“Let’s go around, Miss Cain,” Hudson said, trying to steer her to a side street.
“But isn’t the general store straight ahead?”
“Yes, but your father asked me to keep you away from the bad parts of town.”
“Oh pooh,” she said. “I have already seen a man shot in front of me. Take me the shortest route, Mr. Maguire—and one that avoids as much mud as possible.”
If Josephine thought she gained appreciative attention walking among the workers in the rail yard, within the boundaries of Cheyenne, she was treated like a pariah.
The men setting up the saloon for the day eyed her, hat to shoe. “Care for a drink, Miss Cain?”
She ignored them but whispered to Frieda and Hudson, “They know my name?”
“Word spreads,” Hudson said.
“It’s rather unnerving.”
“Not much you can do about it.”
She passed the brothel. The women’s blouses were open low, revealing their corsets and more bosom than Josephine thought possible. One stopped and gawked. “What’re you doing out of your cage, girlie?”
Cage?
Hudson pointed a finger at them. “Behave yourselves.”
They made disparaging motions at him.
“Sorry about that,” he said, moving to Josephine’s other side to put himself between her and the prostitutes.
“Not much you can do about it,” she mimicked. But she pulled Frieda along ever faster.
They entered the general store. Seeing them, the proprietor ran a hand over his oily hair. “Ladies.”
Hudson stepped forward. “Mr. Benton, I would like you to meet Miss Cain, the general’s daughter, and her cousin, Mrs. Schultz.”
He made a little bow. “Pleasure to meet you. Fred Benton, at your service.” Then he stopped. “Hey now. I recognize you. You came in here yesterday and took away a towel and bandages. Without paying.”
Josephine was shocked. “Thank you for asking after the shooting victim, Mr. Benton. He is recovering nicely.”
The man reddened. “Is there something you need? Specifically, I mean?”
“Not specifically. We simply thought it was time we checked your wares.”
He stepped back to showcase the few shelves that were stocked. “A little of everything and a lot of nothing, I’m afraid. I stock up when a stagecoach comes through, or a shipment on the train, but it’s slow going, and what I do get in gets snatched up pretty fast.”
She perused the shelves. “Why don’t you have more items that women would like to purchase?”
He made a harrumph sound. “Not enough women around to matter.”
She pointed in the direction of the pioneers. “What about the pioneer women? I just talked to them, and I know they would appreciate some products to make their lives easier.”
He moved to a counter of bowls and spoons. “I got kitchen stuff.”
She shook her head. “Your vision is too narrow, Mr. Benton.”
A little girl of about ten or eleven slipped into the store. At first Josephine wondered if one of the Mormon children had followed them here, but judging by her dirty appearance, Josephine guessed she wasn’t one of theirs. Was she Benton’s daughter?
Benton ignored the child and strode toward a china cup and saucer. “Perhaps this would interest you? It’s hand-painted in London.”
It seemed completely out of place among the more practical offerings of tin plates and cups, leather straps, rope, tent pegs, tobacco, beef jerky, blankets, and knives. Plus, it contradicted his objection to womanly products. “I would bet the women out in the camp would much prefer a few face creams and pretty-yet-practical lengths of fabric to teacups.”
He shrugged.
Seeing no other such cup in the store she said, “It seems one of a kind.”
“Oh, it is. I don’t know why they sent it to me, ’cause I sure ain’t gonna sell it to one of the workers, but . . . it seems suited to a fine lady like you—if you don’t mind me saying.”
She didn’t mind. And actually, it was very pretty, with purple violets splayed along the golden rim and around the saucer. “I will take it.”
He beamed. “That’ll be a dollar, miss.”
“That seems excessive, Mr. Benton.” Or perhaps it was a way to get paid for the towel and bandages.
“It is excessive,” Hudson said.
“You find another one within five hundred miles, and I’ll pay you the difference.”
Josephine knew he was right. Besides, she wanted him on her side. If she could convince him to stock a few items for feminine sensibilities, it would be worth it. If not for the ladies at the camp, for the ones who were certain to come after them.
She dug into her reticule and handed him a coin.
He looked around the store. “I’m afraid I don’t have nothing to wrap it in, Miss Cain.”
“No need. Mrs. Schultz and I can carry it safely back to the train.”
The little girl was taking things out of one of the boxes and setting them on the shelf. “Is this your daughter?”
Benton shooed her away. “No, miss, she don’t belong to me.” He raised his voice so she could hear. “And I wouldn’t have her. She works at Miss Mandy’s and needs to go back where she belongs. Right now.”
Surely this sweet young girl wasn’t . . . didn’t . . .
“Go on now, Nelly. Git.”
“But the ladies sent me to—”
“Come back later.”
Nelly eyed Josephine, then ran out.
“She is . . . isn’t she a little young to be . . . be there?”
“And I’m a little old to be here. Is there something else I can interest you in, Miss Cain? A new blanket perhaps?”
She couldn’t imagine needing one of the heavy and itchy-looking blankets. “No thank you. We will be on our way.”
“Come again soon.”
Not likely.
Hudson fell in place beside her. “I’d offer to carry your cup and saucer, but I think it’s best I don’t.”
She smiled. “It would make for an interesting sight.”
Frieda looked around nervously. “Around here you might get shot for it.”
They walked toward the railcar, but Hudson said, “Let’s take the detour I first intended.”
Josephine was weary and just wanted to get back using the shortest route possible. “This shorter way will do just fine. Once more, through the gauntlet.”
When they passed Miss Mandy’s, Josephine couldn’t help but look in the open door for the girl. The brothel was bad enough, but using a child . . .
It made her stomach churn.
One woman, tying back a tent flap, nodded at Josephine. Then she mimed drinking tea from a cup. “Keep yer pinky up, missy.” The other women laughed and lifted their own pinky fingers.
Josephine realized she was carrying the cup and saucer at chest level, her finger through the handle, as if ready to take a sip. She lowered the pieces to her side and hurried even faster.
Then she saw some movement to her right and spotted Lewis quickly walking around a building, his camera in hand. Had he been photographing the prostitutes?
She didn’t want to think about it, so she walked faster.
Hudson hated to see Josephine upset, though he wasn’t sure if seeing the girl, Nelly, was the cause, or seeing Lewis near Miss Mandy’s. When they reached the general’s railcar, he stopped, ready to say his good-byes.
“Oh no, you don’t, Mr. Maguire. You must come in. I need your ear.”
“Of course,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she had to say.
Once inside, she ripped her hat off her head and threw it on the sofa. Stray hairs found freedom, making her look as wild as her mood.
“That poor girl. How can they use . . . I cannot even imagine such debauchery.”
“So don’t,” Mrs. Schultz said, removing her own hat. “‘For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he.’ Or she. Or you. Don’t let such thoughts come into your mind.”
“My thoughts are nothing compared to the reality Nelly faces.” She paced up and down before stopping in front of Hudson. “This kind of thing has to be stopped.”
“I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult, Miss Cain. Prostitution is the oldest profession.”
“But it doesn’t have to be tempting these men in every spare moment.” She looked toward the town. Was she thinking of Simmons? If so, she didn’t let on, but continued her rant. “And it should never involve a child.”
Mrs. Schultz was nodding. “Never should, but apparently does.”
Josephine seemed to consider this a moment. “Then I shall speak with Papa. He’ll be able to do something.”
She was being naïve. “I’m not sure there’s much he can do about it. He doesn’t have jurisdiction over the town.”
“Then who does? Tell me his name and I shall go to the sheriff or the constable or . . . or whatever he is called.”
Hudson turned his hat in his hands. “Like we said before, there is no sheriff. There’s no law here at all.”
“There has to be order and morals and . . . and . . .”
He softened his voice. “There should be, but there isn’t.”
She sighed heavily.
“I’m sorry. I also wish it were different.”
Her jaw clenched. “Do you?”
He was offended. “Of course I do.” Does she really think so little of me?
Mrs. Schultz put a calming hand on her shoulder. “Josephine, really. You shouldn’t attack Mr. Maguire. He’s been nothing but kind to us, a real gentleman.”
Josephine shrugged her touch away. “But he’s a man, isn’t he? There would be no prostitutes, no gamblers, no drunks, and no killings if it weren’t for men.”
She had gone too far. “Don’t go lumping all men together, Miss Cain. Should I lump you with—”
Her lips tightened and she pointed toward the door. “Out. Go. Thank you for your time, Mr. Maguire.”
This was how she wanted to end the morning?
Her arm remained pointed toward the back of the railcar. Hudson put on his hat, adjusted it, then touched its rim. “Good day, Miss Cain.”
As he left the car, Frieda ran after him. “We both thank you, Mr. Maguire. She’s just upset. She doesn’t mean it.”
He nodded to let her know that he’d heard.
And hoped she was right.
“Sit!” Frieda told Josephine.
Josephine fell onto the sofa, feeling as if all strength had left her body. “I know, I know.”
“Do you?” Frieda nailed her fists into her hips. “You are rude to Mr. Maguire, accusing him of being as bad as those men who partake of the temptations, when he’s been nothing but kind and considerate to us.”
Josephine hung her head. “I feel horrible.”
“As you should. You’re not mad at him. You’re mad about seeing Lewis and about that little girl’s situation. Neither of which are Mr. Maguire’s fault.”
Frieda was right of course. But admitting she was wrong . . .
Frieda upped the ante. “If you don’t set this right, I will tell your father about you wandering off and meeting the Indian woman.”
“I didn’t wander off. I merely went for a walk. And you were with me. It was wonderful. I wouldn’t take that back for anything.”
“You put both of us at risk, Liebchen. You seem to have a penchant for that.”
Right again. Josephine had no choice. “Fine. I will go after Mr. Maguire and apologize.” She paused at the door. “You won’t mention the Indian woman to Papa?”
“We’ll see.”
“Frieda . . .”
The woman flipped a hand at her. “Go. Make things right. And hurry up about it.”
“Mr. Maguire, wait!”
Hudson turned around and saw Josephine running toward him, her skirt grasped in both hands, the edges of her white petticoat dancing. He guessed she was coming to apologize—he hoped she was. The despair he’d felt just moments before began to lift.
She reached him and put a hand to her chest and another at her waist. “I am . . . so . . . sorry,” she said between breaths.
You should be was kept to himself. Instead he said, “Good.”
She did a double take, obviously expecting him to be more gracious. “I said I was sorry.”
“And I said good. It doesn’t mean I don’t accept your apology, because I do.” He set his feet solidly before her and pointed toward the town. “I am sorry about all that too, but I know better than to blame the entirety of mankind for it.”
She blinked. “We are all sinners.”
“That we are. And we are all tempted. That’s part of being human. But that doesn’t mean all of us succumb. Some of us awful men choose to forgo the pleasures of the hell-on-wheels, your father and I being but two. As I started to say . . . should I lump you and Mrs. Schultz into the same group as the women at Miss Mandy’s?” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to concede the point.
“You win.”
That was easy.
He was mesmerized by the curved line that formed in her brow when she was concerned. “I know I was wrong,” she said, “and as soon as I said what I did, I wanted to take it back. It was unfair to you. And Papa.”
“And other men who choose right over wrong.”
She cocked her head. “Are there many of you?”
He wanted to encourage her by saying yes, but couldn’t lie. “Not enough.”
“Oh.”
Now he had discouraged her. He pointed toward the end of the line where the track would soon be laid. “These men who create the railroad from nothing are hardworking men who are doing the work so thousands and tens of thousands of people can come after them. They are sacrificing months and years of their lives, sacrificing their health and the life they left behind . . .” He thought of Sarah Ann and his parents. They seemed to inhabit a different world. As did he. He was no longer the Hudson they knew and loved. He’d changed. This disgusting, awful, inspiring place had changed him.
Forever? Could he ever go back?
“Mr. Maguire?”
Hudson realized he’d momentarily left the here-and-now. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Of . . . ?”
“Of what I left behind.”
“And who?”
He felt himself redden and hated himself for it. “And who.”
“Does she have a name?”
He didn’t want to talk to Josephine about it. “Sarah Ann. And I accept your apology, Miss Cain. Now, I’d better check in with your father and get further instructions.”
He tipped his hat and walked away.
It took everything in his being not to turn back to look at her.
Papa came back to the railcar for dinner, and Josephine could see he was exhausted. She knew it wasn’t a good time to talk to him about much of anything, yet she couldn’t help herself.
As soon as he’d washed up and sat down to eat, the words spilled out.
“I met a little girl today, at the general store.”
“Oh?”
“Her name is Nelly.”
“That’s nice.”
“She works at Miss Mandy’s.”
His fork stopped in midair. “What do you know about Miss Mandy’s?”
“We walked by it—with you. I know it’s a brothel. I know it is no place for a little girl.”
“I told Hudson to keep you away from the seedy part of town. I—”
“It’s not Mr. Maguire’s fault. We met Nelly in the general store, and I was the one who insisted on taking the shortcut back, through the bad part of town.”
“She’s right,” Frieda said. “Mr. Maguire tried to steer us ’round it.”
Papa sat at the table and cut a piece of chicken. “You need to follow directions, daughter. This is no place for a young lady like yourself to go wandering around at will.”
Josephine set her fork down and pushed her plate away. “This is no place for those women either. Whether they chose that life or had it thrust upon them, it is wrong. And it should not be associated with the railroad.”
“It’s not. It’s a private enterprise.”
“But it is here because of the railroad. And it is immoral. It’s disgusting.”
“So is the liquor they serve in the saloons, and the cheating that goes on at the card tables, and the high prices we’re charged for supplies.”
She hadn’t thought about any of that. “Then close them all down. Make it against the law for those places to even exist.”
He ate a piece of meat, chewing slowly. Thinking. “I would like nothing better than to do just as you say, if not for the morals of it, for the work time lost. I cannot count the number of men who don’t show up because they’ve partaken of those vices the night before.”
“Then talk to Dr. Durant, or General Dodge, or somebody. The railroad is all about money and productivity. They will agree.”
“I have talked to Durant and other higher-ups. In Columbus—which already had saloons—Durant had us build a sidetrack, away from the saloons, and put our materials over there, hoping to keep the men confined. But the whiskey sellers delivered the booze to the men. Here at Cheyenne, having to be here all winter, the full contingent of temptations has caught up with us and set up shop.” He nodded toward the town. “It’s bad, it’s deplorable, it’s disgusting. All those words and more, but there’s nothing that can be done about it. If I was able to shut them all down, I’d have a mutiny on my hands. When we’re laying track, the men are working sixteen-hour days in atrocious conditions. When we have no work, they are bored. Either way they have to let off a little steam. And not all men partake.”
That’s what Hudson said.
“I’m sorry you have to witness it, and to even know about it. But there’s nothing I can do—”
“But what about Nelly? Grown women selling themselves is one thing, but a little girl . . . there is no excuse for that, no justification.”
Papa closed his eyes and scratched his head. “No, there isn’t. And I wasn’t aware there was a child involved. I’ll see what I can do.”
“When?”
“When I have time. When I get the supply situation worked out, when I find a way to inspire the men to work as hard as they did last fall, when the spring thaw is over so we don’t have to put up with the mud, when I have one day when I don’t get a wire from Durant, pushing me to work harder and faster.”
“You’re a good man, General,” Frieda said. “You have the weight of the railroad riding on your shoulders.”
“It does feel that way sometimes.”
Josephine agreed, and she did appreciate her father’s hard work and the issues that weighed on him. “But, Nelly—”
Frieda kicked Josephine under the table and gave her a pointed look. “Nelly will be very appreciative of any help you can give her, General.”
But, but, but . . .
Josephine let the subject go, yet the thought of little Nelly in that awful place did not let her go.
Lewis walked toward the general’s railcar. From the lamps inside he could see the general eating dinner with Josephine and Frieda.
They hadn’t invited him.
Not that they had to, but Lewis feared he wasn’t invited because of what Josephine had seen this afternoon. More than once he’d thought about approaching the railcar to talk to her about it, about his photographing the whores, but . . .
Was she telling her father about it? That very thought propelled Lewis toward the car. The general’s good measure was essential for his future.
He purposely made his boots sound upon the landing, then knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Lewis removed his hat and entered. “Evening, General. Josephine. Mrs. Schultz.”
He’d expected Josephine to look away, to ignore him.
She did no such thing.
“Care to explain yourself, Mr. Simmons?” she asked.
The general looked to his daughter, then to Lewis. “What’s going on?”
“Would you care to tell him, or would you like me to?” she said.
What had gotten into her? He knew Josephine could be high-spirited, but he never thought of her as openly confrontational.
“Or are you going to deny it?”
My, my. She was on a roll.
“I think you’d better explain yourself,” the general said.
“This afternoon I was taking photographs of some of the towns-people—”
“The prostitutes.”
He nodded. “It’s part of my job. They are a part of the western experience that Mr. Rosewood hired me to photograph.”
“If you were so secure in your right to photograph them, why did you slink around the building when you saw us?”
Because he was enjoying the task a bit too much. “I apologize,” he said, then thought of an excuse. “I’m as uncomfortable around such vices as you are. I hated being there, and when I saw you I didn’t want you to think I was there for . . . for prurient reasons.”
“That area of town is bad news,” the general said. “I suggest you stay away.”
Even if they were good customers and bought a dozen prints?
He turned back to Josephine. “I’ll do that. But do you understand now? Am I forgiven?”
She flipped a hand at him, then took up a piece of bread to butter. “So be it.”
“Josephine!” Frieda said.
“The man apologized,” the general said. “Where are your manners?”
With a sigh, she glanced at Lewis and said, “You are forgiven. Now if you will excuse us, we are in the middle of dinner.”
He left quickly but was pleased to hear Josephine being scolded for not inviting him to join them.
Josephine sat at the window of the railcar, looking out at the prairie but seeing nothing.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Frieda asked.
“Before this trip, Lewis and I were making wedding plans.”
Frieda sat nearby and gave Josephine her full attention. “Are you having second thoughts?”
Maybe. “You like him.”
“I liked him.” Before Josephine could let this sink in, Frieda added, “I think you need to answer the most important question.”
“Which is?”
“Why are you marrying him?”
“It’s not a laughing matter, Liebchen. You should be able to list the reasons, and the list should be long.”
She was right, and yet the reason that came out first was, “He took me out to the theater and parties and—”
“He got you out of the house.”
Well, yes . . .
“Now that you are free from your mother’s home, do you still have a good reason?”
“He’s generous. Lewis gave me the beautiful ruby bracelet and my engagement ring.”
Frieda snickered.
Josephine didn’t understand. Frieda was the one who had encouraged the courtship.
“What else makes him good husband material?” Frieda asked.
She thought for a moment. “He is a talented artist.”
“Then buy his drawings and photographs. Appreciating his talent doesn’t mean you have to marry the man.”
What was going on? Josephine shook her head, incredulous. “Why this sudden turnabout?”
Frieda raised a finger. “Everything you’ve said about Lewis is factual—”
“Thank you.”
“But something is missing.”
“And what is that?”
“Love.”
Why hadn’t she even thought about mentioning love? Every point Josephine had made was a cold fact, not an emotion or a desire. Josephine knew her feelings for Lewis had changed, but now she began to question what she had ever felt for him.
Frieda put her hand upon Josephine’s, her voice soft. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad, but I am a bit mixed up.”
“About?”
Everything.
Hudson pulled his heel across the metal boot scraper outside the boardinghouse. The owner was having a fit about all the mud the men were tracking in. Especially at dinnertime. “Mud and meals don’t mix” was her oft-repeated saying. If someone was a repeat offender, he would end up hungry.
Hudson was using a stick to scrape the worst of it off the side of his heel when Lewis Simmons approached.
“Hey, you. Maguire.”
He glanced up but kept working on his boot. “Simmons.”
The man moved close enough that Hudson could see his shoes. Threateningly close. His work complete, Hudson stood, glad he was a good three inches taller and fifty pounds heftier. “You need something?”
“I need you to stop carrying on with my woman.”
The phrase my woman struck Hudson as funny, making him smile. “I didn’t know Miss Cain was anyone’s woman.”
“Well, now you do. We’re engaged.”
“Are you now.”
“We are. Ask the general.”
“Actually, it was the general who asked me to show them around.”
“Only because I was busy with my photography.”
“Yeah, I saw you busy with your . . . photography.”
Simmons’s head drew back an inch. “I’m earning good money for my work.”
“Are you selling copies to the women at Miss Mandy’s? Or to their customers who want a memento?”
Simmons started to take a swing, but it was so pathetically accomplished that Hudson had plenty of time to see it coming and grab his wrist.
“You really want to start this?” Hudson squeezed. Hard.
Simmons winced. “Let go!”
Hudson did let go but gave Simmons a push in the process. “Stay out of my way.”
Simmons regained his footing, massaging his wrist. “You stay out of my way. With Josephine.”
Hudson tossed the muddy stick on the ground between them. “I think it’s up to Miss Cain to decide that.”
He walked inside the boardinghouse and was greeted with cheers and a few slaps on the back, as the men who’d been listening from the dining room offered their endorsement.
Lewis stood in front of the building across the street from the boardinghouse, and stared at it.
Glared at it.
Hated it.
Hated a certain man inside.
If Hudson Maguire ruined his plan to exact revenge on General Cain through his daughter, he’d be the next victim on Lewis’s list.