes? But it was best to answer. “That’s Josephine Cain, the daughter of the general.”