A Most Unsuitable Match (16 page)

Lamar spoke the minute Fannie was out of earshot. “We can’t let that girl go upriver alone.”

“I don’t want to, either,” Samuel agreed. “But Emma’s supposed to be at Fort Rice, and it’s another thousand miles past Fort Rice to Fort Benton. What if Emma needs me?”

“Miss Rousseau needs you, too. We’ll undertake for both of them, somehow, if need be. We both know what happens to pretty girls who venture into river towns alone. And we both suspect why Mr. Fleming didn’t want to talk to Miss Rousseau about her aunt Edie. At least we think we do—knowing what kind of women are usually well-known in gold mining towns.”

“I don’t want to believe that,” Samuel said.

“Neither do I, son.” Lamar took a deep breath. “The way I see it, there’s a duty to be done here. Neither of us will sleep well the rest of our lives if we don’t see this through, and that’s the truth. She’s going, whether we help her or not. Maybe she’s not thinking straight, but that don’t really matter, either. She’s going. And she can’t go alone, son. Captain Busch never would’ve allowed it. He thought she was all fixed up with first class on the
Isabella
. It’s up to us now.”

Lamar was right, of course. God help him—and according to Mother’s Bible, God would—Samuel couldn’t let her go off alone. “All right,” he said. “We’re agreed. But that raises a new question. How do the three of us travel together without creating a scandal?”

For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper
than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder
of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow,
and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

H
EBREWS 4:12

Dear Minette,

By now the news has reached St. Charles of the demise of Captain Busch’s Delores. I am safe and well. But, oh, Minette . . . I have lost Hannah. She is buried on a hillside here in Sioux City, and my heart is broken.

I don’t know how I will ever forgive myself, or even if I should. I have caused you heartache as well—by leaving without saying good-bye—but I was afraid your father (with only good intentions, of course) would stand in my way. Obviously I was only thinking of myself and how lonely I was and how everything was pressing in on me. I was even afraid you might try to stop me, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough to stand against that. Me . . . my . . . I. Those were my only thoughts, whatever worry and grief I might cause others. I am so sorry, dear Minette. Please forgive me.

After the disaster, I was bound for home, defeated and hopeless, when a chance encounter here in Sioux City offered evidence that Aunt Edith is, indeed, in Montana. And so I must go on. If nothing else, I cannot let Hannah’s death count for nothing.

I’m doing my best to grow up—to see life through a different lens and to try to stop blaming Mother for my unhappiness—perhaps even to understand her. Hopefully, Aunt Edith will be able to help with that, but even if she does not, at least I will have finished the quest and had the opportunity to make this journey, which cost my beloved Hannah her life, mean something besides a childish adventure taken up by a spoiled, self-centered girl.

The weather is warm and lovely, and I am to be ensconced in a beautiful cabin aboard the Far West, with kind traveling companions who daily become better friends. I will write more of them another day.

Please offer your father my sympathies on the loss of the Beauvais cargo aboard the Delores. While the value of my assurances may be small, I would be remiss not to mention that Captain Otto Busch is one in whom I continue to have the greatest confidence. I would trust any one of Papa’s fleet to him without hesitation. The Missouri River was at fault in the disaster, not Captain Busch.

Should you wish to write—and oh, how I hope you will—address your letters to Fort Benton. I don’t know how long I will be there, but I am more determined than ever to follow the trail to Aunt Edith.

I remain . . . I hope . . . your lifelong friend,

Fannie

Fannie blinked back tears as she stared down at the overflowing trunk Mrs. Tatum had repacked upon learning that Fannie would go on to Fort Benton. Two ready-made dresses—Mrs. Tatum suggested calico—“You can wash it out real easy and ain’t that better fer a place like that?”—stockings, unmentionables, and even a flannel nightgown. She’d included hairpins, a brush and comb, a small mirror, even tooth powder. Finally, she produced a wool cape so lovely that Fannie would have worn it on the streets of St. Charles with pride.

But that wasn’t all. When Fannie tried to pay her, Mrs. Tatum waved a hand in the air and shook her head. “This here’s advertising, plain and simple. When people admire something, you tell them about Nellie’s Mercantile in Sioux City. I’ll be beholden to ya for it.” She hurried to the back of her future store and returned with a thick comforter folded over her arms. Stuffing it inside, she closed the trunk, locked it, and handed Fannie the key.

“Now, you don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see to the tombstone just like I promised, and when you come back this way, you stop in and see me, y’hear?” She headed for the door. “I’ll have Hiram take this trunk down to the levee and get it hauled to your cabin.” She paused halfway to the door and turned back. “I know you’re a mite nervous about another steamboat,” she said, “but the
Far West
is one of the best on the river. I don’t know as luxury is the right word exactly, but it’s a far sight better than the
Delores
. Last I heard, they offered nearly a dozen different meats on the menu every night. And four kinds of pie. You’ll be just fine, miss. You’ll see.” Then, with a wink, she added, “I know it’s not my place to say it, but that young man of yours is a good one. You keep him if you can.”

The
Far West
pulled away from Sioux City in the predawn hours with a full passenger roster and a main deck so packed with freight that Fannie wondered if the vessel would stay afloat. The dull thunder of the paddles slapping the water, the rattling of tiller chains below, the panting roar of escaping steam all combined to create the familiar pandemonium that was steamboating. Fannie knew she’d quickly relegate it all to annoying background noise. In a day or so she’d barely notice it, but on this first morning back on the river, as she stood next to Samuel and watched the ribbon of water between boat and shore widen, her gloved hand tightened around the railing. When the ship shuddered, she gasped and grabbed on with both hands.

Samuel murmured reassurance. “Just the normal shifting of gears so we don’t have to back our way to Montana. Nothing to worry about.”

Embarrassed, Fannie forced a smile. “I didn’t expect to be so nervous.”

“I’m not all that relaxed, either.”

As Sioux City faded in the distance, the gray skies cleared and sunlight dappled the shoreline. Fannie and Samuel turned away from the railing and meandered toward the prow.
Almost like flying.
That’s how Hannah would have described this moment. The thought brought tears to Fannie’s eyes. When she swiped at them, Samuel murmured comfort. She shrugged. “What does it say about a person when her housekeeper’s passing hurts more than losing her own mother?”

“When did your mother pass on?”

“Several weeks ago.” Fannie studied the far shore. “We weren’t . . . close.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure why. We didn’t really fight. We just didn’t seem to belong together.” She paused, and then, without really understanding why, she wanted to tell Samuel everything.

“Papa died a few years ago. It was just Hannah and me living in the house last month, when someone broke in. Nothing happened really . . . beyond my being frightened to the point of fainting.” She shook her head. “But my advisors urged me to gather up Mother’s valuables and put them in a safer place. That’s when I found the letters and the photograph. And, because of some other pressures involving Papa’s business . . . well, I convinced Hannah to come with me to find Aunt Edith.” She watched the countryside slide past. “Anyway, Hannah said that traveling by steamboat was like flying. She loved it. I don’t think I’ll ever hear a whistle or a bell again without thinking of her.”

Samuel took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back, then pulled free. “I suppose I’m in flight, too, trying to escape the things I didn’t like back home, hoping to find someone I’ve never met who, at least in her letters, seems warm. Loving.” She forced a laugh. “How pathetic is that? Girl who feels unloved seeks long-lost aunt. What might Mr. Dickens do with that bit of drama?”

Samuel didn’t say anything for a few moments, but when he did, his voice was gentle. Soothing. “Going in search of someone who cares about you . . . someone you care about . . . isn’t anything to be embarrassed about.” He looked down at her. “That’s why I’m on the river, too. I’m looking for someone I love.” He paused, waiting for another group of passengers taking the air to pass by. When they’d gone on into the saloon, he continued. “I’m afraid my sister’s story doesn’t involve anything nearly as romantic as mysterious letters. It’s actually pretty terrible.”

Fannie gazed up at him. The pain in his eyes made her reach out. “Tell me.” He glanced behind them. Gesturing toward two chairs on the far side of the broad deck, he escorted her over. They sat down.

Taking a deep breath, Samuel began. “My Pa’s nothing like the man I imagine you called
Papa
. Mine likes to drink. And when he drinks . . . his temper takes over.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, staring down at the deck as he spoke. “I went fishing. There was a business loss, and I knew Pa would likely come home drunk. Ma had passed on by then. I knew I should stay home. But I went fishing and left Emma alone.”

He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. Left the hat on the deck beside his chair. To keep it from blowing away, Fannie picked it up and set it on her lap. Samuel didn’t even seem to notice.

“Emma was never one to back down from a fight. Pa came home and objected to . . . something.” Samuel stared at the passing countryside. “Who knows what. It could have been anything. Or nothing. But instead of retreating like she should have, Emma stood her ground. I don’t know what got into her, but they argued. Horribly.” He paused. “The main floor of the house after—” He shook his head. “It looked like there’d been an entire company of men battling one another in those rooms.”