An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Sixty-One

Hedda Burgemeister, April 1914

Pealing bells from the first mission awaken Hedda from a deep sleep. The discordant clangs are unlike the melodic chimes from the bell towers downtown.

Dr. Herff claims the bells of St. Mark’s on Travis Park were forged from cannon used in the Battle of the Alamo. If only Kaiser Wilhelm would assign such a peaceful purpose to his arsenal.

Like roosters at the crack of dawn, these mission bells call people to worship early. Every Sunday.

She loves Sundays. Sundays are hers. Unlike the rest of the week, she is not confined at home on the off-chance Otto might find an opportunity to escape his increasingly abundant business, social or family obligations. Lately, she does not hear from him for days. Yet he remains adamant she not work.

Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Sixty-One”

An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Forty-Eight

1913 royal wedding

Royal Wedding of Victoria Louise and Ernest Augustus, postcard from One Last Dance

an ostrich-plumed hat

Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Forty-Seven

Andrew Stevens, July 1913

“Just hold your horses a minute, Otto,” pleads Sheriff Tobin.

“Hold my horses? Hold my horses?” Mr. K’s head appears poised to explode. “Your men seized 3,600 quarts of beer yesterday.”

“It’s not like we confiscated it from the brewery, Otto,” explains the sheriff. “That was beer you already sold.”

“Probably on account,” grouses Mr. K.

“Otto, you have to understand the pressure I’m under to enforce that damn new law the governor signed.”

John comes to Sheriff Tobin’s defense. “The first week of the 9:30 closing law barely made a dent in our sales, Otto. We’re capping 200,000 bottles of Pearl a day.”

Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Forty-Eight”

An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Forty-Seven

mission san francisco de espada
an ostrich-plumed hat

Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Forty-Six

Hedda Burgemeister, May 1913

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

Reciting to the mirror in the parlor, Hedda pauses to pin on her hat. 

Otto said he would be tied up today, so she is off to the library for a fresh supply of reading materials. 

Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Forty-Seven”