A Most Unsuitable Match

by Stephanie Whitson

  “You know you can,” Abe agreed. “Right here at the finest hostelry in the territory.”

  “Thank you, Abe, but—” She read aloud, “ ‘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.’ ”

  “Well, what in tarnation does that mean?” Abe asked.

  “It means—” Fannie sighed—“that Mr. Vandekamp is choosing to be difficult and that I’m not going to have any cash at my disposal for a very long time.”

  “That’s all right,” Abe said. “You more than earn your keep now.”

  Fannie thanked him even as Edmund murmured the name Vandekamp. “Didn’t I read that name … ?”

  Fannie nodded. “Yes. In Edie’s last letter. But when I asked Mr. Vandekamp about Edie …” She glanced at Patrick. “It was one of those experiences Patrick talks about. Where people speak but don’t say what they really mean.”

  She put the letter down on the table. “He wasn’t willing to tell me a thing about Edie. Then I discovered serious financial problems in Papa’s business, and I thought they might be because of Mr. Vandekamp’s mismanagement. And then … he was pressuring me to marry someone … unsuitable.” She shrugged. “I left St. Charles on a whim. I didn’t tell him because I didn’t want another confrontation. But I also didn’t quite trust him anymore, and so I left instructions forbidding him to do anything without approval from my friend Minette’s fiancé and her father, both of whom are very well respected businessmen. So now … Mr. Vandekamp has an opportunity to get his revenge. And there’s really not a thing I can do to force his hand. I’m too far away.”

  Edmund’s face flushed with emotion “How can he do such a thing? What if you were in dire straits? What if you didn’t have friends to help? It’s unconscionable to the point of being evil.”

  “Calm down, Edmund,” Fannie said, patting the back of his hand. “I’ll admit to being surprised that he’s decided to be this vindictive, but I’ll be all right.”

  I’ll be all right. For the first time since leaving home, she believed it.

  And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one

  another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.

  EPHESIANS 4:32

  Rosalie had joked about Samuel’s finding his calling in her saloon. The longer he stayed in the gold camps looking for Emma, the more he wondered if she was right. He began to feel downright bold about walking into places and asking to preach. He didn’t even wait for Sundays in some places.

  The day a barkeep looked at him and said, “Are you the one I heard about? The one they call Brother Sam?” Lamar laughed out loud. Clapping Samuel on the back he said, “Preach it, brother.”

  Later that night, the two men were bedded down in a barn when Samuel spoke up. “What the heck am I doing, Lamar? I’m no preacher. I’ve got no training at all.”

  “You’ve got the most important things a preacher needs,” Lamar said. “You love people, you love God, and you love his book. I don’t see a reason to be confused. Seems plain as day, doesn’t it? There’s a calling on your life, Brother Sam.”

  “All I do is sing some hymns and say a few words. Sure, people listen, but then they go back to whatever they were doing as if nothing happened. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

  “You know for a fact they all go back to being the same people?” The straw rustled as Lamar shifted around. “Seems to me God promised his Word would never go out but what it would do its work.”

  “You think I should keep preaching, then?”

  “I think you should get some sleep. And tomorrow morning we should decide just how long we’re going to wander these hills. Once you’ve got a plan about that, the rest will fall into place.”

  After a while, Samuel said into the darkness, “I worry about Fannie.” He looked toward the bit of sky visible through the open haymow door. “Part of me wishes I’d never learned anything about her aunt.”

  Lamar was quiet for a long while. “I’ve lived a long time, Sam. Watched people. Some of ’em, life gets hard and they just kind of fold in on themselves and fade away. Others take on the load and get stronger. Oh, they might stumble about awhile, but eventually they learn how to shoulder the load and they keep going.”

  “Which kind do you think Fannie is?” Samuel asked.

  “You really need to ask that, son?”

  “She fainted when those Indian braves frightened her.”

  “True,” Lamar agreed. “But then she made us breakfast and joked about learning to cook while we’re gone.” He paused. “She’s had bad news before, son. Her parents are gone. She lost Miz Pike, and still she kept on. You respect her enough to tell her what you learned about her aunt. I’m not saying she won’t wobble a bit, but if you think on it awhile, you’ll see the same thing I do in that little gal. She’s stronger than you think.”

  Fondly?! She signed her letter fondly. Seated across from Lamar in a hotel dining room, Samuel fingered the letter Babe Cox had handed him with a teasing wink and a comment about the “fine hand” that had addressed it. He read it again, then handed it to Lamar. “Read that. Tell me what you think.”

  He’d preached his way all the way to Virginia City, and now they were staying at a hotel while they asked after Emma Pilsner and Edie Bonaparte, who might also call herself Edith LeClerc. They’d had no word of either woman since Rosalie’s. “Well?” he asked when Lamar had finished reading Fannie’s letter. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think about what?”

  Samuel leaned back in his chair and made a face. “She’s spending a lot of time with Dr. LaMotte.”

  “She’s teaching his son, Sam. The doc helped her find Edie.” Lamar looked back at Fannie’s letter. Finally, he said, “As long as we’ve been up here, plenty of people know about Brother Sam and the redheaded sister he cares so much about. If Emma turns up, I believe the news will find you, no matter where you are in the territory.”

  Samuel nodded. “But I can’t give up on her.”

  Lamar leaned forward. “Nobody who knows you believes you ever will.” He reached for the Bible Samuel had taken out of his pocket and put on the table when they sat down. Thumbing through the pages, he read softly, “ ‘Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.’ ”

  “I do delight in the Lord.”

  Lamar laid the Bible down. “I know you do. I’ve been watching the proof of it for a long time. But, Sam, why is it you seem to think the only time it’s God’s will is if it’s hard—something you got to force yourself to do?” He held up a hand. “Now, I know—sometimes that’s how things are, and then we just lean into the wind and trust the hand of God to keep us from blowing away. But it seems to me that when a man listens to God’s voice as sincerely as you do, Sam … couldn’t God be putting the desire to take a break in your heart, too? The Lord himself rested on occasion.”

  Samuel looked from Fannie’s letter to his Bible and back again. The idea that God might think it was all right for him to leave the gulch for a while set his heart to thumping. He smiled. “You mean my wanting to see Fannie again might be all right?”

  “Maybe more than just all right. After all, there’s plenty of saloons in Fort Benton to preach in.”

  Sam and Lamar were in trouble before they knew it, with no way out. One minute they were thanking God for the near miracle that had landed them good horses for the journey back to Fort Benton, and the next they were caught up in a storm of flying arrows. One minute the way was clear, the sky bright, and the fall air filled only with the sounds from a creek crashing through a ravine below the trail, and the next war cries sounded from every direction.

  Lamar’s horse bolted. Samuel’s reared up, slashing the air in a frenzy of terror. Instantly unseated, Samuel shouted a meaningless “Whoa!” as he went down. The last thing he remembered was the sight of Lamar clinging to
the saddle horn as his horse charged down the trail. The last thing he heard was shouting in a language he didn’t understand. The last thing he saw was a sea of painted faces.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but his head felt like it just might be splitting open. With a groan, Samuel opened his eyes. Everything looked blurry … smelled rancid. Where was he? Blinking, he lifted his head, then groaned and reached up with both hands to feel what surely must be a gaping wound along his hairline. He felt a ridge of dried blood. At least he wasn’t still bleeding. He opened his eyes again. Stared straight up. He was in a tepee. Campfire light flickered just enough to reflect off the long poles visible around the circle of starlit sky visible through the smoke hole above.

  How long had he been there? He felt so sick. He closed his eyes. Drums pounding. Or was that his head? And where was Lamar? Maybe Lamar got away. Away from … what? Were the Indians after their horses? He’d been warned that might happen, but he didn’t listen. He was in too much of a hurry to get to Fort Benton to see Fannie. Thought they could make it through if they traveled mostly at night. It had worked for a week, but then they’d decided to chance a few hours by daylight. Just a few hours.

  “L-lla …” His throat was so dry he couldn’t talk. Moistening his lips with his tongue, Samuel tried again. I can’t … talk … what’s … wrong … ? The drumbeats grew louder. He closed his eyes. Put his hands over his ears to block out the sound. He felt so dizzy. He was going to vomit. What was wrong with him?

  On a crisp fall evening, Fannie and Patrick finished cleaning the dining room at Abe’s and made their way back to the clinic. Fannie carried a warm loaf of bread and a crock of soup for Edmund, who’d been kept busy all evening stitching up the victims of a barroom brawl. She’d just set the soup at Edmund’s place and reached for a knife to slice the bread when he opened the door between the clinic and his living quarters.

  “Still not finished?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve a new patient. A couple of Dick Turley’s men found him on the trail this morning.” He paused. “It’s your friend Lamar, Fannie.”

  “But what—?” Fannie gulped. She took a step toward the clinic, but Edmund held her back. “I’m not sure you want to see. Give me some time to get him cleaned up.”

  “Tell me what you need. I’ll be fine.”

  Edmund studied her for a moment, then nodded. “First … water.”

  “I’ll get water,” Patrick said, grabbing a bucket and heading for the door.

  “What happened?” Fannie asked.

  “Turley says Indian trouble.”

  Fannie followed Edmund back into the clinic, where two men were waiting by the front door. “He couldn’t have been alone,” she said to them. “There had to be another man with him. You have to go back.”

  The shorter of the two men spoke up. “All due respect, ma’am. We don’t have to do anything … and we’re not going back.” He glanced at his partner, who nodded his agreement. “We darned near got ourselves killed as it was. There’s somethin’ goin’ on between the Bloods and the Piegan up that way, and this feller musta got caught in the worst of it. His horse got shot clean out from under him. Lucky he didn’t get his neck broke in the fall. We got more ’n our share. And there wasn’t anybody else on that trail.”

  Edmund thanked the two men for bringing Lamar in.

  “Samuel would never leave Lamar alone,” Fannie insisted. “He was there. He had to be.”

  “We can’t do anything for Samuel right now,” Edmund said. “Help Patrick get more water.” He turned away and, grabbing a pair of scissors, began to cut Lamar’s shirt away. For the first time, Fannie noticed three arrow shafts protruding from the shirt. Three. His right cheek had been grazed. And his earlobe … was it gone? She couldn’t tell for the blood. His face was swollen almost beyond recognition.

  “His arm’s broken,” Edmund muttered.

  Feeling weak, Fannie retreated to the kitchen and sat down. Took some deep breaths. Patrick returned. After they carried two buckets of water in to Edmund, Fannie got the fire going in the stove and made coffee to help Edmund through the long night ahead. And all the while, behind her concern for Lamar, behind her busyness, behind her outward calm, an unsung litany hung in the air. What happened to Sam?

  It was three long days and nights before Edmund ventured a positive comment. Lamar might get to keep his arm. The arrow wounds looked like they would probably heal. But he couldn’t understand why Lamar hadn’t regained consciousness. The bump on his head just didn’t seem that serious.

  On the fourth day after Lamar was carried in, Fannie was sitting, half asleep, beside Lamar’s cot when he groaned. Lurching awake, she put her hand on his forehead. “It’s Fannie, Lamar. You’re in Fort Benton. Safe. You’re going to be all right.”

  Lamar grew still. For a moment, Fannie thought he’d slipped back into unconsciousness, but then he muttered something. Fannie leaned closer. Took his hand. “Did you hear me, Lamar? It’s Fannie. You’re at Dr. LaMotte’s clinic and you’re safe.” She paused. Was it her imagination, or was he listening? “If you hear me, if you understand, squeeze my hand.” Almost imperceptibly, he responded. “The men who found you … said you were alone. Do you remember what happened? Was Samuel with you? Was Emma there? Were you on the way back because you found her?”

  The dark eyebrows drew together, almost as if it hurt to think. Lamar’s lips parted. “Sssss …”

  “Yes?” Fannie said. “Samuel? Where is Sam?”

  “Gone,” Lamar said. “Sam’s … gone.”

  “Fannie.”

  At the sound of her name, Fannie started awake. Edmund was on one knee beside the chair where she’d been keeping vigil over Lamar. She smiled and reached out to touch his cheek. “You’re back.”

  He took her hand. “I’m taking you to the boarding house and I want you to sleep until you awaken naturally. And if you’re still tired, I want you to sleep some more. Do you hear me?”

  Fannie opened her mouth to argue. She had to stay there. By Lamar’s side. Didn’t Edmund understand? What if Lamar awakened and she wasn’t there? What if he said something about Samuel and they missed it? But instead of protesting, she leaned into him as weariness washed over her.

  Dear Edmund. He cradled her head on his shoulder and stood up with her in his arms. She was vaguely aware of low voices and things being moved around in the clinic, but she was safe with Edmund … and so tired. And then … she was in her room at Abe’s … sleeping.

  Fannie burrowed into her pillow and tried to ignore the sunshine pouring through the tiny window on the back wall of her room. Caught between sleep and wakefulness, she inwardly groused at Hannah for failing to draw the drapes. She wanted to sleep. Didn’t Hannah realize… . She heard men’s voices just outside her door. Her eyes flew open. And she remembered. She was back at Abe’s and the voices were other boarders headed toward the dining room for breakfast.

  She lifted herself up on one elbow and looked through the window. Surely not breakfast. Perhaps lunch. What time was it? And Lamar—was there news? Throwing back her comforter, she sat up, then shivered and snatched the comforter back around her. She could see her own breath rising in the cold air. The last boat … what am I going to do if the last boat is leaving and Lamar’s still … and Samuel … Closing her eyes, she willed herself to stop worrying.

  The comforter still wrapped around her, she reached for her shoes and stockings, perched atop her trunk. Did Edmund take them off? She had a flannel nightgown on. Apparently he’d taken her dress off … and petticoats … and tucked her in. Her cheeks blazed. Pulling her stockings out of her shoes, she pulled first one, then the other on. Finally letting the comforter go, she hopped up and scurried to the washstand crammed between the doorway and the wall and poured water from pitcher into bowl. How long will it be now, before the water in the pitcher has a crust of ice over it every morning? The idea made her shiver even more as she bent to splash her face. She peered int
o the cloudy mirror above the washstand. She looked horrible. Pale. Tired. Frazzled. And Edmund took down my hair.

  Poor Edmund. He had to be exhausted. She’d gather up some victuals and hurry back to the clinic. Making quick work of her toilette, Fannie made up the bed and reached for her shawl, then thought better of it and pulled the hooded wool cape Mrs. Tatum had provided out of her trunk. Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Mrs. Tatum. I didn’t know I’d need it, but I’m so glad I have it.

  Thoughts of Mrs. Tatum made her think about the grave in Sioux City. Did Hannah have a grave marker by now? Hannah. I still miss you … do you see me? Lord … I need help. With everything. Samuel’s missing … Lamar’s hurt … and Edie. I don’t even know what to say about her except … help. Nothing’s happening fast enough. I can’t stay here through a winter … I can’t … can I?

  Draping her cape over her arm, Fannie closed and locked the door to her little room, then made her way across the yard, past the long tables, and in the back door of Abe’s lean-to kitchen. Her stomach growled. She inhaled with appreciation. Stew for lunch … maybe for supper, too. Reaching into a basket of biscuits, she took one, poured herself a cup of coffee, and then set to gathering up food to take over to the clinic. But then she heard someone calling for her from the next room. Peering around the doorjamb into the dining area, she saw Patrick sitting at the table in the corner, a pad of paper before him, a ruler in one hand and a pencil in the other.

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “You were talking to yourself,” he said with a grin. “And Abe doesn’t clatter around as much when he’s in the kitchen.”

  “Clatter?! I do not clatter,” Fannie teased. “And since you mentioned him, where is Abe?”

  “Helping Pa with his other patient. They left me here to tell you to come over but to eat breakfast first.”

  Another patient? Fannie thought back. Vaguely, she remembered other voices and things being moved around as Edmund carried her out the door. “Have you been here since breakfast? I didn’t realize how tired I was. But I feel better now. I’m just gathering up some food to take over. Since Abe is over there, too, maybe we’ll just take the whole stew pot. Your father probably hasn’t eaten. You know how he is sometimes.”