“I’m sorry, but it’s not for me to say.”
“You shouldn’t play poker.”
“Poker?”
The baby began to fuss. Martha reached into a bag by her side and came out with a hard-looking biscuit and handed it to Quinn. “I can see by the look on your face that there was more to this Walter than Josephine knew.”
I moved my gaze away from her, flustered by this interrogation, and looked out the window. We were now on actual ground, passing through a dense forest of fir and pine trees. If Martha was an example of what I was to face in Emerson Pass, then I better get my story straight.
Given that I was only four when they died of yellow fever, I had only a few memories of my parents. One of them was of my mother scolding me for lying about taking a cookie without asking. Tell the truth, Phillip, even when you know you could get away with a fib.
However, Martha was a stranger to me. I didn’t want Josephine needlessly hurt. If she were to learn Walter’s true character, it should come from me.
“Mr. Baker?”
I returned my gaze to Martha. “Men don’t speak often of matters of the heart.”
“But what about men who face death daily? Don’t they confess their fears? Their loves?”
I was starting to feel rather sorry for Martha’s husband. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“You are sure.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ll be clearer,” she said. “Was he in love with Josephine? Was he planning on marrying her as she thought?”
“Respectfully, Mrs. Neal, I’m not sure I know, even if it were for me to say.”
One eyebrow rose. “I see.”
I was afraid she did.
“May I ask,” I said, drawing the words out long, “if his intentions were not completely pure, what would you advise me to tell Josephine?”
She stared at me for a few seconds. Even the baby had stopped chewing on her cookie to focus on me. “I suppose that depends on your intentions. Have you come to hurt her?”
“Of course not. The opposite.”
She gave me a satisfied smile. “May I take a guess, Mr. Baker, about your actual intentions?”
“Of course.” Despite the chill of the train’s car, my shirt clung to my back.
“You’ve fallen in love with her photograph. And perhaps you’ve read her letters, which made you aware of her intelligence and good heart. You most certainly are the one
who told Walter what to write about the books.”
I coughed and returned to the view of the landscape.
“You’ve come to get to know her,” Martha said. “To see if your instincts about her are correct.”
“What if I have? Will you rat on me?” I turned back to my interrogator.
She gave me another satisfied smile. “How fortunate that we were to meet today.”
I swallowed and waited for the blow. Was there any other way for her to interpret my actions? Traipsing across the country because I thought I was in love with a girl I’d never met would not be greeted with approval.
“Josephine is my dear friend whom I love very much. However, I also have excellent instincts about people, and I’ve thought from the beginning that something wasn’t quite right with this Walter character. Josephine has been practical and steady her entire life, but in this particular instance, I think she was taken away by the idea of love.”