When he put his palm at the small of her back, Fannie knew she should move away, but she didn’t want to. It was … nice having someone care. What he next said proved that he only meant to comfort her.
“But please, Miss Rousseau—Fannie. Don’t be discouraged. Fort Benton is growing. In fact, it has likely changed since I left last fall. Who knows but what you will find a few families living there when we arrive. There might even be a church by now. Heaven knows the good Lord is needed there.”
A clap of thunder made Fannie jump—almost into Mr. Dandridge’s arms. As rain poured out of the skies, they both laughed as they ducked beneath the hurricane deck roof, their backs pressed against the exterior cabin walls as sheets of water poured out of the sky, shattering the surface of the unpredictable river.
Dandridge leaned close and murmured an invitation to accompany him into the saloon to see if they could get another couple interested in a game of whist. Fannie happily accepted. Mother would be appalled at the idea of her playing cards, but except for meeting Mr. Dandridge, the trip was proving itself to be interminably slow and excessively boring. She’d read two books and finished knitting a pair of mittens she hated.
If only something interesting would happen.
Thanks to rain and sandbars and the leaking boiler, the Delores was behind schedule. At Omaha, Captain Busch discharged thirteen roustabouts. Samuel narrowly escaped being one of them. Lamar tried to avoid taking credit, but another roustabout told Samuel how the old guy had stood up for him, telling Captain Busch that Sam Beck was worth more than three men and the captain would be a fool not to know that. Samuel couldn’t imagine anyone telling Otto Busch he was a fool and living to tell, but there it was again—Lamar had a unique place in Busch’s life.
As for Samuel, the longer he was around Lamar, the more he learned. Lamar could recite impressive amounts of Scripture, and as the days went by and Samuel worried over Emma, Lamar spoke Scripture to those worries. Eventually, Samuel grew less anxious. He couldn’t have explained why, but the words in the Bible imparted a strange kind of peace about the future. Lamar said that wherever Emma was, God knew, and God was in that place, too. Sam should keep checking in the river towns where the Delores stopped, pray, and sleep well, knowing he was doing everything in his power.
Samuel did his best to comply. He wasn’t convinced that his own prayers carried much weight, but Lamar was praying, too, and God most certainly listened to Lamar Davis. The old man knew God better than he knew the river, and that was saying something.
The Delores was eleven miles north of Omaha when the strongest wind yet forced Captain Busch to lay up all night at a wood yard. Lamar showed Samuel how to position a lamp on the back side of the stairs leading up to the hurricane deck so that, between the woodpile and the stairs, they could keep a lamp lighted and play checkers.
When Lamar blew Samuel’s plan of attack to smithereens with one black checker, Samuel just shook his head. He was setting up the board for another game when the horses tethered at the far end of the deck began to snort and stomp. Lamar got up to see to them, but when Samuel prepared to join him he pointed back at the board. “I’ll get them calmed down. You just get the board set up so I can beat you again.” With a chuckle, he headed off.
Samuel was studying the board, trying to replay in his mind exactly how Lamar had lured him to defeat yet again, when he realized the wind had died down. Voices overhead drew his attention to the top of the stairs.
“You see,” a male voice said quietly, “if we sit right here we’ve a beautiful view of the river. The last time I came through this part of the territory I saw a white wolf at just about this spot. I’ll never forget it. Not quite as amazing as a white buffalo, of course, but—”
“A white buffalo? Whoever heard of such a thing.”
“You don’t know the legend of the white buffalo?”
E. C. Dandridge. What was he up to now? Samuel hadn’t liked the look of the man the minute he sauntered on board. He roamed the Delores with an air of self-importance that set Samuel on edge. More than once, Samuel had had to walk away to keep from landing a blow to the man’s egotistical face when Dandridge called Lamar boy. And while he wasn’t given to watching what went on up on the hurricane deck, it seemed to Samuel that in recent days, wherever Miss Rousseau was, Dandridge wasn’t far away.
The man reminded Samuel of a wildcat stalking his prey. And now … he was just a few feet way convincing someone to sit on the steps to hear a story about a white buffalo … then saying she should move closer so he could shield her from the wind. She. It had to be Miss Rousseau.
Samuel’s hands had already balled up into fists when the first muffled protest sounded. He stepped out from beneath the stairs then and glanced up toward the hurricane deck. One glance was all he needed. In an instant he was clearing the steps two at a time, grabbing Dandridge by the scruff of his neck, hauling him to his feet, and tossing him toward one of the smokestacks with enough force that when his body connected, all the air went out of him and he slid to the deck like a rag doll.
When Samuel finally turned back her way, Miss Rousseau was standing in the shadows with one hand at the row of buttons marching from her waist to her neckline. Even in the light of a half-moon Samuel could see stark terror registered on her pale face as she stared past him toward the limp form crumpled on the deck. Samuel crossed to where Dandridge lay and bent to check on him before standing back up. “He’ll be all right.” He swallowed. “Will you?”
“I … I … ” She gulped. “Y-yes. I think so.” But just as she said it she hurried away to empty her stomach over the railing. The handkerchief she had tucked into one sleeve glowed white as she dabbed at her mouth.
Dandridge moaned. When Samuel looked over, he’d pushed himself to a seated position and was leaning against the smokestack. Miss Rousseau took a step back. Samuel held his hand up, palm out, and said, “Just—wait. There. I’ll see to him. He won’t bother you again.” Miss Rousseau nodded.
Samuel started moving toward Dandridge, but before he could do or say anything, the dandy had scrambled to his feet and stumbled off toward his cabin. Samuel picked up the top hat he’d left behind. It felt grand to fling it overboard. When Miss Rousseau cleared her throat, he turned back toward her.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she croaked.
“Let me walk you back to your cabin.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. He couldn’t just leave her alone on the hurricane deck. A door slammed. She started. The moon came out from behind a cloud. Finally, Samuel crossed to the stairs and sat down, staring at the river. Miss Rousseau continued to stand only a few feet away. She was crying softly. What should he do? What could he do?
The faint scent of roses wafted his way. Unbelievably, a white wolf stepped out of the underbrush and padded to the edge of the water. “Do you see that?” he said quietly.
“I do.” Her voice sounded stronger. “I suppose the white buffalo will come next. It is, after all, a night for all manner of varmints to be out and about. Preying on fools who put their trust in the wrong people.”
“I’m told the river has a way of attracting varmints,” Samuel said, “and that the closer we get to Fort Benton the more we’ll encounter.”
“Then I suppose it behooves the more naïve among us to be especially wary from here on out. Hannah’s been telling me that for quite some time now. I didn’t want to believe her.”
“I’d say caution is something that benefits everyone, ma’am. It’s my first time upriver, as well. I’m grateful I’ve had someone looking out for me.”
They hadn’t really looked at each another while they talked. Instead, they watched the white wolf as it lowered its head to drink and then pointed its nose toward the sky and howled. When the wind had carried the sound away, Miss Rousseau said softly, “You’ve looked out for him, too. I’ve noticed how you help each other. I’ve seen you carry more than your share to lighten his load.” After what seemed a long whi
le, she finally murmured, “Thank you for waiting with me. I’d be grateful if you’d see me to my cabin now.”
Samuel leaped to his feet and offered his arm. He towered above her, and in that moment he thought of Emma, how she’d trusted him and how he’d failed her. How she would bear the mark of his failure until the day she died. Defending Miss Rousseau didn’t make up for Emma, but he was glad he’d been able to do it, just the same.
She paused a few feet from her cabin. “I’d rather Hannah stay asleep if at all possible,” she murmured. “She’d have my head if she knew—”
“There’s nothing to know,” Samuel said quickly. “Although I imagine she’d be fascinated to hear you saw a white wolf on your way to the necessary in the middle of the night.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thank you, Mr. Beck.”
Samuel watched her until her cabin door closed behind her. Then he made his way back down to the main deck. Told Lamar what had happened. Got the old man’s advice, and went to wait by the ladder to the wheelhouse so he’d be there when Captain Busch emerged from his cabin before dawn.
Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort.
2 CORINTHIANS 1:3
“You all right, little miss?”
Fannie leaned against the closed door of her cabin, her heart pounding, her entire body trembling. She gazed through the darkness toward Hannah’s cot. Go back to sleep, Hannah. I don’t want to lie … but I can’t tell you. Moistening her lips, she croaked, “Fine, just … tired.” Hannah mumbled something unintelligible, then returned to deep breathing punctuated by soft snores. Fannie moved to sit on the edge of her cot. Her fingers trembled as she undid the very buttons that Dandridge had— Don’t think about it. Just … be thankful nothing more happened. Be thankful for Mr. Beck.
She unbuttoned her cuffs before returning to the buttons marching up the front of her dress. And focused on Mr. Beck’s kindness. The concern in his voice. His strength. Clearly, the true gentleman on board the Delores wasn’t dressed in fine clothing.
How could she have been so … stupid? Hannah wasn’t overprotective. She was wise. Dandridge was exactly the sort of man Hannah had warned her against. And she’d been a fool. She was fortunate to have learned it with no less damage to her person than a slight tear in her silk waist.
Finally undressed and safe, lying beneath the mound of comforters Hannah had insisted they bring with them, Fannie inhaled the faintest aroma of home and closed her eyes with a thankful heart. Thank you for protecting me against myself tonight. Thank you for sending Mr. Beck.
Her dreams were not peaceful, but thanks to the presence of a tall roustabout, neither were they nightmares.
He had to stop watching for Miss Rousseau, had to stop thinking about her, and most definitely had to stop smiling at her. Even if she did smile back, Samuel told himself, he did not have time for such things. He might be on the river to find a woman, but the woman he sought had red hair, not blond. Emma had pale eyes, not bright blue ones. Still, for all of Samuel’s resolve, at night when he retired beneath the wagon, the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep was the faint scent of roses and the feeling of Miss Rousseau’s hand on his arm. Fannie’s hand on his arm. Fannie’s smile.
Every time Samuel had reason to go up on the hurricane deck, his heart beat faster than it should. He tore his shirt one day while hauling wood, and Miss Rousseau noticed and Mrs. Pike mended it. The idea that Miss Rousseau was watching him haul wood drove him to distraction. She’s not watching you, you idiot. She’s bored. What else is there to do? She’s anxious to get to Fort Benton and begin searching for her aunt—and return home to civilization. Just because she watches the goings-on at the woodlots doesn’t mean a thing. And even if it did, he couldn’t let it mean much.
From the number of yards of silk gathered into Miss Rousseau’s mourning dress, she was obviously a lady of means. There might as well be an entire ocean between the two of them. But that didn’t keep Samuel from thinking about her. Nights were the worst. Just when he’d developed enough callouses that his hands didn’t hurt, just when he’d gotten used to the work and the aches and pains didn’t keep him up anymore … thinking about Fannie kept him awake.
Every night he gave himself the same speech. She’s in a first-class cabin, you dolt. She’s a lady. Ladies are polite. They return smiles. That’s all it is. You wouldn’t dare so much as walk up to her front door in St. Charles. You’re a back door common laborer now, and the sooner you remember that, the better off you’ll be. Even if you were still the heir of a wealthy man, it wouldn’t matter. You’re on the river to find Emma … not to fall in love.
Tonight was no exception. Rain had raised the river a couple of inches, and Captain Busch had decided to navigate a stretch of river for just an hour or so after sundown. Just until they got to the next woodlot. The crew members were taking shifts sounding the depths, the river was calm, the evening perfect. But Samuel couldn’t sleep for thinking of Fannie.
Grabbing his coat and retrieving his mother’s Bible, he crawled out from beneath the wagon and made his way past the boilers and toward the front of the ship. Just as he passed the stairs leading up to the hurricane deck, the ship shuddered. Samuel paused. Listened. Jerked on his coat, stuffed the Bible into an inside pocket, and called for Lamar. This was no sandbar. Something was ripping into the underbelly of the Delores.
In seconds the deck began to tilt. As the vessel listed toward shore, everything began to slide toward the water. Deck passengers and hands alike screamed and shouted. The wagon toppled. Samuel lunged to help Lamar, but then he caught a glimpse of the small man already scrambling toward the far end of the deck. Of course. Lamar’s first instinct would be to free the panicked horses. Changing course, Samuel made for the crew lowering the mackinaws into the water. And then he heard the women screaming. Fannie! Mrs. Pike!
Grabbing the tilted railing, he managed to climb halfway up the stairs toward the hurricane deck. One of the smokestacks ripped free. As cables whipped through the air, steam escaped in a horrific burst of heat and vapor. Thrown off the stairs and against one of the capstans, Samuel barely avoided being thrown into the river. Before he could right himself, flames spewed from the firebox below the boilers and began to crawl across the deck, blocking the stairs.
One moment Fannie was asleep. The next she was awake and terrified. Something in the saloon slammed against the opposite side of the wall at the head of her cot. The next thing she knew, her cot was sliding toward the deck-side wall, its progress stopped only when it crashed into her trunk. The force threw her out of bed. She tried to get up, but the floor was tilted.
She reached for the edge of Hannah’s cot, shouting the older woman’s name. The cot contained only rumpled bedding. At the sound of breaking glass, Fannie looked toward the deck-side door. As she watched, the transom window shattered. Her hand went to her face, but the glass fell outward toward the deck. Hannah’s skirt! The hook on the door where she hung her skirt at night was empty! She must have been out on the deck when— No! No! What’s happening?
Staggering back onto her own cot, Fannie snatched her dressing gown off the foot of the bed and pulled it on. Intending to open the door just a crack to peer outside and call for Hannah, she nearly fell out of the cabin when the latch gave way and the weight of the door yanked it all the way open. She clung to the doorjamb, staring in horror at the swirling water just on the other side of the hurricane deck railing. Her cabin door faced the water now. Hannah! Where are you?! Where are the lifeboats?
Her things—she needed her things. Planting one foot against the doorjamb, she pried her trunk open. The ship shuddered. When someone screamed Fire! Fannie peered over her shoulder and up toward the saloon. Oh, dear Lord … she could see it … crawling across the saloon floor … coming this way … a golden monster, licking up the wood.
She screamed again, panicked at the thought of flames in one dire
ction and water in the other. She couldn’t go into that water. No, wait … the ship had stopped moving. It had to be sinking, but for now … for now it was steady. She might not be thrown into the water after all … but the flames! Clinging to the foot of her cot, she watched the flames approach, mesmerized by the light and the smoke rising into the sky. Someone called her name. Someone behind her … near the water … She looked that way.
“Hurry, Fannie! There’s no time! Come to me now!”
Mr. Beck … Samuel … in a lifeboat. Her things … the letters! She couldn’t give the letters to the river. Rummaging through the pile tossed out of the tray and into the open trunk lid when the steamboat pitched, she grabbed her mother’s locket and pulled it over her head. Snatching up the leather envelope, she hesitated. It was odd to feel heat at her back.
Samuel screamed her name again and reached one hand through the railing. Fannie glanced over her shoulder. Flames were curling around the saloon-side cabin door. The transom window popped and shattered. Just as a burst of flames belched through the doorway toward the two cots, she let go of the doorjamb. The ship moved again. Clutching the envelopes to her breast, Fannie fell toward Samuel. The railing stopped her fall … pain … and the world went dark.
Cold. So cold.
“Fannie? Fannie … can you hear me? Please, Fannie, open your eyes.”
He sounded so worried. He shouldn’t worry. She was fine. Except for being cold. She needed a blanket. Where were the blankets? Fire! There was fire! Sucking in a breath, Fannie struggled to escape the fire, but a gentle hand on her shoulder settled her back. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
A Most Unsuitable Match Page 8