The Trial of Dr. Kate (11 page)

“What the hell was that?” she shouted over the roar of the three wide open, two-barrel carburetors.

“Bootleg turn!” Bobby shouted.

Shenandoah’s knuckles were still white as they slowed to a mere sixty miles an hour. Shenandoah sat back in her seat. She had no idea where they were, but she knew that at some point they had taken a turn away from Round Rock.

After a few minutes, Bobby started down a narrow road filled with sharp curves. It ended at Dale Hollow Lake. One of the TVA projects, it had a shore line of several hundred miles. Shenandoah and her father, Archibald, often fished for smallmouth bass in the deep, clear water every spring when she was a youngster.

A boat ramp sat to one side, and back from the water there were six concrete picnic tables. Bobby pulled the Ford in beside one and turned off the ignition. He undid his seat belt and stepped out of the car. Shenandoah followed him to a bench and sat beside him. He smelled of sweet sweat, gasoline, and grease, sexier than any men’s aftershave lotion she had ever encountered. Bobby raked his fingers through his hair as beads of perspiration popped out on his brow, and his face was flushed. He rested his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands. “I love Dale Hollow Lake,” he said. “I like to come here and just sit. It’s so peaceful.”

It being the middle of the week, the lake was almost deserted. Shenandoah could see two johnboats in the distance, their occupants casting for fish near the bank. One outboard pulled a lone skier across the smooth surface of the water about a mile offshore. It was, indeed, a peaceful scene.

“Do you swim?” Shenandoah asked.

“Sure. I like to water-ski, too, but I don’t have much time for either.”

“How did you get to be a mechanic?”

“I like working with my hands, and Army needed the help. Besides, the pay’s good and it helps with school.”

“School?”

“Tech, over in Cookeville.”

“What’re you studying?”

“Math. This year I’ll be a senior. I stayed in the marines a little while after the war, so I’m a little late with my studies. I’m going through on the GI Bill.”

Shenandoah shook her head and thought,
Mechanic, ridge runner, math major. Jesus, what an interesting man!

Bobby turned to Shenandoah, leveled his gaze, and looked her in the eye. “Tell me about you, Shenandoah. How’d you get to be a big-city reporter? And why in the world did you come back to Round Rock?”

Shifting her weight on the concrete bench, she said, “My history isn’t very interesting. I was born and raised in Beulah Land. When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, I was working in Nashville as a secretary. I wanted to be an aviator like Cornelia Fort. Actually, Cornelia was in the air at Pearl Harbor at the time of the attack and was scraped by a Japanese Zero. Anyway, she’s always been one of my heroines. So I took flying lessons and then joined the WASP. I spent the war flying B-24s and fighter planes. The army cancelled my contract near the end of the war, so I went to the University of Texas in Austin and received a BA in English. I worked my way through as a waitress. I’ve been working for the
Memphis Express
now for a little over two years. I’m a childhood friend of Dr. Kate’s, and I’m here to cover the trial. I also want to interview Buford Frampton for a book I’m writing on Boss Crump. That’s me in a nutshell.”

Bobby asked, “What’s a WASP?”

“It stands for Women Airforce Service Pilot. We freed up the men so that they could go into combat.”

“That’s right interesting, Shenandoah. I’ve never even heard of such a thing as a woman pilot. I thought they were all men.”

“Surely you’ve heard of Amelia Earhart.”

“Nope. I guess I’m sort of behind the times, so to speak. I can tell you one thing, though: I’ve never met a sober Coleman.”

“Ever since I got here that’s all I’ve heard. To tell you the truth, I’m sick of it.”

Bobby shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault you’re a Coleman.” Then he got up and walked toward the water with Shenandoah close behind. On the way, he scooped up several small stones. At the edge of the lake, he handed Shenandoah two and kept two for himself. He threw one of his and watched it skip across the water. “Two,” he said, turning to Shenandoah. She threw one of her stones. It skipped once and sank. Bobby threw his second one, and it bounced across the water three times. Smiling, he waited for Shenandoah’s second try. This time she put all her strength behind the throw but got only two skips. “You win,” she said. “Is that important to you, winning?”

“Why, Shenandoah, whatever gave you that idea?”

Bobby stood close to Shenandoah, and her heart pounded like a sixteen-year-old on her first date. Shenandoah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How well do you know Dr. Kate?”

“I wondered when you were going to get around to that.”

“Trudy Underwood told me she thinks Army and Kate are having an affair.”

“I’ve never believed that for a minute.”

“You have to admit it sounds a little suspicious.”

“I’m not going to gossip about someone I care about. Besides, all three of them were good friends. If you grew up with Kate and Army, you should know that.”

“You don’t think Kate had anything to do with Lillie’s death?”

Bobby glared at her. “That’s nuts.” Then glancing at the sun, he said, “I’ve got to get back to work or Army will have a hissy fit. Come on, girl, we need to get cracking.”

On the outskirts of Round Rock, just as they turned onto Main Street, Shenandoah saw the Dodge pickup pull out of a side street and fall in behind them.

She grabbed Bobby’s arm and said, “That’s it. Stop.”

Bobby frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“The pickup that ran me off the road is right behind us.”

At that moment, the Dodge roared past the Ford and sped down the street. Within seconds it was out of sight.

“Did you see it?” Shenandoah asked.

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen it before.”

“Follow it.”

“I can’t. I’ve got to get ready for my run tonight. Army would kill me if I didn’t make that run.”

“Damn it, Bobby, I’ve got to find out who that pickup belongs to.”

“Go see Jasper Kingman. He’s the sheriff. You get the license plate?”

Shenandoah shook her head. “No. It’s covered with dirt. I can’t go to Jasper. It’s a long story.”

Bobby guided the Ford into the shop, killed the engine, and got out of the car. Shenandoah followed. He opened the hood, pulled out the oil dipstick, and checked the level as she stepped beside him.

Bobby looked up from under the hood and asked, “You sure you wouldn’t like to have supper with me? We could grab a burger at the Blue Dot down in Livingston tomorrow night.”

Shenandoah looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You asking me for a date again?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know you better. You’re a right interesting person and pretty as a picture. That’s a fact.”

Shenandoah said, “You seem like a nice enough fellow, Bobby, but I haven’t got time to date. I brought a lot of work with me from Memphis, and I’m writing an article about the trial.”

“How long does it take to eat? I mean, you have to eat.”

“We wouldn’t have a thing in common. What in the world would we talk about?”

“We’d think of something.”

“I just can’t. I’ve got too many responsibilities.”

“Come on, Shenandoah. Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”

Shenandoah shook her head and said, “I’ll be here for a week or ten days, and then I’ll go back to Memphis. Why bother?”

Bobby had a hangdog expression on his face that gave Shenandoah a split second of guilt. Then he turned and stuck his head under the hood of the Ford.

Shenandoah walked slowly toward the door. She looked back over her shoulder once to see Bobby watching her and thought,
He’s not a bad fellow, really. And he sure is easy on the eyes.

F
riday morning following one of Hattie Mae’s big breakfasts, Shenandoah made her usual pilgrimage to visit Dr. Kate. She found her in good spirits and was delighted to see that the tremor was less prominent. Her hair was pulled back with a headband, and she had on a fresh county-issued gray cotton dress.

“Morning, Shenandoah. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You look great this morning. Anything special going on?”

“Your visits are a treat. When Jake’s here, he spends the whole time working on my defense.”

“How’s that going?”

“You’ll have to ask him. Our biggest problem is my lack of recall.”

“How long have you had these blackout spells?”

“You know the whole truth now. I’ve had lapses like that off and on for years. I sometimes wake up on the side of the road and have no idea how I got there. It’s frightening.”

Shenandoah took her hand and said, “How’re you doing with the tapering off?”

“I’ll be clean by Monday. It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Let me have the flask on Monday.”

“With pleasure. If I manage to stay out of prison, I’m going back to AA.”

Suddenly, her expression clouded, and tears streamed down her smooth cheeks. She wiped them away and said, “My God, I never thought I’d hear myself say those words again.”

Shenandoah looked into her friend’s royal blue eyes and felt immense sorrow. From Army’s description of her life as a country doctor, she thought she understood how Kate could have become addicted. In June, the medical reporter for the
Express
had written an article about new theories of alcoholism. Some scientists considered the problem a disease that might have a genetic origin. So, in Kate’s case, she’d been hit with a double whammy, as they said in the mountains of East Tennessee.

“You’re a strong woman. You’ll make it. I’ve been talking to a few people, and you have some staunch supporters, Hank Boldt being one of them. He told me about your run-in with my uncle Junior. Would you have shot him?”

“If I thought my life or Hank’s was in danger, yes, I would’ve shot Junior.”

“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Your dad was Junior’s brother. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes. There were four brothers, Lester, Archibald, Gilbert, and Junior.”

Kate shook her head and sighed. “I remember when we were in the fifth grade and your father died.”

* * *

The year Kate turned twelve, wages at the Round Rock sawmill were fifty cents a day. The men worked twelve-hour shifts, the big blade rotating constantly day and night. At least once a month someone was injured: a broken arm, a missing finger, a deep laceration, or a severed limb.

Kate, her father, and her older sister Rebecca lived in a three-bedroom apartment over the Round Rock Medical Clinic. Kate spent her time after school and on Saturdays working in the clinic, performing clerical duties, and she accompanied her father on some of his house calls.

Late on a Wednesday afternoon, hearing a commotion in the clinic’s waiting room, Kate ran to see what was happening. She swung open the door to see two men dragging a stocky, muscular man between them. The man’s right arm had been cut off just above the elbow. He was pressing a towel, which was completely soaked in blood, against the stump. His face, twisted with pain, made Kate shudder.

She motioned for them to follow her to her father’s operating suite. Dr. Walter Marlow rushed into the room and yelled, “Get Nurse Little! Hurry!”

The nurse came immediately. She instructed the men to place the injured man on an examination table in the middle of the large room. While Dr. Walt washed his hands, Nurse Little went to one of the stainless steel cabinets and removed a surgical pack and a small metal can of chloroform.

Kate stood to one side and watched as the nurse poured the anesthetic onto a gauze-covered wire mask that she placed over the man’s nose and mouth. As soon as the man lost consciousness, Dr. Walt removed the towel, cleaned the wound, tied off the blood vessels, and sutured muscle and loose skin over the stump of bone. One of the other men slumped to the floor, hitting his head on the side of a cabinet.

“Put your head between your legs, Coleman. Get the blood back to your brain,” Dr. Walt said.

Kate went to the sink and placed a surgical pad under the cold-water faucet. Then she held the cold compress to the man’s forehead.

Dr. Walt dressed the wound and, turning to the others, said, “When Archibald wakes up, you fellows take him home. Tell his wife to keep him in bed. I’ll be out tomorrow afternoon to check on him. Nurse Little will give you some morphine tablets.”

That night at the supper table Kate asked, “Is that man Shenandoah Coleman’s daddy?”

“Believe so.”

“He going to be okay?”

“Don’t know, Sugar. Hope so.”

“Me too.”

The next afternoon, Dr. Walt and Kate climbed into his Model A Ford coupe and drove the two miles to Beulah Land. Kate knew of the place, for she drove by there periodically with her father.

The doctor parked his car at the foot of the hill where the communal hand pump sat not three feet from the shoulder of the highway. A teenage boy pumped rusty, sulfur-laced water from the well into a galvanized bucket and stared at Kate. She followed her father up the hill to the shack that Archibald Coleman called home.

Several scantily clad and barefoot children stood to either side of the narrow pathway and watched the doctor and his daughter. It being late October, the ground was cold and covered with red and gold maple leaves. Dr. Marlow tapped on the door and then walked in when there was no answer. It was dark except for a lone kerosene lantern burning on a table in one corner. A second table, pushed against the far wall, held several dishes, a few jelly glasses, knives, forks, an iron skillet, a porcelain washbasin, and a pitcher. The rough wooden walls were bare.

Two side-by-side doors led to small sleeping areas. He walked into one where a dirty mattress lay on the floor. The injured man sat up when he saw the doctor and said, “Hurts like hell, Doc.”

Dr. Marlow kneeled beside the man and began to unravel the gauze from the stump. Kate stood in the doorway, wondering why Shenandoah wasn’t there.