Royal Wedding of Victoria Louise and Ernest Augustus, postcard from One Last Dance
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”
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”
Above, the intersection of Navarro and East Commerce Streets. John Stevens’ office building is mid-block on the left side of the street.
Begin with Chapter One ~ Return to Chapter Forty-Three
Andrew Stevens, March 1913
“Thought the prophecies of the Book of Revelation were coming true last night!” John hangs his hat and umbrella on the stand just inside the door of Mr. K’s office.
“My best hens,” responds Mr. K, “never laid an egg as large as those hailstones plummeting down from the heavens. Half the slate tiles from my roof lie splintered on the ground. Both greenhouses shattered. All their contents destroyed.”
“Your financial loss must be enormous,” remarks Andy. “I am so sorry, sir.”
“Approximately 5,000 dollars. But my mourning is not monetary. Insurance will replace the roof and the glass. But those rare specimens of orchids I collected and cultivated? Irreplaceable.”
Continue reading “An Ostrich-Plumed Hat: Chapter Forty-Four”