A Most Unsuitable Match (14 page)

Hannah.
Blinking back tears, Fannie nodded. She swayed a bit, and was suddenly grateful for Mrs. Tatum’s stepping up to take her arm.

“Now, dearie, you come with me. Nellie will take good care of you.” She nodded up at Samuel. “You rest easy, now. Time you get back, I’ll have her all fixed up.”

Nellie Tatum kept her word. Leading Fannie inside the hotel, across the splintered floor, and to a doorway that opened from beneath the stairs, Mrs. Tatum escorted Fannie into what she said—with a tone of pride in her voice—were her private quarters. “Mine and Hiram’s, that is.” She guided Fannie to a blue painted chair while she heated water on a tiny iron stove. “You just set there while I heat up some water. I’m thinking you’d like to wash up a bit, and we’re gonna soak those tired feet, too. You can talk or not, whichever. It don’t matter to me. Some like to talk when they been through a tough spot, some don’t. You do what comes natural.”

The woman seemed to think a monologue was appropriate whether Fannie spoke or not, and that was fine with her. She didn’t know what “came natural” to her after a “tough spot.” Right now she didn’t have a thing to say other than to answer Mrs. Tatum’s question about the name of the woman “her friends were looking for.” She managed to answer, although her voice wavered when she pronounced Hannah’s name. After that she sat, her hands in her lap, Samuel’s coat about her shoulders, and tried not to shiver noticeably while Mrs. Tatum heated water. When, a few moments later, she slid her feet into a tub of warm water, she sighed with relief.

Mrs. Tatum nodded. “What’d I tell ya? Nothing like a good foot soak to make a body feel better.” She stood back up and offered a blanket in place of Samuel’s coat. “Thought I’d give it a brushing before he comes back.”

Fannie took the envelope out of the pocket and laid it in her lap, surprised and more than a little pleased on Samuel’s behalf when Mrs. Tatum found the Bible in the other pocket and laid it on the scuffed table. She didn’t know very much about Samuel Beck, but she’d seen enough of him to know the book was important to him. She hadn’t realized it was a Bible until this moment.

“Well, ain’t that nice,” Mrs. Tatum said. “A man of the cloth, I reckon.”

Fannie frowned.
Was
Samuel Beck some kind of minister? If so, why would he be working as a roustabout?

Mrs. Tatum hung Samuel’s coat on a chair and moved it toward the stove. “I’ll let it dry while I fetch you something to wear.” She handed Fannie a coarse gray washcloth. “You can clean up while I’m gone. And in case you’re wonderin’, won’t nobody bother you while you’re in here. In the way of privacy, I mean. Hiram’s far too busy gathering news of the sinking and pouring drinks for the survivors in the dinin’ room. We’ve a full house thanks to the
Delores
.” She broke off and changed her tone, shaking her head back and forth and
tsk
ing in sympathy. “I do hope that handsome young man and his friend find your Mrs. Pike.”

Samuel and Lamar stood beside the river, looking down at the mackinaw and its sad burden. Samuel spoke first. “How am I ever going to tell her—” he gestured toward the mackinaw— “this?”

Lamar put a hand on his shoulder. “The best way to deliver bad news, son, is to just say it right out. Mrs. Pike is gone.” He paused. “You want me to do it?”

Samuel shook his head. “No. But I wouldn’t mind you coming with me. You can deliver Captain Busch’s message.”

Lamar nodded. Together, the two men stepped into the boat. Together, they bore Hannah Pike’s body up the hill and around back of one of the clapboard buildings, where the hardware store owner had already commenced to building coffins for the three victims of the wreck of the
Delores
.

Two are better than one; because they have
a good reward for their labour.

E
CCLESIASTES 4:9

“Well now,” Mrs. Tatum said, “don’t that just look fine, even if I do say so myself. Sets off your golden hair right nice.” She rummaged in a box. “I’ve got me a spool of thread right here. We’ll have it hemmed up in no time. Your young man will think you just went shopping at the dry goods store, even if I do say so.”

Fannie looked down at the rich tones in the plaid underskirt. Where had Mrs. Tatum found such a lovely ensemble in a place like this? And where had she gotten the idea that Samuel Beck was her young man?

“Guess you’re wondering about such finery in a place like this.” Mrs. Tatum knelt on the floor and began to pin the skirt up. “Fact is, Hiram and me are opening a store. Me being the best at cipherin’, I keep the books and I been hiding the ladies things from him for weeks now. Don’t want to hear him holler about it. But the way I figure, with the railroad and all, it won’t be long and all kinds of ladies will be walking these streets. Putting something fine like this here dress in the window will draw ’em inside.

“Hiram don’t like to admit it, but he knows I’m right. You get the ladies’ business and you got a good chance of making it.” She continued pinning. “That’s why I work my hands raw scrubbing floors and such in this here hotel. Keep it clean and the word gets out. The ladies will all want to stay here, and with the ladies come children and that means good business for the dining room, now, don’t it. We done sold several pans of my sweet rolls just today to folks comin’ off the train.”

Fannie looked down at her. “You do all that? Cleaning rooms, setting up for a new store, baking bread? Do you ever sleep?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Mrs. Tatum chuckled. She gestured toward the box she’d carried in with her when she returned with the traveling suit. “I guessed about yer size. You can get yerself a pair of shoes outta that box. You don’t see what you like, I got a whole barrel in the storeroom next door.”

Fannie crossed the room and opened the box. She selected a pair, but then Mrs. Tatum shook her head. “No. That black won’t look good with the gold. I shoulda thought of that.” She tapped the black shoe in Fannie’s hand. “Try that on. If it fits, I’ll take it with me. Be back with brown in no time. Proper stockings, too. You can work on the hem while I’m gone.”

Fannie did as she was told, but after Mrs. Tatum left, she sat, needle in hand, not having any idea how to hem her own skirt. Hannah had always done the hemming. Fannie tried to remember back to the lessons she’d had as a child about French seams and fancy stitches, but she hated sewing and Mother hadn’t forced the issue. She poked the needle through the fabric, but instead of stitching she stabbed her finger hard enough to draw blood. She was blinking back frustrated tears when Mrs. Tatum returned with a pair of lovely brown high-buttoned shoes in hand. As she came in the door, she said, “Your young man and his friend are back. They asked to see you.”

Fannie swallowed the lump in her throat. If the news was good, Mrs. Tatum would be bustling about to help Hannah the way she’d helped Fannie. She put her hand to her still-snarled hair.

“Here now,” Mrs. Tatum said, and produced a hairbrush. “Let me help you get fixed up a bit more.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fannie said, and suddenly nothing did. She really was alone now in the world. The dark clouds she’d left behind in St. Charles had found her again—and there was no one to help her escape them this time.

Mrs. Tatum cleared her throat. “You know what? How about I just let your friends come on in and we’ll see to the rest later.” She put her hand on Fannie’s shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze before crossing to the door. “I’ll be just outside, miss. You need anything, you holler.” She opened the door and spoke to the men waiting just outside. “She’s ready.”

No one was ever ready to hear news like that. Samuel and Lamar came into the room, hats in hands. Lamar crossed to her and knelt down on one knee. When she extended her hand, he took it between his calloused palms. “Captain Busch done said to tell you that whatever you need, he’ll see to it. Hotel . . . food . . . passage home . . . everything first class.” He squeezed her hand before letting go and standing back up.

Home.
The word brought back the image of peeling paint and the seedling growing out of the sagging gutter. And a life-sized stone angel bending over two graves. Taking a deep breath, Fannie forced herself to stand. “Where is she? I need to . . . see her.”

Samuel’s deep voice soothed. “Word is there’ll be a service at the cemetery. Later today or tomorrow morning. We could ask about a church service if you want one.”

Fannie didn’t think she could face a preacher’s voice echoing in a mostly empty church. Tears welled up as she thought back to all the grousing Hannah did about what she called “putting on airs.” She cleared her throat. “Hannah was a simple woman. She’d want a simple burial.” She glanced at Samuel. “If you wouldn’t mind reading a few words from your Bible, though. I think Hannah would like that.” The tears she’d been trying to keep back spilled down her cheeks. “I’ll want a proper headstone. She was more of a mother to me than anyone. I won’t have her treated like she was no one.”

Samuel nodded. “I’ll be honored to read the service. Mrs. Pike was a good woman.”

Lamar spoke up. “That she was. Gave me some liniment for my knees. It worked real good, too.”

Hearing that Hannah had shared her precious liniment with Lamar wasn’t a surprise, but something about that little bit of news broke through Fannie’s resolve not to make a scene. Covering her face with her hands, she began to sob. Samuel pulled her into his arms.