Free A Most Unsuitable Match by Stephanie Whitson

to Fort Benton.”
    Busch nodded. “And she did. Against my better judgment and against every reasonable argument. But she convinced me she was an honorable woman, and it was clear she was going, come what may. I decided she might as well be on board my packet as another.” He paused then and, taking a pipe out of his pocket, asked Fannie’s permission to light it.
    Fannie gave it before asking, “Do you think that if I wrote her in Fort Benton, a letter would have any chance of reaching her?”
    “Impossible to know. She was gold crazy like the rest of the passengers on that trip. Although I will tell you that, were I a gambling man wagering on the chances of any woman having success in Montana, I’d wager on Miss Edie LeClerc.” His eyes flashed with humor. “She was a caution, that woman. I can tell you she disembarked at Fort Benton. As I recall, she’d made arrangements to head for Alder Gulch with a group of miners she met on the way, and they were all intending to travel with a freighter one of them had heard about. A man by the name of Babe Cox.”
    “Alder Gulch?”
    “The gold diggings there yielded ten million in ’63 and ’64. Your aunt,” he said, tapping the photo with a fingertip, “was among those who believed there was still plenty to be had.” He paused. “Of course, tales of rich veins tend to change with the wind, so where Edie might have ended up, who can say.” He smiled. “If she’s still in Montana, Miss Rousseau, I imagine she’s made a name for herself. She is not a woman people soon forget.”
    “So . . . there might be a chance of finding her . . . if someone were to go looking.”
    Busch eyed her for a moment. “You thinking of hiring Pinkertons?”
    If only I could. Fannie shook her head.
    “I’ll tell you what. Your father was one of the better men I’ve met on this river. He believed in me when I was a fresh young pilot and others didn’t. You write your letter, Miss Rousseau. I’ll see what I can do about helping it find your aunt.”
    Fannie thanked him. “When are you leaving?”
    Busch nodded toward the piles of freight on the levee. “It’ll take a few hours to load all of that. We’ll pull out at first light in the morning.”
    How many hands would a letter have to pass through? How easily would a letter get lost or forgotten? Was that the best way to find Aunt Edith? Now that she’d heard someone talk about the woman, Fannie wanted to meet her more than ever. She didn’t really want to wait for an answer that might never come.
    “How much is passage?” The minute she’d blurted out the question, Fannie’s heart began to pound with a combination of nerves and . . . anticipation.
    Busch shook his head. “I said I owe your father a debt, miss. Hauling his only daughter to a place like Fort Benton is no way for me to repay it.”
    Fannie looked out on the busy levee. The tall roustabout who’d brought her up here to talk to the captain was helping an older man carry a huge crate on board. She put Aunt Edith’s photo away. “Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?”
    “Write your letter, Miss Rousseau. Bring it back before we cast off, and you have my word I’ll do my best to see that your aunt receives it.” The captain tipped his cap. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” With a little bow, he headed off up the walkway leading alongside the cabins.
    Something about the way the captain dismissed her reminded Fannie of Mr. Vandekamp’s shuttling her out of his office. Oh, Captain Busch had been more tactful about it, but she was still being turned away. Shoved aside. Patted on the head like a child and told to let the adults in the room handle things.
    Why did men do that? Shouldn’t she have a say in her own future? Why shouldn’t she be able to do what she wanted? What was so horrible about escaping St. Charles and its problems for a few weeks?
    Escape. What a wonderful word. Escape to a place where looming debt