When Josephine felt Aunt Bernice slip out of bed, she greedily spread her limbs into the empty space. The bed in the hotel was barely made for one, much less two.
Aunt groaned, and Josephine opened her eyes enough to see her press her hands against her lower back and arch it. “Not as comfy as our beds back home, is it?”
There was no need to answer, and Aunt moved to the window. She pulled back the width of fabric that sufficed for a curtain, drew up the sash, and stuck her head outside for some fresh air, looking right and then left.
And then she gasped. Her movements were quickly rewound. “Don’t look. You don’t want to look.”
Which, of course, made Josephine have to look.
She shouldn’t have.
Putting her head out the window and looking left, she saw a man hanging by his neck. Dead. Just half a block away.
“Is he a bad man, or a good one?” Aunt asked.
“Does it matter?” Josephine hurriedly put on her clothes. “We can’t let Nelly see him.”
Aunt nodded with sudden understanding. “How are we going to stop her?” she asked. “He is right . . . there.”
It would require a two-point attack. “Get dressed and go to Nelly and Frieda’s room. Keep them there. Above all, keep them away from the window.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get him taken down.”
Once dressed, Josephine went to the hotel’s front desk and looked for someone, anyone, in charge. She spotted a man sweeping the floor in a back room and marched toward him. “Sir?”
He looked up as though surprised anyone was up at this time of day. “Yes?”
Josephine pointed outside. “There is a dead man hanging outside.”
He nodded once. “That’s the Kid. Those of us on the vigilante committee strung him up around midnight.”
Why hadn’t she heard anything? That was beside the point. “I have a child upstairs, and I do not want her exposed to such a sight. I want him taken down.”
He shrugged. “That’s not possible, miss. Not till he serves his purpose.”
“Which is?”
“To warn his friends to get out of Laramie or we’ll do the same to them.”
“But . . . but he looks so young.”
“That’s why he’s call the Kid.” He leaned on his broom. “Don’t have no sympathy for ’im. He and his cronies run the Bucket of Blood. They lure customers in, get ’em drunk, rob ’em, and kill ’em. They toss the bodies in a wagon and haul them outta town for the coyotes to eat.”
She shuddered. “That’s despicable.”
“Which is why the good men of Laramie are banding together to get ’em outta here, one way or another. We’re setting up for a showdown.” He pointed a finger at her. “But it’s a secret. I advise you to keep the knowledge to yerself.”
She took a step back. “I want nothing to do with any of this.”
“As a shop owner, you might change your mind about that. We’re taking care of the scum for the good of the town.” He gave her a final nod and went back to sweeping.
Josephine went upstairs to Nelly and Frieda’s room, where she found Aunt Bernice brushing Nelly’s hair.
“I’m hungry,” Nelly said, “but Aunt Bernice says we can’t go eat.”
The three women exchanged a glance. They couldn’t very well stay in this room all day. But how to get Nelly from here to the café without seeing the dead man?
Fast. Do it fast. “I think we can go eat,” Josephine said. “In fact, I say let’s race. The first one all the way into the café, touching the counter, gets something extra.”
Nelly rushed to the door of the room. “I can run really, really fast.”
Josephine stood beside her. “So can I. Ready. Set. Go!”
She and Nelly hurled themselves down the hotel stairs. At the door, Josephine let Nelly run ahead of her and hurried from behind, pressing the girl into the café. Nelly slapped the counter. “I won!”
Josephine didn’t have to pretend to be out of breath. “Yes, you did.” She pointed to a table just as Frieda and Aunt Bernice came in. Frieda looked a little green.
“What you eat, Damen?” Richter asked.
“What is there?”
“We have eggs and bacon.”
“And?” Aunt asked.
“Eggs and bacon.”
Hudson walked in the door. “Make that five orders,” he said, pulling an extra chair to their table.
She looked at him with questioning eyes and nodded in the direction of the hanged man.
“I saw,” he said.
“What did you see?” Nelly asked.
“I saw that you won the race. Congratulations, speedy.”
He was a gem.
After breakfast, they shielded Nelly and walked from the café to the store. There was plenty to keep them all busy.
“We need something to use as a counter,” Josephine said.
“Let me see if I can scrounge up some wood, some nails, and a hammer,” Hudson said.
“I’ll come with you,” Nelly said.
“No!” the women said all at once. Their smiles were strained.
“We need your help here,” Aunt said.
Just then a man came in with a stack of newspapers draped over his arm. “Newspaper? Just a penny.”
Hudson handed him a coin, and while the others sorted through the goods they had brought from home, he and Josephine looked through it. On the front page they found a column called Last Night’s Shootings. “Really?” Josephine said. “They have so many deaths that they must list them in a special column?”
“Apparently,” Hudson said as he read. Then he sucked in a breath. “Oh no.”
“What?”
He pointed at one name on the list: Lewis Simmons.
She snatched the paper from him. “Lewis? He was killed?”
Aunt and Frieda came close. “What are you talking about?”
She handed them the paper and stepped away, needing room to air her guilt. “It’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t yelled at him in front of everyone, he would be alive.”
“You can’t know that,” Hudson said.
“I do know that.” Memories of Lewis’s humiliation were scathing. She had taken such pleasure shaming him, letting her own pain fuel her tirade. “I blindsided him,” she said. “There was no way for him to defend himself.”
“Because you were telling the truth,” Aunt said. “He was guilty of each and every point.”
“But I didn’t need to share it with the world, in earshot of those soldiers.” She didn’t wait for more comfort, for she didn’t deserve it. She strode out the door and entered the café. Richter looked up from pouring coffee. “Who handles the burials around here?” she asked.
He stepped away from his customers. “If you want Kid get proper burial . . .”
She shook her head vehemently, having forgotten about the Kid. “My friend was shot yesterday, and I want to make sure he gets a Christian funeral. Who do I talk to?”
“Where is he?”
He pointed down the street. “Turn at corner, on right.”
Thankfully, as she passed the place where the Kid had been hanging, he was gone.
As was Lewis.
The four women and Hudson stood at the grave of Lewis Simmons. “Will you say a few words, Dr. Grant?” Josephine asked.
He took out a worn Bible and flipped the pages until he found the verse he wanted. “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’” He snapped the Bible shut and looked to Josephine. “You want to say something, Miss Cain?”
What should she say? The man she had thought she knew was a stranger to her. And yet . . .
“I loved him. Once.” But had she? Or had she used Lewis as much as he’d used her? She took a fresh breath and repeated the words. “I loved him once. In my own way.” She wiped away a tear. “He did not deserve to die like this. May God bless his soul.”
The others nodded, and Nelly laid a sprig of wildflowers on his grave. Josephine felt guilty for walking away, but what else was there to say or do?
Suddenly, Nelly sprinted away from the group. “Vera!” She wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist.
“Who is she?” Aunt asked.
“Nelly’s friend.” Josephine strode toward her, and Vera looked nervous. She touched her hair as if checking it, then wrapped her shawl around herself like a shield.
“Hello,” Josephine said.
Vera had a charming smile. A relieved smile. She nodded a greeting.
Nelly pointed to the grave. “That man died.”
Vera looked at Josephine. “I knew that man.” Then her face crumpled. “He died because of me.”
Josephine couldn’t have been more surprised if Vera had said she was president of the United States. “Why do you say that?” she asked.
Vera glanced at Hudson, Aunt Bernice, and Frieda, who were standing close by. “Can you and me talk a minute?”
This would be interesting. “Of course.” She laid a hand on Nelly’s shoulder. “Go join the others. I will catch up with you.”
Nelly was reluctant and gave Vera another hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’re here too. We’re starting a store.”
“Are you now?”
Nelly joined the others, leaving Josephine and Vera alone. “Can we get away from this awful boot hill?” Vera asked. “There are too many fresh graves.”
And there were. The land was dotted with heaps of freshly dug earth.
Vera pointed ahead. “There’s a nice rock grouping ahead. I go there sometimes to be alone and think.”
Josephine’s first reaction was unkind. She went there to think? But she walked with Vera to the rocks and each found a seat. The silence was awkward. They were from such different worlds.
Vera took a deep breath and pointed to the mountains nearby. “It’s so beautiful here. Peaceful.” She nodded toward the town. “So unlike that place.”
“We saw a hanged man this morning.”
“The Kid. A bad seed for certain. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one who shot Lewis.”
This was news. “How do you know?”
“I don’t. But he and his gang are responsible for at least a dozen graves.” She sighed and picked up a pebble, moving it from one palm to the other. “We’re all hoping the vigilantes will get ’em. Though that won’t stop another bunch from coming in to make trouble.”
“You are so matter-of-fact.”
“It ain’t called the Wild West for no reason.”
“Then why are you here?”
Vera raised a neatly plucked brow. “I could ask you the same question. A store? Pardon me for asking, but what do you know about running a store in a town like Laramie?”
Josephine considered defending herself, but for some reason, could not. “Not a thing.”
Vera laughed. “The West makes a lot of people do things they’ve never done before.”
Josephine wondered if Vera’s profession was included in that statement.
But Vera moved on. “Lewis came to me yesterday afternoon, all upset about your run-in at the bridge.”
“He told you about that?”
“He told me about a lot of things.” She threw the pebble away and brushed her hands as if brushing away the things Lewis had told her. “He was one complicated man.” She snickered. “But aren’t they all.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t known many men—” Her words carried a meaning she hadn’t intended, and she felt herself blush.
“Don’t worry. I know what you meant. And truthfully, I haven’t known much about many men neither. They usually aren’t fond of talking deep about things.”
It was Josephine’s turn to laugh. “My father likes to fix things.”
“They all do, honey. But don’t hold it against them. It’s their job.”
“And what is our job? As women?”
Vera thought a moment. “To love and nurture them in spite of their fixing.”
Josephine adjusted her bottom on the rock. “You said Lewis died because of you? That’s not true. He died because of me—because of my public tirade against him.”
Vera shrugged. “You lit the spark, and I fanned it into a flame.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him to get out and never come back.” She hung her head. “He said my brother was a poor slug who died for nothing.”
Vera stood and looked to the east, her shawl pulled tight around her. “He was talking about all soldiers who fought in the war.” She turned back to Josephine. “I’m sure that not every soldier—on either side—totally believed in what he was fighting for. They risked their lives because it was their duty to fight for a cause. Lewis was a coward who fought for no one but himself.”
“My brother died too,” Josephine said softly.
Vera’s forehead crumpled, and her eyes filled with tears. “They didn’t die for nothing. They didn’t.”
Josephine went to her, and the two women embraced, rocking to the rhythm of their common sorrow.
Aunt Bernice swatted Hudson on the back with a towel. “What are you doing, staring out the window? She’ll be back.”
“She’s talking to Vera,” Nelly said. “I hope they like each other. They’re both nice ladies.”
“Hush, girl,” Frieda said.
“Well, they are.”
Hudson turned his back to the glass. “I need to leave town.”
They all stopped working. “You can’t leave Josephine now,” Aunt said. “She will be heartbroken. She cares for you so much and—”
He raised a hand to stop her words. “I’m not leaving for good. And I care for her too. I need to go to the end of the line, to find her father and . . .” He grinned. “You know.”
Aunt Bernice gasped, then encased him in a hug. “I’m so happy for both of you.”
“What?” Nelly asked. “What’s going on?”
Was Nelly old enough to keep a secret?
“Tell me!” she said.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “I am going to General Cain to ask him for his daughter’s hand.”
“Why do you want her hand? Doncha want all of her?”
They all laughed, and Hudson pinched her chin. “Yes, I do. But I want to ask the general for her hand in marriage.”
“Oh,” she said, finally understanding. “She didn’t say nothing about you two getting hitched.”
“That’s because I haven’t asked her yet.”
Frieda pointed a finger at Nelly. “It’s a secret. Josephine can’t know anything about it until Hudson comes back and formally proposes.”
Nelly looked to Hudson, and he nodded. “It’s very important she not know anything about why I’ve left or what I’m planning to do.”
“All right.”
Hudson blinked. “That’s it?”
Nelly made a disgusted face. “You want me to promise on a stack of Bibles and cross my heart and hope to die?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Good. ’Cuz I can keep a secret as well as any of you. Just you watch.”
He was counting on it.
Comforted by her talk with Vera, Josephine was eager to get home.
Home? Did she really consider the store home?
It was all she had since she’d burned her bridge back in Washington. She had cut her ties with that old life, and the old Josephine. In a way, Lewis’s death provided the nail in that coffin. Now it was time to move forward with the store and with the family she’d brought with her.
And Hudson. Oh yes, with Hudson.
Turning onto Second Street, she remembered seeing the body of the Kid. Was he being buried in the same cemetery as Lewis?
She shook the discomforting thought away. Happy thoughts. Positive thoughts. That was the plan.
Josephine found the door of the store open to the nice day. Hudson had just finished building a narrow table to use as a counter, and set it upright.
Nelly saw her first, and pointed. “Look! A real table.”
“It’s a piece of art.”
Hudson wiped the top with a rag. “It’s a table.”
From the other side of the store, she saw Aunt Bernice and Frieda with the sleeves of their dresses rolled up. They were setting a shelf on some new brackets on the wall. “Voilà!” Aunt said. “A shelf. The first of many.”
Nelly flitted between them. “Auntie even cut the board herself.”
Aunt flexed her arm. “I am stronger than I look.”
“I think we all are,” Josephine said. She took off her hat and began to roll up her own sleeves.
But then Hudson came close. “Can I speak with you alone?”
Josephine glanced at the ladies, but they looked away, as if they knew what he was going to say.
What was he going to say? By his demeanor it couldn’t be good.
Hudson led her outside, around the corner. Then he faced her. “First off, let me tell you how much I care for you.”
“Uh-oh,” she said. “A preamble like that can only lead to something bad.”
He smiled. “It’s not bad, it’s just . . .” He took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. “With Lewis dying, and all you must be feeling . . . would you prefer I went away for a bit?”
“I probably should want you to leave, because you are one of the main reasons I broke things off with him. He provided all the other reasons, but meeting you was the spark that started everything.” He looked stricken, and she hurried to say, “But I don’t want you to go. I have been waiting my whole life to have you here.”
He smiled. “To have me here, when we only met a short time ago?”
“To have someone like you here, with me.” She looked past him toward the cemetery. “I should be crying over Lewis’s death. I should be mourning, but I’m not. What is wrong with me?”
“Would you feel better if you were wailing and keening over him?”
“No.”
“From what I’ve seen, grief is personal. It’s not something you can plan or force. No one can tell you that it’s right, or enough, or too little. Let yourself grieve as you need to grieve, and forgive yourself the rest.”
She looked into his eyes, his deep brown eyes that were so full of compassion and wisdom. “How did you get to be so smart?”
He shrugged.
She took his hand and started to lead him back to the store. “Wait,” he said, halting their walk. “I am going to leave town—for a short time.”
“But I want you here.”
He squeezed her hand. “I want to be here. But I need to leave Laramie and go to the end of the line. I need to finish . . . something. I’d also like to see my brother.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He pulled her close and looked down at her. “Not a minute more than necessary.”
“A whole minute?”
“Not one second.”
She could accept that.
Josephine turned over in bed and faced the window and the dark night outside. Just a few blocks away lay the body of Lewis Simmons—or Simon. Whatever his name was.
Hudson had told her to grieve in her own way. What was that way?
She had cared for Lewis. She had him to thank for getting her out of the family home. They’d shared some good times together.
But had any of it been genuine? Or was it all another lie?
All facts pointed to his wanting to marry her for shameful reasons—either for money or revenge for Papa’s part in his father’s death.
But how did he hope to gain revenge? What would have happened after they married?
It didn’t really matter. He was gone. Dead.
Was he in heaven?
She pulled her pillow into an embrace and prayed for his soul.
And her own.