Diamonds in the Rough

by Emmy Waterford

  Flannery went on. “But we also must thank Cutthroat’s First Daughter, the person more responsible than any other for making Cutthroat the thriving success that it is, Miss Hannah Alexander!”

  The crowd cheered, no mere muddled recognition as they’d given W.A. Barns. This was a whooping holler, men howling and women applauding one of their own. The newly arrived business owners knew her only as the wealthiest woman in town and a legendary beauty, among other wild stories. She was a celebrity in their midst, and tales of books being written about her adventures were said to be popular reading among the scalawags out West and the toffs back East as well.

  Hannah stood, feeling a bit overdressed in her Renfrewshire paisley and hooded cloak. She’d never quite gotten used to the finery, but she knew she had to set an example of new elevation for the rest of the town. Flannery had trained her as her parents had taught her, to hear the call and to heed it. And so Hannah carried herself as befitted the First Daughter of Cutthroat, and she knew that the citizens were waiting for her address.

  Hannah stood before them, the crowd of several hundred people going completely silent. Most of the men even took off their hats, some holding them over their hearts and others swatting angrily at those with lids still on their heads.

  “Thank you, Mayor Flannery,” Hannah said to the applause of the crowd, her adoptive father giving her a bit of a bow, both official and affectionate. “And congratulations on your new and official position as the leader of Cutthroat. Surely, there’s no man in town, in the territory, who is more respected or better-loved.”

  He smiled and the crowd clapped.

  Hannah went on. “And in the capable hands of Sheriff Jameson, Cutthroat is bound to flourish in a safe and lawful manner, free of the kind of chaos and corruption that seems to plague so many of our fellow U.S. cities.”

  More applause rose up to greet her.

  “Our nation is only growing stronger, and it’s thanks to people like you that such a thing can be said. Our great experiment is proving to be stronger and better than even our great Founding Fathers could have imagined. And what is more, we did it together, as a family, each doing what he or she could, never shirking, hearing the call and heeding it, no matter the trial or the sacrifice. And we can all know, each of us, deep in our hearts, that even long after we’ve gone, from this place, from this life, that we’ll always be family, that we’ll always be here, that we’ll always be together, that Cutthroat will always be … our home.”

  The crowd wailed with rapturous glee, whoops and hollers and cattle calls frothed up and into the sky above Cutthroat. But there was no celebratory gunfire, as the sheriff had confiscated the gun of every visitor until they left the celebration or, in some cases, the city limits.

  After the applause subsided, Hannah and Flannery stepped down off the platform, the crowd rushing in on them as they often did. The first to arrive was Ethel Bean, ready with a thrice-folded paper and a piece of charcoal pencil.

  “Excellent speech,” Ethel said, “short, which they always appreciate.”

  Hannah chuckled. “What’s next on our agenda for the day?”

  “Randolph, from the Cutthroat Herald, was hoping for an interview. I thought we might get that over with first.”

  Hannah said, “Perhaps they’d rather hear from our most esteemed mayor?”

  “Well, I … ” Ethel looked at Flannery with a nervous smile. “They said they’d be happy to speak to you both if … if … ”

  “If the mayor could make sufficient time,” Hannah said.

  “Yes, exactly,” Ethel agreed.

  But Flannery was neither impressed nor convinced nor upset. “You’re the one they love, Hannah,” Flannery said. “And I know just how they feel.”

  But Hannah kept walking. “Tell them I’ll give them their interview after they’ve spoken to the mayor. Anything else?” Ethel glanced at Flannery with a cautious eye, then back at Hannah. She didn’t have to read Ethel’s mind in order to read her expression, in fact the one accomplished the other.

  Hannah guessed, “From New York?” Ethel nodded, and Hannah waved her hand inward, Ethel putting the piece of paper in her hand. Hannah unfolded the note, attracting Flannery’s attention even as Reverend Bean stepped up to them. “Well done, Miss Alexander, Mayor Flannery, God’s blessings and tidings to you both.”

  “You’re very kind, Reverend,” Flannery said, “good of you to stop by.”

  “Well, um, actually, Mayor Flannery, I … I was wondering if I mightn’t have a word with my wife, just for a moment?”

  Flannery shrugged, his jutting head indicating Hannah. “She doesn’t work for the mayor’s office, does she?”

  Reverend Bean turned to Hannah. “Miss Alexander, if I may —?”

  “Of course, of course,” Hannah said, her eyes fixed on the telegram.

  Ethel turned to the reverend, a stern glare making him hesitate just a bit, stammering before saying, “The basement, dear, the rats … ”

  “Well,” Ethel said impatiently, “have at them, why don’t you? We can’t have rats scurrying about the sanctuary, can we?”

  “No, surely not —”

  “Well then?” Ethel’s long, slow stare finished her thoughts.

  “Of course, I … I’ll have at them, right away.” He scurried off and Ethel enjoyed a secret little smile. Hannah couldn’t help but enjoy it just a little for her and with her. Ethel had come as far as anybody in Cutthroat, and Hannah was glad to have played some small part of that; perhaps even not so small a part.

  But that was little compared to the news on the telegram. Flannery read it over her shoulder. They shared a long, slow look at one another before retreating to his office for a private consultation, family only.

  “You hired an attorney in New York? Why didn’t you mention this to me?”

  Hannah paced around his office, plush red carpet and white walls ornamented with an American flag with all thirty-one stars and a portrait of President Zachary Taylor. “I didn’t want to upset you until I knew what the news would be.”

  Flannery huffed. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of you!”

  “We take care of each other, that’s the way it’s always been … and the way it’ll always be.”

  “Hear hear.” After a long, sentimental silence, Flannery said, “Unbelievable. Only you could manage such a thing.”

  “Me? I only had a hunch. Turns out this guy found a witness who will testify that the writ of eminent domain was bought-off, a bribe from top to bottom, I mean, I hoped he’d find some proof, but … the actual bagman for the bribe itself? Talk about good fortune.”

  “It’s more than that,” Flannery said. “You’ve got an angel on your shoulder, always have. And so have I, since you came into my life.” They shared a little hug. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to go back then?”

  “Of course! Vernon, I … I never imagined that land could ever be mine again! Now the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad is already offering to settle the whole matter? I have to go back!”

  “Why not just an agent? You could afford anyone —”

  “No, Vernon, no, this … this is something I have to do myself.”

  “For your parents? Hannah, look at all you’ve done! You made your dad’s dream come true, you’ve become the most successful women this side of the Wabash, hell, this side of the Atlantic! Your parents have streets named after them, the two biggest streets in town! Why wouldn’t you want to stay and enjoy that?”

  “I would, Vernon, and … and maybe someday I’ll come back, retire here, who knows? But right now, I’ve got to go back to Marion County and claim what’s mine.” After a teasing moment, one in which she knew she shouldn’t say anything at all, Hannah added, “Who knows what I’ll find there.”

  Flannery huffed. “What, a husband? Men are pouring into Cutthroat by the day! Who is a more eligible and desirable woman than you? Why go to a place where, well, I don’t suppose you’ll have much to fear from other w
omen. And as long as I can keep a close eye on you, not so much a problem with the men either.”

  “Oh, Vernon, I’d love to have you come with me, but … don’t you think you should stay here?”

  “Here? Without you? What nonsense!”

  “It only makes perfect sense! You’re the mayor, Cutthroat needs you. It has my money, it doesn’t need me. But with you gone? Jameson could become corrupt, all manner of things could happen —”

  “I’m not sending you back East alone!” Flannery turned, crossing his arms like a stubborn child. “I won’t hear another word about it.”

  “Because I won’t say another word about it; except to tell you that I love you, and that I’ll take every precaution, and that I’ll stay in touch as often as I can and return as quickly as I can.”

  But in the sudden gloom of their shared isolation, Flannery stared off. “No, you’ll … you’ll have other adventures, send a few letters perhaps, and then … ” He forced a smile. “All right, off with you, then.”

  “Vernon, I —”

  “I know, I know, hear it and heed it, hear it and heed it. How many times —?”

  “Only enough so that you’ll finally understand.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead and gave him a loving hug, her slender arms around his meaty shoulders.

  Through stifled tears, all he could say was, “I never will.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hannah packed her carriage, the refurbished original which had carried her and her father into Cutthroat years earlier. She had supplies, toiletries, several pistols, two rifles, plenty of ammunition. And there was room on the top of carriage for her luggage, all the dresses and bustiers, boots and hats and things that would show her as a woman of refinement, of accomplishment, of purpose, intimidating, formidable. She knew she’d need that in New York City. Being a woman, she’d need it wherever she went.

  She hired the Bellamy brothers, whom she’d come to know after she’d throttled one of them in Flannery’s restaurant years before. The fat one, Don, who’d always been afraid of her supernatural powers, was an eager assistant. The other two, Barney and Jasper, were just grateful for steady work from a reputable boss, even if she was a woman.

  Hannah spent most of the trip in the carriage, letting Don drive and the other two ride alongside in escort, each on horseback, both armed and ready. They’d left Cutthroat with no fanfare at all, and had even conspired with Ethel to circulate rumors that Hannah was still in town but that she was feeling poorly and was retiring to her estate to be left in peace. Word of her slow recovery would keep the gossips preoccupied until she was safely in New York, if such a thing was actually possible.

  So Hannah had little to worry about on her way back to Marion County. Her first journey on that road since the original trek, Hannah couldn’t help but be flooded with memories, and as the landscape brought back familiar signposts, the memories came flooding back all the more.

  A small lump under an oak at the top of one slope tugged at Hannah’s memory and at her heart and she directed her men to ride her up the hill.

  As she’d expected, the wooden marker had long been worn away by the elements. But Hannah recognized the tree, even with ten years growth on it. She tapped it, greeting it like an old friend. The Bellamy brothers stayed back, out of respect and to provide better protection from savages, road agents, whatever wild animals the mysterious Miss Alexander couldn’t supernaturally control.

  Hannah knelt to her mother’s grave, wildflowers carpeting it as they did much of the purple slope. She picked up one of the flowers and held it to her cheek.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said softly, knowing that she didn’t even need to speak for her mother to hear her. They were always together. “I’m on my way back to Marion County, but … but I guess you know that. I guess you know everything, up there with Dad, with Jesus and God. I guess it’s us down here who don’t really know what’s going on most of the time. But I think I’m figuring it out, Mom, I … I know I am. And when I’ve got it all figured out, when I’ve finally done what I need to do, I know you’ll both finally be at peace. You, Mr. Roth, all those poor souls in that mountain. You just watch, Mom.” She broke out in a bittersweet chuckle, tears returning, salty sorrow on the corners of her lips. “Oh, you are, of course!” Hannah wiped her tears away. “Okay, I … I gotta go, Mom, but … I love you, I love you so much, and I’m so glad you’re still here … ” Hannah put her hand on her heart. “Where we’ll always be together.”

  After a few more bittersweet moments, Hannah composed herself, rose to her feet, and walked back toward her carriage and escorts.

  Don asked, “Are you all right, Miss A.?”

  Hannah smiled through her tears. “Just fine, Don. Carry on.” Hannah climbed into the carriage and closed the door behind her before her party moved on, slowly eastward.

  Several days later, Hannah’s team came upon the bridge over the Wabash River. Unlike the winter’s passage, this late spring trek brought clear skies and a docile river. The refurbished bridge, done by Michael Alexander’s own hand not long after their arrival in Cutthroat, Illinois, was holding fast. Hannah couldn’t help but imagine that she felt the sheltering hand of her father’s love as she crossed over the bridge, no sign of trouble or peril, a meadowlark fluttering by overhead.

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Hannah muttered quietly after reaching the other side of the Wabash.

  But the next day, not far outside of Marion County, Hannah’s languid pace led her straight into a morass, a deadly ambush like the one which had taken her mother ten years before.

  But this one was ten times as strong, with almost a dozen Chippewa warriors suddenly circling the carriage and the Bellamy brothers’ horses.

  Bang! Bang! The rifles rang out from both sides. Not only were there nine more than single brave, but they were armed with the weapons of the white man, superior firepower.

  Bang! The Bellamys returned fire, their horses scampering and frightened.

  Hannah was overwhelmed with visions of her past, mother leaping into the fight, losing her life when she might have survived had she sat tight, recoiling the way Hannah had been doing. But she didn’t.

  And Hannah wouldn’t either.

  Instead, Hannah flashed on the training Vernon Flannery had given her, hours in the woods with pistols and rifles, blades of all sorts, hand-to-hand combat she used time and again to control the scalawags of Cutthroat. He’d taught her not to be afraid, but to become what others feared. ‘Don’t hope to survive the storm,’ he’d often said, ‘become the storm.’

  And Hannah knew just where her guns were, ready and loaded.

  The rifles were first, pointing out the side window and aiming, careful not to hit one of her own men by mistake. A young brave came riding fast around the slope and she shot, the kickback pushing itself into her ready shoulder. But it was a miss, and the Bellamy brothers were riding in wider circles to prevent themselves from being sitting ducks. That left Hannah unguarded. A second rifle was nearby, but it was big and cumbersome and finally Hannah had to toss it down and pick up her two pistols, five shots in each. With one pistol in each hand, she kicked the carriage door open and stepped out into the crazed swirl of battle.

  Her senses, sharpened by years in the rough-and-tumble of Cutthroat life, hearing and seeing more, reacting faster, raising a pistol and firing, then the other, Hannah felt as if she were not acting alone. Her training was acting for her, a guiding force seeming to level her aim, an invisible voice whispering in her ear where the closest savages were, from which direction, where to shoot just ahead of their blind, circling, murderous myopia.

  Bam bam bam! The gunshots leapt out of her pistols with lethal precision, braves snapping back one after the next. Those who stayed on their ponies rode them with increasing panic and confusion, one or two catching sight of the brown-haired bringer of death at the center of the circle. She stepped toward her intended target even as he bore down on her, rifle at the ready. Unflinching,
she raised both guns and pulled off a single shot with each.

  The savage snapped back, one ankle caught in the stirrup, his body dragged by that terrified pony over the ridge and to an unknown fate. The rider’s fate had already been sealed.

  Even the Bellamy brothers were amazed from their horses, not shooting for a few shocked seconds as they realized what they were looking at.

  Bang, bam bam!

  Two more Chippewa went down, their horses running off.

  Hannah quickly surveyed the area, finding a single Indian warrior left. The Bellamys seemed to know they had him dead to rights, but also that it was not theirs to lay the final blow. Hannah had taken charge, and she clearly didn’t need them to throw down her hand. His life was hers to spare or take, her prize, and she might even kill one of them if they did anything to interfere.

  He looked at her, terrified, jaw opening and closing as he muttered something under his breath. Hannah knew his language, and her keen hearing could pick up what the Bellamys couldn’t hear.

  After a few more pathetic mumbles, she spoke several words in his tongue, clear and loud. He sat on his pony, bent forward, eyes on her. When she fell silent, he nodded, muttering a few words of praise in his native tongue before turning to ride away.

  One of the Bellamys turned to Hannah. “What the —? Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”

  “Flannery, the language too. Flannery trades with ‘em now and then, the friendly ones anyway. Had to learn a few words here and there, just to do business.”

  “And, if you don’t mind us askin’—”

  “He said, ‘It’s you.’ Then he called me by what I suppose must be my Chippewa name. I didn’t think I was so … notorious.”

  From the helm, Don said, “Famous, you mean.” Hannah enjoyed a little private chuckle before Don asked, “What do they call you?”

  Hannah looked across the plains, surveying the bodies of the nine dead braves. “Daughter of the She Bear.” Hannah enjoyed the little smile that crept into her cheek. “I like it.” Hannah turned to head back to the carriage. “Okay, gentlemen, Eastward, ho!”