It was time to reboard the train heading from Pittsburgh to Washington, but Hudson couldn’t move. He kept staring at the sign that read Allegheny City. He was only a few miles from home.
He should go there. He should see his parents and Ezra.
And Sarah Ann.
He took a step toward the sign, toward the track that would take him home.
But then General Cain’s voice played in his mind: I need someone I can trust with my most precious jewel, my Josephine. Someone I can completely, absolutely trust to see her safely home.
He stepped back to his original position. He’d promised. And he’d never forgive himself if he left them and something happened.
But can you forgive yourself for being so close to your family and ignoring them?
“Hudson? Is something wrong?”
It was Josie. He shut his eyes against the sign pointing home, and found a smile.
Luckily, where Josie was concerned it wasn’t hard to find.
As they neared Washington, Josephine’s nerves began to dance in a syncopated rhythm. “I wish we’d had the chance to buy Nelly a new dress and coat. She looks like a ragamuffin.”
“I look like a muffin?”
“Shush, girl,” Frieda said, halting the near-constant swing of Nelly’s legs.
Hudson stood and spread his arms. “Am I presentable? Or do you want to doll me up too?”
Actually, he was shabby by eastern standards. His boots needed a dozen coats of polish, there was a small rip in the knee of his right trouser leg, his wool coat was missing a button, and his rawhide vest—which had looked so appropriate on the prairie—looked primitive among the city folk on the train. And his brown, fur-felt Stetson hat . . .
The men around him wore top hats or derbies, long sack coats, checkered vests, and narrow trousers. Rugged boots were nowhere to be seen.
Apparently, with her delay, he made his own conclusion. “So be it. I am what I am.”
Yes, you are. Which was one reason she was so attracted to him.
But then he contradicted himself as he added, “Out west I couldn’t care less about my appearance, but the thought of meeting your mother and aunt has me worried.”
“Don’t worry another minute about them.” I will worry enough for the both of us.
Nelly sat on her knees and stuck her head outside the carriage window. Her hair blew every which way.
“Sit down, girl, or I will never get a comb through your hair,” Frieda said.
“No, let her see,” Josephine said. The girl’s enthusiasm for Washington sparked her own pride.
“What’s that?” Nelly asked, pointing to a large square stack of limestone about a hundred feet high.
“That’s going to be a monument to George Washington, but they stopped building it before the war.”
“I suppose they had a few other things on their minds,” Hudson said.
A few minutes later, Nelly let out a long “oooh.” “Who lives there?” she asked.
“The president.”
“Who’s he?”
Josephine exchanged a glance with Frieda and Hudson. Nelly’s ignorance was alarming, yet considering her background and childhood . . . president, king, or queen, what did it matter?
“President Johnson is the president of the United States,” Josephine said.
“All thirty-seven of them,” Frieda added.
“It’s a fancy house,” Nelly said.
“Actually, it’s in a sorry state. The floor needs refinishing, and some visitors have even pinched tassels off the furniture or been bold enough to cut souvenirs from the draperies and carpets. Mrs. Lincoln bought some wonderful new furniture but despaired at how the public treated what was already there.”
“I don’t like that aspect of human nature,” Hudson said. “People should never just take something because they want it.”
Josephine nodded, yet she couldn’t help letting her mind move from souvenirs to more personal subjects—and inclinations.
Frieda returned to the description of the president’s home. “The First Lady is ill with consumption, so the president’s daughter has been acting as hostess, and is overseeing renovations.”
Josephine pointed out the window. “It used to have a greenhouse over there, but it burned down. I assume they’ll replace it.”
As the carriage moved them past the White House, Hudson asked, “It sounds like you’ve been inside?”
She was embarrassed by the truth. “A few times. Papa and President Lincoln were very close.”
Frieda nodded and adjusted her gloves. “The Cains are a very important family here in Washington.”
“Just one family among many,” Josephine murmured.
“Oh posh,” Frieda said. “The Cains can count themselves among society’s elite.”
Hudson sat back in his seat, suddenly quiet. Was he feeling intimidated?
Yes, she was proud of her family’s position, but lately the importance of that status had waned. She wished she could think of something to say to make him feel more at ease. Instead, she changed the subject. “I certainly am glad I wired Mother and Aunt Bernice to tell them when we’d arrive. I’m famished.”
“Me too,” Nelly said, finally facing forward. “They won’t have sandwiches, will they?”
Josephine pretended to be aghast, placing a hand to her chest. “But I told them how much you enjoyed ham sandwiches and asked them to make an enormous tray, piled high.”
“No!” Nelly said. “That’s all we’ve eaten the entire trip and—” Her panic changed to understanding as she studied Josephine’s face. “You’re joshing me, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Good.” Nelly returned to the window. “Are we almost there?”
“Almost.”
Josephine gave Hudson a reassuring smile—one he did not return.
She prayed her mother and aunt would be filled with God’s grace. And good manners.
Although Josephine had sent her mother a telegram informing her that she was bringing along two guests, she hadn’t given details about their identities. So as they turned onto the final block, her nerves tightened. Although she’d had days to think about it, she knew that nothing she could say would change the fact that Nelly was from a brothel. And then there was Lewis’s absence, and Hudson’s presence . . .
The first ten minutes would be the hardest.
It was just ten minutes.
Josephine turned to Hudson. “Mother is the leader of the duo. Up until the last few months Aunt Bernice rarely said a word, but now she is becoming her old self—whom I happen to like very much. But Mother can be difficult and often takes to her bed.”
“I’m sorry she’s ill.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Hudson nodded with understanding.
Nelly made a face. “She doesn’t sound very nice.”
She isn’t. “Nice or not, she is the mistress of the house and my mother. As such, I would like you to treat her with respect.”
“But what if she’s mean to me? Do I have to be nice then?”
“Even then.”
“That’s not fair.”
No, it isn’t.
The carriage stopped in front of their brownstone, and Dowd opened the door. “How good to see you, Miss Josephine. Mrs. Schultz.” His eyebrow rose as he saw Nelly.
“This is Nelly.”
“Your suit’s fancy,” Nelly said.
Dowd hesitated, then said, “Thank you.”
Josephine saw Hudson unloading the luggage. “You don’t need to do that. Dowd will see it’s brought in.”
Hudson looked at the butler, then piled the baggage on top of Josephine’s trunk and carried it up the steps of the house. “I can handle it.” He nodded at Dowd. “Thanks for the offer.”
They all retreated inside, and Hudson set the luggage near the stairs and removed his hat. Josephine removed her capelet and bonnet, while Frieda helped Nelly with her coat, hurriedly removing it before Mother saw its deplorable condition. At least Nelly’s dress was clean and mended. Frieda had seen to that after the tornado.
Mother and Aunt Bernice appeared from the parlor. Josephine rushed forward to greet them.
But there was only so much greeting that could be done.
Josephine stepped aside to find that Nelly had taken refuge in front of Hudson, making them a pair. She began her introductions. “Mother, Aunt Bernice, I would like you to meet Mr. Hudson Maguire, who has been kind enough to accompany us home, and—”
“I’m Nelly,” the girl said.
Mother took in a breath. “Well then. Hello . . . Nelly.”
Hudson filled the moment by extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cain, and Mrs. . . . ?”
Aunt Bernice actually blushed as she shook his hand. “Mrs. Miller. Lizzie and I are sisters.”
“I can see the resemblance,” he said. “You both have striking brown eyes.”
Mother’s face pulled in a strained smile, but she ignored Hudson’s hand. She retreated into the parlor, leaving Aunt to say, “Please come and sit down.”
The elder ladies took their usual chairs on either side of the fireplace, and Josephine sat on the sofa while Hudson stood behind her. Nelly rushed out of Frieda’s care to sit beside Josephine.
Mother flashed a look toward Frieda. “Please take the girl upstairs.”
Nelly burrowed into Josephine’s side. “But I want to stay with you.”
Josephine wrapped her arm around the girl and briefly considered gathering the others and leaving before things got worse.
Hudson saved the day. “Go with Mrs. Schultz, Nelly,” he said, taking her hand and leading her toward the foyer.
“But . . .”
He put a finger to his lips, and she blessedly remained quiet and disappeared upstairs with Frieda.
Josephine wanted to feel relief but knew that Nelly’s absence would not negate the need for an explanation.
“So then,” Mother said. “Mr. Maguire, is it? I must say your daughter is very . . . willful.”
“She’s not my daughter, ma’am.”
The two women exchanged a look. “Then who is she?” Aunt asked.
There it was. The question. “She is an orphan girl I took in,” Josephine said.
“Took in?”
“In Cheyenne. Wyoming.”
“What happened to her parents?” Aunt asked.
Her mother was a whore whom her father pushed down the stairs before shooting himself.
Hudson answered for her. “Both died. Life out west can be very difficult for even the strongest men and women.”
Aunt Bernice offered a tsk-tsk. “I am so sorry. Lizzie and I know all about being alone, don’t we, Lizzie? Time seems endless with no one to talk to but each other and . . . I am so glad you’re back, Josephine.”
Josephine was surprised by the long discourse. She knew Aunt Bernice was making social calls now, but she did not remember her ever talking so much. Where was the aunt who parroted her mother’s comments with a single word?
“So my conversation is not enough for you, Bernice?” Mother’s cheeks were flushed and her chin raised.
“I meant no offense to you personally, Lizzie. It’s just that I think it’s time to think of the future more than the past.”
Mother’s eyes flashed. “Perhaps you can forget Thomas and William, but I cannot and will not.”
Aunt Bernice suffered a sigh. This was an ongoing battle, but it was refreshing to see a bit of her aunt’s old personality come back to fight it.
Aunt moved on from the disagreement and turned her attention to Josephine. “You should be commended for taking the girl in. But why bring her all the way back here? Surely there are orphanages in Cheyenne.”
“Surely,” Mother added.
There was a tiny part of Josephine that wanted to blurt out the entire truth and be done with it. But before she could think too long in that direction, Hudson answered, “General Cain was the one who thought it would be best if Nelly came back with Josie and—”
“Josie?”
She had been so worried about how to explain Nelly that she had forgotten about Hudson’s nickname for her. “Josephine seems too formal out west.”
“Perhaps the West could use a little more formality.”
Hudson continued. “There’s another reason the general thought it best to bring Nelly back here. There have been some incidents with Indians, and with the track-laying starting up again and the general’s responsibilities increasing—”
Mother interrupted. “What about his responsibilities here, to . . . ?”
Josephine noticed how Mother had left off the full phrase: to me. She couldn’t blame her resentment, but she also couldn’t imagine her father in this house again, taking up his old life. He had changed, and had truly become a man of the West.
As she looked around the room, she wondered if she would fit back into her old life again.
Before she could ponder her own transformation, Aunt gathered some newspapers from a side table. “I think the West is stimulating. All those brave people conquering new lands. I have been reading everything about it in the Chronicle.”
Mother’s head jerked to attention. “Speaking of the Chronicle, where is Lewis?”
Josephine wanted to look at Hudson but refrained. “He has remained behind with the railroad, working.” She thought of something to add. “Don’t you remember he went west because he had been hired to photograph images of the project?”
“Hired or not, he is your fiancé, and I would expect him to accompany you home instead of sending you to travel with—with—”
“Hudson Maguire, ma’am.”
Mother huffed. “I know your name. What I do not know is your role in this journey. Why are you here?”
Josephine felt her anger rise. If Aunt Bernice had changed for the better, Mother hadn’t changed a bit. “Mr. Maguire is here because Papa asked him to see us safely home. He is one of Papa’s most trusted employees.”
“I also served with the general during the war. He is a great leader of men.”
“Hmm,” Mother said. “Is it also your assignment to find an orphanage for the girl?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t think that was the plan.” He looked to Josephine.
“Nelly is my responsibility, Mother. I was the one who chose to save her from . . .” She was glad she caught herself before saying too much. “But it was Mr. Maguire who provided the funds to pay for her . . . care.”
Mother’s eyebrows nearly touched her hairline. “Funds? You paid for her?”
Josephine kicked herself. Why had she mentioned the payment at all?
Hudson explained. “At the time, some compensation to her previous home seemed appropriate.”
“I thought you said there were no orphanages out west?” Mother said.
What now? Please God. Tell me what to say.
Mother continued. “Or was that a lie?”
As if he were an angel from heaven, Dowd entered the room and said, “Dinner is served.”
Hudson stepped toward Josephine’s mother and offered her his arm. She walked by it, but Aunt Bernice gladly stepped up. “Thank you, kind sir,” she said.
He offered his other arm to Josephine. “There now. I am the luckiest man in all of Washington.”
He certainly was the most gracious.
During the meal Josephine repeatedly thanked God for Aunt Bernice and Hudson. If it weren’t for her aunt’s sudden interest in all things “west” and Hudson’s ability to tell a good story, dinner would have been a tense affair.
As it was, the food was served and eaten, and the dishes removed with little delay. At Josephine’s request, plates were sent up to Frieda and Nelly. At first she had been upset that Nelly hadn’t been asked to join them but came to feel it was for the best.
Once dinner was over, the older ladies retired, and Josephine and Hudson moved into the parlor.
It was odd being in the room alone with him—especially after all the chaperoned evenings she’d spent there with Lewis—yet it was exactly what she needed. She turned her aunt’s chair and stretched her feet toward the fire. Hudson still stood. “Sit,” she said, pointing to her mother’s chair.
“Dare I?”
“It is just a chair.”
“But I see you chose the lesser of the two thrones.”
She had. Somehow she felt safer sitting in Aunt Bernice’s chair. How cowardly was she? “You can pull another chair close, if you’d like.”
He shook his head, angled Mother’s chair toward the fire, and slowly descended into it, guiding himself with an exaggerated grip upon the padded arms. Upon contact he grimaced, then relaxed and sighed dramatically. “Phew. I wasn’t burned up or turned to stone.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry she is so ill-tempered.”
“She’s downright angry.”
“She misses my brother.”
“I miss my brother. Nearly every family in the entire country misses someone who was lost in the war. Her anger must stem from more than that.”
“She doesn’t like that Papa’s gone.”
“But wasn’t he gone a lot during the war?”
“She didn’t like that either. And then Thomas left to fight. He was her shining star.”
“You shine a bit yourself, Josie.”
She sighed. “In Mother’s eyes I am a dull pebble to Thomas’s glittering gem.” The talk was depressing her. She looked to the windows. It was already dark. “Where’s a good sunset when you need one?”
“It was there, we simply missed it.”
“I never saw a sunset until I saw the one in Nebraska. Thousands of sunsets in my life, and they all happened without me.”
“But now that you know . . .”
What did it matter? In the city there were no vast horizons, nor the ability to see the sun melt into the earth.
“Josie?” he said softly.
She blinked. “Sorry. I was feeling sorry for myself.”
“Because . . . ?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked into the fire, then at him. Both were full of comfort and warmth, flicker and flame. But as her gaze included the rest of the room—the room she’d known all her life—she acknowledged what was wrong.
“I am home here,” she said, clasping the armrests of the chair. “But not here.” She crossed her hands over her heart.
He placed his hand on his own heart and nodded.
Suddenly she began to cry. He hurried to kneel beside her, taking her into his arms. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said amid her tears. “I don’t know what I should do.”
He stroked her hair and whispered. “You will. We will.”
She pulled back in order to see his face. “We will?”
He stood and drew her up beside him. “But not tonight. Let’s go check on Nelly and get some sleep.”
With a gasp she realized she hadn’t even shown him his bedroom. “I am so sorry. You’re probably dead on your feet, and I didn’t even show you where you’ll be staying.”
“I know where I’ll be staying,” he said as he led her to the staircase.
When she gave him a questioning look, he paused and put his hand upon her heart.
His touch was barely there, yet she felt as warm as if he’d wrapped her in his arms.
Too soon he pulled his hand, away and they walked upstairs.
Josephine quietly opened the door to the yellow guestroom. Nelly was curled in a ball, looking tiny in the wide bed with the congregation of pillows and cushy covers looming around her. Josephine’s childhood dresses were strewn on the chairs and window seat. Frieda must have gotten them out for Nelly to try on. Josephine felt bad for not thinking of it herself.
She adjusted a down coverlet over the little girl’s shoulder. The poor thing. To be brought into the house and sent away like something offensive or inconsequential.
I should have insisted you stay in the parlor to talk. I should have insisted you eat dinner with us.
But it had been easier to let Mother shoo her away. Out of sight, out of mind.
Josephine stroked her hair. “Tomorrow I will do better.”
Nelly opened her eyes and touched Josephine’s hand. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Tomorrow can I come downstairs?”
Josephine wanted to cry. “Absolutely. And we’ll do something fun.”
“Really?”
Josephine kissed her good night.
Really.
Hudson lay in bed, his hands clasped behind his head. He stared at the window, at the moonlight that bent and curved over the window seat and floor and foot of his bed.
He held his fingers in front of his face. He could still feel the beat of Josie’s heart . . .
Then he abruptly made a fist. What was he doing? What were they doing?
The trip from Cheyenne to Washington had been like a dream. Each moment he’d spent with Josie was painted with exquisite detail in his memories, a masterpiece to enjoy for all time.
Yet this place was not for him. It wasn’t for Josie either, but he knew it would be difficult for her to completely let it go.
She had spoken fondly of the sunsets they’d shared.
But Hudson didn’t create the sunsets. They were God’s doing, not his own. That he’d had the great privilege of sharing them with a girl like Josephine Cain was a gift he cherished, another portrait for his mental gallery. But that didn’t mean they had a future together.
She’s not bound to Lewis anymore.
But you’re all but promised to Sarah Ann.
Josie had a position in high society. Hudson’s family worked in a cotton mill and belonged to the invisible working class. To find a future with each other would require that some very high walls be breached—or torn down. Either way there would be a battle. And casualties. Victory would come at a price.
He turned on his side and forced his eyes to close.
Josie’s image met him there in the dark.
A woman worth any price.