A Most Unsuitable Match

by Stephanie Whitson

  The doctor smiled. “Touché, mademoiselle. Patrick was helping out at Palmer’s store the day—” He glanced at Patrick. “The day you came to see me.”

  “Mr. Palmer pretends I’m a huge help,” Patrick said. “He’s really just being nice, but he pretends to need help sorting the penny candy. I can do that because of the shapes. And he pays me in kind.”

  Dr. LaMotte chuckled and rumpled his son’s russet hair even as he spoke to Fannie. “Before he left Fort Benton, Mr. Beck stopped in to show me your aunt’s portrait. The family resemblance is remarkable, by the way. You look very much like her.”

  “She was my mother’s twin,” Fannie explained.

  “That’s what Mr. Beck said. It’s a shame about his sister. I was sorry I couldn’t give him any news.”

  “Two different people have recognized Aunt Edith from the photo,” Fannie said. “I’m hoping to hear news from Alder Gulch any day.” She glanced at Patrick. He was far too intelligent for her to say much more about Aunt Edith or Emma Pilsner’s being in the gold camps. Abe and Samuel and Lamar had all talked around it, of course. Surely not every woman in the gold camps was that kind of woman. Her heart broke for Samuel if he discovered such news of his sister. At least Fannie didn’t know Aunt Edith.

  “I’m just hoping for the best,” she said, realizing even as she said it that she didn’t sound very convincing. Feeling self-conscious, she glanced around the room. “You’ve a very comfortable living arrangement, it seems.” She could just see the lower part of a trundle bed below the bottom edge of a ragged quilt partitioning part of the room off as a bedroom. The rest of the decent-sized room contained a large table, the stove, a cupboard, and a surprisingly beautiful rocking chair next to a marble-topped table and a shaded kerosene lamp.

  “We do all right,” the doctor said as he poured coffee. He nodded toward the door behind him. “It’s convenient for the practice and keeps me from worrying—most of the time.”

  “It seems that you like to read,” Fannie said, nodding at the rocking chair and the lamp.

  “Look up, Miss Rousseau,” Patrick said.

  Fannie did. Dr. LaMotte had a few dozen running feet of books on shelves running the entire circumference of the living area about a foot below the ceiling.

  The doctor smiled. “I have a fondness for the Greeks. And, on occasion, a Puritan or two. I also enjoy Dickens, especially when the snow flies.”

  “Pa loves winter,” Patrick said. “He gets more time to read when the river traffic stops and people hunker down and stop shooting one another.” He sat down across from Fannie and folded his hands. Feeling embarrassed, Fannie followed suit. She’d forgotten about saying grace in the days since Samuel and Lamar had left for the gulch.

  “Why don’t you say grace today, son,” the doctor said.

  “Thank you, Lord, that I didn’t get trampled today. Thank you that Fannie was there and that she has a blind friend and she can teach me. Thank you that Pa knows how to cook and that it tastes real good. Thank you for schools where I can learn how to do things and please let me go there soon. Thank you that Miss Rousseau smells like roses, because Pa—”

  “We thank you, our heavenly Father,” Dr. LaMotte interrupted, “in Jesus’ holy name. Amen.”

  When the doctor said Amen, Patrick joined in. Stifling a smile, Fannie followed suit, opening her eyes just as Dr. LaMotte put a slice of meat on his son’s plate. When the doctor reached for his own knife and fork and began to cut it up, Fannie frowned. The doctor noticed. “Is there a better way?” When Fannie nodded, he withdrew his knife and fork. “Please,” he said. “Show us.”

  Fannie went through a brief lesson for Patrick in cutting meat. She sat back. “At least that’s how Minette does it.”

  His face beaming with joy, Patrick forked a piece of meat he’d just cut for himself into his mouth.

  While he chewed, he said, “What about milk? Show me how to keep from spilling it. I know where it is, but I’m always knocking it over.”

  “First,” Dr. LaMotte interrupted, “show Miss Rousseau that you have been taught some manners.”

  Patrick swallowed. “Sorry. I know not to talk with my mouth full. I just forgot.”

  “Do you know how to tell time?” Fannie asked. “What I mean is, do you know what the face of a clock looks like?” When Patrick nodded she told him his glass of milk was precisely at two o’clock, and then gave a few other pointers before looking across at Dr. LaMotte and saying, “It will be very important that you set the table exactly the same way every day or this won’t work.”

  “Obviously,” the doctor agreed.

  “All right, then,” Fannie said to Patrick. “You already know it’s at the two o’clock position. Instead of just reaching out, though, use the edge of your plate as a guide. How about pouring your own, too.” She put the pitcher in his right hand and then showed him how to judge when the glass was full. “The only thing that’s hard about any of this is reminding yourself to pay attention and take your time.”

  Sliding his index finger along the rim of his plate to the two o’clock position, Patrick encountered the glass. Following Fannie’s instructions, he poured his own milk and drank it down. When he went to set the empty glass back on the table again, he hit the rim of his plate. He made a face, then smiled. “But that was better.”

  Fannie agreed. “And it will only continue to get better. All you have to do is practice. And be patient.”

  “I feel stupid sometimes,” he said.

  “So do I.” When Patrick looked doubtful, she said, “Not very long ago, Mr. Valley had to show me how to sweep a floor.” She joined Patrick laughing, and then said, “You think I’m joking, but I’m not. It’s true.”

  “Everybody knows how to sweep a floor.”

  “Everybody doesn’t, until they’ve learned.” She put her hand on the back of Patrick’s hand. “You aren’t stupid, Patrick. You just haven’t had a chance to learn from people who understand what it’s like to be blind. I’m not stupid, either. But I never had a chance to learn some things others take for granted.”

  “Don’t people where you’re from sweep floors?”

  She chuckled. “I never did. Others did it for me.”

  “Are you rich?”

  “No, but my parents were. They hired people to sweep so I could do other things.”

  “Like what?”

  Fannie hesitated. She didn’t think Patrick would be too impressed with her knowledge of the proper form in the quadrille or which of the four forks at the dinner table one should use to eat shrimp. “Well,” she said instead, “my papa loved the Greek philosophers. He used to read Aristotle to me. He had the outrageous notion that it was all right for a girl to learn those things.”

  “Really?” Dr. LaMotte said.

  Fannie smiled. “Yes, but please don’t expect me to be able to discuss his method of logic. I listened … but I didn’t really understand.” She patted Patrick’s hand. “You, on the other hand, will undoubtedly understand every word of it. You’ll be able to read it for yourself, you know.”

  “You’re talking about Braille.”

  “I am. Minette’s school has an entire Braille library.”

  Patrick turned to his father. “Then that’s where I want to go.”

  Dr. LaMotte smiled at Fannie. “Where is this wonderful place with the library?”

  “In St. Louis.”

  The doctor mouthed the question “Can we talk later?” When Fannie nodded, he asked aloud, “I wonder, Miss Rousseau, if while you’re here in Fort Benton, you’d have time to teach Patrick some of the things you learned with your friend Minette. I’m afraid I can’t offer much in the way of a salary, but I could canvass the area regarding your aunt while you tutor Patrick. Mr. Beck made a thorough search of Main Street before he left town, but I make regular calls to some of the more remote locations. I don’t think Patrick would mind my leaving him behind to spend time with you.”

  Patrick turned to Fannie.
“Please say you’ll do it, Miss Rousseau. Tell Mr. Valley I’ll scrub tables. Wash dishes. Do anything he asks. A boy can only spend so many hours waiting in a carriage before he goes mad.” He sighed dramatically and put the back of one hand to his forehead.

  Fannie laughed. “I certainly cannot be responsible for a young man’s going mad. And as for Mr. Valley, I don’t believe he’ll mind having an extra hand. He’s been very busy lately.”

  “So I heard,” the doctor said. “My patients keep talking about how good the food is since Mr. Valley hired help. I’ve been meaning to see for myself. Now it appears I’ll have even more of a reason than ever.”

  Patrick sighed loudly. “You know what I hate? I hate when grown-ups talk but what they’re saying isn’t what they’re really saying.” He turned to Fannie. “Will learning Braille help me with that, Miss Rousseau?”

  Fannie didn’t know what to say. Dr. LaMotte laughed and got up to refill their coffee mugs.

  Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path.

  PSALM 27:11

  “What do you mean Chadwick’s dead? When did he die? How? Did he have a woman with him?” Samuel stammered questions even as Rosalie grabbed his lapel and led him to the rear of the saloon, through a doorway, down a hall, and into a room no man of the cloth with any kind of self-respect would be caught dead in.

  Rosalie raised the window shades. Gray light seeped in through the dirty windows, but light didn’t improve the scenery. “Sit down, honey.” She motioned to Lamar. “You too. Come on in and sit.” Her voice grew stern as she said, “The bed’s clean, Reverend. What was that you said out by the bar a little while ago? Jesus is no respecter of persons? I brought you back here to talk in private. If you think you’re too good to sit down in my room, we can go back out front and the whole saloon can hear what I’m about to tell you about a woman with red hair and an ugly scar.”

  Samuel sat down. Lamar followed his example, while Rosalie perched opposite them on a stool. “Johnny Chadwick came into town with a woman that has to be your sister, although Johnny called her Estella. Anyway, it had to be her. He was good to her. At first. He said he knew a secret about a vein of gold so big it would birth a town named Chadwick. I heard him tell Estella/Emma more than once that she was going to be the queen of Alder Gulch.” Rosalie shrugged. “Imagine everyone’s amazement when Johnny’s secret didn’t pan out. Oh, he had a few good runs, but he lost every cent he made chasing better stakes. The worse his luck got, the worse he treated Estella.” She paused. “I think your sister really loved him, Brother Sam. She put up with a lot.”

  Just like Mother. Emma attached herself to a blowhard, and when life disappointed him, he took it out on her. It was Saul Pilsner and Mother all over again.

  “But the day finally came when Emma had had enough.”

  “She left him,” Samuel said.

  Rosalie shook her head. “No, honey. She shot him. Deader than dead.”

  Dear Minette,

  Do you remember Pastor Garrison’s telling us that everything happens for a reason? Well, if that is true, I believe I may have met the reason I am still in Fort Benton. His name is Patrick LaMotte. He is ten years old and very bright … and he is blind.

  Fannie wrote about Patrick that evening in the dining room after having lunch with him and his father. She talked about his longing to attend a school for the blind and how excited he was to learn the few things Fannie could teach him. She wrote and wrote and wrote … and then, suddenly, she realized that she had barely mentioned Samuel at all. Barely thought to mention him. What did that mean?

  “You’ve a caller, Miss Rousseau.”

  Fannie started at the sound of Abe’s voice. When she looked up, he was smiling and pointing at the doorway where Lame Bear stood waiting, with an envelope in his hand. Fannie opened it and read:

  I have been called to Bonaparte’s on an emergency. Patrick is with me. We may be gone for a day or two. I didn’t want you to worry when you found the clinic locked up. When we return, we’ll stop by the boarding house. I have news for you.

  Most sincerely,

  Edmund LaMotte

  For a long moment, Fannie stood speechless, staring down at the bit of paper. When she looked back up, Lame Bear was watching her with an expression she could only interpret as concern. “He’s gone to Bonaparte’s,” she said. “He didn’t want me to worry when Patrick didn’t come tomorrow.” She frowned. “He says he has other news for me, but …” She shrugged. “I suppose I’ll just have to wait.” She turned to Abe. “Who are the Bonapartes?”

  Abe hesitated. “Can’t say,” he finally said. “Guess you’ll just have to wait for the doc to get back to town.”

  Fannie sighed. It was going to be a long couple of days.

  Emma had committed murder. Of all the things Samuel had ever imagined or feared, he’d never entertained the idea of murder. Rosalie left to get him a cup of coffee. When she came back, she ordered him to drink it, and he did—before he realized the drink wasn’t all coffee. He coughed his way through a scolding protest, but when the warmth of whatever it was spread through his midsection, he decided to just let it go.

  “There now,” Rosalie said with a satisfied nod. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to faint on me. And don’t take that the way it sounds. There’s not a thing about you that’s anything but all man, but you’ve had a shock.” She smiled at Lamar. “As for you, handsome … I just thought you might like a drink.”

  Lamar finally asked the question Samuel couldn’t. “What do they do with a woman who’s done something like that up here?”

  “They cheered,” Rosalie said. Samuel looked up at her. She nodded. “You heard me, handsome. Johnny Chadwick didn’t have a friend left by the time it happened. He’d turned so mean that every single person who knew him agreed he had it coming. None of us could figure why Estella stayed as long as she did. The way I heard it, Johnny went after her one night and … well, if she hadn’t done what she did, I’d be showing you her grave.”

  “Where is she?”

  Rosalie shook her head. “I can’t help you with that. I know she was alive when she left Johnny’s claim, but I don’t know where she headed. She could have gone anywhere. With a freighter, with another miner … she could be working at a place like mine.” She reached over and patted Samuel on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Brother Sam. No brother wants to think of his sister—” she paused—“well, of his sister turning out like me.” She looked away, then forced a smile and stood up.

  “But hey. For whatever it’s worth, honey, it seems to me your sister is a survivor. I hope you find her. If you’re going to keep looking, you’re going to be visiting a lot of places like mine.” She winked. “Lots of chances to preach to the mean and lowly. That’s somethin’, Brother Sam.” She went to the door, then turned back around. “I doubt you’ll think this is a good offer, but if you two need a dry place out of the rain tonight, you’re welcome to stay right there.” She nodded at the bed. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Samuel could hear her laughing as she retreated up the hallway toward the saloon. He looked at Lamar. “What should I do?”

  Lamar shook his head. “I don’t know, son. I really don’t.”

  “Do you think Emma could still be up here somewhere?”

  “The lady said nobody was holding it against her.”

  “Did I hear her right? Did she honestly say people cheered when they heard what happened?”

  “You heard right.”

  Samuel put his head in his hands. What kind of person had Emma become in this place … among these people? Without looking up, he said, “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Sleep,” Lamar said. “The good Lord provided a bed. Use it.”

  For the first time, Samuel realized just how bone tired he was. “What about you?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Lamar said, and headed for the door.

  Samuel woke sometime in the middle of the night to piano music, t
he smell of stale whiskey, and a woman’s laughter just outside the door, but fatigue weighed him down. He listened for a moment and then fell back into a deep sleep that lasted until dawn. When next he woke, there was no piano music. He sat up and went to the door. Peering out the door and into the saloon, he saw an empty room with displaced chairs and empty glasses scattered on tabletops. And Lamar, stretched out atop two tables pushed together, his face covered with his hat. When Samuel walked up, Lamar spoke without moving the hat.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like I’ve never slept before.” Samuel plopped into a chair. “I’m sorry.”

  Lamar lifted the hat. “For what?” When Samuel gestured at the tables, Lamar shrugged. “No different than the deck of the Delores, son. No need to apologize.” He stood up. Stretching, he looked around the room. “Doesn’t look quite as alluring in the light of day, does it.” He scooted a chair back in place and then crossed to the bar and, reaching behind it, produced a broom. “What say we do a little housekeeping by way of thanking Rosalie for her hospitality? That’ll give you time to think about what we’re doing next. And where we’re getting breakfast.”

  Samuel stood up and began to gather glasses. He had no idea what he was going to do now … except for one thing. He had to show Rosalie the photograph of Fannie’s aunt.

  “Well, well.”

  Rosalie’s voice sounded from the back hall and she stepped into the main room, her body wrapped in a bathrobe, her sleek black hair falling down her back. She was holding a rifle. When she saw Samuel and Lamar, she crossed to the bar and set the rifle down. “I was wondering who was out here stealing my liquor.” She surveyed the room. “You boys interviewing for a job as butlers?”

  “We just wanted to show our thanks,” Samuel said, and nodded at Lamar. “It was Lamar’s idea, actually.”

  “Nice of you.” She looked up at Samuel. “You decide what you’re going to do now?”

  “We’ll keep looking. At least for a while. It isn’t just about my sister, anyway.” He went to the coat he’d hung on the back of a chair and pulled out the cabinet portrait of Fannie’s aunt.