Diamonds in the Rough

by Emmy Waterford

  “Where? Where else … but west?”

  “Oh, Husband, no — we’re no carpetbaggers or scoundrels of the like —”

  “The West isn’t just for that type anymore, Adrienne. The West is where fortunes are won, where empires are built!” Adrienne couldn’t seem to bear looking at him in the eye, turning away in the silence that surrounded the dinner table. “Ask yourself what there is for us to stay here for? The brutal winters? A trade without a future? This place has no room for us anymore, Adrienne, it doesn’t want us here.” He picked up the three-page letter and shook it. “The county doesn’t want us here, maybe God doesn’t want us here!”

  “But the dangers,” Adrienne said. “Savages and road agents, starvation, disease, wolves. I’ve read tales in the papers, Michael, families torn to pieces —”

  “Wife!” Michael snapped, glancing at Hannah. “The child.”

  But Adrienne could only say, “Maybe she should be afraid.”

  “Those are just stories,” Michael said. “Who believes what they read in the papers anyway? It’s all a lot of nonsense.”

  “And what would we do out West? You heard what happened to those poor souls down in that mission. Santa Anna killed them- to the last man and child.”

  “Some escaped,” Michael said. “But we’re not soldiers, Adrienne!”

  “Nor were they, but cobblers and bakers and every manner of private citizen, as if there could truly be such a thing. When war calls, there are no civilians.”

  “War isn’t calling … not us, anyway.”

  “Not yet.”

  Michael waved her off. “The trains won’t have stretched that far, I can get a few more good years from the carriage trade. After that, maybe … maybe gold.”

  “Gold?” Adrienne threw up her hands, eyes rolling up toward her creased forehead. “Now I’ve heard the like! And who put such foolish notions into your head, Husband, while you chastise our daughter for the —”

  “These are no mere stories, Adrienne. People are striking it rich, knee-deep in stream flake, they say.”

  Adrienne looked him over, shaking her head. “They’re not the only ones.”

  “Do not disrespect me, Wife! I’m the man of this house and I lay down the law, whether or not anybody is here to see it, no matter what they may think of it.”

  “The Lord’s here … He sees. And what do you think He may think of it?”

  Hannah stood there as her parents stared each other down, both certain of their righteousness and their rightness, neither willing to back down. Michael said finally, “He leadeth me by the still waters.”

  *

  Two weeks later Hannah climbed into the Alexander family carriage, sitting among the boxes and bags they couldn’t fit onto the carriage roof. Michael and Adrienne Alexander climbed onto the helm and Michael took the reins. He gave them a shake and with a gruff call to action, their mare, Goldie, started off, dragging the carriage away from the boarded-up Alexander home.

  The place seemed sad to see them ago, as if the Alexander family was abandoning it to the mercy of strangers. It seemed to Hannah, watching out the rear window in the back of the carriage, that the house knew it was doomed, that it was destined to be torn down and replaced with something new and fantastic and horrible, the future coming to obliterate the past and remake it in its own image.

  Hannah couldn’t help feeling sorry for the old house and for herself. She knew she was leaving behind more than just a house. It was where she’d been born, where she’d come to know old man Roth. It was where he was, where his mine was, where his fate would lay buried forever, along with those poor, tortured souls.

  I failed them, Hannah scolded herself. I had a chance to do the right thing and find that mine, save my family, save our home, save Mr. Roth from the terrible hand of fate that holds him down even now, down in that hole, cold and dark and deep. I’m so sorry, Mr. Roth, sorry to you all, and to you too, Daddy and Mommy. I … I feel like I was close, but I know I failed. And I know I’ll never have another chance.

  The little house got even smaller as the carriage rolled away from Marion County, until the house was out of her vision and lingered only in her memory. Like the house itself, Hannah knew it wouldn’t last. More and more, it seemed to Hannah Alexander, nothing really does.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The lowlands of Indiana stretched out on all sides of the lonely carriage, shambling its way southwest. Headed for the southern climbs of California or any of the desert areas which would lay in front of it, the Alexanders were eager enough just to evade the encroaching winter. The wind got colder and harder, and the Great Lakes to the north would only add a sharp and icy blast to the already lethal gusts.

  But that was a good deal north and still a good distance to the west, and between that and the Alexanders lay an expansive gray sky and rolling foothills, flat plains, streams and outlets of the mighty Wabash River snaking along their route.

  Hannah became lost in the crowded back of the carriage, the leather creaking under the wooden carriage frame, Goldie huffing as she pulled them steadily along. Day-after-day, Hannah began to lose track of where they were or where they were going or even if they were managing to get anywhere at all. Hannah half-exacted to ride up upon their own house, the very one they’d left back in Marion County, unable to escape their miserable fates.

  And once Hannah’s imagination started to roam, it went where so many travelers’ must have; to the many dangers and treacheries which crept around every corner of the journey. Hours of calm dragged on, the creak of the thorough brace beneath the carriage boots a constant annoyance. Each moment, each inch farther only taunted Hannah, suggesting the inevitable tumult to come. Another peaceful day was another day closer to tragedy, Hannah could feel it in her gut.

  How will it come? Hannah asked herself and many more times than once. A bear, like before? Maybe a relative of the same bear, its mate, come for unholy vengeance?

  Savages or road agents, eager to do unspeakable things to white women, even when still children.

  Hannah ducked down, as if to hide even while hidden.

  The Lord is my shepherd, she recited to herself, I shall not want….

  Finally, after days of travel without tragedy, without attack or mayhem, Hannah allowed her mind to drift to brighter things.

  *

  The Alexanders spent another of many nights under the stars bursting across the coal-black night above them. Owls called out and coyotes answered, Hannah leaning closer to Adrienne, both leaning closer to the fire.

  Michael smiled, cutting the rabbit he’d shot and dressed and was cooking over the open fire. “We’ll be all right,” he said testing the meat with his fingertips before returning the creature to the flames. “Fire’ll keep the coyotes away, we’re safe in the carriage.”

  “What about the savages?”

  “Keep your mind on the Lord,” Michael said. “You let me worry about the savages.”

  Michael pulled the rabbit back and pulled a string of meat off the carcass, taking a bite before nodding and handing the stick to Adrienne so she and Hannah could pick eagerly at the rabbit. The meat was juicy and flavorful, with strains of the burned wood in the meaty fibers filling Hannah’s mouth and nose, as she slowly chewed her supper.

  Michael’s attention was continuously drawn back to Adrienne, his wife and Hannah’s mother, the worry which etched itself deeper and deeper into the lines of her face. “I know, my wife, I know … but don’t worry.”

  “I … ” But she couldn’t say it.

  So Michael said instead, “There was nothing back there for us, Adrienne, and everything waiting for us just beyond the horizon.”

  “I know, Husband,” Adrienne managed to say, but she was no more convinced of it than Michael was. Hannah could tell because she wasn’t convinced either.

  Michael added, “It won’t be long until we’re over the Wabash and the next territory. The farther southwest we go, the better off we’ll be. As long as
we can stay ahead of the winter, keep Goldie going, we’ll be all right.”

  “What if we can’t? What if —” But that sad silence returned, a lonely coyote howling. Hannah knew her mother had objected all she could, raised every worry. There was little either of them could do but silently support their patriarch and pray to God for safe passage. To turn and go back, head straight into the encroaching winter, would be suicide, and even Hannah knew that.

  But what lay ahead of them, none of them could know.

  “A person has to be able to hear the call,” Michael said, to Adrienne and to Hannah as well, “and then, be able to heed it.”

  *

  The Wabash River was raging with cold, glacial water, and it ran faster and more furiously at its most narrow points. Goldie had led the Alexanders’ carriage to a point where the river was only a fraction of a mile, perhaps less than a quarter by Hannah’s guess, short enough for locals to have built a bridge from one bank to the other, wide and strong enough for a carriage to cross in each direction.

  Hannah’s stomach sank a little bit as Goldie lingered in front of the bridge. Michael shook the reins, but the horse flipped her head and clopped her hooves, her yellow mane flopping from one side of her muscular neck to the other.

  Hannah and her mother shared a worried expression as Michael handed Adrienne the reins and climbed out to survey the bridge. The wind was picking up, the river rushing beneath the wooden passageway, frothing up in white waves around the thick, wooden pylons.

  Michael walked past the mare and onto the bridge, pushing down with his foot and then stepping out further testing the bridge, checking the water. A thin sheet of water passed over the bridge in its lower spots, no doubt spooking the horse. But when Michael walked back and climbed up onto the helm of the carriage, Hannah prayed that he’d tell them both that they’d have to find another way.

  But Hannah’s father said instead, “It’s fine, she’s just a little skittish.”

  Hannah’s stomach sank as he shook the reins harder and shouted out his command, wordless, filled with the authority of his gruff baritone. Goldie huffed and walked on, dragging the carriage onto the bridge.

  The carriage swayed a bit as the horse pulled them up onto the bridge, and Hannah couldn’t be sure if all that loud creaking was coming from the carriage or the bridge itself. Hannah closed her eyes and tried to block out terrible visions of those raging waters finally dislodging one of the pylons and pushing the bridge, and everything on it, into that deadly churn and chop.

  The horse walked slowly, unwilling to do her duty despite Michael’s louder shouts and calls for obedience. His voice rang in the back of her head, the horse’s huffed answers no less clear in her mind. Goldie was warning him, but Hannah’s father wasn’t listening.

  But the minutes crept on, more slowly than Hannah could imagine, little to do but look up at her mother, whose own attention was fixed on the river around them, holding Hannah close as she peered out the front window. Rain began falling, a trickle fast becoming steady, heavy drops thudding against the wooden walls of the carriage, their bags and wrapped furniture and other goods absorbing most of the downfall.

  But Hannah knew that wouldn’t last.

  Halfway across, the bridge groaned and gave, shifting what felt like an inch or more out of place, jostling the carriage and scaring the horse. Hannah stifled a terrified scream and clutched her mother even more tightly. Adrienne wrapped one arm around Hannah, the other reaching over and clutching the latch to the door, ready to push it open for a quick escape at any moment, if at all possible.

  The mist of the churning water was thick in the air, the chaotic rumble of the waves against the wood filled Hannah’s inner ear until she could almost feel that water pulsing through her own veins, rushing too fast, ready to tear her apart and carry her away forever.

  The carriage came to a halt, the rain falling harder with sudden swiftness, sheets suddenly pounding on the carriage, the bridge, feeding the Wabash River and bringing the surface up even higher, that sheet of water reaching the zenith of the wooden bridge. Hannah knew it would get higher still.

  Michael turned and waved Adrienne onto the helm. Adrienne climbed out to join him, but Hannah would not and could not let go.

  “It’s all right, Hannah,” Adrienne said with a forced but gentle smile. “I’ll be fine. Your father needs, me … he needs us. Do you understand?”

  In truth, Hannah did not truly understand. But she knew she had to nod and let her mother pull herself away, leaving Hannah’s embrace for what the child was certain would be the last time.

  Hannah watched as Adrienne opened the carriage door and turned, giving her one final smile before closing the door and climbing up onto the helm. Hannah couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but she watched through the front window to see Michael hand Adrienne the reins and climb down to join Goldie, who was becoming more nervous on the bridge. The rain fell harder, the river rushed faster, harder. Michael looked back in the direction they’d come from, judging the width of the bridge. And Hannah could tell after a few glances back and forth that Michael was coming to the same conclusion she was. It would be best to go back, but it wasn’t possible to turn the carriage around. And to stay where they were could be suicide. They had to move on, and they had to do it immediately.

  Hannah’s attention was locked on her father as he grabbed Goldie’s bridle, the struggling horse becoming more wild, more agitated. Michael pulled Goldie forward, the mare shaking her head and pulling back, struggling against the carriage to rise up against her master. But she also seemed to understand what the humans around her already knew, and Goldie finally gave in to Michael’s will and to their collective fate.

  Hannah could only hope that fate lay on the other side of that bridge, and not somewhere downriver, on the banks or even the muddy bottom of the Wabash. Michael pulled the horse onward, every inch a battle between man and beast, with neither the true victor. But Goldie gave in and Michael prevailed, step-by-step pulling them through the onslaught of that terrible rain and those pounding waves.

  The bridge creaked and shifted again, Goldie wailing in terror, thunder rolling in the distance. But Michael shouted the mare down and pulled her forward, the carriage wobbling around Hannah, a rolling tomb for her and her mother, at the very least.

  But they passed the hump of the bridge and began to approach the other side, and Hannah’s stomach almost released some of its nauseous tension. The grassy bank got closer on the other side, clearer through the blankets of rain as they smashed down on her father, their horse, everything they owned and everyone they knew or loved.

  With a creak and a shout, Michael disappeared in a fall straight down under the carriage.

  “Michael!”

  “Daddy!”

  Hannah shoved her body through the window in the front of the carriage, rain quickly drenching her. Adrienne gave her the reins and shouted, “Hold them, child!” before scrambling off the helm and inching around the side of the horse. Hannah leaned forward to see Adrienne pull Michael through a hole in one plank of the bridge floor, water pouring through the two feet of shattered wood. Adrienne and Michael regained their footing, Michael glancing at the helm. He gave Hannah a nod, he and Adrienne turning to lead the horse over the rest of the bridge together, Hannah sitting in their place at the head of the carriage to ensure their safe passage as best she could.

  Once they led Goldie onto the road on the other side of the bridge, she stopped clopping around so nervously, eager to pull the carriage as quickly away from that deathtrap bridge as she could.

  Hannah knew just how she felt.

  *

  Everyone in the family was exhausted, Goldie no less than any of them. The carriage was quiet and lonely under a cluster of oak trees in the center of a collection of vast, rolling fields. Hannah couldn’t be sure how far they’d traveled or how far they had to go. Considering how close they’d come to dying so early on their journey, Hannah found it har
d to be optimistic.

  The Lord is my shepherd, she reminded herself, I shall not want.

  The rains had subsided but the air was blisteringly cold and there was no wood dry enough to build a fire. Michael wiped Goldie down and gave her his own blanket before huddling with the family in the crowded carriage, sharing vital body heat and precious moments which had nearly been denied all of them.

  Hannah looked at her mother, almost saintly in her husband’s arms, her own wrapped around Hannah’s shoulders, fingers lightly stroking her hair. Hannah couldn’t help but think about how she survived the bridge, how she had been certain her mother was going to be swept away. But she’d also shot that bear, point blank right in the head, with a second to go before it crushed my skull. I don’t suppose there’s anything my mother can’t do. And my father, what a courageous man, so determined. Some would call it stubborn, but he’s heard the call and now he’s heeding it. And we’re all still here, sanctioned by God.

  But … what about me? They’re capable enough, that’s obvious. But I’m just a kid! I couldn’t even take a walk away from the house without almost getting swallowed up by the mountain. How am I going to survive out here? Am I going to be the one who slows Mom and Dad down? They’d never leave me behind, that’s for sure. They’d die for me; I just hope and pray they don’t have to or that I don’t have to die myself.

  Lord, please see us safely to our destination, be it California or any place You so choose. But if You cannot see us all there, see my parents there at least. They’ve earned it. They’re good people, they can always have another child. But I haven’t lived so long, it won’t be so bad. I’ll be with You, and that can only be a good thing, right?

  Right?

  A chill ran through Hannah’s body, goosebumps rising on the backs of her arms. Her mother sensed her fear and pulled her closer, rubbing her cupped palms up and down Hannah’s arms to warm them.

  Adrienne’s voice came soft and quiet, cracking with the strain of their day’s trials. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound … ”