The days seem long. I am eager to be finished with the river. I can quote large passages of Mr. Dickens’s book now, for I believe I have read it over several times. Social life is an important part of steamboat travel, and a group gathers in the dining saloon every evening after the meal. Some ladies sew, others play cards. For a short part of the trip, there was a passenger who played the violin beautifully, but he has since disembarked.
Samuel leads a brief Sabbath service now, and the passengers seem quite taken with his earnest words. Even though he is untrained, his manner is not unlike that of Reverend Garrison of the First Church. What I mean is, he is passionate about the words that he shares from his dear mother’s Bible, always emphasizing that they are not his, but that they come from the very hand of God and should bring us comfort and hope. While he is very poor in worldly possessions, Samuel is rich in kindness, and if wealth were measured in love for God, I believe he would be the richest man in the world.
And so are my days filled. We see buffalo and antelope, wolves and eagles. We glide past Indian villages and sometimes, in the evening, we can see their campfires and their shadowy forms. On occasion, the mackinaws take us to call on ladies on another steamer, and that is a welcome relief to the monotony.
Not an hour goes by but that I think of dear Hannah and wish she were with me, but I am doing my best to be mindful of her residence in heaven, which is a far better place than aboard a steamer on the Missouri.
I will write again once we have reached Fort Benton. I hope this finds you less angry than you were the day Walker brought you my note … and willing to forgive. Sometimes I think I may be hearing an echo, Minette … and then I tell myself it is only loneliness and my imagination. Tell me … when did you know for certain that Daniel was your echo?
Ever your friend …
Fannie
Finally, fully ten weeks after leaving St. Charles, after a terrifying, lurching rush over rapids and a course that took them between soaring palisades of bare cliffs, Fannie lost count of how many wood stops they’d made and sandbars they’d cleared, finally, the Far West’s whistle blew, announcing their arrival at Fort Benton in early August.
Once again, Fannie stood next to Samuel on the hurricane deck above the ship’s prow, doing her best to remain calm. Whatever she had imagined, whatever nightmares she had about Fort Benton … the reality of the place was worse. No wonder she was the only woman still on board the steamer. Even Nellie Tatum would be taken aback by the place.
First, there was the levee, a stretch of barren earth crowded with crates and barrels, wagons and teams, and a virtual army of filthy, rough-clad men whose scraggly beards probably contained enough vermin to populate a good-sized town. As the Far West inched closer to land and it became obvious that the levee itself was actually even with the hurricane deck, Fannie backed away from the railing.
Samuel reached for her and looped her arm through his. “Don’t be afraid. You’re the prettiest thing most of these men have seen in months. You can’t blame them for looking.”
“I was just— I hadn’t thought— What if Mr. Dandridge— He said he was opening a business here.”
“You don’t have to worry about him,” Samuel said, covering her hand with his. “When Captain Busch put him off the boat, he made it more than clear that your well-being was of special concern.” He paused. “So did I, for that matter. He’s a coward, Fannie. You should have heard him stammer assurances and apologies. If you see him, look him in the eye and wish him a good day—then continue on your way. That will give notice you’re not to be trifled with. Not anymore.”
Fannie pondered the advice as she gazed along the row of buildings toward the buttes in the distance. “I don’t know why, but I expected mountains.”
“So did I.” Samuel smiled as he pointed to the isolated range far off to the south. “I guess that’s them.”
Fort Benton stood on the west side of a wide north-south loop of the Missouri. The terrain stretching away from the water’s edge was relatively flat and bereft of trees. The horizon in every direction featured rolling uplands. To the west, an isolated butte projected upward out of the earth.
The adobe fort Dandridge had described all those weeks ago was a great disappointment. The wall facing the river didn’t seem to be much longer than the Far West. A small door set into a massive log gate admitted entrance, but the larger gate was closed. Fannie had no idea what might be inside in the way of buildings. Certainly, unless the side walls were longer than what she could see, the interior wouldn’t house much more cargo than the Far West. Two bastions at opposite corners of the high adobe walls boasted narrow slit windows. The obvious reasons for high walls and bastions reminded Fannie of all the talk about the Blackfeet. Her heart lurched.
Finally, the boat stopped moving and Samuel said they should disembark. The men on the levee stopped whatever they were doing to watch her pass by. She wished she’d packed the silk traveling suit away and donned a simple calico. Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, but the golden plaid had to be the most color that had been seen on this levee in a while. Samuel covered her hand with his in a protective gesture. Still the men stared. A few doffed their hats. One or two whistled. Fannie heard more than one comment about her blond hair, and wished she’d tucked it further out of sight. By the time she and Samuel crossed the threshold into the Macleod Hotel, Fannie was trembling.
The place reeked. She’d smelled slops and outhouses before, but the smell of Fort Benton was worse than anything she’d ever encountered. How she longed for one of Mother’s rose-scented kerchiefs.
Thinking of picking her way to whatever necessary might be available behind this hovel posing as a hotel made her shudder. She would never have expected to think back to the Delores with fond memories, but from what she had seen of Fort Benton thus far, the Delores was a palace.
Tugging on Samuel’s sleeve, she nearly dragged him back outside. “Couldn’t I stay on the Far West for now?”
“You probably could tonight. But they’ll be pulling out tomorrow.”
Fannie’s gaze landed on an overflowing brass spittoon just inside the door. “I won’t complain tomorrow. But I need a little time to … prepare.” She paused, peering up the street. “Do you think there’s anything else?”
“Only one way to find out.” Together, they headed off up the main street, a broad swath of earth running parallel to and very near the river. As she picked her way through the dust, Fannie thought back to St. Charles’s brick-paved streets. It was difficult enough to navigate around the puddles there when it rained. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to try to plot a course through this place after a shower, let alone a few days of steady rain. Thank goodness Mrs. Tatum had suggested those calico dresses. Fannie had never paid much attention to how Hannah did the wash or ironed … but clearly she would have to learn.
A string of mostly unpainted false-front clapboard buildings trailed along the dusty street, boasting outfitters and hardware stores, blacksmiths and saloons. It might be midmorning, but the saloons were obviously doing a good business. Piano music wafted out into the street from every doorway. It was amazing how many men in Fort Benton couldn’t seem to walk straight.
Fannie’s presence was no less noted here than it had been on the levee. Samuel joked about her power to part the Red Sea. She forced a smile and tried to ignore the men who stared at her, openmouthed, waiting for her to pass by before they whistled or muttered something behind her back. She concentrated on the business signs, hoping for another hotel that might promise something besides lice and filth. E. C. Dandridge had mentioned a dozen women in Fort Benton. Where were they? Where was he?
ch-fig
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
MATTHEW 5:16
“Harlan Henley, git yer backside down here!”
The screech emanated from inside a one-room shack we
dged in between a saloon and a barn. Before the last word faded, a small figure dropped to the barn floor from the loft above and shot around the corner and out the back. A woman appeared in the doorway of the shack, although it was no kind of woman Fannie had ever seen. A cigarette jutted from one side of her mouth and a collection of scabs and open sores dotted her face. Just as Fannie looked her way, the woman removed the cigarette, bent over, and hacked something into the dirt at Samuel’s feet.
“Is Harlan about this high?” Samuel asked, holding his hand about four feet from the ground.
When the woman nodded, he gestured. “I think he just ran out the back barn door.”
The woman opened her mouth to respond, just as a bearish figure appeared behind her spouting the most creative string of epithets Fannie had ever heard. The essence of the man’s sentence was that the boy was needed and if he kept running off he was going to get what he had coming. Fannie could only imagine what the man thought the boy had coming, because as he swore at the boy, he was grabbing the woman by the strands of stringy hair trailing out from beneath her stained kerchief and preparing to “teach her what happens when the boy don’t do what he’s told.”
And then Samuel moved. Before Fannie even realized he’d let her hand go, he’d forced the man to let go of the woman’s hair and placed himself between them. When the man raised a first, Samuel stopped it. When he lunged, Samuel stepped aside. The man’s momentum carried him into the dirt. He sprang up like an enraged bear, and all the while the woman screeched until an entire circle of men had gathered to watch. Fannie backed away until her back was pressed against the front wall of the barn. The angry man kept lunging and Samuel kept dodging. At one point the man lunged so hard that when Samuel dodged away, he floundered headfirst into the corner of his own doorway. Blood streaming, he still staggered his way at Samuel.
“I’m not going to fight you,” Samuel said. “I just didn’t want you hitting your wife.”
“Who said anything about her being my wife,” the man growled. “You think I’d marry a sorry, stringy-haired, plague-ridden piece of trash like her?!”
“Now, Henry,” the woman whined, “you ought not talk like that. You and me get along fine. And Harlan’s a good boy, he just—”
“Harlan ain’t mine!” the man roared. “And don’t think I don’t know it!” At that, he barged back inside the shack. Fannie could hear him rummaging about, and presently he came to the doorway and tossed a bundle of rags out the door. He waved a hand at Samuel. “There! You think so much of her, you take her! I’m done. And you can have the brat, too. Neither one of ’em ever did me any good.”
He took a step back and slammed the door. Weeping, the woman knelt down and picked up the bundle. She wiped her nose on her sleeve as she surveyed the circle of onlookers. One by one, they drifted away until only Samuel and Fannie and the woman remained.
“I … I didn’t mean to make things worse for you,” Samuel said. “I just— I couldn’t let him—”
The woman squinted up at him. She shook her head. Looked away.
“I’ve got some money,” Samuel said. “I could get you a room. Until you have time to decide what to do. But how would the boy find you?”
“Won’t be hard,” she said, gesturing toward the closed door. “This here’ll be all over town before sundown. He’ll know not to come home, that’s for sure.” She hesitated. “What you mean you got money for a room?”
“Just what I said. Room and board for you and your boy. Until you can decide what to do.”
The woman looked at the closed door again. “He ain’t bad when he’s sober.”
Samuel smiled. “Then room and board until he’s sober.”
She tilted her head. Looked him up and down. “You and the missus meanin’ to start a rescue mission here in Fort Benton?”
Samuel glanced at Fannie. “This is my friend, Miss Rousseau. She’s here on a family matter. So am I, although my business will take me to Alder Gulch.”
The woman scratched at one of the scabs on her face as she stared at Fannie. “You want to keep them high-toned looks, you best get away from this place as fast as you can.” She sniffed. “Time was I wasn’t all that bad lookin’ myself. That was afore a couple of the rougher sort got holda me.” She looked back to Samuel. “If she stays in these parts, she’ll want a gun.”
Noise from inside the house caught their attention. The woman turned around. “He’s fixin’ to head up to the saloon. That scrapin’ sound? That’s his boots coming out from under the bed.” She nodded. “You two dandies best be getting on to them family matters. You don’t wanna be here when he comes out.”
Samuel offered her his arm. “Come with us.”
The woman looked at Fannie. “Is he crazy?”
“No … he means it.” But please don’t take him up on the offer. She couldn’t help it. Everything about this woman repulsed her. All she wanted was to get away.
“Listen, sonny,” the woman said. “You keep yer money and don’t worry about me or Harlan. We’ll get by.” With that, she headed through the barn in the same direction the boy had gone.
Samuel peered after her. Fannie tugged on his arm. “Let’s go back to the Far West. I’ll ask the captain about a place to stay.”
The screeching woman was right. The news of what Samuel had done beat them back to the Far West. Fannie saw more than one face from the crowd that had gathered to watch the fight … and then drifted away. As she and Samuel crossed the levee, men muttered to one another, nodding at Samuel and shaking their heads.
When they set foot on deck, Lamar walked up, smiling. “What’s this I hear about a tall stranger defending some woman up the street and almost getting himself killed?”
Samuel shook his head. “I was never in any danger. You must have heard about some other fight.”
“Word is you offered to rent her and her child a room,” Lamar said. “Makes you sound like a high roller.”
“Anyone who thinks that will know the truth soon enough.” Samuel grinned. “Had she taken me up on the offer, I’d have been embarrassed to inform her that she could only stay one night. That’s about all that’s left of my pay from the Delores.”
Fannie looked at him in disbelief. “You offered your last penny to house a—to house her?”
“It seemed the thing to do.”
Lamar spoke up. “While you were gone, I asked about another place to board. There’s a place behind the fort. Fewer fleas, good food, and an honest owner.” Lamar paused. “Some even thought he might let me have a room.”
Samuel glanced down at Fannie. “How about you stay here while Lamar and I investigate?”
She hesitated. Fort Benton was like a foreign country where she didn’t speak the language, but if she couldn’t so much as take a walk in Fort Benton without needing to retreat, how would she ever stay long enough to look for Aunt Edith?
“I see what you’re thinking,” Samuel said. “There’s no dishonor in being rattled by this place. Anyone would be.”
Fannie relented. She had had enough of Fort Benton for the moment. Back in her cabin, she retrieved Aunt Edith’s photograph and stretched out atop Mrs. Tatum’s comforter. She wondered if the woman in the photograph had had the same reaction to Fort Benton as she had. Probably not. She’d traveled all over the world by then. She’s adventurous by nature. I’m … what?, Fannie wondered. What am I, exactly? If Aunt Edith ran into a woman like that on the street … would she react like Samuel did and want to help her … or would she stand with her back pressed against a wall, just waiting to get away?
Fluffing her pillow, Fannie turned on her side. Once again, she wished for Hannah to reassure her, to say something wise, to tell her she was going to be all right. Her mind raced from letters to steamboat wrecks, and finally landed where it usually did … on Samuel. His kind eyes … his deep voice … his patience … understanding … sense of purpose … faith … She would never have tried to help that creature on the street. Never woul
d have stood up to that awful man. Never would have offered her last dollar to help any of them. Maybe she never should have come here. She would never be as good as Samuel, never be good enough to deserve him… . She drifted off.
Samuel and Lamar returned just as Fannie awakened from her nap and stepped out onto the hurricane deck for some fresh air. If Samuel’s height didn’t catch a person’s eye, his long black coat most certainly did. Knowing he was coming to her made Fannie smile. “Land sakes,” she whispered to herself, “he is a handsome man.” Reaching up to smooth her hair, she descended to the main deck.
“Lamar found a good place,” Samuel said. “Come see for yourself.”
“I’ll see to your trunk,” Lamar said, then hesitated. “You all packed up?”
Other than Mrs. Tatum’s comforter, Fannie was. Lamar said he would see to it, and Fannie and Samuel headed across the levee in the direction of the fort, then past it. Once past the fort, the noise from the levee faded into the background.
“That’s it,” Samuel said, pointing to a log structure with an overhang shading the front wall. The first thing Fannie noticed on the rustic porch was the pot of wild flowers propping open the front door. She paused to read the regulations posted to the left of the open doorway and smiled. Whoever ran the place obviously had a sense of humor.
Fort Benton Hostelry
Established September 1, 1868, a.d.
Honest Abe Valley, Proprietor
HOUSE RULES
IF YOU CAN’T KEEP ’EM DON’T COME THROUGH THE DOOR
SPIKED BOOTS AND SPURS MUST BE REMOVED BEFORE RETIRING.
TOWELS CHANGED WEEKLY. FREE BATHS PROVIDED BY THE MISSOURI.
A Most Unsuitable Match Page 12