A Most Unsuitable Match (32 page)

Lamar was quiet for a long while. “I’ve lived a long time, Sam. Watched people. Some of ’em, life gets hard and they just kind of fold in on themselves and fade away. Others take on the load and get stronger. Oh, they might stumble about awhile, but eventually they learn how to shoulder the load and they keep going.”

“Which kind do you think Fannie is?” Samuel asked.

“You really need to ask that, son?”

“She fainted when those Indian braves frightened her.”

“True,” Lamar agreed. “But then she made us breakfast and joked about learning to cook while we’re gone.” He paused. “She’s had bad news before, son. Her parents are gone. She lost Miz Pike, and still she kept on. You respect her enough to tell her what you learned about her aunt. I’m not saying she won’t wobble a bit, but if you think on it awhile, you’ll see the same thing I do in that little gal. She’s stronger than you think.”

Fondly?!
She signed her letter
fondly.
Seated across from Lamar in a hotel dining room, Samuel fingered the letter Babe Cox had handed him with a teasing wink and a comment about the “fine hand” that had addressed it. He read it again, then handed it to Lamar. “Read that. Tell me what you think.”

He’d preached his way all the way to Virginia City, and now they were staying at a hotel while they asked after Emma Pilsner and Edie Bonaparte, who might also call herself Edith LeClerc. They’d had no word of either woman since Rosalie’s. “Well?” he asked when Lamar had finished reading Fannie’s letter. “What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

Samuel leaned back in his chair and made a face. “She’s spending a lot of time with Dr. LaMotte.”

“She’s teaching his son, Sam. The doc helped her find Edie.” Lamar looked back at Fannie’s letter. Finally, he said, “As long as we’ve been up here, plenty of people know about Brother Sam and the redheaded sister he cares so much about. If Emma turns up, I believe the news will find you, no matter where you are in the territory.”

Samuel nodded. “But I can’t give up on her.”

Lamar leaned forward. “Nobody who knows you believes you ever will.” He reached for the Bible Samuel had taken out of his pocket and put on the table when they sat down. Thumbing through the pages, he read softly, “ ‘Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.’ ”

“I do delight in the Lord.”

Lamar laid the Bible down. “I know you do. I’ve been watching the proof of it for a long time. But, Sam, why is it you seem to think the only time it’s God’s will is if it’s hard—something you got to force yourself to do?” He held up a hand. “Now, I know—sometimes that’s how things are, and then we just lean into the wind and trust the hand of God to keep us from blowing away. But it seems to me that when a man listens to God’s voice as sincerely as you do, Sam . . . couldn’t God be putting the desire to take a break in your heart, too? The Lord himself rested on occasion.”

Samuel looked from Fannie’s letter to his Bible and back again. The idea that God might think it was all right for him to leave the gulch for a while set his heart to thumping. He smiled. “You mean my wanting to see Fannie again might be all right?”

“Maybe more than just all right. After all, there’s plenty of saloons in Fort Benton to preach in.”

Sam and Lamar were in trouble before they knew it, with no way out. One minute they were thanking God for the near miracle that had landed them good horses for the journey back to Fort Benton, and the next they were caught up in a storm of flying arrows. One minute the way was clear, the sky bright, and the fall air filled only with the sounds from a creek crashing through a ravine below the trail, and the next war cries sounded from every direction.

Lamar’s horse bolted. Samuel’s reared up, slashing the air in a frenzy of terror. Instantly unseated, Samuel shouted a meaningless “Whoa!” as he went down. The last thing he remembered was the sight of Lamar clinging to the saddle horn as his horse charged down the trail. The last thing he heard was shouting in a language he didn’t understand. The last thing he saw was a sea of painted faces.

He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but his head felt like it just might be splitting open. With a groan, Samuel opened his eyes. Everything looked blurry . . . smelled rancid. Where was he? Blinking, he lifted his head, then groaned and reached up with both hands to feel what surely must be a gaping wound along his hairline. He felt a ridge of dried blood. At least he wasn’t still bleeding. He opened his eyes again. Stared straight up. He was in a tepee. Campfire light flickered just enough to reflect off the long poles visible around the circle of starlit sky visible through the smoke hole above.

How long had he been there? He felt so sick. He closed his eyes. Drums pounding. Or was that his head? And where was Lamar? Maybe Lamar got away. Away from . . . what? Were the Indians after their horses? He’d been warned that might happen, but he didn’t listen. He was in too much of a hurry to get to Fort Benton to see Fannie. Thought they could make it through if they traveled mostly at night. It had worked for a week, but then they’d decided to chance a few hours by daylight. Just a few hours.

“L-lla . . .” His throat was so dry he couldn’t talk. Moistening his lips with his tongue, Samuel tried again.
I can’t . . . talk . . . what’s . . . wrong . . . ?
The drumbeats grew louder. He closed his eyes. Put his hands over his ears to block out the sound. He felt so dizzy. He was going to vomit. What was wrong with him?

On a crisp fall evening, Fannie and Patrick finished cleaning the dining room at Abe’s and made their way back to the clinic. Fannie carried a warm loaf of bread and a crock of soup for Edmund, who’d been kept busy all evening stitching up the victims of a barroom brawl. She’d just set the soup at Edmund’s place and reached for a knife to slice the bread when he opened the door between the clinic and his living quarters.

“Still not finished?”

He shook his head. “I’ve a new patient. A couple of Dick Turley’s men found him on the trail this morning.” He paused. “It’s your friend Lamar, Fannie.”

“But what—?” Fannie gulped. She took a step toward the clinic, but Edmund held her back. “I’m not sure you want to see. Give me some time to get him cleaned up.”

“Tell me what you need. I’ll be fine.”

Edmund studied her for a moment, then nodded. “First . . . water.”

“I’ll get water,” Patrick said, grabbing a bucket and heading for the door.

“What happened?” Fannie asked.

“Turley says Indian trouble.”

Fannie followed Edmund back into the clinic, where two men were waiting by the front door. “He couldn’t have been alone,” she said to them. “There had to be another man with him. You have to go back.”

The shorter of the two men spoke up. “All due respect, ma’am. We don’t have to do anything . . . and we’re not going back.” He glanced at his partner, who nodded his agreement. “We darned near got ourselves killed as it was. There’s somethin’ goin’ on between the Bloods and the Piegan up that way, and this feller musta got caught in the worst of it. His horse got shot clean out from under him. Lucky he didn’t get his neck broke in the fall. We got more ’n our share. And there wasn’t anybody else on that trail.”

Edmund thanked the two men for bringing Lamar in.

“Samuel would never leave Lamar alone,” Fannie insisted. “He was there. He had to be.”

“We can’t do anything for Samuel right now,” Edmund said. “Help Patrick get more water.” He turned away and, grabbing a pair of scissors, began to cut Lamar’s shirt away. For the first time, Fannie noticed three arrow shafts protruding from the shirt.
Three.
His right cheek had been grazed. And his earlobe . . . was it gone? She couldn’t tell for the blood. His face was swollen almost beyond recognition.

“His arm’s broken,” Edmund muttered.

Feeling weak, Fannie retreated to the kitchen and sat down. Took some deep breaths. Patrick returned. After they carried two buckets of water in to Edmund, Fannie got the fire going in the stove and made coffee to help Edmund through the long night ahead. And all the while, behind her concern for Lamar, behind her busyness, behind her outward calm, an unsung litany hung in the air.
What happened to Sam?

It was three long days and nights before Edmund ventured a positive comment. Lamar might get to keep his arm. The arrow wounds looked like they would probably heal. But he couldn’t understand why Lamar hadn’t regained consciousness. The bump on his head just didn’t seem that serious.

On the fourth day after Lamar was carried in, Fannie was sitting, half asleep, beside Lamar’s cot when he groaned. Lurching awake, she put her hand on his forehead. “It’s Fannie, Lamar. You’re in Fort Benton. Safe. You’re going to be all right.”

Lamar grew still. For a moment, Fannie thought he’d slipped back into unconsciousness, but then he muttered something. Fannie leaned closer. Took his hand. “Did you hear me, Lamar? It’s Fannie. You’re at Dr. LaMotte’s clinic and you’re safe.” She paused. Was it her imagination, or was he listening? “If you hear me, if you understand, squeeze my hand.” Almost imperceptibly, he responded. “The men who found you . . . said you were alone. Do you remember what happened? Was Samuel with you? Was Emma there? Were you on the way back because you found her?”