Page 6 of In These Hills

“Not if it means putting you in danger. I would never—”

“I know you wouldn’t. Now go. And look for a small town. Somethin’ off a rugged road. Used to be, a person could hide in big cities. Not anymore. Not with newspapers and police—and mayors who hate suffragists. When faced with a choice, Finny, trust your instincts. And trust God. He’ll guide you. After all, he led us to each other after an awful time for us both, now didn’t he?”

Understanding that Sarah knew every corner of her heart, Josephine gave her friend a last, tight hug. “I love you, Sarah McFee,” she whispered, then hurried across the street toward the entrance to Union Station.

Josephine smoothed a hand over her hair, disheveled strands now loose from their pins, and did her best to look as though she belonged. But when one of the police officers out front caught her eye and frowned, his gaze narrowing, her heart all but stopped.

3

FIGHTING THE INSTINCT TO RUN, Josephine schooled her features and walked past the officers. She forced herself to match the pace of other travelers, fearing at any moment she’d feel a hand on her shoulder or a firm grip on her upper arm.

Uncomfortably aware that everyone around her had either a satchel or trunk, she joined the queue at the ticket office and discreetly counted the money Sarah had given her. Four dollars and thirty-five cents. Sarah’s unflinching generosity encouraged tears again. How would her friend get by? Then again, how would she? They both basically lived week to week. At least they’d already paid Mrs. Lowery room and board this month, so Sarah wouldn’t have that to worry about.

Josephine checked the clock on the wall—10:20—then the departure board beneath, feeling a tick tick tick inside her. A train bound for Charleston left in thirty minutes. Richmond, Virginia in an hour and a half. New York City in two hours. She didn’t have that long to wait. And all those places were so far away.

“Next!” the ticket clerk said, only then looking up. A shadow flitted across his face as Josephine stepped forward.

“Yes, sir, thank you. What is your next departure?”

“That’d be Charleston, ma’am. Standard fare of fourteen dollars.”

“Fourteen?” Josephine searched the board again as though something might have changed.

“All aboard!” a man called from behind her.

She looked back. “Where is that train going?”

“That’s the Chattanooga-Tullahoma line, continuing to Nashville. It’s a Limited, only two stops. But it’s already boarded and ready to—”

“Please,” she whispered. “I need to be on that train. How much is the fare?”

The train gave two sharp whistle blasts.

“That train is full, ma’am. All except for the colored car, so you’ll need to wait and—”

“That’s fine with me. What’s the fare?”

His brow furrowed and his gaze moved pointedly to the left side of her face. Josephine clearly read his assumptions, along with pity. Which told her the injuries were likely worse than Sarah had let on.

“Miss, it’s clear you’re going through a very difficult time, but as it states right there—” He pointed to a printed sign. “It’s against the law for a white person to travel in a car designated for—”

“I am well familiar with the ruling in Plessy v. Ferguson, sir. But tell me, what ruling gives a man the right to beat a woman?” Her voice tightened. “I must get on that train.”

He hesitated, his mouth forming a thin line. “Fare to Chattanooga is four dollars even. Tullahoma, four dollars and twenty cents.”

Chattanooga, a growing city, she knew, but . . . “What kind of place is Tullahoma?”

“Mid-point stop between Chattanooga and Nashville. Tiny speck of a town. Not much to it compared to Atlanta.”

“Tullahoma, please.”

He took her money and pushed a ticket toward her. “Last passenger car.” He gestured, lowering his voice. “There’s a brief stop in Chattanooga but no changing trains. Don’t let a porter see you getting on or off. If you do, you’re on your own.”

Josephine walked briskly down the terminal, past porters closing doors, until she was nearly to the end. Somewhere behind her, a train whistle bellowed a long, echoing blast and the Chattanooga-bound train lurched forward. She started toward the car when a porter exited the rear door, torn ticket stubs in hand.

She immediately feigned searching for someone, peering down the long terminal, certain she was fooling no one. The man walked past her as the train chugged forward.

Glancing around one last time, hoping no one would see her, she spotted a woman watching her from inside the car. Curiosity and mild disbelief registered in the woman’s expression and, for an instant, Josephine wondered if the woman might alert someone in authority. But having no choice or time to waste, Josephine raced for the rear stair step, grabbed hold of the railing and pulled herself up, then climbed to the open platform as the train picked up speed.