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wide you’d think he’d seen a ghost—when it was merely me, his supposedly large-with-child fiancée, looking about as pregnant as a bean pole.

A LETTER FROM FRANK

MENOMINEE—JANUARY 23, 1917
    U pon joining the breakfast table before day two of the trial, I found Frank had delivered a letter to the house.
Dear May ,
My attorney advises me not to speak to you, and I know I shouldn’t even write. If he knew, he’d ask me what in tarnation I’m doing .
But damn it, May, you and I both know this trial isn’t only about money. I still can’t believe it’s come to this. Don’t all the years we’ve known each other, the visits with each other’s families, and all those highball-charged train rides and transatlantic crossings mean anything to you?
I know what you’re thinking: You started it. Why’d you have to get up a lawsuit against me?
Do you think I wanted to resort to this? That I enjoy sitting across the aisle from you in a courtroom? I detest seeing you under the gun, my own damn attorney smirking every time he calls you Baroness. You think I like old man Sawyer digging through our private affairs and scrounging for dirty linen?
But you’ve backed me into a corner. When you discovered the well was dry, you threw me down it. Oh, no, my dear Baroness, I’m not going to let you get away with it. You and I were in this together until you decided you were only in it for yourself .
You know there’s a way to stop this confounded trial. My lawyer claims it’d be foolish to negotiate with you at this point. But you and I never played by the rules. Why should we start now?
All you have to do is turn over the stocks and the money you owe me. I’d even settle for a promissory note. And then we could get back to enjoying life together. How about celebrating big? We could take the train to Los Angeles and escape this wretched cold weather .
Consider my offer, May. You can allow Sawyer to ruin your reputation one day at a time and pretend I never meant anything to you. Or you can open your arms to your Frank again .
Here’s to good times ,
Your devoted friend ,
Frank
    Perhaps Frank believed the first day of the trial had given her an advantage over me, but she had miscalculated. In the spirit of fair play, I didn’t even surrender the letter to my attorney. Nor did I respond to it. After all, my attorney hadn’t yet delivered our opening statement.

THE TRIAL
MY LAWYER ’ S STATEMENT

MENOMINEE—JANUARY 23, 1917
    F inally, after Alvah Sawyer had taken up hour upon hour with his litany of claims, my counsel took the floor. I must say I very much like my attorney, George Powers from Iron River. He’s hardworking and willing to dig for just the right evidence to construct a compelling argument. George is a dapper, fortyish man with high cheeks and a narrow-lipped mouth. And can that mouth talk.
    “If it pleases the jury,” said Mr. Powers, flaring a palm in my direction, “I invite you to consider my client, the Baroness May de Vries. She is of humble beginnings. You know her family: her dearly departed, widowed mother and her two upstanding brothers. She grew up among you and went on to become a well-educated and well-traveled lady. In 1892, at the young age of twenty-three, she married a wealthy Dutch nobleman, Baron Rudolph de Vries. Although the Baron is now deceased, the Baroness is still welcomed in the courts of Europe. She is, to put it simply, accustomed to the world of wealth and royalty.
    “Frank Shaver has had a long association with the Baroness, dating back to 1901. On occasion, Miss Shaver chose to travel with the Baroness, and traveling the world is an expensive undertaking. She spent her money during these trips. From time to time she bought gifts for the Baroness. And now, fifteen years after she met the Baroness, she claims she was cheated. After all these years of knowingly spending her own funds, she says she doesn’t know what happened to her money. After keeping close company with the