The Journey of Josephine Cain (21 page)

“Too late now,” Frieda said. “Besides, I’m famished.”

So was Josephine. “Though a ham sandwich is my last choice. Isn’t this the third one we’ve had this trip?”

“Fourth,” Lewis said.

“Does no one have any creativity at these food stops?”

Frieda agreed. “If I had a café in such a place, I’d make my mother-in-law’s recipes of bratwurst, schnitzel, sauerbraten, sauerkraut, dumplings, and
Bratkartoffeln
.”

“Which is?”

“Fried potatoes with bacon.” She finished the last of her sandwich. “And
Springerle
biscuits. I still have her mold.”

“You are making me hungry
while
I’m eating,” Josephine said. A dollop of mustard fell from her sandwich onto her skirt. She stopped walking. “Where is my handkerchief?”

As she managed the rest of her sandwich in order to get into her
reticule, a man ran past and grabbed it away from her. “Stop!” she yelled. “Stop him! He stole my bag!”

She glanced at Lewis, but he just stood there. “Do something!”

Again he hesitated.

What is wrong with you?

“Come on!” she said to Frieda.

Because the crowd was so dense, the man hadn’t been able to go far. And because they were women, the two of them carved a path. “Let us through! He stole my bag!”

Finally a man grabbed the thief and held him until Josephine caught up.

She was out of breath. “Thank you,” she said, taking hold of the reticule.

But the thief wouldn’t let go, and when she tugged harder, he broke free.

Until Frieda tripped him, making him fall. And then . . . she sat on him.

Josephine rushed forward with the man who’d first caught the thief, and snatched her reticule back. But before she let him up, she poked the tip of her parasol into his back. “How dare you steal from me!”

A police officer appeared. “Good work,” he said to Josephine, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Mrs. Schultz was the heroine.”

Frieda smoothed her skirt. Her hat was askew. “I couldn’t let him get away. The ingrate.”

As the officer took the thief away, the crowd applauded, and Frieda took a bow. Josephine was so proud of her. Of both of them. She thanked the first stranger who’d helped just as the train whistle blew, announcing its departure.

They hurried to their car, only to find Lewis standing outside, looking for them.

Waiting for them.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Capturing a criminal. Where were you?”

“I . . .”

She pushed past him, up and into the car.

“There he is! There’s Papa!”

Josephine waved out the window of the train and was thrilled when Papa waved back. And smiled. Oh, how she had missed that smile.

The farther they’d traveled west, the fewer passengers remained on the train, allowing Josephine to be the first to disembark. Papa didn’t even let her feet hit the ground before he put his hands around her waist and lifted her off the step. Then he wrapped her in an embrace. “My darling daughter. I am so glad to see you!”

Josephine let the tears come. Happy tears were always welcome. To hold him, to smell the musky scent that was his alone, to feel his whiskers against her cheek . . . In spite of all the aggravation she had experienced on the trip, being here in his arms was worth everything.

He spread her arms wide, looking her over. “You have not changed a whit. Still the pretty girl with the flashing eyes.”

She took offense. “But I have changed, Papa. I’m not a girl anymore. I am a grown woman, an engaged woman.” For the first time, she thought about Lewis. He stood with Frieda nearby.

“Lewis,” Papa said, extending his hand. “How good to see you. Thank you for bringing my daughter safely to my side.”

To his credit, Lewis looked to the ground. Would he mention how brave Josephine and Frieda had been in Chicago? How they had taken care of the thief while he’d idly stood by?

“I’m glad to be here, sir. I’m looking forward to getting started with my photography.”

Photography? He mentioned photographs and not their remarkable feat?

Papa tipped his hat toward Frieda. “Nice to see you again, Frieda. These two lovebirds give you any trouble on the trip?”

“I kept them in line.”

“Then let’s get your luggage and I’ll show you where you are going to stay.”

Josephine took Papa’s arm and walked away with Frieda close behind.

She assumed Lewis followed.

Josephine and Frieda were staying in Papa’s personal railcar that sat alone on a siding. The four of them entered the car from a back platform and saw that it was outfitted with furniture like a parlor. “This is where you’ll stay,” Papa said. He looked at Lewis. “I am afraid you will have to stay in the bunkhouse in town, with the men. There is a boardinghouse and hotel, but they are full at present. I hope that’s all right.”

“It will be fine, General.” Lewis said. But Josephine could tell it wasn’t fine. She often felt that Lewis was pickier than she was. He certainly was less adaptable.

Papa stopped at a desk. “This is also where I work when we’re on the move. During the winter I stayed in a room off the railway office as the cars were too drafty—not that my room was much better.”

Josephine ran her fingers along a narrow table abutting a wall. It was set with three chairs. Then she sat upon a sofa sporting navy upholstery. The car was nice, but cramped. Thinking of all three of them living here was a stretch. She wanted to say something nice, but she also knew that Papa admired her habit of telling the truth. “It is very . . . functional.”

He let out a snicker. “That it is.” Then he crooked a finger at her and opened the left-most of two doors at the end of the railcar. Inside was a man-sized bed wedged between three walls. On the wall at its foot were hooks for clothing, and at its side was a narrow table with a kerosene lamp. There was enough space to stand beside it, but Josephine’s skirt touched both bed and wall.

“Your bedroom,” Papa said. “You and Frieda shall have to share. I am sorry it’s so small, but we are restricted by width and—”

She kissed him on the cheek. “It is more than I expected. Thank you.”

Frieda popped her head in the room, then pulled it out. “It’s very nice, General. We’ll manage just fine.”

He stepped back and offered her the right-hand door. Once opened,
it revealed a covered commode, and between it and the doorway a wash-basin on a stand.

“It’s a tight fit,” Papa said, “But at least you’ll have the essentials.”

She was very impressed. For him to have thought of every detail was just like him. But then she started. “What about you? We are taking your room. Where will you sleep?”

“In the railway office, where I’ve been all winter. When we move on, your visit shall be over, and I’ll take over this space again.”

Papa went out to the landing and instructed some men to bring Josephine’s trunk inside. It took up what little free space there was. She hated that their visit was causing him discomfort. But before she could comment, he said, “Now. Let me show you Cheyenne.”

Josephine enjoyed being on Papa’s arm as he showed her the town. “Once the ground froze and we couldn’t lay track, we got to work building the town itself. There are railroad offices, a bunkhouse, washhouse, and mess hall. The windmill pumps in water needed for the trains. We even figured out a way to keep the water from freezing by having it warmed by a stove.”

“That’s quite ingenious, General,” Lewis said.

For some reason Josephine found Lewis’s compliments annoying, mostly because there were too many of them. He’d found the mess hall “of good size,” the offices “well organized,” and the water tower “of beautiful proportion.”

He was trying too hard to impress. Had he always been so fawning? Or had she not minded it before because
she
had been the beneficiary of the compliments?

“And this is the most important building for the railroad,” Papa said, bringing them to a large, round building constructed out of brick. “This is the roundhouse. Eventually it will hold forty engines, though currently it holds about ten.” He pointed to the stone of the foundation. “No wood here. At least we’re building this to last.”

“To protect your greatest asset, the locomotive,” Josephine said.

“Exactly.”

Frieda walked along the circular track in front of the building. “I don’t understand.”

Papa left Josephine’s side to explain. “The locomotive travels to this circle in order to turn around so it can rejoin the main line and head east or west, or it can enter the roundhouse for storage or repair.”

“How ingenious,” she said.

Why didn’t Frieda’s compliments grate?

In the distance, Josephine saw numerous tents and wagons huddled together. “Are those pioneers?”

“Mormons mostly. Hundreds of them headed west. They’re also about to head out now that the rivers and streams are running and the grass is growing for their livestock. They pretty much stay to themselves and away from town.”

It seemed an odd comment until Papa led them to the main street of Cheyenne. It boasted a gun store, general store, café, hotel, land office, and around the corner, a gambling house, more than one saloon, and a place called Miss Mandy’s. The latter was an odd building with a mixture of wood and dirty canvas tents. A half dozen scantily clad women lolled outside, their wares apparent.

Lewis saw the direction of her gaze. “You’re not the only woman here, but I will say you are the only lady.”

Josephine tried to act nonchalant, but it was difficult. She had never seen such blatant, immodest, carnal . . .

Frieda yanked on her arm. “Look away, Liebchen. There’s no need for you to see such filth and decadence.”

Saloons and whores. If Mother could see her now.

“I agree with Frieda,” Papa said. “But you came to see it all firsthand. This is the truth of the West, of these hell-on-wheels towns.”

“Hell on wheels?”

“During the war, whiskey and women followed the soldiers, and now they’ve latched on to the railroad. When we move on, they move on.”

One of the women, who was greatly endowed in bosom, stepped toward them. “Care to rest awhile, gentlemen?”

Neither Papa nor Lewis responded, but Josephine saw Lewis’s eyes linger on the woman’s—

“Lewis!” she whispered.

He did not apologize but covered his action with another comment to her father. “I’m sure it’s difficult to keep the men in line. You should be commended for it.”

“I am commended for nothing. It’s impossible to keep them in line,” Papa said. “There is no law. And without their families close by to remind them of their morals, the weak men succumb.”

Josephine gripped Papa’s arm. “It seems most of the men carry guns.”

“They got used to guns during the war, and unfortunately those experiences carry over here. Many are battle-scarred.” He pointed to his head. “Those are the dangerous ones. The ones who can blow up without warning.”

To think of Papa living in such a place all winter . . . “Will you be glad to move on?”

“To get working again, surely. But the people of vice will follow us. There is no escaping them. I wish there—”

Suddenly, a Negro man spilled out of a saloon and ran past them. A second man followed, brandishing a gun. “You get back here, you cheater!”