A Most Unsuitable Match (11 page)

Samuel had just settled beneath the wagon one evening when Lamar came to fetch him. “Water level’s high, moon’s full, captain’s going to take us into St. Joe by moonlight. I volunteered us to help mark the channel.”

Pulling his suspenders back up, Samuel followed Lamar to the mackinaw boat where the mate was already waiting. The men shoved off. Samuel thrust a long pole into the river, seeking bottom and sounding the depth. Even loaded with two hundred tons of freight and thirty passengers, the
Delores
only needed waist-high water to navigate.

As Samuel poked the mackinaw upstream, Lamar and the mate marked a channel with lighted candles affixed to bits of scrap lumber. A length of rope and a stone weighted the floats so they’d remain in place as the steamer slid past, and paper cylinders set down over the candles kept the flames from blowing out.

There was little time to appreciate the aesthetics of the flickering lights marking a pathway for the
Delores
, but at some point Samuel realized that passengers had collected both on the prow and above on the hurricane deck to watch the spectacle. And it was a spectacle. The full moon had transformed the tawny river into a silver ribbon. In the moonlight, the belching ship almost looked romantic, like a timeworn lady of the night made beautiful by lamplight.

“It’s called ‘eating up the lights.’ ”

The deep voice came from just over her shoulder. Fannie jumped and whirled about, looking up into eyes so dark they were almost black. Perhaps it was the hour. Or the fact that Hannah wasn’t there. Whatever it was, there was something about the man that made Fannie uncomfortable—in a fascinating kind of way.

He stepped up to the railing next to her. “E. C. Dandridge at your service,
madame
.”

Fannie had heard the name. Mr. Dandridge had come on board in Kansas City, but he hadn’t seen fit to dine in the saloon yet. That fact alone lent an air of mystery to the man. Broad shoulders and expensive clothing did the rest. Socializing was an important part of life aboard the slow-moving steamer, and E. C. Dandridge was a regular subject of conversation among the half-dozen ladies who gathered in the dining saloon every afternoon.

Rumors about the man ranged from the ridiculous—he was a desperado just a few steps ahead of the law—to the sublime—he was a widower seeking solace from the torments of grief with an endless cycle of travel. Whatever the truth, the fact that Mr. Dandridge was standing close enough for her to catch the scent of his after-dinner cigar made Fannie feel awkward and self-conscious, even as she enjoyed his attention.

“Please say that we will have the pleasure of your company for the entire journey, Miss Rousseau. It’s been a long while since anything as lovely as you graced the decks of the
Delores
.”

Thankful for the moonlight’s ability to obscure her blush, Fannie stammered, “I-I didn’t realize you knew my name.” She glanced toward the cabin she shared with Hannah. And where was Hannah, anyway?

“Any man worth his salt would make it his business to inquire about a lady as lovely as you.” Dandridge paused before adding, “I had you figured for an officer’s wife bound for one of the forts upriver. Captain Busch set me straight on that issue.” He paused again. “He seems to have taken you under his wing. I shall have to be very careful.”

What did he mean by that? Careful? About what? “I assume the captain told you that I am headed for one of the forts, though. Fort Benton.”

Mr. Dandridge was quiet for a moment, then murmured, “Ah . . . Fort Benton. I assume this will be your first visit?”

How does he know that?
And why was it so hard to look at him, even in the moonlight, without feeling flustered? She concentrated on the meandering pathway of floating lanterns on the river. “Isn’t that lovely,” she murmured.

Dandridge agreed, although Fannie didn’t think he was looking at the river when he did so. Suddenly, he moved away slightly and said, “Miss Rousseau’s companion, I presume?” He touched the brim of his top hat and introduced himself to Hannah. “I understand you two are bound for Fort Benton. My partner and I are opening a business there.”

Hannah introduced herself. “Mrs. Hannah Pike. Nursemaid, housekeeper, traveling companion . . . and defender, when necessary.”

Mr. Dandridge laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tugged on his mustache as he leaned toward Hannah and said in mock confidence, “I’ve noticed the lady has been the object of more than a little attention from belowdecks. It’s good to know she has a friend looking out for her. I’d offer myself as a second if I thought there was a chance you’d accept my references.”

“Happy to accept,” Hannah said, with what Fannie thought sounded like forced pleasantness, “as long as the references include a minister of the gospel, a missionary, and a seminary professor.” She touched Fannie’s arm. “I do apologize for putting an end to a lovely conversation, little miss, but I’m certain Mr. Dandridge will excuse us.” She nodded toward the river. “Looks like we’re about to tie up for the night.”

Indeed they were. Fannie hadn’t really noticed, but the mackinaw was back alongside, most of the floating candles behind them now. Tipping his hat, Dandridge bowed and took his leave.

Fannie followed Hannah into their tiny cabin, where Hannah harrumphed. “What on earth were you thinking, taking up with a man like that?”

“I wasn’t ‘taking up’ with anyone, and what do you mean ‘a man like that’? He was . . . interesting. If he’s opening a business in Fort Benton, he might have an idea of how I can locate Aunt Edith.”

Hannah fluffed a pillow—although it looked more like punching than fluffing. “You will encounter all kinds of
interesting
men on this journey, little miss. Men who are nothing like the boys who bowed and scraped to get the favor of a dance with you in St. Charles. A top hat and a stiff collar may dress up the outside of a man, but they don’t change who he really is. And mark my words, the man inside Mr. E. C. Dandridge’s fine suit is not a man you want to associate with.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Fannie pulled the tiny purse that had been dangling from her wrist off and tossed it onto her cot. “We were just talking. He was passing by where I was standing watching the crew float those lights on the river. It would have been rude of him not to say
something.
”

“It would have been rude of him not to tip his hat. It
was
rude to linger when you haven’t been introduced and you were without an escort. He took advantage, and I’m quite certain he knew he was doing exactly that.” Hannah sniffed. “You do recall that he stepped back away from you when I walked up? He knew he was being fresh.”

Fannie rolled her eyes. “How on earth could standing at the railing in plain sight of everyone else and within a few feet of my ‘nursemaid, housekeeper, traveling companion, and defender’ be considered taking advantage?”

“It is none of that man’s business where you are headed or why or with whom.”

Fannie sighed and sat down on the edge of her cot. “But he might know something about Aunt Edith.”

Hannah sat down opposite her. “If he’s headed all the way to Fort Benton, there will be plenty of time for you to speak with him
when the two of you are in proper company.
It’s not as if you’re hard to find, little miss. We dine in the saloon three times a day. If he wants to be sociable, there is a correct way to do that. And that way is not to approach a young lady standing by herself in the dead of night, looking out on a romantic moonlit river bedecked with floating candles.”

Forsake the foolish, and live; and go in the way of understanding.

P
ROVERBS 9:6

Once the
Delores
left Nebraska City, the sky turned gray and the weather bleak. The journey took on a sameness that dampened Fannie’s visions of a grand adventure. But then Mr. Dandridge began to dine with the rest of the passengers. He even condescended to read aloud to the ladies’ sewing circle on an occasional afternoon while they knitted and pieced quilt blocks, tatted, and crocheted. For the first time, Fannie was grateful Hannah had seen fit to pack their needle cases and a few projects.

One afternoon, when Mr. Dandridge had concluded his reading of Mr. Dickens’s
Great Expectations
, he asked Fannie to “take the air.” Not unaware of the jealous glances some of the sewing circle ladies cast her way, Fannie accepted. Hannah had retired to take a nap, and as she and Mr. Dandridge paced back and forth along the hurricane deck, Fannie plied him with questions about Fort Benton.

“I’m afraid anything I’d have to say about the place might result in your abandoning the
Delores
at the next stop,” he said. “To be quite honest, I can’t imagine what Captain Busch was thinking to encourage you.”

“He didn’t encourage me,” she said. “He merely realized he couldn’t stop me.” She was sounding much stronger than she felt, but something made her want to seem independent and decisive.

“I admire your courage.”

“I’m not courageous,” Fannie blurted out. “Half the time I’m scared to death. But every time I doubt myself I read one of my aunt’s letters and it reminds me—” She broke off and asked Mr. Dandridge to wait while she went to get Aunt Edith’s photograph.

When Hannah roused long enough to ask if everything was all right, Fannie reassured her with a very small fib about wanting to show Aunt Edith’s photograph to “someone in the sewing circle.” When Fannie handed Mr. Dandridge the photograph, something flickered in his dark eyes. “Have you seen her, then?” she asked.

Dandridge looked up. “I can’t say for certain. Her face reminds me of someone, but . . . Fort Benton’s citizenry doesn’t include anyone of this woman’s obvious social standing. At least it didn’t when I left last fall. It’s still very . . . primitive.”

There was no need to repeat what Captain Busch had said about Aunt Edie heading off into the mountains with a group of miners. At least not to Mr. Dandridge. And besides, who knew what romantic adventure a beautiful woman like Edith LeClerc might have encountered in a wilderness populated by Indians and soldiers. She could have found her one true love. “Couldn’t she be an officer’s wife?”

“There are no soldiers at Fort Benton, Miss Rousseau. It acquired its name when Major Culbertson of the American Fur Company oversaw the construction of an adobe stockade with three-foot-thick walls and a massive gate—for a fur trading post. If you were picturing a military stockade and a parade ground, I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed.” He returned the photograph. “I don’t think there are more than a dozen white women in all of Fort Benton, and the ones I know are nothing like the refined lady in that photograph,” he paused, smiling into her eyes, “and nothing like you.”

When he put his palm at the small of her back, Fannie knew she should move away, but she didn’t want to. It was . . . nice having someone care. What he next said proved that he only meant to comfort her.

“But please, Miss Rousseau—Fannie. Don’t be discouraged. Fort Benton is growing. In fact, it has likely changed since I left last fall. Who knows but what you will find a few families living there when we arrive. There might even be a church by now. Heaven knows the good Lord is needed there.”

A clap of thunder made Fannie jump—almost into Mr. Dandridge’s arms. As rain poured out of the skies, they both laughed as they ducked beneath the hurricane deck roof, their backs pressed against the exterior cabin walls as sheets of water poured out of the sky, shattering the surface of the unpredictable river.

Dandridge leaned close and murmured an invitation to accompany him into the saloon to see if they could get another couple interested in a game of whist. Fannie happily accepted. Mother would be appalled at the idea of her playing cards, but except for meeting Mr. Dandridge, the trip was proving itself to be interminably slow and excessively boring. She’d read two books and finished knitting a pair of mittens she hated.