Avoiding driving past the main entrances to the courthouse, Rudolph Bremer pulls the carriage up to a side door. His wife Lucile has not let go of Hedda’s hand once since they left their house on Buena Vista Street. Lucile lowers the dotted black veil on Hedda’s hat and squeezes her hand ever more tightly as they disembark the carriage.
“This way, Miss Burgemeister. Missus Bremer,” whispers Mr. Watson. They slip into a dimly lit stairwell, where Mr. Campbell and Mr. Chambers are waiting.
Mr. Watson leans toward Hedda’s ear. “It’s fortunate that your friends picked you up in Austin yesterday. Newspapermen and several deputies were waiting to intercept you at the train station.”
Mr. Chambers clasps her hand. “We must warn you, Judge Anderson’s in foul humor. He remains testy about you missing your original court date and is unappreciative of our efforts to get the original $7,500 bond returned based on technicalities. Legitimate technicalities that they are.”
Former Governor Thomas Mitchell Campbell, September 1915
“‘Work is His answer to prayer. Work is reward for faithful work. Work His expression of care. Work is iron to human blood. Work, the crown of all mankind.’” Thomas folds the newspaper up so he can eat his eggs and bacon without having to read more of Pa Ferguson’s Labor Day speech.
“I can’t stand having that peanut politician in the governor’s mansion, Fannie. Not sure whether he tries to portray himself as a preacher or Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.”
“Well, his words lack the eloquence of ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ and he is a far cry from a blessing sent by God.”