A Most Unsuitable Match (42 page)

Five days.
It had been five days, and Fannie had taught Patrick everything she knew about Braille, finished knitting two pairs of socks, listened to Edmund read half of
Great Expectations
aloud . . . and with every passing day she was growing more on edge, because Edmund seemed to be growing more . . . determined.

As she lay in bed late one night, Fannie stared through the window at the starlit sky, and all she could think of was Samuel. Was he looking at these same stars tonight? Was he talking to God? Was he
talking
?

For the first time in weeks, she found herself talking aloud to Hannah. She missed Sam. She loved Patrick. She liked Edmund . . . but this just wasn’t working out. And what could she do about any of it? She wasn’t sorry she’d stayed, but what was the point if she couldn’t spend time with Edie? And how could she spend time with Edie when Samuel . . . when Patrick. . . . Finally, she began to talk to God instead of Hannah. And she counted the days until she would go with Edmund to check on the baby.

On the morning they were to head to Edie’s, Fannie rose early. She brushed her hair until it shone. Staring into the mirror, she held up the lamp and wished for a bit of ribbon to weave through the braid. She nestled fresh bread and huckleberry jam into a basket to take with them and had breakfast ready when Edmund and Patrick arrived at the boarding house. She had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat a little. Finally, Edmund was helping her up into the buggy. Abe settled a heated stone at her feet. She insisted Patrick sit on the front bench. “It’s much too cold for you to be all alone back there. Come up here between your father and me.” Edmund spread a buffalo robe across all their laps and at last they were on their way.

The wind stung her cheeks and made her eyes water. Edmund turned his collar up. Fannie and Patrick huddled together beneath the buffalo robe. It seemed to take half the day before the ranch house came into view. As Edmund handed Fannie down from the buggy and retrieved his medical bag, Pete led the little mare toward the barn. Instead of going off with Pete as he usually did, Patrick begged to come inside to see the baby.

Edie flung open the door and offered a hearty greeting, pulling them all inside. “We’ve got lunch ready.” As Edmund helped Fannie out of her cape, then hung his own coat up alongside it, Edie drew them aside and said in a low voice, “Would you believe it? Mollie’s milk’s already coming in. Josephine’s going to be a little butterball in no time. And it’s doing Mollie a world of good. I’ve never seen her smile so much.”

Just then Mollie came in, her face wreathed in smiles, and held the baby out to the doctor. “The parson named her Josephine for his mother.”

Where is “the parson”?
When he finally came in to say hello, he was surrounded by “the girls.” Fannie’s heart lurched. Introductions revealed that Ruth favored Lamar, but the others seemed to think that Samuel was the center of the universe. Sam barely acknowledged her. Oh, he kissed her on the cheek and said hello, but she might as well have been his elderly aunt. Actually, she thought, he’d likely have displayed more warmth toward his elderly aunt.

He said grace over lunch, though, and while he had to stop a few times and repeat a few beginnings, it seemed that the time at Bonaparte’s was agreeing with him. Of course, he had an entire bevy of women kowtowing to him. Fannie supposed that would be good incentive for any man to learn to talk.

They were halfway through lunch when Pete knocked on the door. “Don’t mean to rush the doctor off, but there’s a storm coming in. It’s moving mighty fast.”

As it turned out, the storm was moving too fast. By the time Pete had the buggy hitched up and they were ready to head back to Fort Benton, it was obvious they’d be fools to try. The temperature had dropped noticeably. The black clouds scudding across the sky promised a storm. Were they about to be snowbound?

Samuel watched as the storm piled snow up against the bunkhouse after supper that night and rattled the windows, making things miserable for Lamar and Pete when they headed out to tend the animals. They were shivering when they came back in, and set up the checkerboard as close to the woodstove as they could until the women began to tease them about scorching their faces. Pete and Lamar traded chairs and joked about being “evenly done.”

Roberta kept Patrick busy holding a skein of yarn so she could wind it up into a ball. Sam never would understand why that was necessary, but it served its purpose, because it kept Patrick entertained as Roberta told him an outrageous version of Hansel and Gretel.

Samuel settled himself in a chair near the kitchen, where Edie and Fannie were baking cookies and talking. Sam told himself the light was better for reading there, but the real reason was that he liked the sound of Fannie’s voice.

The evening hours went by quickly. Edie introduced them all to a game she’d learned in France called charades. Samuel took perverse delight in his ability to excel at the game. After all, he’d been trying to express himself without talking for weeks. “So now,” he said with a smile, “you know . . . how it f-feels.”

As the evening wore on, he wondered if it was his imagination that Fannie seemed able to guess whatever he acted out. When Roberta asked if Fannie was a mind reader in disguise, she blushed and shook her head. As soon as the game was over, she bade everyone good-night.

Oh, Lord, I couldn’t wait to get here . . . and now I can’t wait to leave.
Fannie stood at the window of the room she was sharing with Lily and stared out at the snow. The storm had left a few inches in its wake, but nothing like the blizzard they’d feared. Part of her longed to be snowbound . . . and part of her wished she’d never come. It was just too hard to be around Samuel and have him be so . . . friendly.

For all her ridiculous talk about friendship, she’d realized the moment he walked into Edie’s parlor that she didn’t want to be Samuel’s friend. She wanted him to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe.

Even now, just standing there thinking about it made her tremble. And made her want to cry. He hadn’t said three words to her all day. And he’d written that note to tell her good-bye.

Oh, Lord, I couldn’t wait to get away from her . . . and now I can’t wait for her to leave.
Samuel stood at the window of the room he was sharing with Lamar and stared out at the snow. The storm had left a few inches in its wake, but nothing compared to the blizzard they’d feared. Part of him wished to be snowbound . . . but mostly he wished Fannie had never come. It was just too hard to be around her and have her be so . . . friendly. For all his ridiculous writing about how he wished her and Dr. LaMotte well and how he’d always value their friendship, he’d realized the moment she walked into Edie’s parlor that he didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Even now, just standing there thinking about it made him tremble.

Minette said love was like an echo . . . like having an empty place inside of you filled . . . a place you hadn’t even realized was empty. It was silly, but tonight when they’d been playing charades, Fannie had remembered that conversation . . . and gotten goose bumps at the idea that she and Samuel were echoing each other’s thoughts. There was no point in trying to sleep tonight. She crept downstairs in the dark, quiet house—only to discover that she wasn’t alone after all.

“It seems the whole house is filled with insomniacs tonight.”

Fannie startled and looked toward the fireplace. A hand was just visible on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs facing the fireplace. A hand holding a cigar. “Edmund and I were just having a talk,” Edie said. She waved Fannie over. “And now, I believe I’ll leave you two alone.” She glided from the room, leaving the aroma of her cigar in her wake.

Edmund spoke up as Fannie sat in the chair Edie had vacated. “Patrick asked me something tonight after we retired. I didn’t know how to answer him.” He leaned forward onto his elbows. “He asked me why you’ve been so sad. I told him he was imagining things, but he said no. That he sees with his ears sometimes, and that we’ve both been sad. That it wasn’t the same as being sad because of the lady who died. He wanted to know if he’d done something to cause it.”