A Most Unsuitable Match (4 page)

“I haven’t a beau, I’d probably be a terrible teacher, and I hate to sew. But I have to do something, Minette. I can’t just . . .
exist
in that house. That’s what I’ve been doing for months now. Resisting Mr. Vandekamp’s advice and wandering through the days like some listless character in one of the novels I’ve been reading.” She paused. “It’s like I’ve lost myself.”

Minette was quiet for a moment. Finally, she smoothed her dimity skirt and said, “Why don’t you begin by asking Daniel or Papa to look into the business matters for you? I know Daniel’s just begun his career, but Papa says everyone agrees he has a very promising future, and while Mr. Vandekamp may not be inclined to want to discuss business with you, he’d have to take a man seriously.” Minette’s voice warmed with pride as she said, “Daniel negotiated excellent terms for Papa’s next shipment to Montana Territory on the
Delores
. With Otto Busch. And you know that man’s reputation.”

Fannie knew. Stories about Otto Busch had rippled all along the river and up from the St. Charles landing and into the dining room of every family involved in any business that relied on the treacherous waters of the Missouri River.

Otto Busch had once hired two men to chase down roustabouts who’d abandoned ship midvoyage in protest against harsh treatment. Busch had them hauled back on board and— Well, Fannie had never been allowed to know the rest of that story. But she knew the men finished the trip. Sparring and winning against Otto Busch said a lot about Daniel’s business acumen. It could, however, also mean that Mr. Vandekamp would see Daniel as competition for the Rousseau Line accounts. Which would make him angry. Imagining herself the object of Mr. Vandekamp’s anger made Fannie hesitate. “I wouldn’t want to impose on Daniel.”

“Meaning you’re afraid.”

“I am
not
afraid of Hubert Vandekamp. Exactly.” Fannie’s voice wavered. “I’m just . . . confused.”

Minette stopped the swing with her foot and reached for Fannie’s hand. “Who wouldn’t be confused with everything that’s happened to you lately.” She put her hand on Fannie’s arm.

“But you’re smart. And you’re going to be all right, Fannie. Truly. You’ll see.”

“It’s easy to seem smart when the biggest decision you have to make is the color of your next ball gown.” Fannie swallowed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m groping about inside a dark cloud. I know that sounds dramatic, but sitting at Papa’s desk this afternoon and making the list of things I need to attend to—” She broke off.

Minette squeezed her hand. “Maybe Mr. Vandekamp has been trying to be thoughtful. Maybe he didn’t want you having to deal with painters and gardeners and a bustle of activity around the house until you had time to come to terms with your loss.”

Fannie resisted the idea of sour-faced Hubert Vandekamp being thoughtful. Still, he’d known Papa and Mother since before Fannie was born. “I suppose I should at least give him a chance to explain what’s been happening before I call in reinforcements. Thank you, though, for offering Daniel.”

“I’d do anything for you, Fannie. You know that. I owe you . . . so much. You gave me back my life. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Fannie shook her head. “The Missouri School for the Blind gave your life back, not me. It was obvious you were going to be all right from the first time you came home on holiday from that place.”

“Not true,” Minette insisted. “I was confused and afraid. But you stood by me. In fact, you were the
only
one of my friends who didn’t toss me aside like a broken doll.”

“You were the only one of
my
friends who liked making mud pies,” Fannie teased.

“You’ve forgotten Polly Bannister.”

“But Polly wouldn’t
taste
them.” Fannie laughed. “And you even pretended to like them.”

Fannie set the swing in motion again. “What’s it like, Minette?” she asked after a few minutes.

“What’s what like?”

Fannie nudged her friend’s shoulder. “Love.”

Minette didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, she said, “It’s like hearing an echo. As if I’ve been calling for something for all of my life without realizing it . . . and at last someone answered back. And what he said filled part of me I didn’t even know was empty.”

A flash of jealousy rose up. Minette had never wondered about being loved. Her parents doted on her. And now she had Daniel and a promising future.
Envy is a sin. And you love Minette. You know you’re happy for her.
Feeling guilty, Fannie forced a laugh. “Well, no matter what Mr. Vandekamp says, I don’t think Percy Harvey is my echo.” She giggled. “Unless I want someone to echo my choices in fashion and lace. And perfume.”

Minette pretended to fan herself. “He does sometimes need corrective scent.”

Just at that moment Jake came fully awake and in one quick move was on his feet, head erect, tail wagging. With Daniel’s name on her lips, Minette jumped to her feet.

Fannie glanced at the street. “You cannot possibly have seen Jake get up. So how can you know—” Daniel strode into view. “How—?”

“Didn’t you hear him whistle?”

“Whistle? He
whistles
for you?”

Minette nodded, even as she reached up to smooth her hair. “He whistles
for
me,” she said. “That’s different from what you just said. One tune tells me we’re alone. Another signals we aren’t.”

Fannie didn’t require further explanation for the musical code between the two, for just then Daniel called out a hearty greeting—to Jake. Fannie watched as Minette turned her head toward her fiancé, hesitated for a moment as if thinking very hard, and then, without hesitation, ran into Daniel’s arms.

Fannie smiled even as she felt a pang of longing as she saw the joy on Daniel Hennessey’s face as he gathered Minette up and swung her about. A whistled summons wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. More like an echo, really.

The robbery of the wicked shall destroy them.

P
ROVERBS 21:7

When Daniel Hennessey suggested he and Minette walk Fannie home after a fashionably late supper and lingering conversation at the Beauvais residence, Fannie resisted. “There’s a full moon and I’m only next door. Minette and I could navigate the way between our two houses blindfolded.” But then Minette leaned close and whispered an intense plea. Feeling like a dunce, Fannie quickly changed her mind and took Daniel’s proffered arm so that he could guide her across the lawn she truly could navigate blindfolded—after all, Minette had made her do exactly that after losing her sight.

As she bid the couple good-night and they headed back toward the overgrown archway separating the Rousseau and Beauvais lawns, Fannie lingered, watching them. Just as they reached the archway, Daniel laid his open palm at the small of Minette’s back. At her fiancé’s touch, Minette reached for his hand and pulled it to her waist so that his arm encircled her. When they stepped into the shadows just past the archway, they paused. Long enough for . . . Long enough.

That’s it. That’s what I want.
She wanted the kind of love Minette had described earlier that evening . . . the kind that made one heart echo back to another. The kind that would carry a woman into a future she couldn’t see with a sense of hopeful joy. Fannie pulled the door closed and stood in the dark hall, listening to the quiet house. She was feeling a little better, thanks to Minette, her parents . . . and Daniel Hennessey.

First, after discussing the matter over supper, Mrs. Beauvais had agreed that Walker would welcome help with the grounds. Mr. Beauvais and Daniel had both said they would help Fannie prepare for a business meeting with Mr. Vandekamp. They even offered to go with her if she needed them, although Mr. Beauvais didn’t seem to think she did.

“You’ll do fine,” he said, winking at his wife as he said, “in fact, Mrs. Beauvais and I have said more than once that you’re much too smart for your own good.” He teased Fannie about all the trouble she’d masterminded when she and Minette were young.

Best of all, when Fannie mentioned Percy Harvey as Mr. Vandekamp’s idea of “a suitable match,” both of Minette’s parents sang out “Nonsense,” in a duet that warmed her heart.

Now, as she headed upstairs, Fannie could smile. Maybe the Beauvaises were right. Maybe she could navigate the muddy future successfully. Opening the door to her room, she swept inside, lit a table lamp, and posed before her dressing mirror, elbows bent, hands folded loosely before her.
That’s it. You look relaxed but firm. Like a lady.

She spoke to her own reflection, practicing what she would say to Walker. “No one raises more glorious roses than you. It only makes sense for you to be training someone new. Mother would want you to have help.” With a nod, she turned away from the dressing mirror, then looked back over her shoulder at her reflection. If only she could manage to look and sound this confident when she met with Mr. Vandekamp.

She’d just unbuttoned her waist and pulled it out of her skirt when a thud sounded downstairs.
What on earth is Hannah doing up at this hour?
It was nearly midnight. With a tug and a gasp, she unfastened the skirt, stepped out of it, and draped it over the dressing mirror. Next came two petticoats, her waist, and the corset cover. Finally, she could unhook her corset—and take the first deep breath of the day.

Another clunk downstairs made her jump. Hurrying to undo the rest of the corset hooks, she laid it aside and pulled her nightgown over her chemise and drawers, then lit the bedside lamp. She hesitated at her bedroom door, listening carefully. Finally, lamp in hand, she tiptoed down the hall toward the back of the house and the steep narrow stairway connecting kitchen to back hall and back hall to the third floor servants’ rooms.

Another thump. This time Fannie wasn’t certain if it came from downstairs or if it had just echoed from the front of the house. Glancing behind her, she continued down the back stairs, calling softly, “Hannah? Hannah, whatever are you doing down—” The next word died in her throat as she reached the bottom stair.

The side door was standing open. Moonlight streamed in, casting shadows—ominous shadows. She took a step backward. Up one stair. Her heart hammering in her chest, she paused.
The wind. You didn’t close it all the way and the wind blew it open.
But it was a calm, moonlit night, and the side door was a heavily carved affair boasting leaded glass and intricate brass hardware. It would take a mighty wind to blow it open.

Extinguishing her lamp, Fannie stood in the darkened stairway, afraid to move, nearly afraid to breathe. Listening. Somewhere in the night a cat yowled. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Perspiration trickled down her back. She reached out with her free hand to steady herself even as she glanced toward the hall ceiling. Was Hannah up there asleep? Terror shivered up her spine. She bit her lip and then—someone stepped onto the stair behind her. Put a hand on her shoulder. Fannie opened her mouth to scream . . . but no sound came out.

By the end of his first day as a roustabout, Samuel Beck had learned more than he had ever wanted to know about freight, the hold of the steamboat
Delores
, and Otto Busch. Nothing affecting his boat escaped Busch’s practiced eye, and to him, an empty inch in the hold or an extra minute on the levee meant lost revenue.

“If you still want to be on board when we pull away,” Lamar said at one point, nodding at the crates Samuel had stacked into the hold, “you’d better get that straightened up and tucked in.” Davis showed him how to move things around so that an extra grain sack fit into the space Samuel had called full.

It didn’t take a practiced eye to realize the captains on the waterfront were rivals in just about every aspect of steamboating. The
Delores
couldn’t win when it came to size, but Busch made it clear as he bellowed orders throughout the day that he expected to win the race to be underway. Late in the day, when two other steamers pulled away ahead of them, Busch called one of the mates up to the wheelhouse and gave him a talking-to heard by every single one of the crew. After that, no one told a joke or said a word lest the mate accuse them of lollygagging.