A Most Unsuitable Match (24 page)

Dear Minette,

Letters can find me now. Everyone in Fort Benton seems to know that Miss Fannie Rousseau of St. Charles, Missouri, is staying at the Fort Benton Hostelry. You’d think they’d never seen a woman with blond hair before, although Mr. Valley—who insists I call him Abe now—says that it is more than the blond hair. Which of course makes me blush.

I enclose a copy of the placard hanging outside the establishment for your amusement. Abe’s is actually quite acceptable when it comes to accommodations. My room is just large enough for a small bed, a washstand, and a tiny stove. There is a window opposite the door which affords me a view I would rather not have, since Abe’s is on the far northern edge of Fort Benton tucked in behind the fort. From my window I see a disconcerting wilderness. I thought that Montana meant mountains, but it is all prairie here. I expected it to be colder, as well, but the days are mild.

You will wonder at this next statement, but Minette . . . I am working for my keep! It is actually enjoyable, although Abe has had to teach me the most ridiculous things. I didn’t know how to sweep a floor! You may think that is a simple task, but initially I stirred up more dust than I swept. I am in charge of keeping the coffee flowing now, and Abe has promised to teach me to make bread soon.

Serving in the dining room (which is essentially the only room of the establishment save the lean-to kitchen and the rows of rooms out back) provides a never-ending supply of humorous anecdotes. Perhaps I’ll begin to write them down for posterity. Recently I have served a former opera singer, a college professor, and a newspaperman. Of course by looking at the three, I would have guessed farmer, miner, thief. But that is to my shame.

I remember you telling me once that a person can learn more about others if they forget what they can see. I didn’t believe you then. Being here has taught me the truth of what you said. It’s more than a little humbling to realize I’ve spent years misjudging people based on their appearance. I always thought of Hannah as far more than a maid. Why didn’t I extend the same grace to everyone?

In recent days, I have learned that many of the rough-looking men here give what they receive. If I smile and address them as if they were gentlemen, they usually respond by behaving as such. Don’t fear for my safety. After one foolish mistake (which involved Indians!) I feel much better suited to guard my ways.

Mr. Beck and Mr. Davis departed for Alder Gulch a week ago. They earned passage by working for a frightful-looking freighter who, Samuel says, has a soft spot for the Shepherd’s Psalm. Do you see what I mean? People are not what they seem.

The journey to Alder Gulch is one of three weeks’ time, and so I am certain to remain in Fort Benton for many weeks to come. The last steamboat down the river leaves here in October, and of course I won’t take any chances of missing it. To be truthful, I don’t think about it very much because I don’t want to consider the end of the journey without success, and while there are whispers of Aunt Edith, she has yet to materialize.

I am ever hopeful that one day soon a mailbag will arrive with a word from you, my dearest friend.

With true affection and hope,

Fannie

Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.

M
ATTHEW 10:31

Fannie was scrubbing tables in the boarding house dining room one evening when Abe trundled in and handed her a coffee-stained piece of paper. “Found this blowing around out back.”

Fannie looked down at the paper.
Dear Minette.
She blushed, laid the page on Abe’s counter, and went back to scrubbing. Abe reached into the bucket of water on the floor, squeezed out a rag, and joined her at work. “Sending mail from here to Missouri costs a pretty penny.”

Fannie nodded and said nothing. She’d written to Mr. Vandekamp requesting money, but there was no telling how long it would take that letter to reach him, or if he would even reply, and she couldn’t afford to mail any more letters. Still, she kept writing. When she ran out of paper, she went back and made additions in the margins. It felt good to write to Minette, even if she couldn’t mail the letters.

Abe pulled a chair from beneath a rustic table and swiped at the seat. “Soon as we’re done here, what say I give you a paper and a pencil and you make a list of what you need. Start with more paper and ink—pen nibs if you need some—for those letters, and postage to send them on their way.” He slid the chair back in place. “There’s no reason folks back home should be losing sleep because of letters sitting here in my hotel. We’ll keep an account and you can pay me back when your money comes from that Mr. Vandy fellow. Fair enough?”

“I don’t know if it’s fair to you,” Fannie said, blinking back grateful tears, “but I think it’s wonderful of you to offer.”

Abe crossed to the counter, opened a drawer, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. He set them on the counter. “You got any idea what things cost up here?”

Fannie shook her head. “I didn’t really pay attention to the prices of things at Mrs. Webb’s store. At home I just got what I wanted and signed a paper. Mr. Vandekamp took care of everything.”

“Well now,” Abe said, putting his hands on his hips. “I had no idea you were that fine of a lady.” He grinned. “Can’t imagine what your fancy friends would think if they saw you sweeping floors and scrubbing tables.”

“They’d be proud of me and grateful to you for putting up with me.” She smiled. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it, Abe. I just hope Mr. Vandekamp answers in a hurry.”

“Have you noticed how busy I’ve been since your presence started decorating my dining room?” Abe tapped the paper with his finger. “You make your list. I’m not rich, but I can front you a grubstake for a bit.” He paused. “I don’t mean to worry you, but it’s August and winter comes early here. Once the river closes, we won’t get mail again until spring.”

Fannie had been watching the calendar in recent days with the same sense of concern, but she didn’t know what she could do about any of it. Whether she found Aunt Edith or not, she couldn’t imagine leaving Fort Benton without seeing Samuel again. Minette had said that falling in love was like hearing an echo. What did it mean that she couldn’t echo Samuel’s intense feelings about God? Next to Samuel, she almost felt like a heathen. And yet, when she thought about how safe she felt in his arms . . . the kindness in his dark eyes . . . no. She couldn’t leave.

“I might not like Fort Benton in winter,” Fannie said, “but right now I’d like leaving even less.”

Abe nodded. “I understand. But, Fannie, you haven’t felt cold until you’ve been through a winter up here.” He shook his head. “My wife was from hardy stock, but it only took one Montana winter to do her in.”

Fannie stopped scrubbing. She stood up and looked across the room at Abe. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d been married.” She paused. “Oh, Abe . . . losing a wife . . . that must have been so hard for you.”

He grinned. “Not after she left, it wasn’t. First peace and quiet I’d had in years.” He lit a lamp on one of the tables. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I get along just fine.” He transferred paper and pen from the counter to the table. “You get to work on that list. I’m just going to set the sponge for the morning’s bread. Then we’ll talk.”

With Abe’s generous loan, Fannie was able to send Minette’s letters on their way and buy more writing paper and envelopes. Thinking of Samuel, she bought herself a Bible. At the last minute, she indulged in knitting needles and a generous supply of yarn. How she’d groused at Hannah over knitting on board the
Delores
. Now she hoped she could remember enough to make Abe a pair of mittens, even as she hoped answers would come about Aunt Edith long before she needed a pair for herself.

As she settled into a routine of sorts and got to know a few more people in Fort Benton, Fannie began to feel better about taking short walks away from the boarding house on her own. Abe said she could trust Lame Bear’s apology in regard to his sons. “Half the men in town have eaten here at one time or another since you started work. I think they’d take it personally if they saw anyone bothering you. Sort of like having someone tromping through a rose garden they all enjoy.” He handed her a walking stick. “Stay in this part of town between my place and the levee and I think you’ll be fine. Anyone who doesn’t respect you, you just hit ’em where it hurts.”

Fannie blushed, but she accepted the walking stick and began to venture out for midmorning walks to and from the river. Abe had been right—again. As they got used to seeing her, men on the levee began to call out greetings and doff their hats. Once, when someone Fannie didn’t recognize said something rude, another roustabout grabbed him and gave him such a talking-to that Fannie almost begged for mercy on behalf of the one who’d been so rude. She made sure to thank her defender personally the next time he ate at Abe’s—and gave him an extra helping of biscuits and gravy.

Eventually she realized that she was subconsciously waiting for mail. She didn’t know what she wanted most, a letter from Minette or money from Mr. Vandekamp. She felt a desperate longing for both, for different reasons. And then there was the longing to hear a word from Samuel. Hadn’t they met a freighter coming
toward
Fort Benton in that time? Couldn’t Samuel have at least . . . Well, of course he could have written. If he wanted to. Maybe he didn’t miss her as much as she missed him.

One day Fannie skirted along the back wall of the adobe fort, and when she came around to the front, the wide gate facing the river stood open. It was the first time she’d seen the interior of the old building. Walking stick in hand, she headed inside, impressed anew by the high walls nearly three feet thick. No wonder it had taken years to build the place. She hadn’t realized that the fort walls doubled as the back wall for each of the long buildings spanning nearly the entire length of each side of the interior square. Glancing up at the corner bastions, she tried to imagine what it would have been like in the days before steamboats, when the only things plying the river were mackinaws and flatboats.