Read The Journey of Josephine Cain for Free Online Page B

war started and ruined everything.”
    Frieda flashed her a look.
    Josephine cringed at her own tactlessness. “Oh pooh,” she said. “You know what I mean. I understand the cruelty of the war, how necessary
and
how costly. I know all that. But am I not allowed to grievethe loss of my young womanhood? Everything I looked forward to and planned for was put on hold. Tonight Mr. Simmons helped me see that it wasn’t dead, just sleeping. I can have a life again. I can see people and have friends and enjoy myself
and
get out of this house. I can look forward instead of back. That is not against some moral law, is it?”
    Frieda placed Josephine’s coral necklace and earrings in their velvet box. “It is not.” She pointed a finger. “Who loves you best?”
    “You do.”
    “Exactly. So if this courting proceeds, I only ask that you don’t try to pretend things are what they are not. I have been living with this family since before you were born. I know you, Josephine Cain, and love you in spite of it. Be true to yourself, and not to some imagined image of courtship and love.”
    Josephine smiled and draped a stocking over each of Frieda’s shoulders before kissing her cheek. “What would I do without you?”
    “You would be one muddled and befuddled young lady.”
    “So . . . do you approve of Lewis Simmons?”
    “I know nothing about the man, but I approve of your being courted. I will leave it to your parents to decide his worthiness.”
    “Good, because—”
    “But what I approve of most is having that Wild-West notion knocked out of your head. You? On the plains amongst Indians and ruffians? I think not.”
    “But you would have been with me.”
    “I would not!”
    “Would you not follow me anywhere?”
    “Anywhere civilized.” She brought Josephine her nightgown. “That you have found a reason to stay here in Washington is fine by me.”

    Lewis removed his top hat and cape before he turned onto his street. He knew it was best not to stick out when walking along the canals at night.
    Luckily the shops were all closed—except for the barroom on the corner. Once he got past the drunks there, he would feel safe. Safer.
    He hugged the shadows and walked quickly.
    “Hey! You! Got a spare coin for a needy sod?”
    The man staggered off the curb and only missed falling face-first onto the street by the saving arm of his friend. “Come on now. Want to share a pint, fancy man?”
    Lewis hurried away, just short of a run. Only a block more.
    But then he tripped, falling on his hands and knees.
    The cause of his fall moaned and curled around his bottle.
    The butchershop was just a few steps away. Lewis reached in his pocket and retrieved his key, readying it for the door to the right of the shop. He heard laughter farther down the street, and then a scream.
    He opened the door, spilled inside, and slammed it shut. He locked himself in. Only then did he allow himself a breath.
    The landing at the foot of the stairs was void of all light, but he didn’t mind. This was his place, his flat. No one could touch him here. He waited until his heart calmed, then felt his way up the narrow flight. Once inside his room, the moon supplied enough light until he lit a lamp.
    Not that there was much to see. A bed, a dresser, a chair, and a tiny table. A stove in the corner for heat and to make coffee. Water retrieved from a pump outside.
    He could do without water until morning.
    Lewis carefully removed his evening coat and hung it on the only hanger. The entire ensemble had belonged to his father, who’d bought it just before he’d been killed. Lewis was relieved it wasn’t too out of style and even more glad that the rules of etiquette had eased a bit due to the war. He never would have been able to afford new evening attire.
    He placed the top hat on the table, removed the frilly shirt, and smelled beneath the arms. He’d wash it in the sink at work tomorrow. Mr. Connelly, the butcher, didn’t mind sharing a bit of