The heat of the August sun was blazing. It was only a short walk from the large two-story house on Broadway Street up to the town square, but even with a sunbonnet on, Cordia could feel the sweat running down the back of her neck. Maybe it was just because there had been rumor of another fight, a big one near Springfield, but she felt like she was being burned alive.
Her heart was pounding as she neared the courthouse. She could see a crowd forming there. News had just made it to her father at the bank, who had sent word by one of the young boys who worked at the newspaper to go tell Cordia. Yet, already, there must have been close to fifty people standing around, staring at the courthouse door. Nothing was posted yet, and most likely nothing would be that day—nothing that really supplied
