A Most Unsuitable Match

by Stephanie Whitson

  She didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss him from relief or slap him for calling her weak. He was right, of course. Everything he was saying made sense. Not only couldn’t she walk that far … she didn’t want to. The idea terrified her.

  She’d heard plenty of stories from other boarders this past week. Fort Benton’s main street was nothing compared to what she’d encounter in a gold camp. And when it came to danger, the Missouri River was nothing compared to the trail to Alder Gulch. She still wanted to find Aunt Edith, but she wasn’t cut out for Montana.

  Even though Samuel was right, facing it called the dark cloud back overhead. Fannie pulled her hand away. To keep from crying, she began to walk again, this time along the perimeter of the adobe fort.

  She was sorry she’d ever left St. Charles. Homesick and frightened. She missed Hannah. She missed Minette. Worst of all, if she couldn’t handle Montana, it probably meant she wasn’t cut out for Samuel, either.

  “I never meant to be a burden to you.” Her voice wavered. “I never should have left home.”

  “You aren’t a burden,” Samuel said. “You’re … please, Fannie … please don’t cry.” He cupped her cheek in his palm and swept a tear away with his thumb.

  She turned away and swiped at her own tears. He reached for her, but with a little shake of the head she stepped away. “I’ll be fine. And you’re right.”

  “I … am?”

  “Of course you are. I’m not an idiot, Samuel. I don’t belong here.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll speak with Mr. Valley about staying on at the boarding house for a few weeks. Mrs. Webb said it was three weeks up to the gulch and three weeks back. I’m assuming you can send word with another freighter headed this way if you find anything?”

  He nodded. “I’ll write. As often as I can.”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  Back at the boarding house, after Lamar and Samuel had headed for the levee, Fannie reread Mr. Valley’s posted rules. Sixty dollars a month for room and board. She would need over a hundred dollars to stay here for eight weeks, and that only gave Samuel and Lamar two weeks to search a gulch teeming with thousands of people.

  A needle in a haystack. Finding either woman would likely prove impossible … in spite of the man in Sioux City and whomever Samuel had talked to last night. As for his finding his sister? He was admirable to hold out hope, but … Faith is the substance of things hoped for … the evidence of things not seen.

  Fannie thought over the verse she’d memorized as a child. She was something of an expert in hoping for “things not seen,” but she was quickly losing faith. Mother’s passing had ended any hope of knowing her love. Belief in a secure future had faded before she left home. As for the faint hope she’d harbored about Samuel and her—it was better not to think about that at all.

  Pacing to the edge of Abe Valley’s boarding house porch, Fannie stared toward the west. It was time she faced reality. Not a whisker of any of the big things she’d hoped for seemed possible. And now … now even the little things were a challenge. A hundred dollars and more to pay for her room might as well be a thousand. Of course Samuel had no idea she was nearly out of money. And he didn’t need to know. If Samuel and Lamar could earn their way to Alder Gulch, then she would find a way to earn her keep in Fort Benton while they were gone. Somehow, she would hang on to a glimmer of hope in regard to Aunt Edith … even if it seemed she should let go of others.

  Abe Valley told Samuel and Lamar to seek out a freighter named Dick Turley. “He’s a frightful-looking man, but he’s survived things that would have killed a dozen lesser men. His father was a fur trapper. Married into a Piegan band, then got himself killed, leaving Dick to grow up with his mother’s people. Since they’ve let it be known they won’t take kindly to his being harassed, Dick’s bull trains tend to make it through without any Indian troubles. I can’t guarantee he’ll welcome you with open arms, but if I was headed to the gulch, I’d want to be with Turley’s outfit. Tell him I sent you his way.” Valley paused. “Tell him I’ll vouch for you.”

  Valley’s warning didn’t prepare Samuel for the snaggle-toothed, one-eyed, bald-headed mountain of a man that was Dick Turley. They found him sitting on an upended stump just outside of E. G. Palmer’s store, whittling a bit of wood with the biggest knife Samuel had ever seen. Abe Valley’s name didn’t seem to do much at first.

  Turley eyed Lamar and grunted, “Don’t need a cook.”

  “I wasn’t thinking to cook,” Lamar said. “I was thinking you might need an extra hand with your animals. I tended a fine batch of southern Thoroughbreds on the place where I grew up. I can trim hooves, tend cuts, repair harnesses, cure colic … handle just about anything that pesters four-footed critters.” Lamar looked toward Turley’s mules. “And while I’m partial to Thoroughbreds, I’ve tended my share of mules, too.”

  Turley grunted. He eyed Samuel. “What you got to offer?”

  Lamar spoke up. “Sam can shoulder more freight than any man you’ve ever seen. And he preaches a fine sermon. Held Sabbath services on board the Far West all the way up from Sioux City.”

  Turley stopped whittling. Squinted at Samuel. “There’s nobody in Alder Gulch wants to be preached at.”

  “Can’t say that I’m surprised,” Samuel said. “I don’t really like being preached at, either.”

  Turley grunted. “You know the Shepherd’s Psalm?”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me. Do you know the Shepherd’s Psalm?”

  “Well … yes. I … uh …”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Now? Here?”

  “Naw,” Turley said, and spat. “Why don’t you wait until next week sometime?” He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, Preacher, I mean right now. Let’s hear it.”

  Samuel recited the psalm. Turley listened. “Well now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” He paused. Spat again. “Been some time since I’ve heard that. I like it.” Folding his whittling knife, Turley stood up. “All right, then. Let’s see how hard you two can work.”

  Samuel and Lamar had one of Turley’s massive wagons loaded by noon. The man seemed pleased enough. He said they’d pull out at first light the next morning. When he offered to buy them a drink, Samuel had just opened his mouth to make an excuse when Turley made a face and said, “Sorry, Parson. Shoulda realized you’d be a teetotaler.” He pointed in the direction of the boarding house. “Tell Abe I’ll make good on it if he puts a steak on yer dinner plates. How’s that?” Turley headed off without waiting for an answer.

  Samuel found Abe Valley elbow deep in bread dough in the lean-to kitchen attached to the main room. He seemed surprised that Samuel was asking after Fannie. “I thought she was with you. She headed toward the levee a while ago. Said something about Mrs. Webb’s store and getting one of them calico bonnets.” Valley held his dough-encrusted hands up to his face to mimic a sunshade. “Said something about style not mattering as much now.” He grimaced. “She’ll likely be just fine, long as she doesn’t get lost.” Valley chuckled. “She asked me for a job.”

  “A job?”

  He nodded. “Asked if I’d be willing to let her serve tables and help with clean up and such in return for her board.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Told her if she really meant it, I’d be more than obliged.” He chuckled. “Word gets out that little gal is serving tables here, folks will line up halfway to the fort just to get a look at her.” When Samuel frowned he shook his head. “Now, don’t get yer dander up, son. A man can’t help it that he likes pretty scenery. I’ll see to it they behave themselves. You can’t expect her to just stay in her room waiting for you to come back, can you?”

  Of course he couldn’t expect that. He just didn’t like the idea of all those men staring at Fannie. On the other hand, the idea that she’d asked for work was admirable for a girl who’d been raised in one of the biggest houses in St. Charles. He had to smile, though, at the thought of Fannie pushi
ng a broom.

  “I had to ask her if she even knew how to sweep a floor,” Valley said. “I think it made her a little mad … but then she said she thought she was smart enough to learn.” He laughed again. “Tell her when you find her she’s due for her broom lesson with Abe.”

  Valley’s lack of worry relaxed Samuel some. Still, the farther he and Lamar got from the boarding house, the more unsettled he felt about Fannie’s setting off on a shopping excursion alone. At least she wasn’t wearing the silks and carrying that parasol. He hoped she’d tucked that gold locket out of sight. And she’d know to avoid the strip of saloons on Main … wouldn’t she?

  “This is a heck of a place for her to decide she has gumption,” Samuel muttered as he and Lamar broke into a lope. What passed for gumption in Missouri could be dangerous in Montana.

  Was that a scream? Lord … NO!

  If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.

  ROMANS 12:18

  Their aroma preceded them, but it wasn’t unwashed bodies … it was liquor. Fannie was nearing Mrs. Webb’s mercantile when three braves stumbled out from behind a livery. She backpedaled immediately, intending to duck into the barn, but she was too late. They saw her. A combination of paralyzing terror and fascination stopped her in her tracks. The three men were tall and, if she could just get past the panic she was feeling, she might even call them impressive—except for the whiskey bottles. Long braided hair … leggings … beaded moccasins. Apart from the fact they couldn’t seem to stand still, they might have been subjects for a painting.

  All of that flitted through Fannie’s mind, but in its wake the fear returned, for they’d stopped staring. Now they were conferring with one another, and the way they kept looking at her, Fannie knew she was the subject. Her hand went to the place Mother’s locket usually hung. Thank goodness she’d tucked it inside her dress.

  The tallest of the three braves tilted his head. Took a step forward. Fannie took a step back. The other two moved to block her retreat. She spun to look at them, and just as she did, the tall one poked her back. She spun back around. The three men laughed. One waved his bottle in the air and did a shuffling kind of two-step in a circle.

  The one who’d poked her reached out again. This time, he touched the bun at the back of her head. Pulling his finger away, he looked at it. Held it up to the light. Said something to his friends, and reached for her again as they all began to talk at once.

  One of them must have caught a glimpse of the locket chain. Fannie winced when he inserted his finger between her neck and the high collar of her blue dress and yanked. Hard. The chain broke, and the locket fell between her breasts. When Fannie put her hand to her chest, the men laughed again. She crouched down, wrapped her arms about her knees, and began to scream.

  Rough hands clawed at the bun at the back of her head. Voices yammered. She heard rather than saw a whiskey bottle fall to the earth. And then … footsteps … men yelling her name … and darkness.

  She woke suddenly, still terrified, gasping for breath, holding her hands out and flailing madly against what proved to be only air.

  Someone grasped her hands, and an unfamiliar male voice soothed, “It’s all right, Miss Rousseau. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Wherever she was, she was no longer at the mercy of them. She opened her eyes. The man who’d just spoken had a slight accent. Curly dark hair and a well-trimmed beard framed hazel eyes. She blinked in the dim light. She was lying on … a table? And the stranger was standing next to her, although at a respectful distance. “Where’s Samuel?”

  “He’s just outside,” the stranger said. “I’ll get him as soon as you’re fully awake … and ready.”

  Ready? What was there to get ready about? She wanted Samuel. She sat up and looked around the room. Some kind of framed certificate hung on the far wall above a desk sporting overflowing cubby holes and a mountain of papers. Another wall boasted a shelf cluttered with glass bottles in various sizes and colors, mortars and pestles, and a small scale.

  “Where am I?”

  “In my clinic, such as it is,” the man said. “Dr. Edmund LaMotte at your service, mademoiselle.”

  French. That was the accent. “Clinic? H-How did I get here?”

  “You fainted and Mr. Beck carried you here after your unfortunate … encounter.”

  It all came back. When she reached for Mother’s locket, the doctor said, “It fell free when Mr. Beck picked you up. He told me you’d be worried about it. Your friend Mr. Davis has it. It’s safe.” He motioned to the mirror hanging on the wall near where Fannie sat. “Once you take a moment to fix your hair, you’ll be good as new. There’s a brush and comb in the holder on the wall by the mirror. They’re clean. Feel free to use them.”

  Her hair. She reached back to feel what was left of the neat bun, shivering as she remembered how those men had treated her.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with my hovering,” the doctor said, “until I’m certain you aren’t going to faint again. It wouldn’t do for you to be rescued only to fall and break your neck in my clinic. Very bad for a doctor’s reputation.”

  Scooting to the edge of the table, Fannie dangled her feet over the edge as she removed what was left of her hairpins. As her hair tumbled down her back, the doctor said, “They didn’t mean to hurt you. Sadly, they were drunk, or they would have been much more respectful. They merely wanted to see your hair. It really is lovely, and as you can imagine, blond hair is something of a rarity here.”

  Reaching out to cup her elbow in his palm, he said, “Now get up slowly. If you don’t feel faint, I’ll retreat and occupy myself with that mound of infernal paperwork over on the desk while you put yourself back together. Your friends will be greatly relieved to see that you’re no worse for the wear.”

  “The way my hands are shaking,” Fannie said as she stood up, “I don’t know that I’d agree about not being any the worse for wear.” She pressed her lips together to keep the tears back. What would have happened if Samuel and Lamar hadn’t heard her scream?

  “They didn’t mean any harm,” the doctor repeated. He caught her gaze in the mirror. “I know those three, and”—he shook his head—“it’s terrible for them. Smallpox has killed half their friends and family, and interlopers are killing off game at an alarming rate and telling them to stop the very behaviors that have measured their manhood for generations.”

  “Is terrifying women part of the way they measure their manhood?”

  The doctor sighed. “Of course not, mademoiselle. As I said, they didn’t mean any harm … and even if they had, they were too drunk to cause any.” He retreated to his desk.

  Fannie’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “It makes me feel so much better to think they were too inebriated to follow through with … whatever they might have wanted to do.” With a shiver, she tucked the last hairpin in place and turned away from the mirror.

  “Enfin,” the doctor said with a maddeningly charming smile. “It’s obvious you’re fully recovered.” He shrugged. “As to my ability to read minds, it isn’t necessary.” He nodded toward the door. “Lame Bear is waiting outside to apologize for his sons’ behavior. And their fascination with your hair? It’s true. But he’ll tell you that himself.”

  Samuel and Lamar rushed in the moment the doctor opened the door. When Samuel opened his arms, Fannie went to him gladly, reveling in his warmth while he scolded her mildly for going off on her own. Fannie glanced at the doctor. “Dr. LaMotte assures me I was never in any real danger.” When she asked the smug physician about a fee, he shook his head.

  “It was my pleasure to be of service. And I didn’t really do anything but reassure your young man here that he could expect a full recovery.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “And now, I believe you have someone waiting to see you.” He led the way outside, where an imposing Indian with gleaming black hair waited astride a beautiful gray horse. As Fannie approac
hed, he dismounted.

  “This is Lame Bear,” Dr. LaMotte explained. “I’ll translate for him.”

  “I have come with a gift to show the sadness I feel at what my sons have done. They were blinded by whiskey and your golden hair. They only meant to see if the gold would wipe away and make their hands shine in the sun. They meant no harm. But they frightened you with their drunken dance. I wish peace. I offer you this gift.” He stroked the pony’s sleek neck. “When my sons have slept away the drink, they will come to you and offer gifts of their own. They will not harm you. I, Lame Bear, say it is so.”

  Speechless, Fannie turned to look at Dr. LaMotte, who explained. “He doesn’t want you to file a complaint with the army. He’s well-known here in Fort Benton, as are his sons. The boys are rabble-rousers, but harmless. They’re related to Mrs. Culbertson, a true lady of the Blackfeet Nation, whose husband is one of the most respected traders in this part of the country.” He paused before saying, “Lame Bear is a good man, Miss Rousseau. He’s too proud to beg with words, but that horse is his way of begging you not to make trouble for Owl, Eagle, and Bear.”

  “That’s a fine animal,” Lamar murmured.

  Lame Bear spoke again.

  “The animal’s name is Smoke,” the doctor translated. “Lame Bear says he is sure-footed and gentle. A good horse for a woman.”

  Fannie didn’t accept the hackamore Lame Bear tried to hand her, but she did step down off the porch and go to the pony, which snorted and danced away. Lame Bear spoke to the horse, and soon Fannie was running her hand over the horse’s cheek and, finally, down to his muzzle.

  “I won’t make trouble for your sons,” she told him, “but I have no need for a horse.” When Lame Bear’s voice changed and he began to gesture and shake his head, Fannie didn’t need the doctor to translate. She glanced his way. “He clearly thinks I need a horse. What should I do?”

  “Take the horse,” the doctor said. “It’s an insult to refuse a gift. I’ve been trying to talk Lame Bear into selling me one of his ponies for weeks now.” He grinned. “I’ll happily take him in trade for perpetual medical care as long as you’re in Fort Benton.”