The Journey of Josephine Cain (8 page)

“That does not surprise me.”

Josephine leaned away, creating distance.

After a few moments, Lewis reached for her hand. “I am sorry. I’m a selfish lout. Forgive me?”

She nodded.

He had to be more careful. Lose Josephine and all was lost.

Josephine tossed her earrings on the dressing table and one jumped to the rug. “He is the most exasperating man I have ever known.”

In the mirror, she saw Frieda smile as she removed the pins from her hair. “You must like him very much.”

“How can you say that?”

Frieda held her hand palm-up, which was a reminder for Josephine to hold out her own hand for the pins. “It is just that young ladies seldom waste their time and protests against a man for whom they have no feelings. You are upset at Mr. Simmons because on this particular evening, he did not fit into your image of the perfect man.”

She harrumphed. “Hardly perfect at all.”

Frieda leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “It would not bother you unless you cared for him.”

Somehow the logic seemed skewed, but Josephine was too tired to sort it through. “He was really quite insufferable, making it my fault that the host and hostess engaged me in conversation about Papa and the railroad.”

“
He
wanted to be the man in your life this evening.”

Oh.

But then she thought of something else. “He confused the Pantheon with the Parthenon.”

“He should be shot.”

Josephine got the point. “He
was
nervous. He wants Mr. Wilson to buy his drawings for the paper.”

“There you go. He has ambition and wants to use his talents. Both of which are attributes.”

Josephine saw her own shoulders relax. Frieda was right. She must focus on the evening’s pleasures and forget its shortcomings.

And what were its pleasures?

Her mind went blank.

Hudson and Raleigh took their places on top of a bunk car, legs dangling over the side.

“We’re hardly riding first class.”

“But we do have the best view.” Hudson pointed to the west, to that point on the compass that owned such a huge responsibility to all those who contemplated it.
The West
elicited feelings of adventure, hope, danger, thrills, and promise. That he was sitting on top of a train that would take him there, that he was poised to lay the track that would bring the West close to anyone who wished to see it, was a heady thought.

“We’re riding on the cusp of history,” he whispered to the wind.

A deafening whistle announced it was time to leave.

Then the sound of metal against metal and a jerk as if the train had awakened and was stretching its muscles. Hudson joined the other workers as they cheered. He couldn’t have remained silent if he’d wanted to as the immensity of the moment demanded release.

The train moved forward, inching, then sprinting, then finding its stride in a full-out run.

Black smoke and sparks flew past, making Hudson glad the bunk cars were a few back from the locomotive.

“We’re going, we’re really going,” Raleigh said.

“That was the goal,” Hudson said with a laugh.

Yet this was not just any train ride, nor any train. This was
the
ride of
the
train that would be the prequel of hundreds and thousands of trains to come.

The Omaha rail yard grew smaller behind them.

“It’s a new beginning,” Raleigh said.

Hudson nodded, and together they watched what was past and what was known move faster and farther away.

Lewis opened the lid of the trunk that held what was left of his parents’ belongings. He removed a small box and set it on the table. Inside were his mother’s jewels, though perhaps “jewels” was too strong a word. They were pretty trinkets, but he had no idea if they were real or paste. He guessed the latter. The valuable pieces had been sold long ago, after his father and Vanderbilt parted ways.

He fingered through the lot, freeing a pearl necklace from the tangle. He held it to the light and saw that the outer layer of a few pearls was peeling off. “Apparently an oyster didn’t make these.”

A pair of earrings was next, two gold baubles hanging from thin wires. But he overruled them as he’d never noticed whether Josephine had pierced ears.

Then he saw the bracelet. He let the gold chain sit in his hand. Its only ornament was a single teardrop of a red stone. Could it be a ruby? He gave it closer inspection. It
was
pretty. And the weight of the piece made him think it could actually be of real worth.

Then keep it. If things get worse, you might have to sell it
.

He shook the thought away. By finagling a meeting with General Cain, he’d set in place something more precious than jewels: a chance to set his destiny in motion. That he liked the general’s daughter and she seemed to like him—well, that was an added perk leading to a goal he was determined to achieve, no matter what.

“She’ll love it,” he said to the room.

And more than that, it might go a long way toward making amends and keeping his plan alive.

Lewis entered the butcher shop.

“It’s about time ya showed up,” Mr. Connelly said. “I was gettin’ ready to bang a broom on the ceiling to rouse ya.” He swung the cleaver into the
back of a pig then peered at Lewis over his spectacles. “Yer not wearing that fancy suit to work. We got a side of beef to break down, and two—”

“I can’t work this morning. There’s something important I have to do.”

Connelly wiped his bloody hands on his apron. “More important than working for me? Or has you come into a stash of money so’s you don’t have to work no more?”

Lewis was going to argue, then changed his tactic. “I’m working on the latter.” He yanked at his lapels. “How do I look?”

“Like yer wearing your da’s old suit.”

Really? “It doesn’t look that bad, does it?”

Mrs. Connelly came in from the back room and eyed him. “You look right handsome, Lewis. Though me and the mister don’t know squat about what’s in fashion. But who does anymore? People have more to think about now than the width of a skirt or the length of a coat.”

He felt a little better for her words. “Thank you, Mrs. Connelly. I appreciate that.”

“Care to share the name of your stash o’ money? I assume it’s a she.”

“I think I’ll keep that bit to myself, if you don’t mind.”

Connelly pointed the cleaver at him—though not in a threatening way. “I don’t begrudge you trying to better yerself, but I do begrudge you not being at work. How long you gonna be gone?”

“Just a few hours. I’ll work late tonight. I promise.”

“You’d better.” He emphasized his words by hacking the feet off the pig.

Josephine heard the knock on the door and set her reading aside.

Mother looked up from the pillowcase embroidery. “Dowd will get it.”

Yes, he would. But Josephine was eager for any diversion from another afternoon spent in the bears’ den.

She heard men’s voices, then the butler slid open the doors of the parlor. “Mr. Simmons is here to see you, Miss Cain.”

Before she could fully respond, Lewis entered the room carrying a bouquet of magenta peonies.

The three women gasped. Josephine felt her heart melt. Any animosity she felt toward Lewis dissipated at the sight of the gorgeous flowers, which she had never seen in any florist shop. Where had he found them?

“Oh Lewis, they’re—”

He sidestepped her and walked toward her mother. “Actually, if I may . . . I brought these for you, Mrs. Cain. I thought they might brighten your day.”

Mother blushed like an ingénue accepting her first tussie-mussie. “Oh Mr. Simmons. They’re beautiful.” She pressed her nose into the blooms to inhale, and a look of contentment softened her face.

“Peonies symbolize healing,” Aunt said.

“Really?” Lewis asked.

Mother and Aunt exchanged a look. “You are not familiar with
The Language of Flowers
?”

“I am afraid I’m not.”

“Let us go find these a vase,” Mother told Aunt.

Surprisingly, they both left. Josephine and Lewis were alone. During all of Lewis’s visits to court her, they had never spent time in the parlor without her mother, aunt, or Frieda present.

“That was very nice of you,” she told him.

“My mother always liked flowers.”

He had not spoken much about his family. “Liked?”

“She died a few years ago, of yellow fever.”

“I am so sorry. Is your father still living?”

He hesitated a slightest moment. “He lives in New York.”

She’d had the impression they both were alive. But when he didn’t elaborate, she let it go. “Come, sit down.”

Lewis avoided the ladies’ chairs and moved to the end of the sofa. He waited until Josephine had taken a seat at the other end.

“Well then,” he said.

“It is nice to see you,” she said.

“I’m surprised to hear you say that after the abominable way I treated you at the dinner last night, and afterward.”

“It’s all right.”

He reached for her hand. “No, it isn’t. I can blame nerves or frustration or any number of things, but nothing gives me the right to treat you in any way but with the highest respect. For I do respect you, Josephine. I do prize you highly.” He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and removed a small drawstring bag. “This is for you.”

He handed her the velvet bag, which was little larger than her palm. It felt a bit weighty, though not overly so. “You did not need to do this.”

“I wanted to. Open it.”

She emptied the contents into her hand, then
ooohed
. “It’s beautiful,” she said, picking up the bracelet of gold chain. At the clasp there was a single red stone, hanging as a teardrop.

“It’s a ruby. Or at least that’s what my mother always said it was. I’m afraid I don’t know a gemstone from a piece of glass.”

She held it to the light. It certainly looked real. And if it was his mother’s? That made it extra-special. “Help me on with it.”

He fastened the clasp with an expertise unusual for a man. She turned her wrist this way and that, loving the movement of the teardrop. “Thank you ever so much. I am honored that you trust me with something of your mother’s.”