A Most Unsuitable Match

by Stephanie Whitson

  Fannie spent the rest of the day, after her encounter with Lame Bear and his sons, ensconced in Honest Abe’s dining room reading through Aunt Edith’s letters and drinking endless cups of coffee. She wanted to write a letter for Samuel to have on hand in the event he actually found her, but she didn’t know what to say. How did one answer twenty years of letters? After several false starts, she came up with a letter that she hoped would lure Aunt Edith to Fort Benton before too much time passed.

  Dear Aunt Edith,

  If you are reading this, it is because Samuel Beck and Lamar Davis have found you. I’ve dreamed of meeting you, and I’ve come to Fort Benton in hopes that you will want to meet me.

  In last year’s letter you wished for Mother to share your greetings with me. Sadly, she never did. She rests beside Papa now, beneath a weeping stone angel in the church burial ground. In my efforts to gather up some of her things and put them in Mr. Vandekamp’s safe, I discovered both your letters and the cabinet portrait you had taken in Paris. Mother may not have shared them with me, but she treasured them. I know this because she kept them all together in her dressing table. I don’t know why she never shared them with me, but I’ve read the letters so many times now that I almost have them memorized.

  Is it too much to ask you to come to Fort Benton before the last steamboat of the season leaves in October? I should be on it, returning home to attend to what is left of Papa’s estate and to resume the life I left. But first … can we make amends for these twenty years?

  Fondly and with hope, your niece,

  Fannie LeClerc Rousseau

  Samuel and Lamar met Fannie in the candlelit dining room at the hostelry before dawn. Much to Samuel’s amazement, Fannie had made coffee and breakfast.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” she said. “Abe gave me coffee and egg lessons just after sweeping lessons yesterday afternoon.” She forced a smile. “By the time I see you again, I may have graduated to piecrust and corn bread.” She held out the letter she’d written to her aunt. Samuel tucked it into his mother’s Bible, and then he and Lamar sat down to breakfast. He did his best to force the eggs down. They were surprisingly delicious, but he didn’t have much of an appetite that morning.

  Their good-bye was … awkward. Just when he intended to take her in his arms, Fannie remembered that Abe had suggested she send a couple of loaves of bread with them on the trail. She skittered into the kitchen. When she returned with a towel knotted around the loaves, she tucked them into the carpetbag Samuel had left sitting on one of the tables, then handed him the bag. She hugged Lamar first, then stood on tiptoe and kissed Samuel on the cheek.

  “I don’t want to cry,” she said, and physically propelled him out the door.

  They were halfway to the levee when he turned back to see Fannie silhouetted in the hostelry doorway.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” Lamar said.

  Samuel took his hat off and raked his fingers through his hair. “That doesn’t make it easy.”

  “Nothing much worth doing is easy, son,” Lamar said. “You’ll write her. She’ll write you.”

  “I don’t understand why God would let me fall in love with a girl like her.”

  Lamar chuckled. “I can’t imagine, either. A man’d be crazy to want a woman that beautiful and smart.”

  “Citified … afraid of the wilderness … high-toned … downright stuffy at times.”

  “Be careful, Sam,” Lamar chided. “It’s good to be holy. Holier-than-thou? Not so much.”

  “All I’m saying is—”

  “—you wish she wasn’t what she is. I know. Maybe she wishes you were different, too. Last I knew, only God changed hearts. So you be who you are and do what you need to do … and let her be who she is and do what she needs to do. And trust God with the rest.”

  Dear Minette,

  Letters can find me now. Everyone in Fort Benton seems to know that Miss Fannie Rousseau of St. Charles, Missouri, is staying at the Fort Benton Hostelry. You’d think they’d never seen a woman with blond hair before, although Mr. Valley—who insists I call him Abe now—says that it is more than the blond hair. Which of course makes me blush.

  I enclose a copy of the placard hanging outside the establishment for your amusement. Abe’s is actually quite acceptable when it comes to accommodations. My room is just large enough for a small bed, a washstand, and a tiny stove. There is a window opposite the door which affords me a view I would rather not have, since Abe’s is on the far northern edge of Fort Benton tucked in behind the fort. From my window I see a disconcerting wilderness. I thought that Montana meant mountains, but it is all prairie here. I expected it to be colder, as well, but the days are mild.

  You will wonder at this next statement, but Minette … I am working for my keep! It is actually enjoyable, although Abe has had to teach me the most ridiculous things. I didn’t know how to sweep a floor! You may think that is a simple task, but initially I stirred up more dust than I swept. I am in charge of keeping the coffee flowing now, and Abe has promised to teach me to make bread soon.

  Serving in the dining room (which is essentially the only room of the establishment save the lean-to kitchen and the rows of rooms out back) provides a never-ending supply of humorous anecdotes. Perhaps I’ll begin to write them down for posterity. Recently I have served a former opera singer, a college professor, and a newspaperman. Of course by looking at the three, I would have guessed farmer, miner, thief. But that is to my shame.

  I remember you telling me once that a person can learn more about others if they forget what they can see. I didn’t believe you then. Being here has taught me the truth of what you said. It’s more than a little humbling to realize I’ve spent years misjudging people based on their appearance. I always thought of Hannah as far more than a maid. Why didn’t I extend the same grace to everyone?

  In recent days, I have learned that many of the rough-looking men here give what they receive. If I smile and address them as if they were gentlemen, they usually respond by behaving as such. Don’t fear for my safety. After one foolish mistake (which involved Indians!) I feel much better suited to guard my ways.

  Mr. Beck and Mr. Davis departed for Alder Gulch a week ago. They earned passage by working for a frightful-looking freighter who, Samuel says, has a soft spot for the Shepherd’s Psalm. Do you see what I mean? People are not what they seem.

  The journey to Alder Gulch is one of three weeks’ time, and so I am certain to remain in Fort Benton for many weeks to come. The last steamboat down the river leaves here in October, and of course I won’t take any chances of missing it. To be truthful, I don’t think about it very much because I don’t want to consider the end of the journey without success, and while there are whispers of Aunt Edith, she has yet to materialize.

  I am ever hopeful that one day soon a mailbag will arrive with a word from you, my dearest friend.

  With true affection and hope,

  Fannie

  Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.

  MATTHEW 10:31

  Fannie was scrubbing tables in the boarding house dining room one evening when Abe trundled in and handed her a coffee-stained piece of paper. “Found this blowing around out back.”

  Fannie looked down at the paper. Dear Minette. She blushed, laid the page on Abe’s counter, and went back to scrubbing. Abe reached into the bucket of water on the floor, squeezed out a rag, and joined her at work. “Sending mail from here to Missouri costs a pretty penny.”

  Fannie nodded and said nothing. She’d written to Mr. Vandekamp requesting money, but there was no telling how long it would take that letter to reach him, or if he would even reply, and she couldn’t afford to mail any more letters. Still, she kept writing. When she ran out of paper, she went back and made additions in the margins. It felt good to write to Minette, even if she couldn’t mail the letters.

  Abe pulled a chair from beneath a rustic table and swiped at the seat. “Soon as we’re done her
e, what say I give you a paper and a pencil and you make a list of what you need. Start with more paper and ink—pen nibs if you need some—for those letters, and postage to send them on their way.” He slid the chair back in place. “There’s no reason folks back home should be losing sleep because of letters sitting here in my hotel. We’ll keep an account and you can pay me back when your money comes from that Mr. Vandy fellow. Fair enough?”

  “I don’t know if it’s fair to you,” Fannie said, blinking back grateful tears, “but I think it’s wonderful of you to offer.”

  Abe crossed to the counter, opened a drawer, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. He set them on the counter. “You got any idea what things cost up here?”

  Fannie shook her head. “I didn’t really pay attention to the prices of things at Mrs. Webb’s store. At home I just got what I wanted and signed a paper. Mr. Vandekamp took care of everything.”

  “Well now,” Abe said, putting his hands on his hips. “I had no idea you were that fine of a lady.” He grinned. “Can’t imagine what your fancy friends would think if they saw you sweeping floors and scrubbing tables.”

  “They’d be proud of me and grateful to you for putting up with me.” She smiled. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate it, Abe. I just hope Mr. Vandekamp answers in a hurry.”

  “Have you noticed how busy I’ve been since your presence started decorating my dining room?” Abe tapped the paper with his finger. “You make your list. I’m not rich, but I can front you a grubstake for a bit.” He paused. “I don’t mean to worry you, but it’s August and winter comes early here. Once the river closes, we won’t get mail again until spring.”

  Fannie had been watching the calendar in recent days with the same sense of concern, but she didn’t know what she could do about any of it. Whether she found Aunt Edith or not, she couldn’t imagine leaving Fort Benton without seeing Samuel again. Minette had said that falling in love was like hearing an echo. What did it mean that she couldn’t echo Samuel’s intense feelings about God? Next to Samuel, she almost felt like a heathen. And yet, when she thought about how safe she felt in his arms … the kindness in his dark eyes … no. She couldn’t leave.

  “I might not like Fort Benton in winter,” Fannie said, “but right now I’d like leaving even less.”

  Abe nodded. “I understand. But, Fannie, you haven’t felt cold until you’ve been through a winter up here.” He shook his head. “My wife was from hardy stock, but it only took one Montana winter to do her in.”

  Fannie stopped scrubbing. She stood up and looked across the room at Abe. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you’d been married.” She paused. “Oh, Abe … losing a wife … that must have been so hard for you.”

  He grinned. “Not after she left, it wasn’t. First peace and quiet I’d had in years.” He lit a lamp on one of the tables. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I get along just fine.” He transferred paper and pen from the counter to the table. “You get to work on that list. I’m just going to set the sponge for the morning’s bread. Then we’ll talk.”

  With Abe’s generous loan, Fannie was able to send Minette’s letters on their way and buy more writing paper and envelopes. Thinking of Samuel, she bought herself a Bible. At the last minute, she indulged in knitting needles and a generous supply of yarn. How she’d groused at Hannah over knitting on board the Delores. Now she hoped she could remember enough to make Abe a pair of mittens, even as she hoped answers would come about Aunt Edith long before she needed a pair for herself.

  As she settled into a routine of sorts and got to know a few more people in Fort Benton, Fannie began to feel better about taking short walks away from the boarding house on her own. Abe said she could trust Lame Bear’s apology in regard to his sons. “Half the men in town have eaten here at one time or another since you started work. I think they’d take it personally if they saw anyone bothering you. Sort of like having someone tromping through a rose garden they all enjoy.” He handed her a walking stick. “Stay in this part of town between my place and the levee and I think you’ll be fine. Anyone who doesn’t respect you, you just hit ’em where it hurts.”

  Fannie blushed, but she accepted the walking stick and began to venture out for midmorning walks to and from the river. Abe had been right—again. As they got used to seeing her, men on the levee began to call out greetings and doff their hats. Once, when someone Fannie didn’t recognize said something rude, another roustabout grabbed him and gave him such a talking-to that Fannie almost begged for mercy on behalf of the one who’d been so rude. She made sure to thank her defender personally the next time he ate at Abe’s—and gave him an extra helping of biscuits and gravy.

  Eventually she realized that she was subconsciously waiting for mail. She didn’t know what she wanted most, a letter from Minette or money from Mr. Vandekamp. She felt a desperate longing for both, for different reasons. And then there was the longing to hear a word from Samuel. Hadn’t they met a freighter coming toward Fort Benton in that time? Couldn’t Samuel have at least … Well, of course he could have written. If he wanted to. Maybe he didn’t miss her as much as she missed him.

  One day Fannie skirted along the back wall of the adobe fort, and when she came around to the front, the wide gate facing the river stood open. It was the first time she’d seen the interior of the old building. Walking stick in hand, she headed inside, impressed anew by the high walls nearly three feet thick. No wonder it had taken years to build the place. She hadn’t realized that the fort walls doubled as the back wall for each of the long buildings spanning nearly the entire length of each side of the interior square. Glancing up at the corner bastions, she tried to imagine what it would have been like in the days before steamboats, when the only things plying the river were mackinaws and flatboats.

  She saw this place as a wilderness, but to the men who’d built the fort, the wretched town represented progress. Had the Blackfeet who first brought furs to trade realized how things were going to change?

  As she admired the history behind the fort, Fannie glanced down at the bare earth and wondered at the thousands of other feet that had walked there before her. A shadow fell across the earth. Then moccasins came into view. Her heart pounding, Fannie looked up, only somewhat relieved when she recognized Lame Bear. He spoke to her, then crouched down and drew the outline of a horse in the dirt.

  “Please don’t be offended,” she said. “I don’t ride well at all, and I’d have needed a sidesaddle. Smoke is a fine animal, but—” It wasn’t doing a bit of good. From the way he argued and gestured, the man clearly didn’t understand. Fannie glanced toward Dr. LaMotte’s clinic, where half a dozen men waited on the log bench outside the door. Dr. LaMotte was clearly in. Maybe he could help by translating. Motioning for Lame Bear to follow her, Fannie headed for the clinic.

  She and Lame Bear were halfway there when a steamboat whistle echoed in the distance. Fannie looked downriver toward the steamer, wincing when someone on the levee fired a welcoming volley from the cannon pulled out of the fort and poised near the river for just that purpose. The instant the cannon fired, a team of bays harnessed to a wagon waiting at the levee screamed in panic. Rearing up, they lunged forward, unseating their driver. He landed in the dirt, and to the cries of “Runaway!” the horses charged off. Fannie watched them go, horrified when she saw a boy in the path of the spooked bays.

  It happened so quickly, Fannie didn’t have time to think. And yet, in some ways, things seemed to slow down. She saw pure terror on the child’s face. Heard the wagon clattering as the team charged toward him. Registered the shouts. Realized that fear had rooted the boy in place. He wasn’t going to move. In a flash, Fannie launched herself in his direction, but instead of pushing him out of the way, all she managed to do was knock him down. She fell atop him just as the crazed team lunged past, so close she felt a tug as a wheel rim ran across the edge of her calico skirt. Dazed, she sat up just as a wild-eyed Dr. LaMotte came tearing out of the clinic and raced toward
them.

  “Patrick! Oh, dear God … mon Dieu … please be all right … Patrick!” He scooped the boy into his arms, smoothed his dirty face with the flat of his hand, held his chin up, felt his arms and legs, and then, reassured by the boy’s sobs that he was only afraid, not injured, he turned his attention to Fannie.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “Really, I’m … fine.” She got back to her feet and began to dust herself off. Lame Bear limped up. Handing her the walking stick she’d dropped, he began to pat her arm and mutter what she chose to believe was sympathy and concern. “I’m fine. Really, I … I—” She looked back down at the boy. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt? I landed right on top of you. I’m so sorry, but—”

  Dr. LaMotte stifled a sob. “You saved his life.” After another crushing hug, he held the child away from him and scolded, “You were supposed to wait for me to come for you, young man.” His voice wavered. “You were supposed to wait.”

  “I’ve walked from the store home at least a million times. I don’t always need help.” The boy wrestled free. Bending down, he felt for his own stick, found it, and stood back up. He looked at Fannie with beautiful but, she realized, sightless blue eyes, and smiled. “Thank you, miss. Are you as pretty as you smell?”

  “Patrick!” the doctor scolded.

  “I didn’t realize you had a family here in Fort Benton,” Fannie said. And may I call on your wife … please? Is she as lonely as I am?

  “He doesn’t have a family,” Patrick said. “He has me. Ma died.” He paused. “She had measles. So did I. I got well, but now I can’t see.” He forced a weak smile. “But I remember colors. Ma’s eyes were brown. What color are yours?”

  Dr. LaMotte spoke for her. “Miss Rousseau’s eyes are blue, and you and I should be getting back to the clinic.” Once again, he turned to Fannie. “I really don’t know how to thank you. But I’ll think of a way.”