The Journey of Josephine Cain (24 page)

The men were clearly taken aback, and it was hard for Josephine not to look away or start walking again. But then a wizened man with a beard to his waist stepped forward. “I did. And what about it?”

Frieda pointed at him. “Watch yourself, mister. Do you know who this girl is? She’s—”

Josephine didn’t want Frieda making the introductions. “I am General Cain’s daughter, and I am ever so glad to be here
.”

There were nods, and a few chuckles. The old man stepped back, looked from side to side, then said, “Sorry to offend, Miss Cain. I didn’t mean nothing by it. Your father’s a good man.”

“He were a good general,” another said.

“Still is a good general.”

There was verbal affirmation, which made Josephine much relieved. “What’s your name?” she asked the man.

“Sweetin, miss. Sweet to everyone but my mother.”

Josephine smiled, realizing his comment could be taken two ways. “Mr. Sweetin, would you accompany us to where the supplies are being loaded? We would like to see the process.”

His smile made a delta of lines appear at the corner of his eyes. “I’d be honored.”

Unfortunately, as he led her toward the work, the rest of the men followed.

“Now you’ve done it,” Frieda said. “Your father will
not
be pleased.”

It was too late now. She couldn’t very well retreat.

“Miss Cain?” Hudson knocked on the door of the railcar a second time.

There was no sound. Was she out and about already?

He left the landing and looked up and down the line. He heard men’s voices sounding from the supply yard. Surely she hadn’t . . .

Surely she had.

Hudson approached the gathering and saw that work
was
being accomplished—with fervor. It seemed that Josephine’s presence was making them work harder, like a thousand suitors vying for her favor.

When a group finished loading a railcar in record time, Josephine applauded. “Bravo, men! I have no doubt such hard work will make the Union Pacific victorious over the Central line.”

A cheer rang out.

Hudson stepped beside her. “You certainly know how to rouse the men to work.”

She pointed to her head. “It’s the hat.”

He laughed. “The hat and other things.”

She looked adorable when she blushed.

“So, Mr. Maguire, why aren’t you working?”

“I am. I have been assigned as your escort for the day.” He made a deep bow, playing the cavalier. “Your wish is my command.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Mrs. Schultz said.

He gave the older woman a smile and gave Josephine another. “So? How would you two like to spend your day?”

Josephine pointed past the town. “I have heard there are Mormon families coming through on their way west. I want to visit them. Talk to them.”

He admired her choice.

Lewis cracked open one eye and was surprised to see it was morning. He sat up and hit his head on the ceiling. He cursed at the bunk beds.

The room that housed twenty men was empty. He remembered hearing commotion earlier and knew that men were getting up, but then he’d fallen back to sleep.

He dropped to the floor and gathered his clothes. Why hadn’t someone awakened him? Now he was late, for surely Josephine was up. He’d told her he would join them for breakfast.

Maybe if he hurried . . .

Ten minutes later, washed, dressed, and carting his photography equipment, Lewis found Josephine’s railcar empty but for a man cleaning up the dishes. “Where did Miss Cain go?” he asked.

The man shrugged as he stacked the plates. “I dunno.”

“How long has she been gone?”

“I dunno.”

Lewis ran out the door. “You’re no help.”

The man called after him. “You’re welcome.”

Lewis saw commotion at the other end of the train, so he walked in that direction. Dozens of railcars were being loaded with supplies. General Cain was on his horse, making the entire process run with the precision of a military exercise. He saw Lewis and waved.

The wave changed Lewis’s plan. Forget about Josephine. He’d impress her father.

And so he set up his equipment to capture the moment.

“There are so many of them,” Josephine exclaimed, as they neared the tents and carts outside of town.

“The Mormon church is bringing four thousand from Europe and England to Utah. We heard that five shiploads crossed the Atlantic and are making their way west. But they want nothing to do with the town. Too bawdy and sinful. Yet it’s said that two Mormons were the first inhabitants of Cheyenne.”

“So they
do
having something to do with the town.”

“Not really. Those two are dead,” Hudson said. “They were killed by an Indian attack as the line was being graded, so General Dodge buried them and declared them Cheyenne’s first inhabitants.”

“That’s horrible,” Frieda said.

“That’s reality.”

Two little boys ran out from between the tents, playing tag. A happy dog skittered between them. Clean clothes hung on lines strung between tent posts, and dancing fingers of smoke lifted skyward from cooking fires.

“So,” Josephine said, as they came close. “Who do you know here?”

“No one.”

She stopped walking. “I assumed you did.”

“You assumed wrong.”

She lowered her voice. “Then why are we here?”

“You wanted to come.”

Frieda shook her head. “You’ll quickly learn that it’s not always wise to give Josephine what she wants.”

Josephine swatted her arm. “Be nice.”

But Frieda just shrugged.

Then the little boys detoured toward them, stopping in their path. “Who are you?” asked the taller one.

“I’m Josephine. Who are you?”

“I’m Caleb. And this is my brother, Joseph.”

She shook their hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“You want to meet our parents?”

Josephine gave Frieda and Hudson a satisfied look. “We would love to.”

They had to duck under a clothesline to gain entry into a circle of twenty tents. Other circles were spread around the area, encompassing
many acres of land. The boys ran toward their parents, who immediately looked toward the intruders.

The father came forward and tipped his hat. “Caleb announced we had visitors.” He nodded toward the town. “You’ve come from Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Hudson seemed to take offense. “There are good people in Cheyenne.”

He nodded. “I apologize for my generality. And we do—on occasion—go to town to get supplies.” He extended a hand to Hudson. “Jonathan Deever.” He looked over his shoulder as three women approached. He opened his arm to include them. “And these are my wives, Mary, Anna, and Martha.”

Wives
. Josephine had heard about polygamy, but she had never met anyone who practiced it.

Frieda took a step back, but Josephine linked her arm and pulled her forward again. “I’m Josephine and this is my cousin Frieda.”

“And I’m Hudson Maguire.”

There were nods of acknowledgment all around. Then Josephine saw Martha eyeing her parasol. “It’s mighty pretty,” she said.

Josephine handed it over for their inspection. Anna approached and touched the sleeve of Josephine’s dress. “This fabric is so fine. And ours . . .” She looked down at her faded cotton dress that probably used to be a deep blue.

It was a bit embarrassing.

“May we help you?” Mr. Deever asked.

“We’re just here to say hello,” Josephine said. “My father runs the railroad crews, and Frieda and I are visiting from Washington, DC.”

“We understand what it is to be a long way from home,” Deever said. “Mr. Maguire, let me introduce you to the rest of the men.”

Hudson looked back at Josephine, his expression asking if she was all right.

She flipped her hand at him.
Go on
. That handled, she returned her attention to the three women—who were being joined by a dozen more, many with babies on their hips or in their arms.

“Look at the sheen of this fabric,” Anna said, as if Josephine’s dress were hers to promote.

The ladies oohed and ahhed and spoke a few languages Josephine didn’t understand. They touched Josephine’s dress from drapery to hem, collar to cuff.

One of the women of Josephine’s age eyed her hat. “Very smart.”

Josephine was glad she’d worn the hat, yet she was also uncomfortable with the attention.

“It’s completely impractical,” said one of the older women, who stood along the edge of the group. Her arms were crossed, her face sour.

One woman put her hands on her hips and faced her. “Oh, stop being so stodgy, Esther. Our lives are full of
practical
. Sometimes women just want something pretty.”

The rest of the group nodded, and one took Josephine’s hand. “Your skin is so soft.” She put her own hand next to Josephine’s. “We’re of the same age, yet mine looks old.”

“Vanity is a sin,” the old woman said.

“I put lard on my skin,” another said.

More than one woman made a face. “It smells horrible.”

Josephine thought of the jars of face cream and lotion she had back at the railcar. She touched the cheek of a baby, knowing that her own skin was as soft as this child’s.

“And these awful freckles,” a redheaded woman lamented. “Being in the sun all the time . . . You have my coloring, yet your skin is so fair.”

Josephine’s first impulse was to advise the woman to stay out of the sun, but she realized that would not be appropriate. So she thought of a second tactic. “If you mix some lemon juice with Venice soap, oil of tartar, and almond oil, you can bleach your freckles. To some extent.”

The redhead’s eyes grew large. “Really?”

“We don’t have any of those ingredients, Rana, so it does no use to think about it.”

“Can’t the general store get you what you need?” Josephine asked. “Or supply you with face cream or rosewater?”

“Rosewater?”

These women were very ignorant. “Rosewater can be used as a skin toner and makes a delightful hair rinse.” More than one woman eyed Josephine’s hair. “Of course it also smells delightful.”

“We could use a few delightful smells around here.”

The women laughed.

“God created people to smell,” said the old woman. “That’s just the way of it.”

Her comment received its own round of giggles and a comment from Martha. “I can guarantee that some smells are from the devil.” She nodded to the group. “Our Jonathan is proof of that.”

Anna and Mary nodded.

One of the babies started to cry, which made another one wail and the older ones fuss. The women were pulled out of their own concerns and brought back to the needs of their children.

“We’d better go. The children are getting hungry.”

As they departed, the redhead touched Josephine’s hand and said, “Thank you kindly for the information about the bleach. Maybe when we get settled on the other side of the mountains, I’ll mix myself some of that.” Then she hurried away.

Watching them, Josephine felt frustrated. “I can’t imagine being without the basic comforts of womanhood.”

“Certainly you know you’ve led a privileged life,” Frieda said.

She felt herself redden. “Of course I know that. But a few creams and oils are basic. I cannot believe the store in town doesn’t carry them. I have a mind to go talk to the owner and convince him to see the advantage of stocking such items. In fact . . .” She looked around for Hudson and saw him talking to some men. She strode over, causing the men to stand and doff their hats. “Gentlemen,” she said. “I am afraid I must take Mr. Maguire away from you.”