A Most Unsuitable Match

by Stephanie Whitson

  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.

  PROVERBS 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 forehea
d. 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.

  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 begats 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.�
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  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.