She’d hurried out to Edmund’s buggy to get away from Edie, crying as she climbed aboard, and then hunkered down to wait for him, finally falling into an exhausted sleep. At the sound of Edmund’s voice, she opened her eyes.
“Fannie. Fannie, wake up. I’ve brought you some water. We’ll be heading back into Fort Benton soon. You need to drink something.”
Fannie blinked, saw Edmund’s kind face, and began to cry again.
“You’re a foolish, foolish woman,” he scolded.
“And you lied to me!” Fannie spat the words out. “You knew. All this time you knew. You let Samuel go looking for her … and all the while—” Edmund touched her arm. She jerked it away. “Leave me alone.”
“No,” Edmund said. When Fannie looked back his way, he repeated it. “I won’t leave you alone. Stop behaving like a spoiled child who didn’t get what she wanted for Christmas.” He looked back toward the house. “Do you have any idea what it did to Edie to open the door and have you just … standing there?”
“I have an excellent idea,” Fannie said. “It didn’t mean a thing.”
“Oh, Fannie …” He shook his head. “Think, Fannie. Think. Put yourself in Edie’s shoes. You’ve left home and written twenty years’ worth of letters that read like fairy tales. And then … everything falls apart. You do the best you can, but the best you can do is something everyone in your past would find heinous. And then, just when you feel that you’re finally beginning to dig your way back out, someone young and innocent … someone you long to know … arrives on your doorstep. And you aren’t ready. You want her to admire you. But you can see exactly what you don’t want to see in her eyes. And your heart breaks.”
Fannie gazed back toward the log house.
Edmund cleared his throat. “As to my being a liar … I never lied. Not to you, and not to Mr. Beck. I do owe you both an apology. Of course I recognized Edie when Mr. Beck showed me her photograph.” He glanced toward the house. “I’ve been the doctor for Bonaparte’s since the beginning. I told Edie about you the first time I saw her after Samuel showed me that cabinet portrait. But I also promised her I wouldn’t say anything to you, at least for a while. To give her time to decide what she wanted to do.”
“You let Samuel go on a pointless search.”
“No I didn’t. He was going anyway, in search of his sister. And, quite honestly, I knew he’d probably run into someone who knew Edie. They’d tell him where Edie’s establishment was located, he’d run into the new owner … and maybe find Emma as a result.” He scrubbed his beard with the back of his hand. “I also thought that perhaps Mr. Beck would come back with evidence that would help you understand Edie. Evidence that would show you what I meant when I said she was starting to dig her way back out.”
Fannie frowned. Shifted in the buggy seat and turned toward him. “Bonaparte’s is a brothel, Edmund. I know what a brothel is, I know what Edie is, and you can please stop trying to talk around it.”
“Except that Bonaparte’s isn’t a brothel, Fannie. Not anymore.” When Fannie snorted disbelief, he smiled and opened his mouth to explain, but just then Patrick came trotting out from behind one of the “bunkhouses.” The man who was shuffling alongside the boy waved a greeting, and Edmund hurried to finish. “We’ll talk later, but, Fannie—none of us is completely who we seem. There’s a great deal of pain beneath Edie’s icy demeanor. It’s a defense. I don’t know all the reasons, but I suspect your family plays a part.” He put a hand on her arm. “I’ve never seen Edie cry, Fannie. She was crying when she told me you were out here.”
“Fannie?” Patrick asked in disbelief. He looked toward his father. “But how did Fannie get to Mrs. Bonaparte’s ranch?”
“Exactly the question I was about to ask,” Edmund said, even as he helped Pete hitch the little mare to the buggy for the drive back to Fort Benton.
“Lame Bear brought me,” Fannie told them. “He led Smoke and I rode.”
Pete’s gray head popped into view from the off side of the mare. “You come all the way out from Fort Benton with that old Injun? In the night?” He shook his head. “Wonder you didn’t all turn into wolf bait.”
Fannie cleared her throat. “Well … we weren’t alone.” She glanced at Edmund. “Those sons of his—he rounded them up first. They walked behind. With rifles.”
Edmund and Pete exchanged glances. When both men burst out laughing, Fannie sniffed. “I don’t see what’s so funny. I was nearly frightened to death the entire way.”
“Fannie Rousseau,” Edmund explained, “you have got to be the only white woman in all of Montana who calls up four Blackfeet warriors to escort an expedition.”
Pete joined in. “Yes, ma’am. That’s something all right.” He grinned. “You might want to have your answer ready when one of Lame Bear’s sons proposes marriage.”
Fannie shot both men a horrified look that set them both to laughing again. For his part, Patrick seemed impressed by the whole idea. “Do you think Owl and his brothers would come hunting with us sometime, Pete?” He glanced Fannie’s way. “Wouldn’t that impress the girls at school?”
“Patrick LaMotte,” Edmund scolded. “You just get in the buggy and stop thinking so much about how to impress the girls you haven’t met at the school you haven’t been accepted to in a place we haven’t gone.” He thanked Pete for his help, waved toward the house, and then climbed aboard.
Fannie sighed with relief when Edmund settled beside her on the buggy seat. She was going to be stiff and sore in places she didn’t realize she had come morning. What she wouldn’t give for a soak in a tub of hot water. Thinking about baths set her to thinking about the bathhouse at the far end of Main in Fort Benton. Bathhouses … brothels … her eyes grew heavy as Patrick enthused about camping out with Pete at the ranch, and the ancient gelding Pete let him ride … and then she was waking and realizing she’d been using Edmund’s shoulder for a pillow.
The minute she lifted her head, Edmund leaned down and said in a low voice, “Someone’s upset.” Fannie followed his gaze toward the clinic, where Abe Valley was waiting. The minute they drove up, he was at the buggy helping Fannie down, but all the while wanting to know what in tarnation she thought she was doing sneaking out in the middle of the night without so much as a “fare thee well.”
“I … I’m sorry, Abe,” Fannie stammered as she looked up at him. “I guess I didn’t think.”
“Yer darned tootin’ you didn’t think!” Abe sputtered. “Lucky you didn’t get pulled apart by wolves.”
“Wolves would never have gotten Fannie,” Patrick said from the buggy’s back seat. He told Abe about Lame Bear and his sons.
Abe looked doubtful until Edmund chimed in. “It’s true,” he said, barely stifling a chuckle.
“Well, at least she’s got the sense to know better than to head off into the wilderness without a gun.” He waxed colorful regarding the aftermath of such an event and swore his way through an imaginary funeral and then, after telling Fannie he expected her to be back in time to serve supper and help with cleanup, he stormed off.
“Mr. Valley was mad,” Patrick said with wonder. “I never saw him so mad.”
Fannie glanced at Edmund. “I should go. Help him with … everything.”
Edmund nodded. Glanced Patrick’s way. “Maybe we’ll bring Abe some business for supper.” He smiled. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and a piece of pie later.”
“That means I’ll have to bake some pies,” Fannie said with a grin.
“You know what I hate?” Patrick interjected. “I hate it when grown-ups talk about coffee and pie but they’re really talking about something else.”
Edmund laughed. “Would you rather I just said, ‘Patrick, find something to do. I want to talk to Fannie and I don’t want you to hear it’?”
Patrick shook his head. “No, I guess not. Then I wouldn’t get pie.”
“Pie it is, then,” Fannie said.
“And I’ll offer to go to bed early so the g
rown-ups can talk,” Patrick sighed.
Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
PSALM 37:4
Edmund and Patrick lingered over supper at Abe’s, and when the last diner left, the two helped transform the dining room into a sitting room by scrubbing tables and lighting lamps. Four boarders started up a card game at one table, and Patrick offered to help Abe wash dishes “so the grown-ups can talk about something besides pie.”
As Fannie and Edmund walked toward the levee in the moonlight, Fannie pulled her shawl about her shoulders and folded her arms across her torso. “I don’t think I really know how to have this conversation.”
“Well, I know how to begin it,” Edmund said. Stopping short, he touched Fannie’s arm and, when she turned toward him, he repeated his apology. “I truly did not mean to deceive anyone. My intent was only to give Edie time to adjust to the idea that a past she obviously finds very upsetting has caught up with her.”
He leaned toward her slightly. “Please say you believe me.”
His sincerity was undeniable. “Of course I do.” She took his arm. “What I don’t understand is Edie. She’s nothing like the woman she created in her letters. Were they all lies? And if they were, and Mother knew it … why did she keep them?” Fannie shook her head. “I don’t understand any of it.”
Edmund covered her hand with his. “All I know is that Edie was visibly shaken when I told her you were here. Stunned, really.”
“That, I do understand,” Fannie said. “Her letters created a fantasy. When I showed up at the door, she’d been found out.” She paused. “And honestly, Edmund … what woman wants her family to know she’s running a brothel?”
“Except, as I said earlier, she isn’t. She did … but she doesn’t anymore.” They were near the clinic, and Edmund guided her there, motioning for her to be seated on the front porch bench while he leaned against an upright. “The Bonaparte’s up in the gold camps was just what you say. And a successful one, apparently. But last year, something terrible happened. One of Edie’s favorite girls took her own life. The patient I drove out to see—Mollie—said that, for a while, they were all afraid Edie was going to follow suit. She was that distraught. Then Edie closed down. She sold out and came here. Five of her girls came with her when she told them she wanted to provide a haven of sorts—if they were interested.” Edmund looked out toward the river. “She had the ranch built, and very quietly, word has traveled in the territory that if a sporting girl needs a way out, she can come to Bonaparte’s.”
Fannie looked up at him. “But that’s … that’s a wonderful thing to do. Why on earth wouldn’t she want me to know about that?” She answered her own question. “Of course … knowing that would mean knowing the rest.” She sighed. “I should never have gone out there.”
“It was … premature,” Edmund agreed. He came to sit beside her. “Your aunt is something of an enigma, Fannie, but there’s a good woman beneath the ice. I’ve met that woman—the one who cares deeply about others and wants to make life better for them.”
Fannie looked out on the town. She thought of Emma, Samuel’s sister. Had she been forced to work in a place like the ones up on Main? Would she have done that if she’d known of a place like Edie’s ranch? “How many women are living at Edie’s?”
“Half a dozen.”
“The one you were called to treat—is she all right?”
“She will be. Her baby was early. Too early.” His voice wavered. “It was a little girl. Mollie named her Edie. I imagine they had a little service after we left. They were lining a box with fabric for a coffin.”
Fannie closed her eyes. She couldn’t imagine that kind of heartache. She turned to look at him. “Would you have stayed for the service if it hadn’t been for me?”
“No. It would have been too difficult to explain to Patrick.” After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry things didn’t go differently out there today. But I don’t think you should abandon all hope.”
“That’s going to be hard. My mother was … remote … like Edie was today. I’d given up trying to break through it by the time I was fourteen, but I never stopped hoping things would change between us. When I found Edie’s letters, I suppose I thought it was like getting a second chance with Mother.” She studied her hands, feeling rather than seeing the results of weeks of washing dishes and scrubbing tables at Abe’s. “I can’t help but think it’s all been a waste. Of time. Money. And”—her voice wavered—“and it cost Hannah her life.”
Edmund reached for her hand. “What happened to the Delores wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that. And one day, I’ll think differently about all of this. But right now—” She shook her head. “Right now, I just want to go home.”
“Please don’t.” He said it abruptly, and with such emotion that Fannie turned to look at him in the moonlight. He shrugged. “I still think there’s a good chance Edie will relent.” He smiled. “And besides that, if you were to leave now, Patrick would be heartbroken. Abe’s business would fall off horribly … and I’d be … bereft of someone to discuss Mr. Dickens with over coffee.”
He stood and pulled her up beside him. Fannie’s heart thudded as she looked up into his eyes. For just a moment, she thought he might kiss her. For a moment, she wanted him to. But then he looped her arm through his and said, “You can’t leave. There’s an entire committee of people against it, not the least of whom is Samuel Beck.”
Fannie took some time in mid-September to sit down and catch up on some letter writing.
Dear Samuel,
Dr. LaMotte says that Babe Cox is good about helping letters find their way. When Mr. Cox saw who this letter was for, he told us about the preacher in the gold camps that people are calling Brother Sam. I remember that day on the Far West when, Bible in hand, you said, ‘We have to tell people about this!’ And now you are. Samuel, I’m so happy for you.
You can be happy for me, too. I’ve found Aunt Edith. She has a ranch a short distance from Fort Benton (“short” as distance is measured here, that is). She expressed only shock at meeting me. No joyful reunion. I am holding on to hope that I will see her again and that, after she has had a chance to get used to the idea that I’m here, we will be able to have a real conversation. When I do, I will ask about Emma for you. Edie has spent time in the gulch, but her ranch is a kind of “home for the friendless.” Edmund says that she has about six women staying with her now.
Do you remember when I told you that I might have graduated to piecrust and corn bread by the time you returned? Well, Abe is an excellent teacher and he seems to think I may have a knack. Hannah would be amazed. Abe’s boarders like my pie! Have you ever eaten huckleberry pie?
In addition to working at the boarding house, I’ve been tutoring Dr. LaMotte’s son, Patrick, who is a charming young man of ten—and blind. I am certain I told you about my best friend at home, Minette, who lost her sight when we were children. I’ve been teaching Patrick some of the things Minette forced me to learn. (She used to make me play blindfolded.) Edmund hopes to enroll Patrick in the very same school next year. He plans to establish a practice in St. Louis so he can be near Patrick.
Fannie hesitated. She didn’t know what else to say … or how to sign the letter. Did “Brother Sam” still have feelings for her? What did she feel for him? The more time she spent with Patrick … and Edmund … the more confused she felt. But then, neither man had expressed anything beyond friendship. Had they?
She signed the letter Fondly. And added Lamar’s name to the greeting.
Edmund and Patrick began to dine at Abe’s more often, and one evening Fannie produced the locked leather envelope containing Aunt Edith’s twenty letters and asked Edmund to read them. She watched his face as he read, smiled knowingly when he looked up a time or two, and finally said, “And now you know why I was so shocked when I met her.”
Edmund nodded … and said nothing.
And then … fina
lly … word arrived from home. Fannie sat at one of the tables in Abe’s dining room and opened Minette’s letter first. She was soon sighing with relief. It was just as Hannah had predicted and Fannie had hoped. Minette was incensed that Fannie had gone off without her … and forgiving.
Mr. Vandekamp’s letter, on the other hand, was neither forgiving nor helpful. Fannie read it with trembling hands, and by the time she’d finished, Edmund and Patrick had joined her, Edmund’s hand on her arm, his brow furrowed with concern. Without a word, she handed him what amounted to a cryptic note ending life as she’d always known it.
We received the news of Mrs. Pike’s tragic death and offer our condolences, even as we rejoice that you did not suffer a similar fate. As to the journey itself, you have no need of further comment from this office as to our opinion of the matter.
I regret to inform you that the house on Main was struck by lightning and caught fire on the 30th of May. Every effort was made, but to no avail. The damage was extensive. It is my opinion that the house is a total loss and that the property should be disposed of as soon as possible. Of course this cannot be done absent your directive and that of your other advisors. We have seen to the securing of the contents while we await word from you.
As Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Hennessey are absent St. Charles on a business trip, and since your directive forbids me to act alone, I am unable to release funds as you request.
We await your reply, but would be most glad for your presence. I remain your faithful servant.
When Abe set a mug of coffee before her, Fannie took a sip. The hot liquid steadied her.
“It’s gotten really quiet,” Patrick said. “Should I be asking to go to bed now?”
Fannie forced a laugh. “That’s very sweet of you, but no … you don’t need to excuse yourself.”
“There’s been a fire at Fannie’s house in Missouri,” Edmund explained.
Patrick’s brow furrowed. “That’s terrible.” He bit his lower lip, but then his face lit up with a smile. “Does that mean you’ll stay in Fort Benton?”
A Most Unsuitable Match Page 19