Rosemary dipped her scrub brush into the soapy water bucket. Ada had said more than once that time spent on one’s knees was never wasted. She didn’t think the Lord would mind if she talked to Him while she scrubbed the depot floor, seeing as how she was already on her knees.
Otto was happy with the muffins she’d brought him this morning, so he’d only grumbled a little bit about her making him move his feet so she could sweep up the wood chips from his whittling knife. He didn’t even complain about her humming while she worked. In fact, she thought she heard him humming along with her a time or two.
Still unsure how to pray regarding her future, she’d taken Ada’s wise advice. “Give it to the Lord,” she’d admonished. So with a thread of apprehension, Rosemary told God she didn’t know where He’d have her go and asked Him to choose for her. Even now, as she pushed her scrub brush across the floor, chagrin poked her. She’d already engaged in a tug-o’-war with God over the matter, and wondered if people like Ada and Pastor Collins and Jeremy ever struggled to surrender their own will to the Lord. She’d gone back and forth just like her scrub brush. She straightened and sat on her heels. God must surely be mighty patient with her.
She didn’t want to think about suffering through any length of time with her snooty cousins and their high society lifestyle. Pa hadn’t yet responded to her letter in which she’d related the influence Ada Collins had been to her. Oh how she hoped he’d see that she didn’t need to become a Philadelphia debutante in order to be a lady.
She scooted back and continued scouring the floor, the swish swish sound of her brush creating a rhythm to cloak her whispered prayers into privacy between her and God. What if He steered her path home to the life she’d left behind?
“So many things’ve changed since I left Wyoming. My life isn’t the same as it was. I expect things there have changed as well.” She dipped her brush into the bucket again and continued. “I wonder if Wade misses me.”
She’d not received a single letter from him, but it didn’t really surprise her. Pa wouldn’t have shared her whereabouts with Wade. His purpose had been to separate them, after all. She’d written him a brief letter on the train and mailed it when the train stopped in North Platte to take on fuel and water. Did he know she’d spent the past three months in Sweetwater, Nebraska? Unlikely.
She paused the motion of her brush. “God, I don’t know how to feel about Wade now. I thought I loved him back in May. What if he’s forgotten about me?”
Leaning forward on her hands and knees, a thought—so clear it could have only been prompted by God—startled her. Why hadn’t she written Wade another letter from Sweetwater telling him where she was? A second question, more eye opening than the first, intruded.
Do you miss Wade?
How long had it been since she’d entertained thoughts of him and his blue neckerchief the same shade as his eyes? She couldn’t remember. Those first few days on the train, every time she’d dozed off, images of his roguish smile and flirting eyes filled her dreams.
Miss him? This was the first time in weeks she’d thought about him. Truth be told, the only dreams she could remember in the past couple of months had been of Jeremy.
Was this God’s answer?
“Lord, am I that fickle? Wasn’t Wade the reason I fought Pa so hard?”
She didn’t know the answer. Was Wade really the reason she’d dug her heels in, or was it her own hardheaded petulance over wanting to do as she pleased?
“Miss Rosemary, you all right?” Otto’s gravelly voice interrupted her communion with God, and she realized she was still planted on her hands and knees.
She raised her head and forced a smile. “I’m just taking a break from scrubbing.” She clambered to her feet and grabbed the rope handle of her bucket. The dirty water sloshed against her skirt as she hastened to the back door.
The hot breeze did little to cool her when she stepped outside. She tossed out the contents of her bucket and plodded to the pump. The pump’s handle chafed at her hands when she worked it up and down, just as her unsettled spirit rubbed an abrasive sore on her heart. Clear water spilled into the bucket. She cupped her hands beneath the flow and let the water refresh her. But it did nothing to wash away her confusion.
“God, please make these feelin’s clear to me. In the beginnin’, I begged You to let me go home instead of Philadelphia. But if I go home, Wade will be there, and Jeremy won’t. What should I do, Lord?”
She waited and listened for a word of direction from God in the wind sighing through the cottonwood trees.
Jeremy heaved another shovelful of coal from the tender into the firebox and then checked the steam gauge and water level in the boiler. He mopped his face and neck with his bandana before refilling his shovel. The giant roaring locomotive depended on how well he’d learned the job of fireman in order to chug its way down the track and stay on schedule.
“Back off a little on the coal, Reide.” Roscoe, the engineer, peered at the safety valve and then leveled a scrutinizing look at Jeremy, as if trying to read his mind. “This head o’ steam you’re buildin’ up is gonna get us into Sweetwater pert near twenty minutes early.”
Jeremy gave a nod and uncorked his canteen. He gulped down a few swallows and then poured the tepid water over his bandana and tied the wet rag around his neck. They couldn’t pull into Sweetwater too early as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t wait to see Rosemary.
After spending nearly the entire night in prayer, he’d written a note to his father, explaining why he must break his word and tell Rosemary the truth about who he was. Included in the note was a request for a meeting at which he planned to propose a compromise—tell the people with whom he worked that his name was Jeremy and at the end of each individual training period inform them of his true identity. He prayed his father would react with acceptance, but if not, Jeremy was still determined to be honest with Rosemary and ask her to forgive him. He prayed she’d listen.
Sweat and coal dust blended on his skin, running in blackened rivulets down his arms. He’d never been this dirty in his entire life. Despite the grime, however, he vowed to seek out Rosemary straightaway upon arriving in Sweetwater before seeing to his own comfort.
Roscoe reached up and pulled the cord, sounding the whistle. Jeremy leaned out the window, using his hand to deflect the flying cinders from his eyes. Yes, that was Sweetwater in the distance. His pulse stepped up. Rosemary was just another minute or two away.
The locomotive began to slow, preparing to pull into the station. Impatience gnawed at him. He could get there faster if he jumped out and ran. Instead, he scanned the area to see if he could catch a glimpse of her.
Steam hissed, the brakes squealed metal against metal, and the great iron beast screeched to a halt. Jeremy leapt down to the platform. The depot windows gleamed like they always did—evidence that Rosemary was nearby. He strode to the door and paused, allowing his eyes to adjust.
There she was, across the spacious waiting area, on her knees scrubbing the floor. He only advanced a few steps when she looked up. But instead of a welcoming smile, she frowned and pointed to his feet.
“Stop right there, mister. The floor is still wet, and you’re tracking dirt…”
Her gaze traveled upward, apparently taking in his dirty work clothes. Maybe he should have taken time to clean up first.
Her eyes widened with disconcertment and her mouth formed an O. “Wade? How did you find—”
Jeremy halted. The air left his lungs like he’d been punched in the stomach. Wade? Who was Wade? Ice ran through his veins.
He pulled the blue bandana off his neck and wiped the sweat and soot from his face. Rosemary’s eyes riveted on him, and her expression shifted from shock to despair. She pushed away from the floor and rose, shaking her head, as if trying to make sense of his presence. Whoever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t him.
“Oh, J–Jeremy… I–I…”
He backed up and mumbled an apology for dirtying her clean floor.
She stepped toward him, nearly upsetting her water bucket. “No. Jeremy, I–I’m…”
He turned and exited, lengthening his stride and putting space between him and the woman he loved. With each step, the conflict in his chest thickened. All the while he’d fought with a guilty conscience over his deception, Rosemary apparently had held back a few important details of her own. In all the time they’d spent together, he couldn’t remember her mentioning anyone named Wade. His chest burned, and his stomach hardened. Perhaps weariness from working so hard after a sleepless night caused him to jump to conclusions, but he couldn’t talk to her right now. Was there anything more hurtful than hearing the woman who meant more than life itself call you by another man’s name?
The train whistle blew, and he turned and jogged back to the depot, climbing aboard without looking to see if Rosemary was anywhere in sight. He focused on his job, heaving shovelful after shovelful of coal into the firebox to fire up the boiler. As much as he couldn’t wait to get here less than a half hour ago, now he couldn’t wait to leave.
If Jeremy thought the exhausting work of a train fireman would keep his mind occupied and off Rosemary, he was wrong. He fumed by day and fought with the bedcovers at night, allowing his imagination to fuel his claim that he had every right to feel betrayed. But after four days speculating and guessing, praying and agonizing, he couldn’t stand it any longer.
In the predawn hours, God reminded him of his own prayer the night before he saw Rosemary—how he’d prayed that she would listen to him and forgive him. How could he do any less for her?
“All right, Lord. I’ll do whatever You say.”
He fell into a bone-weary sleep for a few hours. His dreams were filled with Rosemary’s face and the expression of anguish in her eyes. She cried out his name, and he jolted awake. He had to go to her. Dawn was barely a streak of pink and gold on the eastern horizon. He rose and dressed in a gray suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie.
The sun was barely up when he walked to the Lincoln depot and sought out Roscoe. The engineer gave a low whistle in assessment of Jeremy’s attire. But the man’s eyebrows arched up to his hairline when Jeremy told him he was taking the day to attend to a private matter.
Roscoe scratched his head. “Reckon I can get Barton to take your place. But you’d best be ready to return the favor when you get back.”
Jeremy hopped aboard a westbound out of Lincoln and fidgeted for three and a half hours until the conductor called out, “Sweetwater. Sweetwater, folks.”
The train hadn’t yet come to a complete stop when Jeremy leapt to the platform and strode inside. He glanced left and right, but the place was strangely quiet.
“You’re too late.”
Jeremy spun to find Otto standing in the doorway of the office, arms akimbo. Otto’s scowl carved deep lines across his forehead.
“She ain’t here.”
“She—” Dread plummeted into the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean, too late?”
“She up and left,” Otto growled. “Back to Wyoming. And she was cryin’.”