The Journey of Josephine Cain Read Online Free PDF

he’d seen the general enter the offices of the
Washington Chronicle
, a better plan had hatched in his mind. Lewis had a valid excuse to also be in the building, as he was trying to sell some of his illustrations to the editor, so meeting the general there was a pleasant happenstance. And then, when the general had remembered a published sketch Lewis had drawn of President Lincoln . . .
    That one sketch, plus a little charm, had led to this invitation to dinner, and now he was seated next to the general’s daughter. That one open door caused his mind to swim with possibilities. Lewis was nothing if not an opportunist, a trait that had saved his life more than once.
    Now he was in. Now, his plan could proceed.
    Winning the heart of Josephine Cain would not be a hardship, as she
was
a beauty, though the reddish tint to her blond hair was a color more unique than fashionable. He found her freckles pleasant—though he knew society looked upon them otherwise. He liked her voice too. It was strong yet feminine. He could already tell she was spirited, a girl who knew what she wanted and was used to getting it.
    He could already tell she was her father’s prize.
    Which made everything quite perfect.
    Lewis saw the others put their napkins in their laps. Yes, yes. He remembered now. It had been a long time since he’d
dined
.
    A footman ladled soup from a tureen on the sideboard. It smelled delicious, and his stomach calmed. The ladies were served first, then the men. It was cream-of-something. He didn’t much care. It was hot, andhe knew it was only the first of many courses. He would not go to bed hungry tonight.
    “I hope you like cream of asparagus, Mr. Simmons,” Mrs. Cain said.
    “It is a favorite.”
    He waited until she took the first spoonful, his mother’s teachings coming back to him.
    “Tell us about your family, Mr. Simmons,” she said.
    “My father was in transportation—steamships, to be exact. He worked with Cornelius Vanderbilt up in New York.”
    “The Commodore?”
    “You have heard of Mr. Vanderbilt?”
    “Of course we have. Everyone has.” Mrs. Cain seemed properly impressed. “Your father’s name?”
    Lewis hesitated for only a moment. “Thomas Simmons.”
    “Thomas!” Mrs. Cain said. “That was our son’s name.”
    “It’s a fine name,” he said with an inward smile.
    Mrs. Cain touched a finger to her lips, thinking. “I believe we may have met your father when we were in New York before the war. Don’t you think so, Reginald?”
    “It could very well be. The name Simmons sounds very familiar.”
    Lewis suppressed another smile. This was going better than he could have hoped.
    “Are you involved in shipping too?” Miss Cain asked.
    “That would be my father’s wish, but he’s given me permission to pursue my dream.”
    “Mr. Simmons is a wonderful artist,” the general explained.
    Lewis was happy for the praise—and the designation. “Artist” sounded better than “illustrator” and far better than the truth.
    Miss Cain’s interest must have been piqued. “What sort of artist?”
    He hesitated, then risked saying, “A good one.”
    They all laughed. An encouraging sign.
    “I meant, what medium do you use?”
    “A few. But I prefer pen and ink.”
    The general added more explanation. “Mr. Simmons’s illustrationshave been seen in many East Coast periodicals. Do you remember the drawing of Lincoln’s assassination in Ford’s Theatre that was in the papers?”
    She looked to her plate. “I do not need a drawing to remember.”
    Lewis set his hand upon the table between them. His voice was soft. “I was there too, Miss Cain.”
    “You were?”
    He pointed a finger to his temple. “The entire scene is pressed indelibly upon my memory.”
    “And then upon paper,” the general said.
    “But why would you immortalize such a horrible moment of our history?” Miss Cain asked.
    “Josephine!” her mother said.
    “No,” Lewis said, “’tis a fair question. As