The Lovely Bones meets the Wild, Wild West in this haunting tale inspired by a true story. Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and Chapter 2 of Jody Hadlock’s The Lives of Diamond Bessie, which is out April 5th 2022.
Pregnant out of wedlock, sixteen-year-old Annie Moore is sent to live at a convent for fallen women. When the nuns take her baby, Annie escapes, determined to find a way to be reunited with her daughter. But few rights or opportunities are available to a woman in the 1860s, and after failing to find a respectable job, she resorts to prostitution in order to survive.
As a highly sought-after demi-mondaine, Annie—now Bessie—garners many expensive gifts from her admirers and eventually meets and marries the son of a wealthy jeweler, a traveling salesman with a gambling problem. With her marriage, she believes her dream of returning to proper society has finally come true. She’s proven wrong when she suffers the ultimate betrayal at the hands of the man she thought would be her salvation. But Bessie doesn’t let her story end there.
Set against the backdrop of the burgeoning women’s rights movement, The Lives of Diamond Bessie is a captivating tale of betrayal and redemption that explores whether seeking revenge is worth the price you might pay.
After two days in the infirmary I was told I must return to my work in the laundry, where I’d slaved for hours on end six days a week, cleaning filthy linens from the hospital. My body still ached from giving birth, so much that I could barely stand, but I did not argue with the nuns. All I could think of was leaving the convent and finding Hannah.
That night, back in the dormitory, Genevieve lifted the covers and slipped in beside me. We weren’t supposed to visit each other’s beds, but the girls regularly broke this rule. The nuns held our words captive during the day; at night they rushed forth in furtive whispers.
I told Genevieve of my plan to escape, thinking I could convince her to join me. The thought of having someone by my side eased my fears.
She shook her head. “I’ve been out in the world. It’s not a nice place.”
After her father left, her mother had forced a twelve-year-old Genevieve to dance at a concert saloon to help support the family. It was a local detective who, horrified by the sight of a young girl on the stage, brought her to the nuns.
“Do you know where you’ll go?” Genevieve asked as she tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear and smoothed my short auburn locks. All penitents had their hair cut upon arrival, just as soon as we’d been given a new name, a bath, and an ugly dress to wear. We were told it was a means to help bring us into a state of Grace.
“Somewhere in town, I suppose. I can’t go back home.”
Genevieve’s eyes grew wide. “Oh no, you mustn’t stay in Buffalo. The nuns will go looking for you and they’ll involve the police. They’ll bring you back here. But first, they might let you stay a night in jail.”
As much as I hated to admit it, Genevieve was right. If I went to the orphanage, I would be caught and brought back to the convent, under stricter rules. That would be a worse fate. Mother Superior would undoubtedly throw me back in the basement. I shuddered as I
recalled the cold hard floor, the rats scurrying across it.
The morning of my planned getaway, I woke with a fever, hot and lumpy breasts, and a dull ache in my abdomen. I longed to stay in bed, but I didn’t want to wait another week for the wagon that delivered supplies to the convent on Saturdays. It was the only time the back
gate was opened.
Before I left my village of Canton in far upstate New York, I’d given my mam most of the money I’d earned working at the men’s clothing store on Main Street. The rest, six dollars, I brought with me and hid underneath the porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary in the corner of the dormitory. As the other penitents filed out of the room, I quickly retrieved my savings and hurried to get in line.
By the end of the week we always moved more slowly, which irritated the Sisters, but it gave Genevieve, who had agreed to help me escape, and me a chance to break away as we crossed the yard to the building that housed the workrooms.
We hid behind a shed, shivering in our thin coats, and watched as Sister Agnes opened the gate. As the wagon pulled onto the grounds, Genevieve approached her. I feared for my friend. She would be punished severely once the Sisters discovered my absence. But she insisted
she wanted to do this for me.
I peeked around the side of the shed. The wagon shielded me from view. The driver was perched in his seat, his back to me. I crept toward the open gate and could hear Sister Agnes admonishing Genevieve as I slipped past them.
Once I had boarded a streetcar and paid my five-cent fare, I sank onto a bench and clutched my stomach, praying the pangs would subside and that the nuns wouldn’t find me. As the horse-drawn car plodded along, I wondered if I should have walked to the train depot, but I didn’t think my aching body could handle it.
The small brick depot, warmed by a wood-burning stove, was nearly empty. Suddenly self-conscious about my drab, grey convent dress and short hair, I approached the ticket booth with trepidation. The elderly gentleman on the other side barely acknowledged me.
“Where to?”
“One ticket to Rome, please,” I replied, remembering that was where we switched trains when Sister Agnes had escorted me from Canton.
“That’ll be three dollars and seventy-six cents.”
I gulped. That would leave me only two dollars and nineteen cents. But what choice did I have? I couldn’t stay in Buffalo. Reluctantly, I handed over the money.
To focus on something other than my fear and my feverish aches, I browsed the dime novels in the book stall inside the depot, while keeping a watchful eye out the window. It seemed like forever until that loud clanking bell, coupled with the shrill whistle, signaled my train’s arrival. I
went outside to the platform, anxious to board as soon as possible.
When I traveled with Sister Agnes from Canton to Buffalo, we’d sat in the ladies’ carriage. That was the first place the nuns would look for me. And though they would never enter the men’s coach, it would look suspicious if I tried to sit there. Would they look for me in the third-class passenger car? I wondered, uncertain which railcar, if any, might best protect me.
The conductor yelled, “All aboard!” I glanced around again and froze. There was Sister Agnes, walking toward the depot with a policeman. I scanned the length of the train and spotted the mail carriage. Without hesitating, I proceeded toward it and boarded.
The mail carriage was empty save for a table, several canvas sacks with brass locks, and a pile of wooden boxes stacked up in a corner. I rushed to hide behind the boxes as a man entered the car. I could hardly breathe for fear of what would happen if he discovered my presence. He shuffled through the mail, whistling as he worked.
When the conductor called for final boarding, the man in the railway post office shut the door. The space dimmed but light shone through the windows along each side of the car and the skylights in the ceiling. Suddenly, I heard his footsteps come toward me and, as he leaned over to grab one of the canvas bags at my feet, our eyes met. He was young, in his early twenties perhaps, and his placid expression surprised me.
“What’cha doin’ in here, miss?” he asked me, no hint of anger in his voice.
I was about to speak when the door opened. The mailman motioned for me to stay quiet and stood to address the visitor.
“Mornin’ officer,” he chirped. “What can I do for you?”
I stifled a gasp.
“Have you seen a young woman, about sixteen years of age, in a grey dress?”
I held my breath. Would he give me away?
“No, haven’t seen anyone.”
“Sorry to bother you,” the policeman said. “Have a good day.”
The door shut, but I remained on edge. What if the mailman thought better of it and changed his mind before the train left the station? His footsteps came toward me again. He squatted down in front of me. His hands were clasped, his elbows resting on his knees.
“You’re from the convent, aren’t you?”
I jerked my head up. “How did you know?”
“One of my sisters was sent there.”
I leaned my head against the wall. My body relaxed.
He stood and held out a hand. As he pulled me to my feet, I winced.
“Are you unwell?” he said with concern.
“I’m fine,” I said, too embarrassed to admit the truth even as the cramp in my abdomen continued to worsen.
The train started to move and I nearly lost my balance. The young man caught me. “Perhaps you should stay seated,” he said, returning to the pile of the mail he’d been sorting.
I nodded, relieved to settle myself back on the floor. The swaying of the train lulled me to sleep. He woke me at the first stop. “Miss, it’s probably best if you go sit in the ladies’ car now. It’ll be a lot more comfortable for you.”
He helped me to my feet and I followed him to the door, but I was reluctant to exit. What if the police had sent word by telegram to the next station? The postal agent noticed my hesitation. He leaned outside the door and glanced around. “It’s okay, you’re safe.” I thanked him and stepped onto the platform.
Once I’d settled into the ladies’ car, my thoughts turned to my final destination. I wouldn’t stay in Rome; it wasn’t far away enough from the Sisters for me, and I didn’t know how far north I could get with the little money I had. Canton was out of the question for the time being. I wouldn’t go there without Hannah or without my family’s permission. The last time my sister and I had spoken, she had refused to convince our mam to let me stay in Canton, denouncing me for the shame I’d brought to the family. Our priest had advised Mam to send me to Buffalo and, without my da, who died when I was ten years old, the Father’s word was final.
Wherever I landed, I wouldn’t have anyone to help me. I would be a stranger, with no family, no friends, no convent walls to protect me. The relief of being away from the Sisters was tempered by the fact that I had no idea what to expect once I arrived in my new town. I hadn’t
considered what I would do for food and shelter.
In Rome, I still had no idea where to go. I looked helplessly at the ticket agent, who grew more and more impatient by the second.
“Well, miss, I haven’t got all day.” He pointed to the others in line behind me.
I considered the other stops on the line. Gouvernour was close to Canton, but that was where the father of my child lived and I didn’t want to go there. “What about Watertown?” I said. The town wasn’t too far from home.
“That’ll be a dollar thirty-eight.”
I handed over two dollars, took my change and my ticket, and mumbled thanks as I walked away.
When the train arrived at Watertown and it came time for me to disembark, it took great effort for me to stand. In addition to the ache in my abdomen, I felt feverish and my legs shook so badly I feared they would buckle. Yet, somehow, I held steady and began to walk as if I knew where I was going, though I hadn’t a clue.
I followed the flow of passengers into a tall red brick building near the depot, down its long hallway and into an opulent lobby.
“Welcome to the Woodruff House,” a male clerk said to a couple that approached a long counter along a wall. I lingered as they registered with the hotel but flew out the door when I heard the clerk inform them of the nightly rate.
Canton’s one main street was lined with modest, mostly one-story buildings. Here, structures as tall as three, four, and even five stories towered over the square in which the hotel was situated.
The afternoon light was waning, and what little warmth the pale winter sun offered would soon dissipate. As I walked around the square, contemplating my next move, a lamplighter called down to me from his ladder. “What’cha doin’ out ’ere all alone, miss?”
The man jumped off his ladder and walked toward me. “I’m meeting someone,” I said cautiously.
“Who’re ya meeting?”
“That’s none of your business. I must be going.”
The man quickly closed the distance between us and grabbed my arm. “Why are ya in such a hurry?” His body reeked of unwashed skin and his breath of rotten teeth. “Why don’t we go for a drink and a little fun?”
I managed to tear myself free. “Leave me alone,” I hissed as I ran away, his sinister laugh trailing behind me.
At the edge of the square, the scent of fresh pumpernickel and sourdough beckoned me. I couldn’t waste my last eighty-one cents, but I hadn’t eaten all day. As I neared the bakery, I felt a wetness between my legs. Lifting my dress, I saw a crimson red stream pooling down my thighs. Then everything went black.
