The Journey of Josephine Cain by Nancy Moser

himself.
    As did judgment.

    In St. Joseph, they left the train and were met by Mr. Herb Hoxie, who led them to two waiting steamer ships, the
Colorado
and the
Denver
. The Rosenblatt Band joined them, which played with more ability and restraint than the brass band from Chicago.
    As they boarded, Josephine heard Senator Wade’s wife say, “This is surprisingly delightful—and astonishing.”
    “Why is that?” Josephine asked.
    “To come a week’s journey out of New York and still be among people of wealth, refinement, and enterprise. The excursion even has its own newsletter.” She shook her head. “Who would have thought?”
    Josephine nodded, yet the woman’s snobbery offended on two accounts. First, the guests aboard the train had not ventured far from its tracks, so their society was self-contained. And second, the woman seemed to imply that everyone who lived west of the large cities back home was ignorant and unworthy. From what Josephine could see, the people who had been courageous enough to leave what was known and tackle new lands—with no guarantees—owned attributes of far more import than wealth and refinement.
    Nevertheless, they were on a new leg of their journey, a two-day trip on a steamboat, up the Missouri River toward Omaha.
    She stood on the upper passenger deck of the boat. Lewis joined her. “Another adventure,” he said.
    Josephine nodded as the paddle wheel on the side of the ship made
whoop-whoop
sounds. “I must admit I felt safer on the train.” She pointed down to the muddy river. The branches of fallen trees reached out of theriver like murky hands wanting to grab the boat and take it under. “This ship is barely in the water.”
    “Because the water isn’t very deep,” Lewis said.
    “It feels like we could tip over on a whim.”
    He wrapped his arm around her waist. “Perhaps if we stay very still . . .”
    She appreciated his levity—and his arm. “Then there are those fingers of sand that protrude into the river.”
    “Sandbars.”
    She didn’t care what they were called, only that they made her nervous. “I heard from one of the workers that hundreds of riverboats sink every year. It is not the branches you
see
, it is the ones you don’t see that are the problem.”
    He whispered in her ear. “I’ll keep you safe. You can always depend on me.”
    She leaned her head on his shoulder, wanting to believe him.

    It was exhausting. There was no getting around it.
    Five days on the train, then two days on the steamer paddle boat, which finally arrived safely in Omaha. But then a caravan of carriages and stagecoaches took them from the dock to the Union Pacific rail yard. There they boarded a very special excursion train, all dolled up like a belle at her first ball. There were two locomotives festooned with flags, followed by nine cars: a baggage and supply car, a refreshment car, a cooking car, four passenger coaches, the “Lincoln” car for Mr. Durant’s personal use, and finally, a magnificent directors’ car.
    Josephine fell into a seat with Frieda beside her. “Now what?” she asked.
    Frieda consulted the itinerary they’d been given. “Next stop is Columbus, Nebraska, where we’ll camp.”
    “Camp?”
    “Tents will be provided.”
    What had she gotten herself into? “How I long for my own bed.”
    “Nonsense,” Frieda said. “You can have your own bed for the rest of your life, but who gets the chance to do what we’re doing?” She pointed to the itinerary. “Who gets a chance to see a war dance performed by real Indians?”
    That
got her attention. “War dance? Is that safe?”
    Frieda shrugged. “It must be, or they wouldn’t do it.”
    Josephine hoped so. She spotted Lewis making chitchat with Senator Hayes. “He is certainly enjoying himself.”
    “Hmm.”
    “What does
hmm
mean?”
    “He’s taking great benefit from this trip.”
    “So? Should he sit on his hands and not speak to anyone?”
    “Of course not, but . . .” Frieda