A Most Unsuitable Match (25 page)

She saw this place as a wilderness, but to the men who’d built the fort, the wretched town represented progress. Had the Blackfeet who first brought furs to trade realized how things were going to change?

As she admired the history behind the fort, Fannie glanced down at the bare earth and wondered at the thousands of other feet that had walked there before her. A shadow fell across the earth. Then moccasins came into view. Her heart pounding, Fannie looked up, only somewhat relieved when she recognized Lame Bear. He spoke to her, then crouched down and drew the outline of a horse in the dirt.

“Please don’t be offended,” she said. “I don’t ride well at all, and I’d have needed a sidesaddle. Smoke is a fine animal, but—” It wasn’t doing a bit of good. From the way he argued and gestured, the man clearly didn’t understand. Fannie glanced toward Dr. LaMotte’s clinic, where half a dozen men waited on the log bench outside the door. Dr. LaMotte was clearly in. Maybe he could help by translating. Motioning for Lame Bear to follow her, Fannie headed for the clinic.

She and Lame Bear were halfway there when a steamboat whistle echoed in the distance. Fannie looked downriver toward the steamer, wincing when someone on the levee fired a welcoming volley from the cannon pulled out of the fort and poised near the river for just that purpose. The instant the cannon fired, a team of bays harnessed to a wagon waiting at the levee screamed in panic. Rearing up, they lunged forward, unseating their driver. He landed in the dirt, and to the cries of “Runaway!” the horses charged off. Fannie watched them go, horrified when she saw a boy in the path of the spooked bays.

It happened so quickly, Fannie didn’t have time to think. And yet, in some ways, things seemed to slow down. She saw pure terror on the child’s face. Heard the wagon clattering as the team charged toward him. Registered the shouts. Realized that fear had rooted the boy in place. He wasn’t going to move. In a flash, Fannie launched herself in his direction, but instead of pushing him out of the way, all she managed to do was knock him down. She fell atop him just as the crazed team lunged past, so close she felt a tug as a wheel rim ran across the edge of her calico skirt. Dazed, she sat up just as a wild-eyed Dr. LaMotte came tearing out of the clinic and raced toward them.

“Patrick! Oh, dear God . . .
mon Dieu 
. . . please be all right . . . Patrick!” He scooped the boy into his arms, smoothed his dirty face with the flat of his hand, held his chin up, felt his arms and legs, and then, reassured by the boy’s sobs that he was only afraid, not injured, he turned his attention to Fannie.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Really, I’m . . . fine.” She got back to her feet and began to dust herself off. Lame Bear limped up. Handing her the walking stick she’d dropped, he began to pat her arm and mutter what she chose to believe was sympathy and concern. “I’m fine. Really, I . . . I—” She looked back down at the boy. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt? I landed right on top of you. I’m so sorry, but—”

Dr. LaMotte stifled a sob. “You saved his life.” After another crushing hug, he held the child away from him and scolded, “You were supposed to wait for me to come for you, young man.” His voice wavered. “You were supposed to
wait
.”

“I’ve walked from the store home at least a million times. I don’t always need help.” The boy wrestled free. Bending down, he felt for his own stick, found it, and stood back up. He looked at Fannie with beautiful but, she realized, sightless blue eyes, and smiled. “Thank you, miss. Are you as pretty as you smell?”

“Patrick!” the doctor scolded.

“I didn’t realize you had a family here in Fort Benton,” Fannie said.
And may I call on your wife . . . please? Is she as lonely as I am?

“He doesn’t have a family,” Patrick said. “He has me. Ma died.” He paused. “She had measles. So did I. I got well, but now I can’t see.” He forced a weak smile. “But I remember colors. Ma’s eyes were brown. What color are
your
s?”

Dr. LaMotte spoke for her. “Miss Rousseau’s eyes are blue, and you and I should be getting back to the clinic.” Once again, he turned to Fannie. “I really don’t know how to thank you. But I’ll think of a way.”

Lame Bear interrupted, and the doctor answered him, nodding and turning to Fannie. “Lame Bear is concerned that you didn’t accept his gift. You said you didn’t need a horse because you were leaving. He says that obviously you
do
need a horse, since you’re still here. And he says that perhaps I should thank you by providing the saddle you need in order to be able to ride Smoke.”

Fannie turned to the old man. “I didn’t think you spoke English.”

Lame Bear shook his head and gestured to the doctor, who said, “He doesn’t
speak
English. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand it.”

For the first time, Fannie thought she noticed a faint glint of humor around the old man’s dark eyes. How had she not noticed that before? She cleared her throat. “I’m waiting for news from a friend, but I don’t need a horse—even though I realize Smoke is a very fine one.”

The doctor and Lame Bear spoke for a few minutes. Finally, Lame Bear nodded and, with a hint of a smile, headed back toward the fort.

“I’ve promised Lame Bear that you can ride Smoke whenever you like.” The doctor smiled. “And I’ve agreed to get you a saddle.”

Fannie gazed after the old man. “He certainly is . . . persistent.”

“The Blackfeet are a generous people.” Putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, Dr. LaMotte smiled. “I can’t imagine what a man gives a lady who’s already received—and rejected—a horse. A saddle you don’t really want doesn’t seem like an appropriate thank-you, either.”

Fannie laughed, then nodded toward the men waiting outside the clinic. “Don’t let me keep you. You’re clearly needed.” She glanced at Patrick. “I realize that you don’t need an escort, Patrick, but I wouldn’t mind one. What if we send your father back to work and you and I take a walk?” She reached for his walking stick. “You can show me how you use this, and I’ll tell you how my blind friend at home uses hers.”

Patrick looked her way. “You have a friend who can’t see?”

“I do. Her name’s Minette.”

“Pa says your eyes are blue. What about your hair?”

“Patrick!” the doctor scolded.

Fannie laughed an answer. “My hair is blond and today I have on a green dress. Any other questions?”

“Will you have supper with us? I want to hear more about your blind friend. Did she go to a special school? Pa says they have schools for kids like me.”

“They do. In fact, there’s a very good one not far from my home in Missouri. Minette was a student there for three years.”

“And can she do everything? Did they teach her to do everything?”

“Well, she can do almost everything. She’s not very good at driving a team—but then some sighted people can’t seem to do that well, either.” When the boy laughed, Dr. LaMotte looked at Fannie and mouthed the words
thank you
with such sincerity it made her blush.

“Do people treat her like she’s stupid?” Patrick asked. “Sometimes they treat me that way. They yell. I can hear just fine.”

“It’s just something people do. Minette said that at school they told her to look calmly at the person yelling and say . . . very quietly”—she dropped her voice almost to a whisper—“you don’t need to yell. I can hear you”—she raised her voice to a shout—“perfectly fine!”

Patrick laughed again. He looked up at his father and said, “Can’t you
please
make this lovely lady join us for supper?”

Fannie teased, “Patrick LaMotte, you cannot know that I’m lovely.”

“’Course I can,” the boy chided. “I can tell by the way Pa talks to you.”

“You,” Fannie said, blushing, “are far too accomplished at flirting, young man. And while I would enjoy joining you for supper, I have a previous engagement serving over at the Fort Benton hostelry.”

“Then lunch,” Patrick said.

“How old are you?”

“I’m ten. Why?”

“Because, you’re quite charming. The girls at school are going to fight over you.”

“Until I spill peas down my shirt,” Patrick muttered. “Or knock over their milk.”

“There will be no spilling of peas and no sloshing of milk,” Fannie said. “I can show you how it’s done.”

“You can?”

“With your father’s permission, yes, I can. Minette used to make me eat blindfolded.”

Dr. LaMotte smiled. “I have a hunch that Patrick would be amicable to your joining us for a late lunch after you help Mr. Valley.”

“Yes!” Patrick enthused.

Fannie agreed and Dr. LaMotte smiled. “I have to make a sling for the patient who’s likely going to give me an earful for making him wait so long in the clinic,” he said. “But after that, when you’re finished at the hostelry, Patrick and I would be honored if you joined us for lunch.” He smiled and glanced at his son. “
I
, however, will
not
be dining blindfolded.”

Fannie returned the smile . . . and it stayed on her face all the way back to Abe’s, as she wondered how it was that she didn’t remember Dr. LaMotte as anything but an aging doctor who could translate for the Blackfeet. He wasn’t old at all. Oh, he had a bit of gray showing at his temples, but he probably wasn’t much past thirty. All in all, Dr. LaMotte was . . . well.

Surprising.

But God commendeth his love toward us, in that,
while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

R
OMANS 5:8

Dick Turley’s bull train lumbered into Virginia City in a pouring rain three weeks after leaving Fort Benton. The Montana scenery he saw on the way set Samuel to inwardly praising the God who’d created such grandeur. The mining camps, where the Sabbath meant going into town to gamble and drink and enjoy a little attention from the ladies on display, set him to praying. Today, as rain poured out of the sky, the women posed beneath overhangs along the street like a flock of painted birds, raising their ruffled skirts to scandalous heights and occasionally calling out to passersby. They seemed to take particular notice of Samuel, and some of the things they called out made him blush.

More than just the women seemed to notice him, though. As he and Lamar clomped alongside the bull train, Samuel watched more than one man put his hand on the pearl-handled weapon at his side. A couple even swept their own long dark coats back behind their holsters. Casting a somewhat panicked prayer toward the heavens, Samuel tugged his hat farther down on his head and, as soon as the rain stopped, concentrated on helping unload the freight. Finally, he asked Dick Turley, “Do people up here always consider newcomers the enemy? I feel like I’m under a microscope.”

Turley shrugged. “I told you to buy a gun. Only two kinds of men dress in long black coats up here. Preachers and gamblers. Nobody expects a preacher, for obvious reasons, so they figure you’re a gambler. They’re taking your measure.” He slapped a few dollars into Samuel’s palm with the words “fer you and your friend. You’re both welcome on my train any time.” Turning away, he crossed the muddy street and went into a saloon a few doors up from where Samuel stood, feeling conspicuous and unsure.

Lamar said in a low voice, “From the look on some of the faces staring at us, I’d best keep my head down. White folks have a way of thinking a black man who makes eye contact is asking for trouble. You decide what’s next. I’m right behind you.”

Just then, a feminine voice called, “Hey, sweetie.”

Samuel was of a mind to ignore it, but as it turned out, the woman wasn’t talking to him.

“I like molasses. Why don’t you come on up here and visit Rosalie?”

“Lord, have mercy,” Lamar muttered.

“Come on, now. Don’t be shy. Come on and step outta the rain. Rosalie don’t bite, and it looks to me like you and the tall one could both use a friend.”

He was tired, soaking wet, and more than a little afraid, and so Samuel stepped underneath the nearby overhang and made eye contact with the smooth-skinned beauty wearing the lowest-cut, brightest yellow dress he could have imagined. Then he surprised himself by snatching his hat off and asking—more loudly than he intended—“Is there any place in the gulch where a man could hold a service? It’s the Sabbath, you know.” He took a step toward the woman named Rosalie to make room for Lamar to duck out of the rain.

Rosalie leaned to her right so she could see around Samuel to smile at Lamar. She put her hands on her shapely hips, then looked up at Samuel. “I’ve been asked for an entire dictionary full of things since opening, but a place to hold a church service? That’s a new one.” She looked Samuel up and down. “I guess I should have realized the truth when I didn’t see a holster strapped around that leg.” She ran the flat of her hand along Samuel’s belt and down his leg where a holster would normally be as she fluttered her long eyelashes at him. When he stayed still and stared straight ahead, she chuckled and shook her head. “A preacher. Will wonders never cease.”