The undertaker’s hands came up to ward off an expected blow. “Now, now.” He took a step back. “There’s no need for any of that. I understand your position. Perfectly.” Pulling a wad of cash from his pocket, he thrust it at Samuel.
Samuel peeled one bill off. “I believe you said your fee is ten dollars.” He handed the rest to Fannie.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as Fannie bent down to place a small nosegay against the white wooden cross marking Hannah’s grave. “I’m supposed to head home on the Isabella today.” She swiped at the tears. “What should I do, Hannah? Do I just give up? Go back to the empty house?” She began to sob. “What will I do back there? I said maybe we’d take in boarders in the fall, but I can’t do that without you.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t do anything without you. Captain Busch is heading back to St. Louis to find another ship to pilot. Samuel and Lamar are only going as far as Fort Rice. If I keep going … I’ll be alone.” She paused. “I’m afraid, Hannah. Afraid to go home and afraid to go on. Could you maybe ask God to tell me what to do? He listens to you, Hannah. I know he does.”
She stared down at the fresh earth. Thought back to the cemetery in St. Charles. The absurdity of talking to Hannah now made her cry harder. What did she expect, anyway? A voice from heaven?
“I’m tired of crying at graves, Hannah. I cannot imagine facing Mr. Vandekamp and listening to him say ‘I told you so.’ I can’t.” Her voice wavered. “I thought this was important. I thought it was something I should do. I can’t turn back now … can I?”
She glanced toward the cemetery gate and the two men waiting for her. Finally, she stood up. “I’ve ordered a gravestone for you, Hannah. A proper one. Mrs. Tatum promised to see to it for me. She’s a good woman. At least I think she is.” Fannie shook her head. “But then, I thought E. C. Dandridge was a good person, too.” Her voice broke. “I need you, Hannah. I don’t know what to do.”
A riverboat whistle sounded. Fannie looked toward the river. It was time to go. Hannah loved her, but even Hannah wasn’t going to speak from beyond the grave. She glanced up at the sky. You love me too, God. I know you do. But I feel so … alone. Could you … please … help me know what to do.
Lifting her skirts, she picked her way through the damp grass to the cemetery gate. Lamar nodded, and Samuel offered his arm. They were supposed to go back to Mrs. Tatum’s now, have something to eat—Mrs. Tatum insisted, since Fannie hadn’t had an appetite that morning—pick up the new trunk she’d packed with things for Fannie’s journey home … and say good-bye. She would head back to St. Charles. And Samuel and Lamar would become memories … just like Hannah.
“Edie? Edie LeClerc! What in tarnation are you doing in Sioux City?”
Fannie, Samuel, and Lamar had just stepped into the hotel dining room when a portly man with rumpled hair called out from across the room. Fannie turned toward him, just in time to see him wipe his spectacles and perch them back on his bulbous nose. He squinted at Fannie. Blinked. And sputtered, “I’m sorry, miss. I … I thought you were someone else.”
Her heart hammering, Fannie reached in her bag and took out Aunt Edith’s photograph. She didn’t know what to say, so she just handed it over. The gentleman rose. Looked from the photo to Fannie, then back at the photo.
Finally, Fannie found her voice. “I—um—she’s my aunt. My mother was her sister. Her twin, actually.” She swallowed. “We—uh—I haven’t heard from Aunt Edith since last year, but her letter was posted in Fort Benton.” Fannie hesitated. How much should she tell this man? How much could he tell her? “Apparently she was headed to Alder Gulch.”
The man nodded. “Yes. That’s … um …” He glanced at Samuel. Cleared his throat. “That’s where I met her.” Suddenly, he seemed to remember a pressing appointment. “You give Edie my best,” he said. “Name’s Elmer. Elmer Fleming.”
And before Fannie could think of another thing to say, Elmer Fleming had left his half-eaten meal and bustled out of the hotel. Samuel went after him, of course. But there was no sign of the man. He’d disappeared.
After Elmer Fleming, Fannie lost all interest in breakfast. Not even one of Mrs. Tatum’s sweet rolls could entice her to eat. All she wanted was a cup of tea. Samuel didn’t suppose he should be surprised, after the morning she’d had. Samuel, on the other hand, only got hungrier when he was upset. He was halfway through his stack of flapjacks when Fannie cleared her throat and said, as calmly as you please, “I’m going to Fort Benton.”
Samuel and Lamar exchanged glances.
Lamar spoke first. “Now, miss. I understand what it is to feel like there’s someone out there you belong to. Someone who belongs to you.” He paused. “Not a day goes by I don’t hope that one of the dark faces I see on this levee or in that town is going to be some of my kin that was sold off the place before I got free. But, miss.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Fort Benton makes Sioux City look like high society. There’s nobody like you in Fort Benton, and there’s a reason for that. It’s because Fort Benton is no place for a lady. It was a mite different when you had Captain Busch and Mrs. Pike looking out for you, but—”
“But you heard what that man said,” Fannie interrupted. “He met Edie LeClerc in Alder Gulch.” She reached for the leather envelope and withdrew the stack of letters. “Aunt Edith mentions me in every single one of these, and she talks about wanting to visit. But for some reason she never has.” She looked down at the photo and murmured, “I’ve lost my entire family, but I still have her—if only I can find her.” She looked across at Samuel. “I know what you’re both thinking. You’re thinking I should write a letter and trust the mailbag to Fort Benton.” She shook her head. “I can’t. Not now. I can’t give it up. I won’t.” She smiled at both of them. “You’re good men, but this isn’t your responsibility. You have your own worries.” She glanced toward the door. “I have to speak with Mrs. Tatum. I … I’ll need a few more things if I’m headed to Montana.”
Lamar spoke the minute Fannie was out of earshot. “We can’t let that girl go upriver alone.”
“I don’t want to, either,” Samuel agreed. “But Emma’s supposed to be at Fort Rice, and it’s another thousand miles past Fort Rice to Fort Benton. What if Emma needs me?”
“Miss Rousseau needs you, too. We’ll undertake for both of them, somehow, if need be. We both know what happens to pretty girls who venture into river towns alone. And we both suspect why Mr. Fleming didn’t want to talk to Miss Rousseau about her aunt Edie. At least we think we do—knowing what kind of women are usually well-known in gold mining towns.”
“I don’t want to believe that,” Samuel said.
“Neither do I, son.” Lamar took a deep breath. “The way I see it, there’s a duty to be done here. Neither of us will sleep well the rest of our lives if we don’t see this through, and that’s the truth. She’s going, whether we help her or not. Maybe she’s not thinking straight, but that don’t really matter, either. She’s going. And she can’t go alone, son. Captain Busch never would’ve allowed it. He thought she was all fixed up with first class on the Isabella. It’s up to us now.”
Lamar was right, of course. God help him—and according to Mother’s Bible, God would—Samuel couldn’t let her go off alone. “All right,” he said. “We’re agreed. But that raises a new question. How do the three of us travel together without creating a scandal?”
For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper
than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder
of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow,
and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.
HEBREWS 4:12
Dear Minette,
By now the news has reached St. Charles of the demise of Captain Busch’s Delores. I am safe and well. But, oh, Minette … I have lost Hannah. She is buried on a hillside here in Sioux City, and my heart is broken.
I don’t know how I will ever forgive myself, or even if I s
hould. I have caused you heartache as well—by leaving without saying good-bye—but I was afraid your father (with only good intentions, of course) would stand in my way. Obviously I was only thinking of myself and how lonely I was and how everything was pressing in on me. I was even afraid you might try to stop me, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough to stand against that. Me … my … I. Those were my only thoughts, whatever worry and grief I might cause others. I am so sorry, dear Minette. Please forgive me.
After the disaster, I was bound for home, defeated and hopeless, when a chance encounter here in Sioux City offered evidence that Aunt Edith is, indeed, in Montana. And so I must go on. If nothing else, I cannot let Hannah’s death count for nothing.
I’m doing my best to grow up—to see life through a different lens and to try to stop blaming Mother for my unhappiness—perhaps even to understand her. Hopefully, Aunt Edith will be able to help with that, but even if she does not, at least I will have finished the quest and had the opportunity to make this journey, which cost my beloved Hannah her life, mean something besides a childish adventure taken up by a spoiled, self-centered girl.
The weather is warm and lovely, and I am to be ensconced in a beautiful cabin aboard the Far West, with kind traveling companions who daily become better friends. I will write more of them another day.
Please offer your father my sympathies on the loss of the Beauvais cargo aboard the Delores. While the value of my assurances may be small, I would be remiss not to mention that Captain Otto Busch is one in whom I continue to have the greatest confidence. I would trust any one of Papa’s fleet to him without hesitation. The Missouri River was at fault in the disaster, not Captain Busch.
Should you wish to write—and oh, how I hope you will—address your letters to Fort Benton. I don’t know how long I will be there, but I am more determined than ever to follow the trail to Aunt Edith.
I remain … I hope … your lifelong friend,
Fannie
Fannie blinked back tears as she stared down at the overflowing trunk Mrs. Tatum had repacked upon learning that Fannie would go on to Fort Benton. Two ready-made dresses—Mrs. Tatum suggested calico—“You can wash it out real easy and ain’t that better fer a place like that?”—stockings, unmentionables, and even a flannel nightgown. She’d included hairpins, a brush and comb, a small mirror, even tooth powder. Finally, she produced a wool cape so lovely that Fannie would have worn it on the streets of St. Charles with pride.
But that wasn’t all. When Fannie tried to pay her, Mrs. Tatum waved a hand in the air and shook her head. “This here’s advertising, plain and simple. When people admire something, you tell them about Nellie’s Mercantile in Sioux City. I’ll be beholden to ya for it.” She hurried to the back of her future store and returned with a thick comforter folded over her arms. Stuffing it inside, she closed the trunk, locked it, and handed Fannie the key.
“Now, you don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see to the tombstone just like I promised, and when you come back this way, you stop in and see me, y’hear?” She headed for the door. “I’ll have Hiram take this trunk down to the levee and get it hauled to your cabin.” She paused halfway to the door and turned back. “I know you’re a mite nervous about another steamboat,” she said, “but the Far West is one of the best on the river. I don’t know as luxury is the right word exactly, but it’s a far sight better than the Delores. Last I heard, they offered nearly a dozen different meats on the menu every night. And four kinds of pie. You’ll be just fine, miss. You’ll see.” Then, with a wink, she added, “I know it’s not my place to say it, but that young man of yours is a good one. You keep him if you can.”
The Far West pulled away from Sioux City in the predawn hours with a full passenger roster and a main deck so packed with freight that Fannie wondered if the vessel would stay afloat. The dull thunder of the paddles slapping the water, the rattling of tiller chains below, the panting roar of escaping steam all combined to create the familiar pandemonium that was steamboating. Fannie knew she’d quickly relegate it all to annoying background noise. In a day or so she’d barely notice it, but on this first morning back on the river, as she stood next to Samuel and watched the ribbon of water between boat and shore widen, her gloved hand tightened around the railing. When the ship shuddered, she gasped and grabbed on with both hands.
Samuel murmured reassurance. “Just the normal shifting of gears so we don’t have to back our way to Montana. Nothing to worry about.”
Embarrassed, Fannie forced a smile. “I didn’t expect to be so nervous.”
“I’m not all that relaxed, either.”
As Sioux City faded in the distance, the gray skies cleared and sunlight dappled the shoreline. Fannie and Samuel turned away from the railing and meandered toward the prow. Almost like flying. That’s how Hannah would have described this moment. The thought brought tears to Fannie’s eyes. When she swiped at them, Samuel murmured comfort. She shrugged. “What does it say about a person when her housekeeper’s passing hurts more than losing her own mother?”
“When did your mother pass on?”
“Several weeks ago.” Fannie studied the far shore. “We weren’t … close.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure why. We didn’t really fight. We just didn’t seem to belong together.” She paused, and then, without really understanding why, she wanted to tell Samuel everything.
“Papa died a few years ago. It was just Hannah and me living in the house last month, when someone broke in. Nothing happened really … beyond my being frightened to the point of fainting.” She shook her head. “But my advisors urged me to gather up Mother’s valuables and put them in a safer place. That’s when I found the letters and the photograph. And, because of some other pressures involving Papa’s business … well, I convinced Hannah to come with me to find Aunt Edith.” She watched the countryside slide past. “Anyway, Hannah said that traveling by steamboat was like flying. She loved it. I don’t think I’ll ever hear a whistle or a bell again without thinking of her.”
Samuel took her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back, then pulled free. “I suppose I’m in flight, too, trying to escape the things I didn’t like back home, hoping to find someone I’ve never met who, at least in her letters, seems warm. Loving.” She forced a laugh. “How pathetic is that? Girl who feels unloved seeks long-lost aunt. What might Mr. Dickens do with that bit of drama?”
Samuel didn’t say anything for a few moments, but when he did, his voice was gentle. Soothing. “Going in search of someone who cares about you … someone you care about … isn’t anything to be embarrassed about.” He looked down at her. “That’s why I’m on the river, too. I’m looking for someone I love.” He paused, waiting for another group of passengers taking the air to pass by. When they’d gone on into the saloon, he continued. “I’m afraid my sister’s story doesn’t involve anything nearly as romantic as mysterious letters. It’s actually pretty terrible.”
Fannie gazed up at him. The pain in his eyes made her reach out. “Tell me.” He glanced behind them. Gesturing toward two chairs on the far side of the broad deck, he escorted her over. They sat down.
Taking a deep breath, Samuel began. “My Pa’s nothing like the man I imagine you called Papa. Mine likes to drink. And when he drinks … his temper takes over.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, staring down at the deck as he spoke. “I went fishing. There was a business loss, and I knew Pa would likely come home drunk. Ma had passed on by then. I knew I should stay home. But I went fishing and left Emma alone.”
He took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. Left the hat on the deck beside his chair. To keep it from blowing away, Fannie picked it up and set it on her lap. Samuel didn’t even seem to notice.
“Emma was never one to back down from a fight. Pa came home and objected to … something.” Samuel stared at the passing countryside. “Who knows what. It could have been anything. Or nothing. But instead of retreating like she should have, Emm
a stood her ground. I don’t know what got into her, but they argued. Horribly.” He paused. “The main floor of the house after—” He shook his head. “It looked like there’d been an entire company of men battling one another in those rooms.”
He took a deep breath. “Anyway, Emma ran. Our father chased her to the barn. Later she said she thought he was going to kill her. She scrambled aboard one of the horses bareback, intending to run off. But Emma was never a very good rider. She fell off—and into one of the corral posts.” Samuel’s voice wavered. “And then I came home.”
“Oh … Samuel …” Fannie reached for his hand, but he pulled away.
“She was at the well, trying to wash it … trying to hold her face …” He traced a line from eye to jaw. “I thought she was going to bleed to death before I could get her to the doctor. But she didn’t.” His voice broke. “And that … that was the end of my beautiful Emma. Everything changed after that … because I went fishing.”
Fannie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “Her fiancé wanted a beautiful wife. So he broke their engagement. She took up with the wrong sort.”
“And your father? It must have been horrible for him.”
Samuel’s fingers curled against his palms. “I hope so. I haven’t seen him since it all happened. I left Emma at the doctor’s long enough to go back to the house and pack some of our things. Pa was stretched out on the floor … snoring.” Samuel reached into his pocket and took the Bible out. Opening it to the page recording marriages and births, he pointed to a name. “That’s him.”
Fannie looked down at the name. Her mouth dropped open. “Saul Pilsner is your father?!”
He nodded. “Sometimes people who have horrible reputations are just … misunderstood. In my father’s case, everything you’ve heard about him is true.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Saul Pilsner owned a packet line, but his steamboats were only part of an empire that included warehouses in New Orleans, cotton fields in Georgia, and foundries back East. He’d tried to ruin Papa more than once. Fannie didn’t know the details, but every time that name came up in conversation, Papa clenched his jaw and his face reddened with emotion.
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