A Most Unsuitable Match (21 page)

The woman who introduced herself to Fannie as Susannah Webb adjusted her spectacles as she examined the photograph Fannie held out. “When did you say the letter was posted?”

“Last year. I’ve heard that she was intending to go to Alder Gulch with a freighter named Babe Cox. An Elmer Fleming in Sioux City recognized her and said that was where he’d met her.”

Mrs. Webb studied the picture. “Mr. Webb and I haven’t been here long. I’m afraid I don’t recognize her.” She looked up. “But most everyone knows Babe Cox. He freights between here and Virginia City on a regular basis. He’s up that way now, but he’ll be back soon enough.” She paused. “Let’s see now . . . he pulled out last week. It’s three weeks there and three weeks back . . . so . . . he’ll be back in town I’d say in about five weeks.”

Fannie couldn’t hide her disappointment.

Mrs. Webb glanced over at Samuel. “You might have your young man ask in some of the places a lady shouldn’t go, if you know what I mean. Not that I’m saying the lady in the photograph would frequent them, mind you. What I mean is, beautiful women up here . . . the men remember them . . . talk about them over drinks for months.” She smiled at Fannie and patted the back of her hand. “You can bet you’re already the subject of more than one tall tale in this saloon or that. That’s just how the men up here are. Some can create an entire saga from a smile. They don’t mean a thing by it.” She paused before adding, “I was afraid of my own shadow when Mr. Webb dragged me off the steamer. You know what, though? I’ve been surprised by how many of these rough old boys seem to take to a smile from a lady. Turns them into gentlemen most of the time—even if it’s only for a minute.”

It wasn’t polite to argue, and Fannie wasn’t about to relay her own experience with a supposed “gentleman.” She meandered to the far end of the counter as they talked, finally pausing before a glass case filled with hair pins and combs . . . some of them as elegant as anything Fannie had ever seen in St. Charles.

When she expressed surprise at the offerings, Mrs. Webb smiled. “Wherever women are, and whoever they are, they appreciate nice things. Men don’t care as much. Take my husband. When we first put this place up, he thought I was a fool for cutting scallops along the edge of my shelf paper.” She pointed toward a shelf stacked high with bolts of cloth. “I told him that even God himself cared that things be pretty. Why, when he gave instructions for how the tabernacle was supposed to be made, he ordered all kinds of beautiful things. Isn’t that right, Reverend?” She looked to Samuel for affirmation.

Samuel didn’t bother to correct her about the title. He merely nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am. I believe it is.”

“So there you have it. God likes things to look nice. And so do we ladies.” She picked up a comb decorated with a delicate twining vine set with tiny red stones. “One of the girls from out on the edge of town has her eye on this,” she said. “I expect one day soon some hapless miner will buy it for her, and then she’ll have a bit of finery that’ll make her smile.” She shook her head. “And Lord knows those girls can use a reason to smile.”

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.

P
ROVERBS 13:12

Samuel spent the first few days in Fort Benton inquiring after Emma and Edith LeClerc in the establishments Mrs. Webb had whispered about. By chance he had heard that E. C. Dandridge’s business prospects in Fort Benton had fallen through when his partner found out Dandridge was swindling him. Fearing for his life, Dandridge left Fort Benton on an overloaded mackinaw headed back to Sioux City and hadn’t been heard of since.

No one remembered Emma, but several seemed to recognize the woman in Fannie’s photograph, and they all told Samuel to head for Alder Gulch. All except one.

Just as Samuel exited a saloon one night, a gambler seated at a table in the back shoved a sporting girl off his lap and followed him out, muttering, “Got somethin’ for you.”

Samuel stepped to one side of the door and then followed the gambler to the opposite side of the street and a corral alongside a livery. The man was quiet at first, taking his time about lighting a cigar and watching two horses and a team of mules mill about in the moonlight. Finally, he glanced at Samuel. “About that picture you’ve been showing around . . .” He held out his hand and waggled his fingers. “Let’s see it.” Samuel reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out. The man lit a match and surveyed the photo. He handed it back, drew on his cigar, blew a trail of smoke into the night air. Finally, he growled, “What do you want with Edie? And what’s that fancy little blonde staying at Abe Valley’s got to do with anything?”

“Her name is Miss Rousseau,” Samuel said.

The gambler took the cigar out of his mouth and turned to face Samuel. “Let’s try this again. What do you and the blonde want with Edie Bonaparte? And who’s the redhead you’re looking for?”

“The redhead is my sister. And Miss LeClerc—we know her as Edith
LeClerc
—is Miss Rousseau’s aunt.”

The gambler snorted. “Well, isn’t that sweet.” He puffed on his cigar. “Nothing better than a family reunion. That’s our motto here in the territory. We just love it when Pinkertons and parsons start asking questions. Especially about people who seem to have changed their name. Can’t imagine they wouldn’t want to be found.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Samuel leaned against a corral post, hoping it would make him look relaxed. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m neither detective nor parson. I really am a brother looking for his sister.” He paused. “Her name is Emma Pilsner. I’ve followed her all the way up the river from St. Louis where we grew up, and I don’t intend to give up on finding her. She ran off with a Johnny Chadwick—who was posing as an army major, by the way. Someone at Fort Rice told me they’d headed up here. I just want to know my sister’s safe—relatively speaking, at least. I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone.”

“Don’t know a thing about your sister.” The man flicked ashes onto the ground. “What’s your business with Edie?”

“You know her?”

“That sounds an awful lot like another question, Parson. I believe I asked for an answer.”

“I don’t have anything to hide. And like I said, I don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone.”

“Then answer the question.”

“I met a girl—”

Raucous laughter erupted from the saloon across the street and the man interrupted. “All the sad stories tend to start that way.”

“I met Miss Rousseau on board the
Delores
. She and her maid were on their way up here looking for the woman you call Edie Bonaparte. Fannie—Miss Rousseau—found letters from Edie and the photograph I showed you in her mother’s things after her mother passed on. It seems her mother was Miss LeClerc’s twin sister, but Fannie didn’t know anything about her. She just wants to meet her.”

The gambler thought for a moment. “This Miss Rousseau,” he said. “She was traveling with a maid? So Edie came into some money?”

Samuel shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think Fannie’s wealthy. It’s more that she’s lonely.”

After another moment or two of silence, the man finally said, “Your Miss Rousseau is the talk of Fort Benton right now. All kinds of rumors going around about her. ” He dropped his cigar stub in the dirt and stepped on it. “I’m inclined to believe what you’re saying. But, Parson . . . there’s a reason folks stop writing home after they’ve come to a place like this.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “The thing is, Miss Rousseau may
think
she wants to find her Aunt Edith, but she doesn’t . . . at least not as long as she’s looking for the woman in that cabinet photo. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

“I believe I do.”

“Good.” One of the livery ponies shoved a nose through the corral poles, and the gambler stroked its muzzle as he said, “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. From what I hear, the little blonde is nice enough—just needs to get over being afraid of her own shadow. As for Edie, well, I always did like Edie. I’ll let her know her niece is looking for her—and before you ask, I’m not telling you where to find her.” He paused. “What happens next is up to Edie. Is that clear?”

Samuel nodded. “I can’t see any good coming from my giving Fannie false hope. Like you said, a person who doesn’t want to be found has their reasons.”

The gambler slapped Samuel on the shoulder. “I knew you’d see things my way.” He headed back inside.

He was halfway across the street when Samuel called out, “I know you said not to thank you, but thank you anyway. You might be saving Miss Rousseau more grief. She’s already had her share.”

The gambler gave a two-fingered salute. “You know, Parson, if I was sweet on a gal as pretty as her, I’d tie her to the bedpost before I let her head up that trail to the gulch. That gold hair of hers? High trading value as a scalp. Not that she’d last long enough for that. The trip itself will likely kill her. She’s no pioneer, son. Best thing for her? Put her on the first steamboat headed back to civil-i-zation.” He drawled it out . . .
civil-EYE-za-tion.

He made a good point. The guy was observant, but then, gamblers had to be observant to stay alive, didn’t they. Samuel stayed by the corral for a while, watching the animals mill about in the moonlight, obliging the friendly pony with a pat on its muzzle and a scratch behind its ears, listening to the music and laughter flowing into the night from the dozen or so saloons strung along the main street.

The gambler might be right about what was best for Fannie, but Samuel knew there was no way to get her on a steamer headed home yet. At least no way he could think of short of dosing her with laudanum and locking her in a cabin. He’d have to find a way to tie her to a boarding house bedpost . . . figuratively speaking, of course.

For days on end the only good news Fannie heard was that E. C. Dandridge was no longer in Fort Benton. There was no news at all of Aunt Edith, until over a plate of Abe Valley’s scrambled eggs one sunny morning, Samuel said that he’d finally run into someone who thought they recognized the woman in the photograph. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he added quickly. “I didn’t really learn very much. But I think it’s time to head to Alder Gulch.”

Fannie leaned forward. “That’s wonderful! When can we leave?”

Samuel and Lamar exchanged glances. He shook his head. “
We
aren’t leaving. You need to wait here.”

“Wait here? Why would I do that? There’s nothing here for me. If Aunt Edith is two hundred miles away, that’s where I need to go.”

“You don’t belong on the trail to Alder Gulch, Fannie. Or in a gold mining town. And if you’ll just think about it, you’ll know I’m right.” Samuel covered her hand with his. “Please, Fannie. Trust Lamar and me to do this.”

Suddenly aware of the room full of Abe Valley’s boarders and of how quiet that room was, Fannie set her fork alongside her plate, pushed back her chair, and excused herself. Once outside, though, she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, and so she kept walking, alongside the fort’s adobe wall and toward the levee, already teeming with activity in the morning light.

Samuel caught up with her. “I’ll consider finding her just as important as finding Emma. I’ll do whatever it takes. But, Fannie—”

She stopped and looked up into his handsome face. Sincerity shone in his dark eyes.

“This is good news, Fannie. Don’t you see?” He reached for her hand. She let him take it. “But we don’t have the money to buy horses, let alone a wagon. We’re going to have to walk, and I know you’d try, but Fannie . . . think how far that is.” He forced a laugh. “For all I know, Lamar will have to carry
me
part of the way. We may run into trouble. Indians . . . grizzly bears . . . who knows what else. Mr. Valley gave us the names of a couple of freighters he thinks we can hook up with. Lamar’s good with horses, and I can wrestle freight with the best of them.” He squeezed her hand. “Please, Fannie. You have to stay here.”

She didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him from relief or slap him for calling her weak. He was right, of course. Everything he was saying made sense. Not only couldn’t she walk that far . . . she didn’t want to. The idea terrified her.