Nine Tenths of the Law

A tear streaked down Abe’s cheek as he stomped down the steps of the bank.

“Foreclosed!” He screeched. “Foreclosed! Beatrice, they’ve taken it!” He reached the carriage where Beatrice was waiting for him and threw himself against it with a wailing cry. She observed him as she always did when he got emotional; completely unfazed. Abe turned to her, cheeks red as if slapped.

“That’s it!” he declared. “They’re gonna take Pa’s farm and sell it and there’s nothing we can do!”

Beatrice shrugged. “Don’t think that’s true, Abe.” 

“Oh don’t you? You even know what the word ‘Foreclosure’ means?” He snarled. Beatrice, easily a head taller than her little brother, gave him that look. The one that said ‘Keep talking like that and see what happens’. 

“You’re making a scene in town Abe. Pa never liked it when you made a scene.” She reminded him. That did the trick. Abe scowled and looked around. Main Street was busy at Noon, and plenty of people had witnessed Abe’s outburst. 

“Get in the carriage” She ordered him, and he obeyed, clambering meekly into the back. She got on the box and took the reins. As they set off back to their accommodation she had to concede to herself that Abe was right. She didn’t really understand how, or by what the right, the Bank had taken their home. Or how it had happened so quickly. She had barely heard word of Pa’s death before the letters from Abe came, ranting about debts and loans secured against the farm, against their childhood home. 

Abe had rented them a room at probably the meanest and dirtiest little inn he could find. They weren't hurrying to get back to it. The carriage took them out of town and through the hinterlands, competing with the steady flow of traffic coming in. The town quickly gave way to fields and farmlands. Before long, they were trundling on alone. Just as well, because Beatrice was barely paying any attention. For the first time in a long time, she was thinking about her family. 

There were only two of them left now, Abe and Beatrice. She was the elder, born four years before little Abraham and he hated her for it. She was always taller, stronger, better at riding, better at hunting, better at horse-breaking, better at getting Pa’s love and attention. And worse still, she didn’t appreciate it. She paid him back by running off at fifteen with a gang of bootleggers, only to slink back three years later without so much as an apology. Pa was just happy to have “a decent pair of hands around here for once.” 

Little Abraham Briggs didn’t get the same treatment. Not a day went by when he wasn’t reminded that anything he did, Beatrice could do it better in half the time. He was better at letters and sums, neither of which Pa really cared about. “That’s not what real working men do.” He’d say while swatting a book out of Abe’s hands. Ma was more understanding, but then the flu took her two days from his eleventh birthday. Now Pa was dead too.

Both of them had left the farm a long while back. Beatrice threw in with another outfit, Abraham had tried both the church and academia but was forced to settle for a meagre living as a shop clerk. Papa Briggs had managed as best he could, not that either of the Briggs children were eager to return if he couldn’t. That made Beatrice wonder why Abe cared so much about saving the place. He couldn’t farm, couldn’t manage a farm either. It was some foolishness no doubt.

She was so lost in this train of thought that it was Abe, still snivelling from his earlier outburst, who had to call out: “What are you doing?”

She looked up and noticed her mistake. Instead of taking the East road to the inn down by the river, she’d gone North. She slowed the horse and stopped the carriage. 

“You want to see it, don’t you?” Asked Abe from the back. She told him to shut it, but again he was right. She did want to see the farm before they lost it. That’s why in her absent-mindedness Beatrice had followed the way home. The carriage had come a fair way...

“We might not get another chance” said Abe, not shutting it. Beatrice swore and lashed the horse with the reins. It jumped back to life, jolting the carriage and they sped on through the countryside. The sun beat down with the full force of summer on the little vehicle as it urgently rumbled across the land. Before long, the Briggses could recognise the landmarks on their journey. Both of them remembered the way. A turn here, a curve just before that copse of trees, over the cracked riverbed, then straight on to the best part. The hill that started as a gentle incline but gradually demanded more and more until the horse was panting, straining under the effort.

And then, the road crested the hill, rounded into a flat plateau. The horizon dropped away to present: Briggs’ Farm. Quiet, unassuming, and glorious. The sun, sinking into the afternoon sky, bathed the empty barns and pastures with its radiance. A stout little house, put together several generations ago now, creaked as the afternoon warmth baked its timbers. 

It was good land. 

Both of them clambered down and stood together, wordlessly taking in the view, sweating in the heat. Several minutes went by in quiet before Abe noticed that they weren’t alone. Further down the slope, a pair of well-dressed men were poring over large charts that they’d smoothed onto a flat patch of ground. They were taking turns, gesturing and making marks on the charts. Abe gasped

“They’re marking the boundaries! Beatrice, they-” He turned but she was already stomping back to the carriage. He hurried along behind and watched as she reached into the luggage and produced a rifle. He almost squealed.

“Beatrice what are you doing?!” 

“Fighting for my land.” She stated, coldly.

“You can’t shoot ‘em! You can’t!” Abe shouted. He tried to put himself in her way, but she shoved him aside and shouldered the rifle. Abe’s shout had alerted the men though. They stood now staring back at her, wary, hands on their hip holsters. Beatrice knew they could see her with the rifle, and could easily get a few shots off first. She didn’t like those odds. Slowly, she lowered the rifle. Then, she turned on her heel and stalked back to the carriage.

----

She didn’t speak again until dinner, when Abe, face buried in the evening paper, screamed:

“The bastards!”

She looked at him idly across the little table, over the meagre meal that constituted dinner.

“It’s up for auction!” Abe yelled again as if she was several miles away.

“I can hear you just fine, Abe!” She snapped. “What’s up for auction?”

“Pa’s farm! They’re putting it up for auction, in three days.” He explained.

“Then why were those fellers there this afternoon?” Asked Beatrice, fundamentally confused.

“Probably some buyer they had lined up. They think we’re already beat.” Abe replied. He dropped the paper and looked her dead in the eye, a rarity for the perennially shy man. “They think we’re just gonna roll over”. 

Beatrice didn’t like Abe, but he was family. Despite their past, and her disgust at the man he turned out to be, she felt an affinity for him. Besides, it was her farm too. She could see herself as an old woman on the porch, yelling at her servants to clean up after her, and she smiled.

“You have a plan then?” She asked him. 

“I do. If I can get enough money together I can outbid ‘em. Get the farm back.” Abe stated with conviction

“You have that kind of money?” Beatrice enquired with genuine shock. Abe’s face twisted with reluctance.

“Well… not yet but…” Beatrice sighed loudly into her bowl.

“Just listen!” Abe pleaded. “I’m gonna see a few people, get the money, get down to the auction house and just outbid ‘em.”

“How much is it gonna cost?” She asked sternly. Abe hesitated until she used that look again.

“Six thousand dollars… I think” Abe mumbled.

“Six. Thousand. Dollars!?” Beatrice roared.

“Probably less! Pa didn’t really-”

“Where the HELL are YOU gonna get six thousand dollars from, Abe?!” 

“I got some money! Savings!” Abe cried out. Beatrice narrowed her eyes.

“Six thousand dollars worth?” 

“No… But I can-”

“Save it, Abe.” She cut him off before he could bluster any further. “We’re gonna lose the damn farm!”

“Just give me a couple days. I will get the money!” Abe insisted.

“I learned a long time ago not to rely on what you say you’re gonna do.” Beatrice laughed. She had her back to him now, rummaging through her belongings, fishing through until she found it. Abe gasped.

“Is that?!” 

“Oh… yeah, Pa left it to me.” She stood up and held up to the light a revolver. Papa Briggs hadn’t loved either of his children so much as he loved that gun. He was never seen without it. Abe was surprised he hadn’t been buried with it. “Hell of a gun” Beatrice breathed in admiration, looking tenderly as though it was her own child.

“Are you gonna rob somebody?!” Abe squawked in alarm.

“No Abe. Just gonna see some friends. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled but without any mirth. “You go get your money” she said and left without another word. 

---

Two nights later, and Abe was done. He was exhausted, he was elated; in the breast pocket of his jacket sat a little envelope of sixty bills. It had taken everything. His pride was in tatters. His reputation was probably lower than it had ever been. He’d promised everything just short of the world to just short of everybody. Lied, begged, flattered, cajoled - anything he could do. In the end, he’d secured a range of loans from neighbouring farmsteads and smaller businesses. Abe Briggs was now in debt to about a dozen people, but somehow he preferred that to borrowing from another bank.

He was flush with pride as he threw open the door and then nearly choked on the smell of smoke and liquor. 

“Abe!” Beatrice called out from the far corner, behind discarded furniture and bedclothes. “Abe, my brother!”. Abe stepped gingerly in as Beatrice stood and staggered over to him.

“What happened?” He asked before she crushed him in a bear hug.

“Just been… havin’... havin’ a good time Abe. Wiiiith some friends'' she giggled. “Don’t worry. They gon’ home now… You get the money?”

“Yeah… I did. I-” Abe began.

“Gooooooood.” she warbled, releasing the bear hug and crashing down to the floor where she promptly started to snore. 

----

Auction day. 

Beatrice seemed cheerful despite her ferocious hangover. She didn’t mention what she had been up to lately but Abe decided he didn’t want to know. The ride into town was pleasant, and they managed to make Hawley’s Auction house for ten on the dot. The Briggses took their seats close to the front of the long hall. Abe scanned the crowd, growing more and more nervous with each new arrival. It was a busy day for Mr Hawley, the auctioneer who’s mechanical cadence echoed loudly through the humid air. 

Briggs Farm was the third on auction. Abe was on the edge of his seat, waiting desperately for their turn. Beatrice, her head lolling forward, took a nap. She was rudely nudged awake when, during lot two, a well-dressed gentleman, with an immaculate suit and bowler hat combination, quietly entered and took a seat in the middle. Both of them realised it was almost certainly one of the men from the farm. He didn’t return their stares, content with paying attention to Mr Hawley as he announced:

“Briggs Farm and all lands thereof!”

The next few minutes were a blur of hands and shouting. Abe beat them all, every single time. As the price went higher, the bidders dropped off. And then, there were only two. Abe Briggs, and the stranger. The price had hit four thousand dollars, but the stranger just kept bidding. The price climbed, then it soared. Abe went in for five thousand. The stranger countered with five and seven-fifty. Abe took only a moment to make it five and eight hundred. Another counter: five thousand, nine hundred dollars. Abe, grimacing, announced six thousand. The stranger paused. He hadn’t expected this kind of competition. But as Hawley was to seal the deal, he put in for six thousand, two hundred. Abe winced.

Silence.

He could feel everyone staring at him. Beatrice, the crowd, even Hawley paused for an answer. With a heavy heart. He stood and declared.

“Six thousand, two hundred and seventy-three.” Every single dollar to his name. He turned back to look at the stranger.

“Sir, this is my family home. Please…” he begged. 

The stranger’s face flickered, unable to hide his delight. With a cruel smirk, he too stood from his seat and crowed, with utter relish 

“Seven thousand.”

Abe dropped, the tears already forming. He looked to Beatrice, but she was just smiling at him. “Well, Abe.” She murmured. “We tried it your way.” Abe looked at her, confused, defeated. She just grinned and reached into her coat. Pa’s revolver. She brought it out like she was cradling a child. 

Abe had just enough time to go wide-eyed with shock before, in one smooth movement she stood up and shot the stranger.

The force of the shot blew the bowler hat clean off his head. His lips were parted in an O shape, as if the bullet had only mildly offended him. He remained standing for a moment, as if he might have something to say on the matter, before blood chased it’s way down his face and he collapsed.

Chaos. Everyone was on their feet. Everyone was screaming. Abe was paralysed. Mr Hawley took cover behind his lectern. The double doors at the entrance flew open. Six rough-looking men, heavily armed with all manner of weapons, strode in commanding everyone to “Siddown and shuddup!”. The audience of mild-mannered townsfolk were quickly and easily subdued. 

Beatrice paid no attention to any of it. She had taken a handkerchief and was gently rubbing down Pa’s revolver. Once she was satisfied, she looked over at the men.

“Thanks for joining me, boys” she called out, before moseying up the aisle. Abe’s heart sank. While he was out getting the money, she was making her plans… and she did things very much her way. He didn’t want to think about what sort of men they were. Just looking at them scared him stiff. 

Beatrice found Mr Hawley and dragged him to his feet. Jabbing Pa’s revolver painfully between his ribs, she looked him dead in his eyes and asked:

“I guess that feller really did buy the farm didn’t he?” She grinned. Hawley didn’t.

“So it seems like your bidder isn’t gonna come through after all… so… we’re still bidding, am I right?” Beatrice pressed the revolver harder at the last. Hawley nodded slowly. 

“Great!” She happily chirped. “I think my little brother had six thousand or so dollars, do you remember that?”

Another nod. Beatrice turned about and addressed the hall.

“Any other bids?” She called out. “Don’t be shy, this is an honest auction. Any other bids? Going-” She turned and gestured for him to pick up the gavel. 

“Going once… twice… sold! To Abraham Briggs, the property of Briggs Farmstead and all lands thereof.” She announced proudly. Hawley feebly banged the gavel. “Come on up here and pay the man, would you Abe?”

Abe, shaking with fright, rose from his seat and pulled out the little envelope. Footsteps echoing, he hurried up to the lectern and placed it gingerly. Beatrice smiled and ordered Hawley to collect it. He obeyed.

“Great! And now the farm?”. She asked, brightly.  Hawley gestured at a pile of documents stored inside the lectern. She ordered Abe to retrieve them. Once both had signed, Abe scooped it up and held it shakily, uncertain. 

The deed to Briggs’ farm. In his name. She’d done it.

Beatrice had moved on. She was issuing orders to her gang but the only one he cared about was

“Grab my little brother and get him out of town.” Almost immediately two of them were bearing down upon him.

“Beatrice! Beatrice wait!” he said, struggling.

“You got what you wanted Abe” she replied “You need to go. Now.” She didn’t even look at him, she was striding to the door, head held high.

“Beatrice this is robbery!”. The two thugs had resorted to simply lifting him off his feet and carrying him out. As he passed Beatrice she said.

“This ain’t robbery; you paid for it. Says it right there on the deed.”

“The law’s gonna-”

“I heard an interesting expression Abe.” She said, following them out into the mid-morning sun. “Possession is nine tenths of the law. Seems from where I’m standing that you got possession. So you got nine tenths of the law on your side. Besides Abe, what do you think was gonna happen when you asked me for help? You knew damn well what you were getting into.” As he was bundled like a suitcase into a waiting two-horse carriage, Abe knew she was right. 

“What if they don’t recognise the deed!” He cried out to Beatrice and in the few moments, before the coach pulled away, she leapt up to the window and looked him in the eye.

“Then you gotta start fighting for what’s yours. I’ve done my bit. Anything else is up to you” And before he could reply, she jumped back down and ordered the driver to get on, and not to stop ‘till the horses couldn’t run any further.