Chapter 3 #3
He gently clasped hers and gave a soft laugh. “First time for everything, I guess.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“Shaking hands with a white woman.” He rose and walked back up the aisle.
Josephine lay still, clutching the cushioned bench, as the train lurched forward and began to gain steam.
The emotion she managed to stem earlier spilled over, and she let it.
She attempted to remain alert, but the rhythmic rocking and steady hum of the rails kept coaxing her eyelids shut, despite the chill in the air.
She awakened with a start some time later and sensed the train slowing.
Staying down as promised, she worked to stretch sore muscles, the wounds on her hands and face aching.
The car gradually came to a stop as the station came into view.
A clapboard building with a tin roof, far more modest than Atlanta’s or Chattanooga’s Union Stations.
But modest boded well for the size of the town and her circumstances.
Somewhere off the beaten path. A place to hide, at least until she could prove her innocence. If given that opportunity. Because one fact she couldn’t escape: Men would be her sole judge and jury. So was a fair trial even possible?
As the other passengers disembarked, noises drifted in from outside—voices mingling with the shuffle of heavy foot traffic and the squeak of luggage carts.
A delicious aroma prodded her hunger, something sweet with a trace of cinnamon, and her mouth watered.
Curiosity nudged her to take a peek, but she stayed hidden—until a brass band started playing a rousing rendition of “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy” which drew enthusiastic applause.
Curiosity finally winning out, she cautiously peered out the window.
People everywhere. From her vantage point at the back of the train, the platform appeared to be standing room only, and above the station entryway hung an enormous banner—Welcome Municipalities of Tennessee to Bottle Spring Spas—complete with colorful streamers and ribbons.
Panic tightened her chest and she quickly lay back down.
So much for Tullahoma being off the beaten path. What if the authorities here had also been alerted? And were waiting for her?
Struggling to keep the barrage of “what ifs” from careening out of control, she listened for the porter to return, beginning to fear he’d forgotten about her. Or worse, that he’d decided to turn her in. Where would she go and what would—
The door to the passenger car opened and footsteps hastened down the aisle.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The porter knelt. “I had to help unload and transfer trunks. We picked up a slew of passengers in Chattanooga and every car was full up. Everybody seems to be getting off here for some kind of celebration.”
“I know. I heard the commotion outside and took a quick look.” Seeing his frown, she hurried to continue. “But I don’t think anyone saw me.”
The look he gave her said he hoped not. “I wish I had a better story to tell you, ma’am. But either way, we don’t have much time. They’re looking for you here, same as before. Asking for you by name.”
Dread coiled inside her.
“But the good news,” he continued, “is that this town’s so small it’s only got one sheriff and two deputies.”
“But if they’re looking for me and know who I am, how can I stay in Tullahoma?”
“Oh, you can’t. But you can’t stay on the train either. Deputies are checking all the cars right now, which is why we’ve got to hurry. They started looking up front first, so I figure we’ve got a little time yet. But the sheriff is somewhere close too, so we’ll have to keep watch.”
We. The fact he’d spoken in the plural made her feel as though she wasn’t completely on her own. “But even if I make it past the station, where do I go?”
“I don’t rightly know, Mrs. Dunham. But sometimes all we have is the choice staring straight at us. And the only one you’ve got right now . . . Choose to get off this train, or choose to stay on and get found.”
“I definitely choose the former.”
“All right then.” He nodded. “Stay close once we’re outside. Don’t get separated.”
He headed down the aisle toward the very back of the train, and she hurried to catch up, her lower back stiff. He paused briefly on the outside platform, and she trailed his gaze to see the two deputies entering the fifth passenger car. Only three cars separated them. They were moving fast.
“Let’s go,” the porter whispered back.
“Wait . . . What is your name, sir?”
He looked back, a faint smile coming. “Slim Poyner, ma’am.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Poyner. And thank you again. I’m indebted to you.”
“No, ma’am, you’re not. God has met me in my need far more times than I can count, and this is my way of thanking him. So if you owe anyone, it’s the good Lord.” He joined the fray of passengers on the platform, and she followed, feeling somehow smaller in light of his statement.
As the brass band launched into “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” she stuck close, her head down, intent on not being discovered by the authorities while also wishing to avoid eye contact with passersby.
Though of far lesser concern, the attention her injuries drew and the way some people looked at her now—with such distaste and disgust, almost as though she had done something to deserve the marks on her face—filled her with shame.
And for something that was neither her fault nor her choice.
They pushed through the crowd and headed around the side of the station. Twice, other passengers managed to cut between them. In desperation, Josephine finally grabbed the back of Mr. Poyner’s suit coat and held tight. If he minded or found it shocking, he didn’t show it.
As sunlight broke through the gray cloud cover, the band played on, the crowd clapping and laughing at the upbeat melody, children dancing and clutching striped paper cones filled with sugary strands of fairy floss, their faces a blur of sticky grins.
Mr. Poyner came to an abrupt stop. “Turn around. Quick!”
Josephine instinctively looked up—and locked eyes with a man whose gaze seemed to home in on hers. Warning shot through her, and she spun and headed in the opposite direction.
“Josephine Dunham!” a man’s voice boomed.
A chill skittered up her spine. But she didn’t dare look back.
Just inside the door of the train station, Mr. Poyner shoved a suitcase into her hand. “A woman traveling without a bag doesn’t look natural.”
“But it’s not mine. I can’t—”
“I’ll find you and get it back. Just make it outside. Find a place to hide. And keep watch for me.”
Josephine pushed through the throng. “Excuse me, please. Excuse me.” She set her sights on the exit doors ahead when her senses shot to full alert.
Men were stationed at each of the exits. None uniformed or wearing badges that she could see. But they were scanning the crowd just the same. Was that normal? Instinct told her no.
Forcing deep breaths, she saw a family with four young girls only feet in front of her and quickly maneuvered toward them.
She followed closely, but not too closely, hoping anyone watching would assume her to be their nanny.
The queue narrowed and slowed as they approached the exit. Fear knotted her throat.
Josephine fixed her attention on the two younger girls as though intent on keeping them corralled with their parents. Not until she cleared the doors and had exited the station did her pulse begin to return to—
“You there, ma’am. Stop! Ma’am!”
Tempted to run, she quickened her stride until a firm touch on her shoulder brought her up short.