A Most Unsuitable Match (15 page)

He couldn’t think of a single man in all of creation who could watch a beautiful girl cry and not want to comfort her. Human kindness demanded it. On the other hand, a great deal more than human kindness was going on inside of Samuel while he held Miss Fannie Rousseau. The longer she lingered, the more aware he became of the feminine curves of her body against his. He closed his eyes. She could cry for a millennium as far as he was concerned.

Eventually, she laid her palm against his chest and pushed herself away, apologizing in a flustered way that verified what Samuel knew to be true. Mrs. Tatum’s arms would have served just as well for this moment. “There’s a packet boat leaving midmorning tomorrow,” he said. “The
Isabella
. She’ll wait for the early train to come into town in hopes of picking up a few passengers bound for St. Louis. We can reserve a cabin for you.” When Fannie didn’t answer, he said, “If you aren’t quite ready to decide, that’s all right.”

Lamar agreed. “There’s plenty of boats on the river. There’ll be another one tomorrow.”

Fannie’s hand traced the outline of the small lock on the leather envelope behind her on the table. “I just don’t know.” She curled the fingers of her free hand around her locket. “I’d like to see Hannah now, please.”

If Samuel’s heart hadn’t already been broken for Fannie, it would have broken when he and Lamar took her to see Hannah Pike’s body. He offered to wait outside, but she didn’t want to be alone. She asked both him and Lamar to stay. Samuel’s heart ached as tears flowed down Fannie’s cheeks and dripped off her jaw. Lamar’s tears flowed freely, too.

The undertaker arrived while they were there. He’d already taken his measurements, he said. The coffin was ready. He listed the services he’d performed in less than tactful terms and said that ten dollars would take care of things in full. “Payment before I plant,” he said, then stood back and folded his arms across his expansive belly, a complacent smile on his face.

Samuel wanted to knock him out of the room, but the man’s insensitivity seemed to help Fannie in an odd way. She stopped crying. Bent to kiss Mrs. Pike’s cheek and murmured good-bye. And then she asked for a pair of scissors. “A knife will do if scissors aren’t available,” she said.

With a confused frown, Samuel opened his pocket knife and handed it to her. He glanced at Lamar and then at the undertaker, who seemed no less concerned than Samuel when Fannie lifted the hem of Mrs. Pike’s apron. Frowning, she looked up at the undertaker. Smoothing the apron back in place, she moved to the foot of the table and lifted the hem of Mrs. Pike’s skirt. She handed Samuel’s knife back and spoke to the undertaker. “I believe you have something that is mine.”

He scowled. “I don’t know what—”

“Yes,” Fannie interrupted, “yes, you do.” She looked up at Samuel. “I thought Hannah was being ridiculous when she sewed all our money into the hems of her clothing, but the house was burglarized not long before we boarded the
Delores
, and she insisted we not trust our traveling money to locks and keys.” She glared at the man standing across the room.

The angle of the undertaker’s jaw went from stubborn to determined. “I don’t know anything about any money other than the reasonable fee I charge for my services.” Fannie repeated the request for her money, but this time her voice wobbled. The wobble weakened her position. The undertaker stood firm. “I am sorry for your loss, miss. If someone took your money—and of course it would be ungentlemanly for me to question such a lovely lady’s veracity—whoever took your money, did it before your friend’s body came to me.” He looked pointedly at Lamar.

One edge of the man’s mouth curled up in what Samuel could only see as a mocking smile. A dare. And Samuel just had to wipe that smile off the man’s face. He would do violence if necessary, but first he’d try another way. Putting his arm about Fannie’s shoulders, he pulled her close. “I don’t believe you’re hearing what the lady is saying, sir. There is evidence that our dear friend’s ‘safe,’ if you will, has been violated. Since the Missouri wields neither knife nor scissors, it’s obvious humans were involved. Now, sir, I am a man of peace, and I do prefer peaceful resolutions to conflicts. But where the lady and our dear friend are concerned, if peace isn’t possible—” He released Fannie then, held up one clenched fist, and headed across the room.

The undertaker’s hands came up to ward off an expected blow. “Now, now.” He took a step back. “There’s no need for any of that. I understand your position. Perfectly.” Pulling a wad of cash from his pocket, he thrust it at Samuel.

Samuel peeled one bill off. “I believe you said your fee is ten dollars.” He handed the rest to Fannie.

Tears coursed down her cheeks as Fannie bent down to place a small nosegay against the white wooden cross marking Hannah’s grave. “I’m supposed to head home on the
Isabella
today.” She swiped at the tears. “What should I do, Hannah? Do I just give up? Go back to the empty house?” She began to sob. “What will I do back there? I said maybe we’d take in boarders in the fall, but I can’t do that without you.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t do
anything
without you. Captain Busch is heading back to St. Louis to find another ship to pilot. Samuel and Lamar are only going as far as Fort Rice. If I keep going . . . I’ll be alone.” She paused. “I’m afraid, Hannah. Afraid to go home and afraid to go on. Could you maybe ask God to tell me what to do? He listens to you, Hannah. I know he does.”

She stared down at the fresh earth. Thought back to the cemetery in St. Charles. The absurdity of talking to Hannah now made her cry harder. What did she expect, anyway? A voice from heaven?

“I’m tired of crying at graves, Hannah. I cannot imagine facing Mr. Vandekamp and listening to him say ‘I told you so.’ I can’t.” Her voice wavered. “I thought this was important. I thought it was something I should do. I can’t turn back now . . . can I?”

She glanced toward the cemetery gate and the two men waiting for her. Finally, she stood up. “I’ve ordered a gravestone for you, Hannah. A proper one. Mrs. Tatum promised to see to it for me. She’s a good woman. At least I think she is.” Fannie shook her head. “But then, I thought E. C. Dandridge was a good person, too.” Her voice broke. “I need you, Hannah. I don’t know what to do.”

A riverboat whistle sounded. Fannie looked toward the river. It was time to go. Hannah loved her, but even Hannah wasn’t going to speak from beyond the grave. She glanced up at the sky.
You love me too, God. I know you do. But I feel so . . . alone. Could you . . . please . . . help me know what to do.

Lifting her skirts, she picked her way through the damp grass to the cemetery gate. Lamar nodded, and Samuel offered his arm. They were supposed to go back to Mrs. Tatum’s now, have something to eat—Mrs. Tatum insisted, since Fannie hadn’t had an appetite that morning—pick up the new trunk she’d packed with things for Fannie’s journey home . . . and say good-bye. She would head back to St. Charles. And Samuel and Lamar would become memories . . . just like Hannah.

“Edie? Edie LeClerc! What in
tarnation
are you doing in Sioux City?”

Fannie, Samuel, and Lamar had just stepped into the hotel dining room when a portly man with rumpled hair called out from across the room. Fannie turned toward him, just in time to see him wipe his spectacles and perch them back on his bulbous nose. He squinted at Fannie. Blinked. And sputtered, “I’m sorry, miss. I . . . I thought you were someone else.”

Her heart hammering, Fannie reached in her bag and took out Aunt Edith’s photograph. She didn’t know what to say, so she just handed it over. The gentleman rose. Looked from the photo to Fannie, then back at the photo.

Finally, Fannie found her voice. “I—um—she’s my aunt. My mother was her sister. Her twin, actually.” She swallowed. “We—uh—I haven’t heard from Aunt Edith since last year, but her letter was posted in Fort Benton.” Fannie hesitated. How much should she tell this man? How much could he tell her? “Apparently she was headed to Alder Gulch.”

The man nodded. “Yes. That’s . . . um . . .” He glanced at Samuel. Cleared his throat. “That’s where I met her.” Suddenly, he seemed to remember a pressing appointment. “You give Edie my best,” he said. “Name’s Elmer. Elmer Fleming.”

And before Fannie could think of another thing to say, Elmer Fleming had left his half-eaten meal and bustled out of the hotel. Samuel went after him, of course. But there was no sign of the man. He’d disappeared.

After Elmer Fleming, Fannie lost all interest in breakfast. Not even one of Mrs. Tatum’s sweet rolls could entice her to eat. All she wanted was a cup of tea. Samuel didn’t suppose he should be surprised, after the morning she’d had. Samuel, on the other hand, only got hungrier when he was upset. He was halfway through his stack of flapjacks when Fannie cleared her throat and said, as calmly as you please, “I’m going to Fort Benton.”

Samuel and Lamar exchanged glances.

Lamar spoke first. “Now, miss. I understand what it is to feel like there’s someone out there you belong to. Someone who belongs to you.” He paused. “Not a day goes by I don’t hope that one of the dark faces I see on this levee or in that town is going to be some of my kin that was sold off the place before I got free. But, miss.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Fort Benton makes Sioux City look like high society. There’s
nobody
like you in Fort Benton, and there’s a reason for that. It’s because Fort Benton is no place for a lady. It was a mite different when you had Captain Busch and Mrs. Pike looking out for you, but—”

“But you heard what that man said,” Fannie interrupted. “He met Edie LeClerc in Alder Gulch.” She reached for the leather envelope and withdrew the stack of letters. “Aunt Edith mentions me in every single one of these, and she talks about wanting to visit. But for some reason she never has.” She looked down at the photo and murmured, “I’ve lost my entire family, but I still have her—if only I can find her.” She looked across at Samuel. “I know what you’re both thinking. You’re thinking I should write a letter and trust the mailbag to Fort Benton.” She shook her head. “I can’t. Not now. I can’t give it up. I won’t.” She smiled at both of them. “You’re good men, but this isn’t your responsibility. You have your own worries.” She glanced toward the door. “I have to speak with Mrs. Tatum. I . . . I’ll need a few more things if I’m headed to Montana.”