Chapter 4
A MAN TOWERED OVER HER and the keenness in his eyes siphoned the air from her lungs.
“You sure seem anxious to get out of there, ma’am. Did you not hear me calling after you?”
Josephine tried to respond, but nothing came out at first. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not overly fond of crowds.”
“Then I guess you’re in the wrong place today, aren’t you?”
Her mouth went dry. They had her, and she knew it. Sarah was right. Mayor Darden would sentence her to prison and she’d never get out.
The man held something out. “I’m pretty sure one of your charges dropped this back there. My guess is she’ll be missing it soon enough.”
In his hand was a little rag doll, and Josephine’s breath left in a rush. “Yes. Yes, she certainly will. Thank you, sir.”
“You bet, ma’am. You take care of yourself now.”
The unmistakable sympathy in his tone might have touched her if he hadn’t just frightened her out of her wits. Not looking back, she stuffed the rag doll in her coat pocket and put distance between herself and the station. On the street, she searched for the family but they were gone.
Gray clouds conspired to mask the sun again as a chilly wind knifed through her thin coat. She tugged her collar higher, thinking of Sarah and hoping she was safe.
Suitcase in hand, Josephine scanned the busy thoroughfare for a place to hide while still watching the train station.
A haberdashery and general mercantile stood directly across the street, both crowded, as was a bakery whose warm bread made her long even for stale saltines from a cracker barrel.
Then she spotted the tack shop near the livery.
When she stepped inside, familiar scents of oiled leather, woodsmoke, and sawdust met her. Thankfully, the shop was empty. Voices drifted toward her from the back room, one female, the other clearly male.
“Your husband does fine work,” the man said.
“Yes, sir, he does. This is crafted of the finest leather, as you requested, and should last her for years to come. She’s a very lucky girl.”
“She’s a very special girl,” the man responded. “And I want her to know that . . . what with all she’s been through.” His voice dropped so low the rest of what he said was lost to her.
Josephine stepped behind a display of saddles and kept watch for Mr. Poyner through the front window. People hurried past—men in suits and bowler hats, women in woolen coats tugging children along—racing to keep pace with life while a razor-edged loneliness widened inside her.
If she didn’t find a way out of this town . . .
Her gaze snagged on her reflection in the window—pale, bruised, unfamiliar. She pulled out her hairpins and tucked wayward curls back into place before letting one fall forward to hide the tender flesh on her cheek. No tears came this time. Only anger.
She could still feel Clay Darden’s weight on her, see the hatred in his eyes as he straddled her and reached for his belt.
Her strength had been nothing against his.
Even as she was grateful for what hadn’t happened, rage filled her.
What possessed a man to think he had the right to lay hold of a woman in such a manner?
In any manner. The law should protect her.
But it wouldn’t. Not in Atlanta anyway. Not when the attacker was the mayor’s son.
Was the mayor’s son.
A shudder ran through her. She had killed a man.
Not intentionally, of course. In self-defense.
But would that matter? Perhaps the other suffragists were right: most men were so insecure in their own standing that they had to cow every woman around them, even with violence.
She hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now . . .
A familiar figure outside caught her eye. Mr. Poyner hurried from the station, scanning the street.
Josephine grabbed the suitcase and stepped just outside the door of the tack shop. The instant he saw her, relief flooded his expression. He motioned for her to join him at the corner.
“I’m sorry it took me so long, ma’am. All this hoopla and so many people. Here, let me take that.” He relieved her of the case. “Come with me. We don’t have much time.”
No sooner had he said the words than a train whistle blasted.
She followed him inside the livery where he briefly spoke to a couple of workers. They passed rows of stables and finally paused by the large open doors.
He looked around and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dunham. I was hoping to find a delivery wagon headed out of town. A handful per day service the surrounding communities and—”
Just then a loaded freight wagon drawn by mules rounded the corner.
The driver, mostly hidden beneath a heavy beard and dark Stetson, wore a leather rain cape.
A compact, muscular dog with a mottled blue-gray coat with black speckling crouched beside him on the seat, mirroring the man’s disgruntled expression.
“Wait right here, ma’am.” Mr. Poyner waved as he approached the wagon. “Dodge! Good to see you again, my friend.”
The driver tugged the reins. “Same to you, Slim. But got no time to spare today. I’m doing my best to beat the weather.”
“Who said I wanted anything?”
“Charlie totes that same grin every time he comes asking for something.”
Mr. Poyner chuckled. “How is my young nephew? Still working hard, I hope. Doing a good job for the man?”
“Last I heard, Uncle Jack was pleased.”
“Well that’s good to know. Listen, Dodge—”
“Again, Slim, I can’t be hauling anything back for you today. I’m full up with a heavy load. And it’s weathering up good and fast. If these skies make good on their threat, it’ll be rough going.”
“No, no, I don’t have any freight to haul. But I do have a favor to ask.” Mr. Poyner stepped closer to the wagon, shifting the suitcase in his grip, and though Josephine could no longer hear what he was saying, his glance back in her direction said enough. But should she join him now—or wait?
Just then, the driver shot a skeptical look in her direction and his dark expression kept her rooted in place.
“I wish I could offer some help to you, Slim. But like I said, I’m full up. Besides, she’s got no business going up there. And what am I supposed to do with her once we get—”
“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Dodge. You know that.”
His scowl deepened, and his quick once-over told Josephine he was about to refuse—ending any chance she had. His Southern drawl carried an Appalachian lilt, rustic yet dignified, its music roughened by displeasure.
Mr. Poyner must have seen some hint of agreement, because he motioned her over.
Yet the closer she came, the less sure she was how well Mr. Poyner actually knew the man.
Rough didn’t begin to describe him—an overgrown beard, mud-caked dungarees, collar-length hair long overdue for cutting, and a broad frame filling most of the seat.
But it was the way he glanced at her, then quickly looked away, that drove shame like a spike through what remained of her pride.
“Mrs. Josephine Dunham, meet Dodge Coburn. He’s agreed to take you on to Lynchburg.”
Lynchburg . . . The name sounded vaguely familiar, yet she knew nothing about this area. She also knew she was in no position to negotiate. Although she did wish Mr. Poyner hadn’t shared her real name. “Thank you, Mr. Coburn. I appreciate your willingness to—”
“Best climb on up. Need to be on our way before the skies split wide open.”
A shadow flitted across Mr. Poyner’s face but Josephine chose not to acknowledge it. She spoke softly so only he would hear. “Mr. Poyner, your kindness is something I will never forget. Much like yourself, sir.”
“I wish you only the very best, Mrs. Dunham. I’ll be praying for you, ma’am. God go with you.” He glanced back at the wagon. “With you both.”
His afterthought only stoked her uncertainty, and as she rounded the freight wagon and was about to “climb on up” as Dodge Coburn so chivalrously suggested, she spotted a rock about the size of her fist. Without hesitation, she discreetly scooped it up and shoved it into her coat pocket holding the rag doll.
No man would ever gain the upper hand on her again.
She climbed up to the seat, not waiting for assistance.
Good thing, considering Dodge Coburn offered none.
But now that she was up here, she would’ve sworn the seat had shrunk by half.
And judging by the way the dog eyed her, the animal, some sort of cattle-herding dog, she thought, appeared to be as amiable as its owner.
“Jessie,” he said softly. “Come on, girl.” With a jerk of his head the dog edged closer to his side.
Josephine barely got seated before he flicked the reins and the wagon jolted forward.
She held on, the conveyance rough and complaining over the rain-rutted roads.
But she didn’t mind. Every rotation of the wheels put more distance between her and the authorities at the train station. And Mayor Darden and prison.
Hand in her coat pocket, she drew courage from the rock and kept her attention confined to her lap as they drove through town. Hunger gnawed her insides and her throat felt like gravel. Hopefully Lynchburg wasn’t too far away.
The occasional clink clink from the wagon bed told her the cargo was likely glass—delicate, and plenty of it judging by the stacked, tarp-covered crates. She hadn’t noticed any company name on the wagon, and the freight was strapped down tight.
Not until the outskirts of town did she lift her head, a cold breeze kicking up once again.
They turned onto a dirt road lined by winter-paled fields, the waist-high grasses bending in the wind while barely budded oaks, poplars, and maples hinted at spring.
Woodsmoke and pine drifted on the air. The gentle sweep of the hills—rolling for miles—tempted her with a peace she didn’t dare trust.
Fatigue washed over her, and she steadied herself on the seat, stiffening her back. How long until Lynchburg? And what help, if any, waited there?