eager to gain back some advantage, strenuously argued against the defense’s request for the letters. And for once, he was met with some success. Judge DuBose was uncharacteristically swift in granting him the right to keep all letters sealed until Alice’s lunacy inquisition.
After their motion was denied, throngs of disappointed journalists and curious observers watched the entire Mitchell family, including Alice, of course, file out of the newly expanded courtroom. They had come no closer to seeing Freda’s letters, nor had the public seen or heard anything noteworthy from the murderess herself. And it would be months before they would see her again, not until winter and spring had passed, and summer was in full bloom.
C OMPARED TO THE M ITCHELLS , the Johnsons were of modest means. But they had the good fortune to live near “one of the most promising young men at the bar,” as the Commercial put it. The Johnsons had becomewell-acquainted with their young neighbor, Malcolm Rice Patterson, and at just the right time: Had they attempted to procure his services just a few years later, he surely would have been too busy to take on their case. 67 Patterson was a Southern Democrat steadily climbing the political ranks; by 1907, he would be the Governor of Tennessee.
Patterson came from an old Memphis family of great prestige. His father, Colonel Josiah Patterson, had been a formidable Confederate commander during the Civil War, and went on to be a representative in the Tennessee State legislature, a candidate for governor, and a member of U.S. Congress. He had joined his father’s law firm, Gantt and Patterson, and it behooved him to work closely with Gantt himself on such a high profile case.
He was tasked with convincing Judge DuBose that Lillie had made the innocent mistake of getting into Alice’s buggy on the wrong day. Lillie had no prior knowledge of Alice’s intention to murder Freda, and she was unaware of what was happening even as the crime was being committed. Lillie’s entire focus that afternoon, Patterson would argue, was not on revenge against Freda or loyalty toward Alice, but most immediately on her young nephew, who was in her care. Lillie was a family-oriented young woman who belonged back at home with her loved ones, not in jail with a murderess who everyone knew—because Patterson’s own law firm repeatedly told them—was insane.
Newspapers tended to portray Lillie as a vulnerable, deferential young woman. There was much talk of her public displays of “nervous prostration.” She was understood to fare poorly under even the slightest emotional strain, and the case was believed to have greatly exacerbated her condition, leaving her visibly pale, exhausted, and physically weak. Her father or brother was usually by her side when she stood or walked, and as close as possible when she sat in court or was returned to her cell, should she be suddenly overcome by these most unfortunate circumstances. It was suggested that she suffered from “female hysteria,” a catchall diagnosis forwomen who appeared faint and nervous; symptoms included insomnia, sexual desire, and shortness of breath. This affliction—which is no longer recognized by physicians—was used to describe almost any undesirable emotion. In court, it would work in Lillie’s favor.
And she would need every advantage she could get. The grand jury had, after all, indicted Lillie. Even the press, who doubted her involvement in the murder, remained unsure as to whether or not she was a good, pious girl in the wrong place at the wrong time, or a “fast,” perverse girl who might as well remain in jail with Alice, lest she start consorting with the chaste daughters of Memphis in her friend’s absence.
In the courtroom, the public learned about Lillie’s less than virtuous behavior. The rumors that she flirted with streetcar conductors were not going away, nor was this immodest behavior the end of the story. 68 Like Alice, Freda,
After their motion was denied, throngs of disappointed journalists and curious observers watched the entire Mitchell family, including Alice, of course, file out of the newly expanded courtroom. They had come no closer to seeing Freda’s letters, nor had the public seen or heard anything noteworthy from the murderess herself. And it would be months before they would see her again, not until winter and spring had passed, and summer was in full bloom.
C OMPARED TO THE M ITCHELLS , the Johnsons were of modest means. But they had the good fortune to live near “one of the most promising young men at the bar,” as the Commercial put it. The Johnsons had becomewell-acquainted with their young neighbor, Malcolm Rice Patterson, and at just the right time: Had they attempted to procure his services just a few years later, he surely would have been too busy to take on their case. 67 Patterson was a Southern Democrat steadily climbing the political ranks; by 1907, he would be the Governor of Tennessee.
Patterson came from an old Memphis family of great prestige. His father, Colonel Josiah Patterson, had been a formidable Confederate commander during the Civil War, and went on to be a representative in the Tennessee State legislature, a candidate for governor, and a member of U.S. Congress. He had joined his father’s law firm, Gantt and Patterson, and it behooved him to work closely with Gantt himself on such a high profile case.
He was tasked with convincing Judge DuBose that Lillie had made the innocent mistake of getting into Alice’s buggy on the wrong day. Lillie had no prior knowledge of Alice’s intention to murder Freda, and she was unaware of what was happening even as the crime was being committed. Lillie’s entire focus that afternoon, Patterson would argue, was not on revenge against Freda or loyalty toward Alice, but most immediately on her young nephew, who was in her care. Lillie was a family-oriented young woman who belonged back at home with her loved ones, not in jail with a murderess who everyone knew—because Patterson’s own law firm repeatedly told them—was insane.
Newspapers tended to portray Lillie as a vulnerable, deferential young woman. There was much talk of her public displays of “nervous prostration.” She was understood to fare poorly under even the slightest emotional strain, and the case was believed to have greatly exacerbated her condition, leaving her visibly pale, exhausted, and physically weak. Her father or brother was usually by her side when she stood or walked, and as close as possible when she sat in court or was returned to her cell, should she be suddenly overcome by these most unfortunate circumstances. It was suggested that she suffered from “female hysteria,” a catchall diagnosis forwomen who appeared faint and nervous; symptoms included insomnia, sexual desire, and shortness of breath. This affliction—which is no longer recognized by physicians—was used to describe almost any undesirable emotion. In court, it would work in Lillie’s favor.
And she would need every advantage she could get. The grand jury had, after all, indicted Lillie. Even the press, who doubted her involvement in the murder, remained unsure as to whether or not she was a good, pious girl in the wrong place at the wrong time, or a “fast,” perverse girl who might as well remain in jail with Alice, lest she start consorting with the chaste daughters of Memphis in her friend’s absence.
In the courtroom, the public learned about Lillie’s less than virtuous behavior. The rumors that she flirted with streetcar conductors were not going away, nor was this immodest behavior the end of the story. 68 Like Alice, Freda,
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