Oklahoma, 1903.
The train screeched as the brakes hit the metal rails, jolting Josephine Taylor from her slumber. The tiny muscles and ligaments in her neck ached from the cramped seats, and the worn upholstery itched her skin. The colors of the fabric were faded into a dirty shade of dishwater-brown, and Jo wondered if they’d ever been properly scrubbed. It was far from the luxuries she’d grown up with in Manhattan.
Jo laughed. It had been nearly five years since she’d enjoyed those luxuries, and she didn’t miss them nearly as much as she missed her parents. But they were gone and this was the start of a new beginning. A rebirth! her brother had said.
Ha! It was her brother that had sucked the life from her, and her brother who was disposing of his mess. In a nowhere town in Oklahoma. Jo inhaled deeply, as she’d learned to do when she began feeling sorry for her circumstances. She’d had a lot of practice over the past half decade.
Outside the small window, a dusty train platform appeared as they rolled into the station. A weathered sign read Hillview. Established 1875. Her heart thumped inside her ribcage at the realization that this was her new home.
Home. The word eluded her.
Jo’s eighteenth birthday had come and gone on the journey, and she’d expected it would be a grand and beautiful adventure across the country. But her roommate in her sleeping compartment snored, keeping her awake most of the nights. The passengers were nice but only made polite conversation. The days had been long and monotonous and only made the anxiety that coiled in her belly more apparent.
It should be George on this train.
Her blood boiled thinking of him back in the city, driving their father’s legacy into the ground. If her father had been allowed, he would’ve gone against convention and given his law firm to Jo. But until a few years ago, women couldn’t practice law, let alone run a law firm, so her father had left the business to her brother. Who subsequently ran it right into the ground.
Jo scowled out the window at the uninspired scenery. Another lie her brother had told. Oklahoma was green and lush and vibrant. That’s what her brother said. Dry, arid, and dull was more like it.
A frustrated cry escaped her throat and startled the couple in the seats across the aisle from her. This was not the life she’d envisioned as a little girl growing up in a luxury townhouse on Marble Row.
Not that the life her society upbringing dictated inspired her, either—marrying the right man, spending her days calling on her friends, gossiping, and hosting charity events. Her secret wish had been to continue working with her father. But that dream had faded in the distance with her old life.
Until her father passed away, Jo spent most of her days in his large office downtown, doing whatever tasks her father or his secretary asked of her. It had been thrilling. Estate law wasn’t as boring as her brother always complained. It was more than wills and trusts. Her father’s clients were very wealthy, which meant a client meeting could get hostile in a New York minute. When presenting a will or trust, you were dealing with the inner workings of a family, which could get messy. Especially when they’re rich.
Fists were thrown, glasses broken. One man almost pushed his brother right out the window of her father’s office. Her father kept it closed for client meetings after that. Jo was almost giddy during those occasions. Her father pretended to scold her, but couldn’t help but smile at Jo’s obvious enjoyment of all the excitement in the office.
Not every part was fun. The hardest days were when they dealt with families who lost someone suddenly, tragically, or young. Jo left the office for those meetings. She liked to fix things, but she learned that some pains run as deep as the Hudson River, and money or other assets couldn’t salve those wounds.
But that life was ripped from her.
It took George less than a year to squander her father’s small fortune. They had to move out of their large townhome in the middle of the city and up to Harlem—practically the country! But Jo had made a nice life for them and did her best to make a home. For all the good it did. George never appreciated all Jo did for them. He tossed her out like the scraps from their suppers.
Her skin prickled, remembering George coming into her bedroom with a smirk when he told her he’d found her a job and new place to live. Once she turned eighteen, he no longer had a legal obligation to look after her. Of course, that’s not how George spun the story. Oh no. George was to be married and there wouldn’t be enough room for Jo and his soon-to-be wife, Miss Gloria Pemberton, in their small cottage.
What George really meant was there wasn’t enough money in his accounts to care for both Jo and his new wife.
A week after the engagement was announced, he dumped his plans for Jo on her like a rotten piece of meat: he was shipping her across the country to a strange town to help a widower with his two children. Two weeks later, Jo boarded the train.
With almost no money to her name, her only other choice would’ve been to beg her old friends in their fancy homes for a job as a house servant—but that would’ve been humiliating—or take a job in the factories, or worse, on the streets as a painted lady.
One other option fluttered into her mind, but she pushed it away. She didn’t want to think about her final option. Jo wanted to be in control of her destiny, but she would not be a slave to manual labor or to a man. This new family was her best and only real option.
Jo’s heart jammed in her throat as the reality of it set in. She wondered if the father—a Mr. Jack Harrington—would be kind to her as her own father had been, and if she would find love or resistance with his children.
On the platform, Jo scanned the few faces waiting for passengers, but no one moved to greet her. She clutched her carpetbag with an iron grip—as she’d been trained to do in the city—and sat on a wood bench. When everyone had disembarked and her trunk sat alone on the planks where the porter left it, only Jo and an older gentleman of about thirty-five years were left. His eyes skipped over her hat, barely giving her a glance, and when the train pulled away, he cursed and kicked the boards under his feet.
“Excuse me, sir?” The howl of the train departing swallowed her words, and she hurried closer to the man. “Sir!”
Sharp brown eyes turned on her and Jo sucked in a breath, afraid to speak at the intensity behind his glare. Just his presence commanded her into silence. He was tall, with broad shoulders, a thick head of brown hair that curled at the edges, and a depth in his eyes that told of hardships.
“Speak up, girl!”
Jo’s jaw tightened, not used to a man—except her brother—yelling at her. “I was wondering…I mean, were you waiting for someone on that train?”
“Yes.” He pulled his hat on his head. It was wide brimmed and worn; nothing like the gentlemen in the city wore. “But the boy didn’t show. Go figure. Probably a scam anyway.”
“Oh.”
The man moved through the station and outside to a low platform where several wagons were parked in a line. She scurried after him.
“Do you know a Jack Harrington?”
The words stopped him mid-stride. “Why?”
“I’ve come from Manhattan to board with him and his family.”
A cloud passed overhead and shadowed the man’s already dark features. “What’s your name?”
“Miss Josephine Taylor, but everyone calls me Jo.”
“Jo?” He murmured her name and then cursed under his breath. The curse made Jo grin. A gentleman was not meant to swear when a woman was present, but George never reserved his tongue around her, and she’d heard all sorts of colorful language in the law firm. She knew how men really behaved without the restrictions of society, and Jo quite liked it.
He reached out but stopped short of grabbing her, his hands fisting next to her shoulders. What struck her was the resigned look that overtook his features, as if he expected disappointment, and didn’t have the energy to fight it. “Was this all a con?”
Jo stepped backwards, in case the fight did come out of him. “No, sir. My brother, George Taylor, answered your ad. Didn’t he say I was coming when he wrote to you? He told me it was all arranged.”
“Your brother said I was to meet a Jo Taylor.”
“Yes, sir. That’s me.”
“You’re meant to be a young man. I need help with the farm and the harvesting when it’s time. It’s not work for a girl.”
“I’m eighteen, and…” Jo paused as his words trickled in, and she realized what her brother had done. “Are you saying…did my brother tell you I was a boy?”
“Oh, he most certainly led me to believe I was paying for a young man to board with my family and help with my farm.”
Jo pressed her lips together, moving them back and forth over her teeth, while she thought. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to deceive you—” A lie. George would absolutely have deceived this man. “It’s a—”
“Do you even have a brother?” Mr. Harrington suddenly asked, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you one of those grifters?”
“No, sir!”
He exhaled and looked behind her as if he might find an answer to their predicament in the now empty station. “I’m sorry my brother lied. Truly. Please. I’ll prove my worth.”
“No. This won’t work.” Mr. Harrington nodded once, his decision made. “Even if I thought you’d be useful, I don’t trust you. Maybe you’re a grifter. Maybe not. But I can’t have you living with my children. You’ll have to go back.”
“No!” Desperation gripped Jo’s chest. She grappled in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a locket, which contained a photo of her mother and father on one side and George on the other. “This is my bother, George, here. And these were our parents. They died. I am who I say I am.”
Mr. Harrington pushed past her. The locket was knocked from her hand and skittered under the platform, disappearing. Jo screamed and jumped down. On hands and knees she hunted for it, but she couldn’t find it in the rocks and dirt. She desperately clawed at the gravel.
“It’s all I have left of them,” she shouted, tears pricking her eyes.
She was in such a state searching for the only thing she held dear, she didn’t notice Mr. Harrington next to her until he gently took her arm and sat her back on her heels. The exhaustion and frustration took over, and she cried in her hands. When she lifted her head, she was startled to see Mr. Harrington still next to her.
He lifted his hand in front of her face and opened it. The locket lay in his palm. “I found it.”
She snatched it and pressed it against her heart briefly before slipping it back into her pocket. He handed her a cream handkerchief with the initials JRH stitched in light blue. Jo wiped her cheeks, grateful for the moment of kindness.
“Either you’re a very good actress or you’re telling the truth.” Mr. Harrington’s eyes softened. There was more to the man than his hard exterior. He was wary to trust her, but his eyes and kind gesture made Jo think he wanted to.
Jo slid the handkerchief into his palm. The feel of his skin against hers produced a warm glow around her heart. It had been a long time since she’d felt the touch of another person. Her parents had always been generous with their affections, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.
“I assure you,” she began, then breathed in, letting the memory go along with Mr. Harrington’s hand. “I had no idea what my brother was up to. He told me I was coming to help a widower with his children and if all went well, I’d stay on as part of the family.”
“Then you’ll have a lot to say to your brother when you see him upon your return.” Mr. Harrington stood and walked to the wagon behind him. Panic rose in Jo when he stepped on the large wheel and hoisted himself onto the seat.
“Wait! I’m a hard worker. I’ve been taking care of my brother and our home for the past five years, since our parents died. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not going to work out. Go back inside the station and wait for the next train.” Mr. Harrington snapped the reins, and the horses bucked forward.
“Wait! You can’t leave me!”
But he was already halfway down the road. Furious, Jo banged up the steps and into the station. A man with a puff of white hair atop his head and a white mustache sat behind the ticket window. She veered away from him and paced the small room, ticking off her options.
Jo had enough money to buy a train ticket back to Manhattan, but not much else. She could stay and try and find some other work here, but if she spent the money on room and board while she looked for a job—even for a day or two—she’d have nothing left to buy the train ticket back if she failed.
Her best option would be to return to Manhattan and fall on the mercy of her brother. Or . . . there was another option in the city. No. She wasn’t going to consider it yet.
The white-haired attendant smiled patiently as Jo approached the window.
“I’d like to buy a one-way fare to New York City.” She handed over her money and stuffed the ticket into her pocket. “When shall I expect the next train?”
“Three days’ time. If there’s a storm, it could be four.”
“What?!”
The older man shrugged and turned back to the open newspaper resting on the counter.
The money leftover wouldn’t last more than a day. She’d have to sleep inside the station, if they let her, and even then she’d have to beg for food or starve. Ugh! That Mr. Harrington made her so mad she could scream. And she did, under her breath. The old man raised his eyebrows, and she stomped back to the main street.
Another wagon rolled by, and Jo coughed up the dust the horses kicked up. All her life she’d only known one place, Manhattan. It was busy and noisy and crowded and Jo loved it. Even out in Harlem, it was only a short train ride on the el into the center of the city. Jo used to ride down to visit her friends in the lower parts of Manhattan, but as the years passed and her friends came out in society, Jo drifted away from them. Or more accurately, her friends stopped accepting her calls when she’d visit. They were embarrassed by her new, lower station in life, though her brother was still allowed to socialize in their old circles since he had a respectable, if failing, business. It was unfair, but Jo didn’t like to ponder on the unfairness of life. She liked to do something about it.
She scanned the one-street town, the squat wooden buildings stacked side by side like uneven puzzle pieces. Her stomach grumbled and her silk blouse stuck to her back in the heat. The longer she stood on the side of the road, the more agitated she became. So what if she wasn’t the boy Mr. Harrington expected? Her brother promised this man a hard worker and that’s what she was. She just had to prove it to him.