A Most Unsuitable Match (37 page)

He might not be able to speak clearly, but Samuel seemed adept at making people feel comfortable with him. Patrick especially liked him, and Edie . . . Sam seemed to have a special fondness for Edie that Fannie couldn’t quite understand. It was almost as if the two shared a secret no one else knew about. Sam seemed to take special care to play the gentleman around Edie, and she seemed to have an affection for him that bordered on mothering. Fannie was glad for Samuel’s sake, but she felt left out. Which was petty, and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

Samuel himself was the cause of part of her loneliness. His speech was coming back, but it was painfully slow. Fannie had noticed a streak of impatience and anger in him when he tried to talk to her that hadn’t been there before. Sometimes he just plain gave up, and that left her feeling helpless. There was so much she wanted to talk to him about, but he didn’t have the words. She wanted to hear all about the gold camps and how he’d been invited to give a sermon in a saloon. Lamar said it wasn’t his story to tell, and she’d just have to wait until Sam was able. She wanted to hear about Emma. Mostly, she wanted to offer comfort, but Sam didn’t seem to want that. At least not from her. He was more than willing to try to talk with Edie, but every time Fannie tried to join a conversation, Samuel turned to writing cryptic notes. He wouldn’t even try to talk to her.

Edie appeared in the doorway. “Want some help out here?” She picked up a dish towel. “I’ve won the house so many times those two are sick of playing with me. They’ve gone to bed. Abe and Patrick are still at the checkerboard. He said he’d keep Patrick occupied while I talked to you.”

“About what?”

“About taking Lamar and Sam to my place for the duration. I thought I’d see if Lamar might take on some of Pete’s work—as soon as his arm heals, of course. Pete’s not getting any younger. He can fix just about anything, but he’s slowed considerably. As for Sam . . . . if I ever had a son—” She broke off. Shrugged. “He makes me believe there’s a slim possibility God hasn’t written off old Edie after all.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Fannie protested. “God doesn’t do that.”

“I just might be the exception to his willingness to put up with mistakes.”

Fannie shook her head. “You’ve given six women a home, Edie. Anyone would admire that.”

Edie concentrated on drying a plate. “You have no idea just how many mistakes I have to make up for. Bonaparte’s in its present incarnation is little more than a speck of dust in a whole desert of sins.”

“Don’t I remember something in the Bible about forgiveness being free? I don’t think we have to earn our way with God. Everybody falls short.”

“Some of us fall shorter than others.” Edie forced a chuckle. “I know he’s no priest, but Sam’s easy to . . . confess to.” She put a stack of plates on the shelf. “No matter what I say about people I’ve left behind, people I’ve hurt, Sam keeps sending me to that Bible of his and saying just about the same thing you just did. He describes it as more forgiveness than any person could ever need, no matter what they’ve done or who they’ve hurt.”

“Sam . . .
says
that?”

“Well . . . not out loud. But he keeps pointing me to the same verses, and when I try to tell him I’m the exception, he shakes his head and writes
You can’t sin more than God can forgive
.” She reached for another plate as Fannie lifted it out of the rinse water, but then held on to it until Fannie looked up at her. When their eyes met, Edie asked, “Do you think that’s true? That anything can be forgiven?”

Now, why did that question make Fannie feel . . . unsettled? What was Edie getting at, anyway? Fannie released the plate and plunged her hands back into the dishwater, forcing a lighter tone into her voice as she said, “If it isn’t, everyone’s in what Hannah used to call ‘a heap o’ trouble.’ ”

They worked in silence for a while. Finally, Edie gave Fannie’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m sorry I let Eleanor chase me away, Fannie. Sorry she couldn’t find a way past her anger to make you feel loved.” Her voice wavered. “You’re a beautiful, kind, honest, delightful girl.” She cleared her throat. “And I’m about to say something that’s going to make you really angry, but I have to say it.”

Fannie steeled herself to hear something terrible even as she realized she liked the idea of Edie treating her the same way she treated Samuel—as a close friend.

“Edmund’s going to propose to you. And you have to say no.”

“What?” Fannie turned to look at her. “What are you talking about? Edmund’s. . . . We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to propose. You’re wonderful with Patrick, and the boy loves you. He needs a mother, and you’ll be a superb mother.” Her voice lowered as she insisted, “You mustn’t do it, Fannie.”

“What—why would you say something like that?”

“Because you’re in love with Sam.” Edie put one hand on Fannie’s arm and gave it a squeeze, then let go. “He loves you, too, although he’s being ridiculous and refusing to acknowledge it because he’s not well. He’s terrified he never will be, and he’s being tragically noble. Which is stupid . . . but what are you going to do? Men are stupid.”

When Fannie said nothing, Edie added, “Don’t be angry with me, Fannie. Once you think about what I’ve just said, you’ll know I’m right.”

“I’m not angry. I’m . . . amazed.” She swept her forehead with the back of her hand. “How did we get from Samuel and Lamar going to Bonaparte’s to God’s forgiveness and then on to whom I should marry—which, by the way, isn’t really any of your business. But, since you brought it up, I’m no match for Samuel Beck—not when he’s going to be Reverend Samuel Beck someday, and I believe with all my heart that he will be.”

“So do I,” Edie agreed. “But you’re wrong about not being a match for him. You’re exactly right. The truth of it shines in his eyes every time he looks at you.”

“Why don’t
I
see it when he looks at me?”

“Because he’s a beautiful-but-bullheaded son of a willy-walloo.”

Fannie laughed in spite of herself. “Captain Busch used to call himself that.”

“Yes, well . . . unless he’s changed, Otto
is
a son of a willy-walloo.” Edie smiled. “There’s more than one in the world, honey. And some of us are women.”

Samuel had taken to rising before dawn and forcing himself out the door to take a walk, which had begun as mostly a torturous limp that barely carried him to the fort before he was exhausted, but now carried him all the way to the river and back. He was getting stronger. Dr. LaMotte had taken out all the stitches, and while Sam still didn’t like what he saw in the mirror, he reminded himself that vanity wasn’t a very attractive character quality. He should be thankful to be alive, and he was.

And so, on this frigid morning when frost had painted the landscape white, Samuel dragged himself out of bed and limped toward the levee. As he walked, he recited the Shepherd’s Psalm. Or tried to. Mostly he mumbled. Edie said he was getting better every day. He couldn’t hear it. All he could hear was a garbled mess.

Edie
. There was a fascinating woman. There was something . . . he couldn’t figure it out, but once or twice he’d caught her watching Fannie when Fannie was unaware. And all of Edie’s talk about how he didn’t know just how much God would have to forgive if he forgave her. He was sure at least part of that was connected to Fannie somehow. Sam just couldn’t quite untangle it. He wanted to see Edie finally give things up to God and stop trying to fix them herself. He wanted to tell Fannie . . . so much. But he needed to talk to do any of that. Didn’t God know that? Dr. LaMotte said to give it time. Everyone did. Sam was doing his best to believe them, to not to give up, but it was getting harder by the day.

Fannie woke just as dawn spilled in her bedroom window. She’d almost mastered getting dressed beneath the pile of comforters, but she was still shivering by the time she made it into Abe’s kitchen to start breakfast. She’d just gotten the fire going in the cookstove when a shadow in the doorway made her jump.

“Sss . . . me.”

“Were you sitting in the dark?”

Sam shrugged. Nodded. “Praying.”

Fannie smiled. “Well, I don’t suppose you need a lamp to pray, do you.”

He shook his head and retreated.

“You don’t have to leave. I’m just going to mix up some batter for flapjacks.”

He lingered in the doorway, watching her work. “You grad—grad—”

“Yes.” Fannie smiled as she measured flour and soda into a mixing bowl. “I told you I would. Graduate.” She scooped coffee beans into the grinder and handed it to him. “Earn your keep.”

While Samuel ground the coffee beans, Fannie finished mixing up the batter and began to fry flapjacks. She’d just put a stack of hot ones on a plate when someone opened the front door.

“That’s Edmund and Patrick,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and hurrying to greet them. One look at Edmund and she knew something was wrong. “What’s happened?”

He shook his head, rubbed his neck.

“Patrick, there’s an entire plate of flapjacks in the kitchen. It’s on the right side of the work table. Think you could get it out here without a disaster? If you need help, Mr. Beck is there making coffee.”

As soon as Patrick was out of earshot, Edmund told her, “Dick Turley came to see me last night about a cough. The old fool hasn’t listened to a thing I’ve said for months. And now . . . there’s nothing I can do.”

Fannie put her hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

“When I offered him laudanum to keep him comfortable, he waved it off. Said he’d drink his way to hell and that I shouldn’t feel bad for him.” He plopped into a chair.

Fannie went to stand behind him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began to knead the knotted muscles.

“That feels . . . wonderful.”

“That’s the general idea.”

He reached up and took her hand just as Patrick and Sam emerged from the kitchen.

So that’s the way it was. It made complete sense. If he’d ever had a chance with Fannie, Sam realized he’d lost it. And it hurt. A lot. But then . . . what did he expect? He’d been off in the mountains for weeks, then unable to talk for himself since he got back. And Edmund LaMotte was a good man. In fact, now that Samuel really thought about it, Fannie would be much happier with him anyway. Hadn’t she said something about LaMotte taking Patrick to that school in St. Louis? It was obvious the boy loved her. Who wouldn’t? Fannie’s best friend was blind. It was almost as if God was preparing her to be Patrick’s mother all along. It really was perfect. Fannie wouldn’t have to adapt to Montana, although Samuel had to admit that she’d done an amazing job of that, too. She was a different woman from the one who’d looked up at him that long-ago day on the levee at St. Charles and asked about passage to Fort Benton. A different woman altogether. More mature, stronger, and clearly meant for someone else. It was God’s will and he, Samuel Beck, would learn to accept it. Of course, acceptance didn’t mean he had to sit there in Abe Valley’s dining room and eat breakfast while Edmund LaMotte courted her . . . did it?

“You’ll eat with us, won’t you, Samuel?”