A Most Unsuitable Match (35 page)

Dr. LaMotte asked, “Do you remember being on the trail?”

Samuel nodded. Glancing at Lamar, he mimicked drawing a bow back and releasing an arrow.

“That’s right, son,” Lamar said. “You and me, right in the middle of a war. I thought they were trying to steal our horses, but Doc here talked to Lame Bear the other day—he came in to see about you and me. Seems we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Some argument between the Bloods and the Piegan.”

Dr. LaMotte nodded his agreement. “Two freighters found Lamar up on the trail and brought him in. But they didn’t see any sign of you. Your horse must have thrown you and taken off. Lame Bear’s sons found you at the bottom of a ravine. They were afraid to bring you into town, so they took you to Bonaparte’s. Edie and a wrangler named Pete nearly drove a team into the ground bringing you here.”

Samuel looked for the woman, but she’d apparently left the room. He winced as he reached up to touch the side of his face that hurt the worst.

“I’m sure everything hurts. From what Lame Bear described, you fell a long way.”

He rubbed his lips with the side of his finger. He tried to ask, “Why can’t I talk?” Nothing came out but a few disgusting-sounding grunts. The doctor got a chair and sat down beside Sam’s cot.

“What you’re experiencing is called
aphasia
. Your brain knows what it wants to say, but your mouth can’t follow through. There’s some minor evidence that bloodletting has helped in a couple of cases. In my opinion the evidence was inconclusive, and I consider bloodletting barbaric. I’d rather have you rest and give it some time.” He peered closely at one of Samuel’s wounds. “I can only imagine how frustrated you are—and honestly, you’re probably at least a little afraid, but it’s very good that you are obviously understanding what people say to you.”

Samuel nodded, then touched the wound along his eyebrow.

“You have stitches there. And here.” The doctor traced a line from the edge of his own scalp toward the crown of his head. “An arrow caused a flesh wound on your right thigh. Everything’s healing nicely, although you are very . . . colorful . . . at the moment. To be honest, I’ve never seen so many bruises on a body as well off as yours.”

When Samuel pointed at the mirror hanging on the far wall, Fannie took it down and handed it over, then held up a lamp so he could see himself. Between the rainbow of color splayed across one side of his face, the swelling, and the stitches, he looked . . . monstrous.

“Do you remember anything after the horse threw you?” the doctor asked.

Sam held his thumb and forefinger apart.
A little.
He remembered being in a tepee. He thought someone had given him some water. He must have passed out when they moved him. He didn’t remember a thing about a wagon ride. How long had he been here? He pretended to scribble on his palm. When the doctor produced paper and a pencil, he managed to write the words
How long.

“I don’t know how long it will take. Only God knows.”

Sam shook his head and gestured around the room again, then tapped the paper
.

The doctor’s eyes lit with understanding. “You’ve been here a week, floating in and out. If you don’t remember, consider it part of God’s gift of healing. There’s very little to remember but pain.”

Sam turned his head to look at Lamar, surprised at how much it hurt. With a grimace, he pointed at his friend.

“Don’t worry about me, son. I’m old, but I’m tough.” Lamar put a hand on the sling around his neck. “My arm’s broke. The doc says to be glad the bone didn’t break the skin. He thinks I’ll be all right.” He grinned. “One thing good about it, I haven’t thought to complain about my knees in a while.”

Samuel nodded . . . and then he fell asleep.

Abe sent soup over from the boarding house the next evening, along with a message that he wouldn’t need any help serving supper. Samuel had spent a painful amount of time throughout the morning trying to talk and managing only unintelligible sounds. Fannie could see his mood slipping toward despair with every passing hour. Finally, he gave up. He hadn’t uttered a sound for the rest of the day. Over supper, she peppered Edmund with questions. “He wants to be a preacher. He has to be able to talk. There must be something you can do.”

“I’ve pored over every medical book in the clinic, and all I can tell you is what I already have. Sometimes the healing is remarkable. Sometimes the damage is permanent.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Edie offered. “I know it’s hard, but . . . we all have to be patient.”

Fannie shook her head. “That’s not good enough.” She glanced toward the river, feeling her frustration grow. “Are there specialists? Is there someone else?” She knew she was practically yelling but was too frustrated to care. “Should we take him downriver?”

Edmund took a deep breath. “If you’re asking me if there are doctors who know more than I do about aphasia, the answer is yes. There’s likely a doctor who knows more than me about just about everything.” He pulled the napkin out of where it had been tucked into his collar and, folding it, laid it beside his soup bowl. “I’ve told you everything
I
know about it, Fannie. I don’t know if Sam will talk again. I think he will, but I don’t know. Unfortunately, God doesn’t visit me at night and discuss my patients’ prognoses.”

He stood up. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you. You’re welcome to read my medical books if you think I’ve missed something.” He took a step toward the clinic, then paused. “It isn’t much, but I do know one thing. Hauling Sam Beck aboard a steamer is a terrible idea. He’s stuck with the best I can do.” He disappeared into the darkened clinic.

Awkward silence at the table made Fannie feel self-conscious. She pulled her piece of bread apart and dropped the fragments into her soup bowl to soak up the last bit of broth, then realized she had no appetite. She got up to refill her coffee mug.

Patrick broke the silence. “Don’t worry, Fannie. Sam’s going to be all right. Pa will take good care of him.”

Fannie crossed back to the table and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know he will. I don’t know why I said those things.”

“It’s because you’re scared,” Patrick said.

Fannie agreed. “I’m scared for Sam. He loves God so much . . . and telling other people about him . . . he loves doing that. What will happen if he can’t preach?”

“But that’s not why you yelled at Pa,” Patrick said. “You yelled because the last steamboat is at the levee and you don’t want to leave, but you’re scared of staying here all winter.” He reached for her hand. “You don’t have to be scared, Fannie. Winter’s not so bad if you have stuff to do and enough to eat. You and I can play checkers. Pa has a lot of books you can read. Abe likes having you at the boarding house. Sure, it gets cold, but you won’t freeze. We’ll be all right.” He turned as if looking at Edie as he said, “Edie wants you to stay, too.”

Fannie glanced at Edie, but the older woman was concentrating on spreading butter on a slice of bread and didn’t seem to have heard a word. “Why do you say that?” she asked.

Patrick mulled the question for a moment. “When you can’t see faces, you listen better. Sometimes listening lets a person see in a better way.”

Fannie couldn’t suppress a smile. Minette had an amazing sensitivity to nuances that sighted people often missed, but she’d been taught much of it at school. Apparently Patrick had a natural intuition. “Tell me, Patrick, what do you ‘see’ when you listen?”

The boy sighed. “Well . . . like I said. Edie likes you. So does Abe.” He smiled. “And of course, Pa.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Fannie said. “Because what I just said to him was unkind.” She got up and, retrieving the coffeepot from the stovetop, poured both herself and Edmund another cup. “I think I’ll go in the other room and apologize. I just hope he’ll hear me out.”

“Of course he will,” Patrick said. “Don’t you hear it when he talks to you? He keeps liking you more all the time.”

Fannie hugged him. “And I keep liking
you
more all the time, Patrick LaMotte.” She kissed him on the cheek.

“I’ll clean up here,” Edie said quietly. “Patrick and I have a date with the Greeks.” She pointed to a book on the reading table by Edmund’s rocker.

Patrick nodded. “We’re almost to the part where Jason finds the fleece.”

Fannie grabbed the two coffee mugs and stepped into the clinic.

Edmund had lit the shaded kerosene lamp at his desk and was seated, his head bowed over yet another medical tome. He didn’t look up when Fannie came in, just murmured that Samuel and Lamar were both asleep and kept reading.

Fannie went to him and set the coffee down. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Patrick just gave me a lesson in listening. Sometimes I think he’s better at understanding people than those of us who have our sight.” She paused. “He said that you like me, and that you’d forgive me for what I said just now.” She crouched down beside him and put a hand on his arm. “Please, Edmund. Forgive me. You’re a wonderful doctor and I know you’re doing everything you can.”

He looked down at her. “Do you really believe that?”

“I do.” She glanced toward Samuel. Shook her head. “I just hate to see him suffer. He didn’t find his sister, but he seemed to have found his calling in life. And then . . .” She shrugged. “It seems so unfair.”

Edmund agreed even as he thanked her for apologizing. He got up and, retrieving a chair, set it next to him at the desk. Fannie sat down and he showed her a diagram of the human brain and began to explain what he thought was going on with Samuel. “The truth is, we don’t know a lot about how the brain works. There’s disagreement over even the most basic things, like where, exactly, the capacity for speech resides. From the cut on Sam’s scalp, it would seem most likely that that’s the part of the brain where speech resides. But there’s just as much evidence from others that it’s not there at all.” He paused. “Obviously, someone like me who practices in a remote area—” He broke off. “I haven’t exactly kept up with the latest findings. So you’re probably right. There are probably all kinds of doctors who know more than I do about any of this.”

“Please,” Fannie said, putting a hand on his arm, “stop.” She reached for her coffee mug and cupped it in her palms, gazing down at the golden arc from the lamp reflected in the surface of her coffee. “Just now, Patrick said that I was really upset because I don’t want to leave, but I’m afraid to stay.” She forced a smile. “He said I shouldn’t be afraid.” She took a sip of coffee. “When I left St. Charles this spring, I expected to be back by fall. And then . . .” She shook her head. “Patrick’s right. It’s not just that I don’t want to leave. I can’t
imagine
it. I’ve just found the reason I came. Edie isn’t at all what I’d envisioned, but she’s all the family I have. As for Sam and Lamar . . . I know they’ll be fine. They don’t
need
me—but I can’t imagine being cut off from knowing how they are.”

Edmund reached over and took her coffee mug out of her hands and set it on the desk. Taking her hands in his, he lifted them to his lips and deposited a kiss on the back of each one. “We
do
need you,” he said. He released one and, tracing the line of her jaw, lifted her chin so that she met his gaze. “Please, Fannie.
Stay
.”

And suddenly . . . it wasn’t such a difficult decision after all.