The Journey of Josephine Cain (18 page)

Lewis handed his menu to the waiter after giving his order. He’d purposely chosen the least expensive items offered. But at the Willard, nothing was
in
expensive.

Alas, Josephine had not chosen with cost in mind, and neither had Rachel or Clark Maddox. Lewis had wanted to have a dinner at the Cain home tonight, but the Maddoxes had invited them out, and as it was Josephine’s birthday, he’d agreed.

As if reading his mind, Josephine said, “I am so glad we went out tonight. It has been so long.” She looked around the Willard Room and sighed. “Papa often talked about taking me here a second time.”

“A second time?” How silly of him to think this would be a new experience for her.

She patted his hand. “I was very young during my previous visit. The Swedish Nightingale, Jenny Lind, was staying here and had some sort of reception in the hotel during her American tour. She sang a few songs. I don’t remember anything about the hotel, but I do remember sitting on Papa’s lap, and Miss Lind’s voice lulling me to sleep.”

“So you never returned?” Rachel asked.

She shook her head. “By the time I was old enough to care, the war was upon us.” She gave Lewis the most disarming smile. “Actually, I’m glad Papa never got around to it, so Lewis and I could experience it together.”

“Look at you two,” Rachel said. She tapped her husband’s arm with her closed fan. “Perhaps we should leave and give them their privacy.”

“No, no,” Josephine said. “Mother would have a fit. She had to be convinced to let me go out to a restaurant at all and agreed only because you two are here.”

Rachel fluttered her fan. “You make me very relieved to be married, just so I could leave all that silly rigmarole behind. Aren’t you glad, Clark?”

“Immensely,” he said, though he seemed horribly bored by the whole thing.

Josephine looked around at the other diners and whispered to Lewis, “I am glad to be here, yet I’ve also enjoyed our times in the parlor, just us two.”

“And Frieda. And sometimes your aunt and mother.”

“Such are the rules,” she said with a pretty smile.

Lewis found the rules of etiquette daunting. And annoying. The sooner he could get her back to the house, the sooner he could propose, and the sooner his stomach would stop its awful churning.

The sooner the better.

Josephine led Lewis into the parlor. “It’s getting late. I’m not sure Frieda is even awake. Dowd has gone to fetch her, but you may have to leave.” She sat on one end of the sofa, looked up at him, and smiled. “I will say it was a wonderful evening. Dinner was delicious, and—”

“Josephine.” Unable to wait any longer, he slid onto the sofa and took her hand in his. “I care for you deeply. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?” He pulled the ring from the pocket of his jacket and held it for her to see.

In the flicker of the candlelight her eyes were as green as the ring’s emerald.

“Oh Lewis. Of course I will marry you,” she said.

He put the ring on her finger and was relieved it fit.

He ran his thumb across her knuckles. “Are you happy?”

“Completely,” she said.

She looked at the ring, turning it in the light. Her forehead furrowed for just a moment, and he worried she was disappointed.

“It—it was my grandmother’s.”

Her face softened. “Which makes it especially dear. It is very striking. You have exquisite taste.”

Beggars can’t be choosers
.

He drew her to standing and pulled her into an embrace.

“Ahem,” Frieda said from the doorway.

Josephine ran to her. “Look! We are betrothed!”

Frieda gave the ring a good looking-at, then said, “What do your parents say?”

“I haven’t—”

Lewis intervened. “I asked General Cain for permission when we were out west, and he gave it. Mrs. Cain gave her approval even before the trip.”

Frieda’s eyebrow rose, and she seemed only partially satisfied.

“You arranged all that?” Josephine asked him.

“I did. For I knew early on you were the one for me.” He kissed her hand.

Josephine linked her arm through his. “So you see, Frieda, it is not a complete surprise—to anyone,” Josephine said. “You have heard us speak of the possibilities, right here in this room.”

“I suppose.” Frieda took up her usual position in Aunt’s chair near the fire and opened a book.

Josephine drew Lewis back to the sofa. “Where will we live after we’re married?”

Whatever your dowry will buy
. “I don’t really know.”

She shook her head, making her earrings bobble. “It doesn’t matter. I will live anywhere with you.”

He kissed her hand. “And I you.”

“I simply pray we will be blessed with love, prosperity, and many children,” she said.

Children? He didn’t want children.

But prosperity sounded good.

After Lewis left, Frieda held Josephine’s left hand under the firelight in the bedroom. “It’s quite a large emerald,” she said.

“Very large. And the setting is both delicate and intricate. I couldn’t be happier with it. Besides, it was his grandmother’s. In my eyes, that makes it perfect.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Frieda pulled Josephine into her arms. “Congratulations, Liebchen.” She shook her head, looking at Josephine from top to bottom. “I can’t believe it. You’re all grown up. And engaged. Where did the time go?”

Josephine sighed. “It has been a wonderful birthday,” she said, as she removed her amber earrings.

“Now, to tell your mother and aunt.”

She froze. “Not tonight.”

“Pish-posh. You’re not going to bed without telling them.”

“But they are sleeping. And Mother is unwell.”

“
You
will be unwell if your mother discovers you accepted Mr. Simmons’s proposal tonight and didn’t tell her. Besides, she apparently gave her permission already, so she’ll be pleased. Go on now. You can tell your aunt tomorrow.”

Josephine handed Frieda the earrings and walked toward her mother’s room. Why was she so reluctant to tell her the good news?

Because I don’t want her to say anything to ruin it
.

The person she really wanted to tell was Papa. She would write him a letter this very night. He would be pleased. He had been the one to introduce her to Lewis.

Josephine reached her mother’s bedroom and put an ear to the door. There was no sound, which was not surprising. Even though Mother approved of Lewis, she would find many negative things to say:
You are not marrying and leaving me alone without your father
. Or,
We don’t have the funds for anything lavish
. Or,
I hope Lewis doesn’t expect a large dowry
.

Bracing herself for the worst, she entered the room. Mother’s bed could be seen in the firelight. She was clearly sleeping.

Leave. Just leave now
.

But as Josephine decided to do so, her mother stirred, looked toward the door, then sat up. “Josephine! You nearly scared me to death. What’s wrong?”

It was best to just get it done. She walked toward the bed. “Lewis proposed. We are engaged.”

To Josephine’s surprise, Mother clapped her hands together and beamed. “Finally! I thought he would never get around to it.”

She was dumbstruck by her joy. “So you are truly pleased?”

“Of course I am. Your father and I have exchanged many letters over it, and we agree it is a good match.”

She held out her arms and wiggled her fingers. “Come here, girl. Let me give you a hug.”

Josephine couldn’t remember the last time her mother had hugged her—or added a kiss for good measure.

“Go on then,” Mother said. “Sleep if you can. We shall start making wedding plans in the morning.”

Josephine turned toward the door. Would wonders never cease?

“Josephine?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Happy birthday, my dear.”

Happy birthday indeed.

The snow fell heavy and hard outside Hudson’s room. Tomorrow there would be no work on the buildings, but plenty of work clearing the track so trains could keep coming in from the east. With the railroads temporarily providing free freight there were stockpiles of supplies all over Cheyenne. Last time there was a blizzard it had taken a hundred men ten hours to clear the track.

Raleigh was readying for bed, tucking his long johns into his socks before getting under the freezing covers. “Get some sleep, Hud. You know the general is going to work us to death tomorrow.”

“I will. I’m just finishing up a letter to Sarah Ann.”

Raleigh pulled the covers up to his ears. “How long has it been since you heard from her?”

“A little bit.” It had been three months. Since before Christmas.

“We’ve got letters from Mum and Da since then.”

So I can’t blame it on the mail
. Actually, Hudson guessed why Sarah Ann’s letters had stopped. “She’s just mad because I didn’t come home for Christmas.”

“Rightly so, I’d say.”

Hudson swung around in the chair to look at him. “You agreed it was best if we stayed here and kept working.”

“For money reasons it makes sense, but for love reasons . . . you should’ve gone home.”

“Now you say this?”

Raleigh turned toward the wall, adjusting the blanket over his shoulders. “Don’t blame me. You knew what you were doing. Now hush. I want to sleep.”

Hudson returned to the letter.
Dearest Sarah Ann . . .

Raleigh was right. Hudson
had
known there was a risk in not going back to Pennsylvania for Christmas. But the thought of traveling all that way and entering that
before
world made his stomach clench. Yes, it would have been nice to see Sarah Ann, to hold her and kiss her. She was such a bitty thing that holding her close was like embracing a child.

But having to hear his parents and his brother Ezra talk about working at the mill . . . he felt like an outsider. He’d been away fighting the war for years, and had only been home a few months before he’d heard of the opportunities on the railroad. Allegheny wasn’t home to him anymore. It held his childhood memories, but when he thought about the future he found it hard picturing himself there. The mills were a job, not a life.

He looked outside at the huge wet flakes flying by the window. His thoughts of the future were out
there
. Probably not in Cheyenne, but somewhere in the west that was to come. There was something exhilarating about the newness of the plains. Not that
they
were new, but until now only Indians had lived here, only fur trappers had tapped in to their potential. But both of them were transient sorts, and even the wagon trains were just traveling through. To stay put, to have
this
be his destination, not just his route to somewhere else . . .

It was easy for the idea to consume him, and so he finished his letter to Sarah Ann, sending it eastward.

Into his past.