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Authors: Shirley Tallman
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man who was ultimately responsible for dooming five men to their graves? I thought about
Bert Corrigan, the bully who threatened me outside the Kearney Street grocery store. Where did he fit into this? Who had sent him to warn me—and why? And what would he do when he learned I had no intention of giving in to his harassment?
Despite the hot water, I felt a sudden chill. I lay my head back and willed my body to relax, but it was no use. My lovely bath had lost its ability to calm my agitated mind.
S unday dawned bright and clear. According to Mama, who’d gone out early to do some gardening, it was a perfect March morning, cool but not cold, and thankfully free of fog. Since I’d been hoping for rain, this news did not cheer me. I’ve been accused of possessing an overactive imagination, but Pierce Godfrey really did remind me of the buccaneers I’d read about as a child. In books, pirates were exciting and romantic. In real life, this particular brigand left me confused and unsure. He was a man I didn’t wholly understand.
I’d been in some indecision as to what to wear. I’ve long held the opinion that women’s clothes are designed to restrict natural movement. As far as I’m concerned, this is not only unhealthy but impractical. I’ve actually witnessed women playing tennis in dresses outfitted with a train! I may not meet the edicts of Paris couture—which is torture if I ever saw it!—but whenever possible I make my costume choices in favor of comfort rather than style.
In the end I chose a pale lavender dress of soft brushed cotton, with very little bustle, a straight skirt—with no added flounces to get in my way—and sleeves that allowed my arms to move freely. It was one of the least fussy gowns in my wardrobe. Moreover, at the risk of appearing immodest, I consider lavender to be one of my more becoming colors, complementing my black hair and violet
eyes. I added a simple straw boater decorated with a lavender ribbon, as well as a matching parasol to protect me from the sun, and my preparations were complete.
Pierce arrived precisely at one o’clock, impressing Mama with his punctuality—as if she required any further persuasion regarding his suitability!
“You look lovely,” he said approvingly as we left the house. “That gown is perfect for the Gardens. I never understand women who dress up for an outing as if they’re going to a formal ball.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased that we shared similar views on this subject. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Woodward’s Gardens were located on Mission near Fourteenth Street. Instead of taking his carriage, Pierce thought it might be fun to make the trip in one of Henry Casebolt’s mule-drawn balloon cars. These odd-looking vehicles—commonly called “bandboxes on wheels”—were round, fatter than cable cars, and equipped with an overhanging oval roof. One of their main attractions was that they could change directions at the end of the line with a simple pull of a bolt, which turned the upper part of the car entirely around. Personally, I found the ride a bit jerky, wobbling as it did from side to side like a ship. But as a novelty it was amusing enough, and we joined the rest of the passengers in hearty laughter as we lumbered on our way.
While I waited for Pierce to purchase our admission tickets to the gardens, I noticed a crowd gathered to one side of the gate. You can imagine my surprise when I spied Reverend Josiah Halsey standing in the center of the throng, spouting his bizarre dogma to a mostly amused audience. Once again he was dressed entirely in black, and his fierce dark eyes blazed out from beneath flyaway brows. As he preached, he waved the same tattered brown Bible above his head.
“From all false doctrine, heresy and schism, good Lord, deliver
us,” he quoted loudly from the Book of Common Prayer. “Listen to me, my brothers and sisters, for I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of
Bert Corrigan, the bully who threatened me outside the Kearney Street grocery store. Where did he fit into this? Who had sent him to warn me—and why? And what would he do when he learned I had no intention of giving in to his harassment?
Despite the hot water, I felt a sudden chill. I lay my head back and willed my body to relax, but it was no use. My lovely bath had lost its ability to calm my agitated mind.
S unday dawned bright and clear. According to Mama, who’d gone out early to do some gardening, it was a perfect March morning, cool but not cold, and thankfully free of fog. Since I’d been hoping for rain, this news did not cheer me. I’ve been accused of possessing an overactive imagination, but Pierce Godfrey really did remind me of the buccaneers I’d read about as a child. In books, pirates were exciting and romantic. In real life, this particular brigand left me confused and unsure. He was a man I didn’t wholly understand.
I’d been in some indecision as to what to wear. I’ve long held the opinion that women’s clothes are designed to restrict natural movement. As far as I’m concerned, this is not only unhealthy but impractical. I’ve actually witnessed women playing tennis in dresses outfitted with a train! I may not meet the edicts of Paris couture—which is torture if I ever saw it!—but whenever possible I make my costume choices in favor of comfort rather than style.
In the end I chose a pale lavender dress of soft brushed cotton, with very little bustle, a straight skirt—with no added flounces to get in my way—and sleeves that allowed my arms to move freely. It was one of the least fussy gowns in my wardrobe. Moreover, at the risk of appearing immodest, I consider lavender to be one of my more becoming colors, complementing my black hair and violet
eyes. I added a simple straw boater decorated with a lavender ribbon, as well as a matching parasol to protect me from the sun, and my preparations were complete.
Pierce arrived precisely at one o’clock, impressing Mama with his punctuality—as if she required any further persuasion regarding his suitability!
“You look lovely,” he said approvingly as we left the house. “That gown is perfect for the Gardens. I never understand women who dress up for an outing as if they’re going to a formal ball.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased that we shared similar views on this subject. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Woodward’s Gardens were located on Mission near Fourteenth Street. Instead of taking his carriage, Pierce thought it might be fun to make the trip in one of Henry Casebolt’s mule-drawn balloon cars. These odd-looking vehicles—commonly called “bandboxes on wheels”—were round, fatter than cable cars, and equipped with an overhanging oval roof. One of their main attractions was that they could change directions at the end of the line with a simple pull of a bolt, which turned the upper part of the car entirely around. Personally, I found the ride a bit jerky, wobbling as it did from side to side like a ship. But as a novelty it was amusing enough, and we joined the rest of the passengers in hearty laughter as we lumbered on our way.
While I waited for Pierce to purchase our admission tickets to the gardens, I noticed a crowd gathered to one side of the gate. You can imagine my surprise when I spied Reverend Josiah Halsey standing in the center of the throng, spouting his bizarre dogma to a mostly amused audience. Once again he was dressed entirely in black, and his fierce dark eyes blazed out from beneath flyaway brows. As he preached, he waved the same tattered brown Bible above his head.
“From all false doctrine, heresy and schism, good Lord, deliver
us,” he quoted loudly from the Book of Common Prayer. “Listen to me, my brothers and sisters, for I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of
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