Chapter Two
Hedda
Burgemeister
January 1915
The nightmares are repetitive, growing increasingly more
unbearable. Branded so deeply on her brain, the vivid images haunt her
even in the daylight.
Leon Johnson still stares at her. But when
Sheriff Tobin slips down the black hood, it is Hedda who is
claustrophobically forced into darkness, sensing thousands of eyes eagerly
trained upon her as he tightens the rope around her neck.
Dr. Herff said the condemned young man gripped a cross in
his right hand and thanked everyone for giving him a fair trial. Hedda
finds herself teetering on the trap door with no cross in her hand and no
thanks to offer. Just as the sheriff reaches for the lever to plunge her
into permanent darkness, she always jerks awake, trembling and covered
with sweat.
As the hack slows, Hedda asks the driver to wait at the
entrance to the lane as she directs her gaze toward the arched entryway of
Mission Cemetery. She feels compelled onward, yet repulsed by the thought
of visiting his final resting place. After all she has been through in
the past three months, she still finds herself unable to comprehend she
has killed him. She must see the grave.
A few steps through the cemetery gates, she spies it.
The
obelisk plunging up out of the ground halts her in her tracks. Naturally,
it towers over every marker in the vicinity – just like his house, his
brewery – larger and grander than anything else in San Antonio.
Emma Daschel is right. She will not get a fair trial.
Hedda turns and runs back to the hack, determined to keep
running somewhere. Anywhere. Maybe home. Maybe home to Germany. Back to
doing what she is trained to do. Back to saving lives.
War always generates work for nurses. Bleeding soldiers
never ask for references.
Chapter 3
copyright 2007, Gayle Brennan Spencer
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