A Most Unsuitable Match (31 page)

Fannie looked up at him. “But that’s . . . that’s a wonderful thing to do. Why on earth wouldn’t she want me to know about that?” She answered her own question. “Of course . . . knowing that would mean knowing the rest.” She sighed. “I should never have gone out there.”

“It was . . . premature,” Edmund agreed. He came to sit beside her. “Your aunt is something of an enigma, Fannie, but there’s a good woman beneath the ice. I’ve met that woman—the one who cares deeply about others and wants to make life better for them.”

Fannie looked out on the town. She thought of Emma, Samuel’s sister. Had she been forced to work in a place like the ones up on Main? Would she have done that if she’d known of a place like Edie’s ranch? “How many women are living at Edie’s?”

“Half a dozen.”

“The one you were called to treat—is she all right?”

“She will be. Her baby was early. Too early.” His voice wavered. “It was a little girl. Mollie named her Edie. I imagine they had a little service after we left. They were lining a box with fabric for a coffin.”

Fannie closed her eyes. She couldn’t imagine that kind of heartache. She turned to look at him. “Would you have stayed for the service if it hadn’t been for me?”

“No. It would have been too difficult to explain to Patrick.” After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry things didn’t go differently out there today. But I don’t think you should abandon all hope.”

“That’s going to be hard. My mother was . . . remote . . . like Edie was today. I’d given up trying to break through it by the time I was fourteen, but I never stopped hoping things would change between us. When I found Edie’s letters, I suppose I thought it was like getting a second chance with Mother.” She studied her hands, feeling rather than seeing the results of weeks of washing dishes and scrubbing tables at Abe’s. “I can’t help but think it’s all been a waste. Of time. Money. And”—her voice wavered—“and it cost Hannah her life.”

Edmund reached for her hand. “What happened to the
Delores
wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that. And one day, I’ll think differently about all of this. But right now—” She shook her head. “Right now, I just want to go home.”

“Please don’t.” He said it abruptly, and with such emotion that Fannie turned to look at him in the moonlight. He shrugged. “I still think there’s a good chance Edie will relent.” He smiled. “And besides that, if you were to leave now, Patrick would be heartbroken. Abe’s business would fall off horribly . . . and I’d be . . . bereft of someone to discuss Mr. Dickens with over coffee.”

He stood and pulled her up beside him. Fannie’s heart thudded as she looked up into his eyes. For just a moment, she thought he might kiss her. For a moment, she wanted him to. But then he looped her arm through his and said, “You can’t leave. There’s an entire committee of people against it, not the least of whom is Samuel Beck.”

Fannie took some time in mid-September to sit down and catch up on some letter writing.

Dear Samuel,

Dr. LaMotte says that Babe Cox is good about helping letters find their way. When Mr. Cox saw who this letter was for, he told us about the preacher in the gold camps that people are calling Brother Sam. I remember that day on the Far West when, Bible in hand, you said, ‘We have to tell people about this!’ And now you are. Samuel, I’m so happy for you.

You can be happy for me, too. I’ve found Aunt Edith. She has a ranch a short distance from Fort Benton (“short” as distance is measured here, that is). She expressed only shock at meeting me. No joyful reunion. I am holding on to hope that I will see her again and that, after she has had a chance to get used to the idea that I’m here, we will be able to have a real conversation. When I do, I will ask about Emma for you. Edie has spent time in the gulch, but her ranch is a kind of “home for the friendless.” Edmund says that she has about six women staying with her now.

Do you remember when I told you that I might have graduated to piecrust and corn bread by the time you returned? Well, Abe is an excellent teacher and he seems to think I may have a knack. Hannah would be amazed. Abe’s boarders like my pie! Have you ever eaten huckleberry pie?

In addition to working at the boarding house, I’ve been tutoring Dr. LaMotte’s son, Patrick, who is a charming young man of ten—and blind. I am certain I told you about my best friend at home, Minette, who lost her sight when we were children. I’ve been teaching Patrick some of the things Minette forced me to learn. (She used to make me play blindfolded.) Edmund hopes to enroll Patrick in the very same school next year. He plans to establish a practice in St. Louis so he can be near Patrick.

Fannie hesitated. She didn’t know what else to say . . . or how to sign the letter. Did “Brother Sam” still have feelings for her? What did she feel for him? The more time she spent with Patrick . . . and Edmund . . . the more confused she felt. But then, neither man had expressed anything beyond friendship. Had they?

She signed the letter
Fondly.
And added Lamar’s name to the greeting.

Edmund and Patrick began to dine at Abe’s more often, and one evening Fannie produced the locked leather envelope containing Aunt Edith’s twenty letters and asked Edmund to read them. She watched his face as he read, smiled knowingly when he looked up a time or two, and finally said, “And now you know why I was so shocked when I met her.”

Edmund nodded . . . and said nothing.

And then . . . finally . . . word arrived from home. Fannie sat at one of the tables in Abe’s dining room and opened Minette’s letter first. She was soon sighing with relief. It was just as Hannah had predicted and Fannie had hoped. Minette was incensed that Fannie had gone off without her . . . and forgiving.

Mr. Vandekamp’s letter, on the other hand, was neither forgiving nor helpful. Fannie read it with trembling hands, and by the time she’d finished, Edmund and Patrick had joined her, Edmund’s hand on her arm, his brow furrowed with concern. Without a word, she handed him what amounted to a cryptic note ending life as she’d always known it.

     We received the news of Mrs. Pike’s tragic death and offer our condolences, even as we rejoice that you did not suffer a similar fate. As to the journey itself, you have no need of further comment from this office as to our opinion of the matter.

I regret to inform you that the house on Main was struck by lightning and caught fire on the 30th of May. Every effort was made, but to no avail. The damage was extensive. It is my opinion that the house is a total loss and that the property should be disposed of as soon as possible. Of course this cannot be done absent your directive and that of your other advisors. We have seen to the securing of the contents while we await word from you.

As Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Hennessey are absent St. Charles on a business trip, and since your directive forbids me to act alone, I am unable to release funds as you request.

We await your reply, but would be most glad for your presence. I remain your faithful servant.

When Abe set a mug of coffee before her, Fannie took a sip. The hot liquid steadied her.

“It’s gotten really quiet,” Patrick said. “Should I be asking to go to bed now?”

Fannie forced a laugh. “That’s very sweet of you, but no . . . you don’t need to excuse yourself.”

“There’s been a fire at Fannie’s house in Missouri,” Edmund explained.

Patrick’s brow furrowed. “That’s terrible.” He bit his lower lip, but then his face lit up with a smile. “Does that mean you’ll stay in Fort Benton?”

“You know you can,” Abe agreed. “Right here at the finest hostelry in the territory.”

“Thank you, Abe, but—” She read aloud, “ ‘As Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Hennessey are absent St. Charles on a business trip, and since your directive forbids me to act alone, I am unable to release funds as you request.’ ”

“Well, what in tarnation does that mean?” Abe asked.

“It means—” Fannie sighed—“that Mr. Vandekamp is choosing to be difficult and that I’m not going to have any cash at my disposal for a very long time.”

“That’s all right,” Abe said. “You more than earn your keep now.”

Fannie thanked him even as Edmund murmured the name Vandekamp. “Didn’t I read that name . . . ?”

Fannie nodded. “Yes. In Edie’s last letter. But when I asked Mr. Vandekamp about Edie . . .” She glanced at Patrick. “It was one of those experiences Patrick talks about. Where people speak but don’t say what they really mean.”

She put the letter down on the table. “He wasn’t willing to tell me a thing about Edie. Then I discovered serious financial problems in Papa’s business, and I thought they might be because of Mr. Vandekamp’s mismanagement. And then . . . he was pressuring me to marry someone . . . unsuitable.” She shrugged. “I left St. Charles on a whim. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want another confrontation. But I also didn’t quite trust him anymore, and so I left instructions forbidding him to do anything without approval from my friend Minette’s fiancé and her father, both of whom are very well respected businessmen. So now . . . Mr. Vandekamp has an opportunity to get his revenge. And there’s really not a thing I can do to force his hand. I’m too far away.”

Edmund’s face flushed with emotion “How can he do such a thing? What if you were in dire straits? What if you didn’t have friends to help? It’s unconscionable to the point of being evil.”

“Calm down, Edmund,” Fannie said, patting the back of his hand. “I’ll admit to being surprised that he’s decided to be this vindictive, but I’ll be all right.”

I’ll be all right.
For the first time since leaving home, she believed it.

And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one
another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

E
PHESIANS 4:32

Rosalie had joked about Samuel’s finding his calling in her saloon. The longer he stayed in the gold camps looking for Emma, the more he wondered if she was right. He began to feel downright bold about walking into places and asking to preach. He didn’t even wait for Sundays in some places.

The day a barkeep looked at him and said, “Are you the one I heard about? The one they call Brother Sam?” Lamar laughed out loud. Clapping Samuel on the back he said, “Preach it, brother.”

Later that night, the two men were bedded down in a barn when Samuel spoke up. “What the heck am I doing, Lamar? I’m no preacher. I’ve got no training at all.”

“You’ve got the most important things a preacher needs,” Lamar said. “You love people, you love God, and you love his book. I don’t see a reason to be confused. Seems plain as day, doesn’t it? There’s a calling on your life, Brother Sam.”

“All I do is sing some hymns and say a few words. Sure, people listen, but then they go back to whatever they were doing as if nothing happened. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“You know for a fact they all go back to being the same people?” The straw rustled as Lamar shifted around. “Seems to me God promised his Word would never go out but what it would do its work.”

“You think I should keep preaching, then?”

“I think you should get some sleep. And tomorrow morning we should decide just how long we’re going to wander these hills. Once you’ve got a plan about that, the rest will fall into place.”

After a while, Samuel said into the darkness, “I worry about Fannie.” He looked toward the bit of sky visible through the open haymow door. “Part of me wishes I’d never learned anything about her aunt.”