A Most Unsuitable Match (5 page)

The captain’s cheeks burned with resentment when the
Sam Cloon
pulled out, its decks crowded with uniformed soldiers hooting and hollering insults at the
Delores
as their steamer chuffed into the Mississippi’s deep channel and headed north toward the mouth of the Missouri.

The last crate had barely been settled on the
Delores
’s deck when Busch was backing her into the middle of the wide river, yelling, “Fill her fireboxes, I want more steam!” He gave chase after the
Sam Cloon
, but when they reached the Missouri and it was nearly dark, Busch nosed the vessel up against a wharf for the night. When Samuel wondered why they didn’t keep going, Lamar gave him a lesson on the ways of the river known as Old Misery.

“Compared to the Mississippi, it’s little more than flowing mud, son. Studded with dead tree trunks and broken up by sandbars. Just when a captain thinks he knows her, she cuts a new channel, throws up a new sandbar, drags a few more trees down into the water, and there’s a whole new river.” Lamar pointed up toward the wheelhouse. “He’s the best there is at reading the water, but you’ve got to
see
it to read it. He won’t risk the
Delores
just to catch the
Sam Cloon
. At least not yet. There’s plenty of river ahead of us and plenty of time for proving who’s fastest.”

As night gathered, some of the men produced fishing poles and cast lines into the murky water hoping to snag a catfish. Others struck up card games. Most slept. One group gathered around a southern boy and listened while he played his mouth harp. Samuel took a lamp and settled near the wagon he intended to sleep beneath. Bracing his back against one of the wheels, he dug his mother’s Bible out of his carpetbag and set to reading. It had been days since he’d opened the book, and as he followed the fine print with his finger, he felt pangs of guilt about his failure. Ma had found something on these pages that seemed to be almost as vital to her as a cool drink on a hot day. Samuel needed to find what it was.

Lamar found him reading. “You got yourself a good book there, son.”

Samuel shrugged. “Can’t seem to make much of it. Just a bunch of
begat
s on this page. Can’t figure why they’d put that in.”

Lamar smiled. “Can’t say as I know. But I will say it’d be somethin’ to know your line all the way back to the very first man.” He nodded at the open space beside Samuel. “Mind if I join you?”

Samuel moved over and Lamar sat down beside him, his back against the other half of the wheel, the hub between them. Once he’d settled, Lamar said, “You know all the bee-gats in your family line?”

Samuel thought for a moment. “My pa used to expound on how his father was with General Jackson in the Battle of New Orleans and so on. If he wasn’t lying, I guess we go all the way back to the Declaration of Independence. Pa always claimed one of our blood relatives even signed it. Can’t remember his name, though.”

“
Hoo-ee
,” Lamar said, shaking his head, “now that’s impressive.”

“What about your begats?”

“Now, son, you know how it is with us. I was born in Tennessee at a place called Belle Meade. Don’t know who my papa was. Mama’s name was Grace. She worked in the kitchen. I don’t recall it real well, except I know something bad happened when I was barely old enough to talk. All I remember is screaming. I’m thinking she got burned. Anyway, after she died, an old groom name of Henry found me crying in the stable one day. I grew up helping him and trying not to get kicked or stepped on. Mostly I succeeded. Soon as the Federals arrived in Nashville, I took the opportunity to offer my services to a General Scofield. That’s where I met a young officer name of Otto Busch. Dragged him off a battlefield and to a surgeon and been trailing him ever since.”

Samuel turned to look at Lamar. “You saved Captain Busch’s life?”

The old man shrugged. “He seems to think so.” He chuckled. “If he didn’t think that, I’d have been kicked off the
Delores
a long while ago.”

Samuel closed the Bible, leaned back, and closed his eyes just as thunder rolled in and the skies opened. A couple of the horses tethered nearby seemed nervous. Lamar got up to calm them, and Samuel followed suit. As the two men stroked the animals’ broad necks and spoke to them, water poured off the upper deck in a torrent that made Samuel feel like he was on the back side of a waterfall. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the storm ceased. The animals whickered softly, and if he didn’t know better, Samuel would have thought they sounded relieved. When he said as much, Lamar chuckled. Someone opened a door above them on the hurricane deck. Feminine laughter spilling into the night made Samuel think of Emma.

A freighter Samuel had questioned on the levee early that morning remembered seeing her. “Red hair, pale green eyes, you say?” He spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the cobblestones. “Saw her with Major Chadwick. They boarded a steamer bound for Fort Rice just a few days ago.” The freighter squinted up at Samuel. “Too bad about that scar.”

It had to be Emma. Just thinking about it made Samuel reach up to touch his cheek. He would have to get off at every stop along the way north. Emma had famously dark moods because of that scar. If Major Chadwick decided she was more than he could handle— The idea of Emma’s being abandoned at some woodlot or village between St. Louis and Fort Rice was enough to keep Samuel awake half the night.

“Let me by, little miss.”

Relief at the sound of Hannah’s voice made Fannie weak in the knees. She turned, pressing her back to the wall so she could look up. How had Hannah made it all the way down the stairs so quietly? The old woman slid past her and, as moonlight illuminated her profile, Fannie saw Hannah raise her left hand and brandish a—curtain rod?!

She grabbed Hannah’s arm. “We should just slip out the door,” she whispered, and bent down to set her small lamp on a stair. Apparently that was what Hannah had had in mind all along, for without a word, she reached for Fannie’s hand, and together, the two women padded outside. Fannie longed to run, but she couldn’t leave Hannah behind. “Give me that,” she said, and reached for the curtain rod.

Hannah resisted. “No offense, little miss, but if we’re to face a criminal, I’d trust my own right arm before yours.”

Hannah was right. Fannie couldn’t imagine doing violence to anyone. From the look on Hannah’s face, the older woman would be disappointed if she
didn’t
get the opportunity to swing at someone. Grateful for her bravado, Fannie followed her across the side yard toward the archway that led into the Beauvaises’ garden. The further they got from the house, the more ridiculous Fannie felt. “We’re going to feel like fools when it’s discovered that the wind blew that side door open.”

Hannah didn’t seem to hear her at first, but when they’d gone under the archway, she paused behind the tangle of vines and peered back toward the house. Fannie followed her gaze. A cat strolled up the brick lane from the street. Making its way up the stairs toward the door, it paused, nose in the air, one front paw lifted.

When something wet assaulted the palm of her hand, Fannie gasped, then realized that Jake had come to say hello. She laid an open palm atop his head, then snatched it away when a low rumble emerged from deep in the dog’s throat.
Poor old thing. He’s grown grouchy in his old age.

Fannie had just opened her mouth to speak to the dog when the rumble became a full-fledged growl. Jake focused on the Rousseau house and then, in a furious charge that belied his age, launched himself through the gate and toward the shadows from which emerged a human form, crouched low, coming out of the Rousseaus’ side door and slinking toward the narrow alley behind the house. Assaulted by an eighty-pound ball of fury, the burglar went down with a shriek. At the sound of a window opening above her, Fannie looked up just in time to see Minette’s father appear and then quickly disappear from view.

Hannah charged back through the gate, curtain rod at the ready, shouting, “You’d better stay put!”

Fannie stood rooted to the spot, her fingertips pressed to her mouth, even as Mr. Beauvais rushed past her shouting for Jake to leave off. The dog obeyed but backed away only a few feet, head erect, teeth bared. Mr. Beauvais brandished a pistol as he ordered the criminal to get up—slowly. Fannie’s knees went weak. She swallowed bile.

Mr. Beauvais called her name. “Fannie? Are you there?”

She nodded.

“Fannie?”

“Y-yes,” she croaked. “I’m here. By the garden gate.”

“Would you be so kind as to rouse James and tell him I require his assistance? I’d ask Mrs. Pike to go, but, frankly, I rather like the idea of her and that curtain rod at my side.”

Fannie relaxed enough to move. Managing a reply, she scurried across the lawn toward the carriage house and up the outside stairs to the doorway to James’s quarters before realizing she was definitely underdressed to be summoning the Beauvais family’s coachman. She pounded on the door even as she felt a blush creep up her neck. Thankfully, James couldn’t see her blazing cheeks as she blurted out what had happened and delivered Mr. Beauvais’s summons.

“Right away, miss,” James said and closed the door.

Fannie had barely gotten halfway back down the flight of stairs before he swept past her at a run, tucking in his shirt as he crossed the lawn. She was at the bottom stair when a combination of terror and relief swept over her and finally conquered her will to remain standing. Leaning against the brick wall of the carriage house, she slid down it, mindful of the sound of her sleeve ripping as she collapsed.

Shall not God search this out? for he knoweth the secrets of the heart.

P
SALM 44:21

“There, now, little miss. It’s all right now. You’re safe. All’s well that ends well.”

At the sound of Hannah’s soothing voice, Fannie opened her eyes. Blinked. When she raised a hand to her forehead, someone took it. Fannie turned her head.
Minette.
She looked about. Someone had apparently carried her into the Beauvais parlor. When she glanced down and saw deep green upholstery, she realized she was reclining on Mrs. Beauvais’s fainting couch.
How appropriate.
Embarrassed, she moved to sit up. Glancing across at Hannah, she asked, “Are you all right?”

Hannah’s face crinkled up in a smile. “Fit as a fiddle and enjoying a moment of short-lived fame.” She chuckled. “Along with Jake, that is.” She nodded at the dog curled up at her feet. “It seems that an old dog and an old woman
can
learn new tricks, after all. Who would have thought the two of us could foil a jewel thief the authorities over in St. Louis have been after for weeks.”

Fannie frowned. Jewel thief? Her hand went to her throat.

Minette squeezed her hand. “Calm down. Hannah, Jake, and James held him at bay while Papa went for help. And your mother’s amethysts are none the worse for having been stuffed into his pocket,” Minette added. “Papa has them.”

“Here, my dear.” Mrs. Beauvais approached and set a tea tray on the table beside the divan. When Hannah moved to get up and serve, Mrs. Beauvais waved her away. “It seems to me you’ve earned a moment to sit and have a cup of tea yourself, Mrs. Pike.” She chuckled even as she shook her head. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Donovan titled his news article ‘Notorious Jewel Thief Captured by Curtain Rod.’ ” She poured a cup of tea and offered it to Hannah.

For the first time, Fannie realized that both she and Hannah were still dressed in their nightclothes. Hastily offered shawls notwithstanding, Fannie felt her cheeks blaze anew. Minette lifted her own teacup in a toast. “You’re going to be famous.”

“For what? Fainting? If anyone deserves fame it’s Hannah.” She nodded at the dog. “And Jake.” When the old dog lifted his head and thudded the floor with his tail, Fannie spoke to him. “What would it take to get you to stand guard next door every night?” The dog tilted his head as if pondering the question. “I’d pay you in beefsteaks.”