Raven 2

by D M Barrett

  Preacher Mann turned the mechanical doorbell on the front door at Miss Rosie’s Bed & Breakfast. He was greeted personally by Miss Rosalyn Amanda Hatton.

  Looking directly at the preacher Miss Rosie said, “You can’t be like that Raven in the Bible, Brother Mann.”

  “How that, Miss Rosie?” the preacher asked.

  “He left Noah’s Ark and couldn’t find anywhere to land. There’s a blizzard coming, and you need to find a place to light and stay put,” Miss Rosie opined.

  “I’ll be all right, the preacher replied.

  “I’m serious. It’s ten degrees and there’s already a dusting of snow at noon. I’m gonna feed you and you can decide where to nest this afternoon,” she explained.

  “In any event, I’ll get full of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, cobbler, and iced tea,” the preacher remarked.

  “You’ll get everything but cobbler. You’ll have to settle for chess pie. The cook finished early and left for the day,” Miss Rosie explained.

  “I thought you were going to give me snow cream,” the preacher said with a chuckle.

  “Now preacher, I listen to those sermons and read the Good Book. According to Matthew, ‘Every idle word that that men speak, they shall give an account thereof,’” Miss Rosie said.

  “You missed one important part, Miss Rosie,” the preacher replied.

  “What’s that?” Miss Rosie asked.

  “The latter part of that verse says, ‘in the day of judgment,’” the preacher replied.

  “You keep on and you may be eating snow cream very soon,” Miss Rosie said with a chuckle.

  “Point taken,” the preacher responded.

  “Let’s get you fed and on your way,” Miss Rosie said as she took the preacher’s arm and they walked toward the large dining room.

  2.

  The Blizzard

  Preacher Mann finished his meal and Miss Rosie brought him a huge slice of chess pie and placed a large sack on his table. He looked surprised at what she was doing.

  “I put the rest of today’s lunch special in bowls and bagged it up for you. You can return the bowls when this blizzard is over,” Miss Rosie instructed.

  “Miss Rosie, if the weather does turn bad, I’ve got food and a hot plate to cook it on,” the preacher replied.

  “Sometimes we get ice before a big snow hits. Tree limbs break off and fall on the electric lines. In a few of the past winters, we’ve been without power for several days. That hot plate may be out of commission for a while,” Miss Rosie explained.

  “Do you really believe it’s going to get that bad this weekend?” the preacher asked earnestly.

  “I’ve known old man Sherrill, the weather girl’s dad, for many years. He was a good weather prophet for these parts. He was about 90% accurate year to year. This girl has got him beat,” Miss Rosie responded.

  “I value your opinion, Miss Rosie. I’ll take some precautions like you say,” the preacher promised.

  The preacher asked Miss Rosie for the charges and reached for his wallet. She would have none of any type of payment.

  “You just got the blizzard special, Brother Mann. Your money is no good today,” she said.

  The pair looked up and saw Sheriff Hankins being escorted to the table by one of Miss Rosie’s cleaning girls. He had a sour look on his face.

  “What’s wrong, Sheriff?” the preacher inquired.

  “The state patrol has closed the main road from Knoxville to Nashville just west of Crossville. The snow is accumulating on the highway and it’s just about impassable,” the Sheriff explained.

  “That’s not good,” the preacher said.

  “It gets worse. They told us that cars and trucks are having serious difficulty making it up the grade between Cookeville and Ferguson. It’s pretty likely that the highway west of Ferguson will be closed shortly,” Sheriff Hankins continued.

  “Looks like I’ll be eating alone tonight, Miss Rosie. Nurse Bilbrey won’t make it up the mountain from Cookeville to Ferguson,” the preacher remarked.

  “She’s in the Ferguson area. She stopped by this morning and picked up a sack lunch to eat between her visits,” Miss Rosie replied.

  “Nevertheless, I better head down to Lawrence Sawmill and Salvage and pick up a couple of oil lamps. This is starting to look like Miss Helen Sherrill may be on to something,” Preacher Mann said.

  “I’ll take care of it and drop them off at the Bluebird Café. I won’t be able to make it to your party tonight due to the weather,” Sheriff Hankins said.

  “Party? What party are you talking about?” Preacher Mann queried.

  “We all know that it’s your birthday. There’s a small gathering for you at the Bluebird. I can’t be there because of the weather either. I can’t risk a fall in the snow and ice,” Miss Rosie said.

  “I’ll head back toward the church. Nurse Bilbrey will either stop at the church or Discount Grocery as the weather gets worse. We may be walking to the Bluebird tonight,” the preacher said with a slight chuckle.

  “It’s good snuggling weather,” Miss Rosie said.

  “He’s even got an excuse for a little clandestine romance. He can say they got trapped and snowed in at Community Church,” Sheriff Hankins opined.

  “The two of you have been spending far too much time around Jack Wright. He’s the town gossip,” the preacher said firmly.

  “Preacher leave your truck parked here at Miss Rosie’s. I’ll drop you off at the Bluebird after we pick up your oil lamps. You can even pick them out,” Sheriff Hankins said.

  “We’ll tag team Finis Lawrence and get him to throw in some free kerosene,” the preacher said.

  “That’ll be a miracle,” Miss Rosie said as she handed the preacher his sack and started clearing the table.

  * **

  The sun began to set just before 5:00 pm that day in Ferguson. The temperature had risen from about ten degrees to the mid-twenties.

  When Sheriff Hankins had finished buying two oil lamps full of kerosene at Lawrence Sawmill and Salvage, he dropped the preacher off at the Bluebird Café.

  “You’re here a couple hours early,” Doris Smith said.

  “I thought I’d listen to the boys warm-up for the WNOX-AM Friday Night Frolics,” the preacher replied.

  “The boys played the Midday-Merry-Go-Round. They couldn’t get back after the state patrol closed the road. The Friday Night Frolics will be live tonight. You’ll have to listen to it on the radio later,” Doris Smith explained.

  “Well, at least they’ll be safe,” the preacher replied.

  “I got one more piece of bad news, preacher,” Doris lamented.

  “I’m a big boy I can handle it,” he responded.

  “It’s fried chicken, gravy, fried potatoes, and fried corn tonight for your birthday supper. We didn’t cook lunch today. There were no customers due to the weather,” she explained.

  “That’s fine. It’s plenty good for me,” the preacher said.

  “Don’t get me wrong. We’ll fill your chicken graveyard. There’s plenty of food. The selection is smaller than usual,” Doris said.

  About that time, Dr. Marcus Whitman and Nurse Bilbrey entered the Bluebird. They looked weary but were in good spirits.

  “Looks like it’s been a tough day,” Preacher Mann remarked.

  “It was very boring. I didn’t have a single patient and Joe Scott didn’t have a single customer today in the apothecary,” Dr. Whitman explained.

  “What happened?” the preacher inquired.

  “Huddling spiders, wooly worms, and heavy animal fur,” the physician replied.

  “Don’t tell Jack Wright. He is weather-obsessed,” Preacher Mann instructed.

  “I’ve had enough of his weather commentary this morning,” Dr. Whitman said with a chuckle.

  “How did your day go, Nurse Bilbrey?” the preacher inquired.

  “It would be a lot better if my fiancé could remember to call his future wife by her given name,” the
county nurse replied.

  “Let me try again. Beth, dear, how was your day?” the preacher said kindly.

  “It’s getting better! I made a few local calls, but everyone was headed to Discount Grocery to get supplied for the blizzard,” she said.

  As Nurse Bilbrey finished her review of the day, Jack Wright walked into the Bluebird with a huge smile on his face. It was obvious that he had a great day because of the weather.

  Doris Smith ran to the preacher’s table and said, “Preacher, the boys are going to play that special song you handed me the note to call about.”

  The preacher crossed the dining room and increased the volume on the large arched-top AM radio.

  “Friends, here is a special request by Preacher Mann for his fiancé, Nurse Nellie Elizabeth Bilbrey,” Cecil Smith said.

  Just like clockwork, the Smith Brothers begin the song, Footprints in the Snow, with a short instrumental introduction. Randall Smith began to croon,

  “Now some folks like the summertime,

  When they can walk about

  Strolling through the meadow green it’s

  Pleasant there’s no doubt.

  But give me the wintertime when the

  Snow is on the ground,

  For I found her when the snow is on the ground.

  I traced her little footprints in the snow.

  I found her little footprints in the snow.

  I was blessed that happy day

  When Nellie lost her way

  For I found her when the snow was on the ground”

  As the song ended, Nurse Bilbrey said, “Tom, that was really nice. It was unexpected.”

  “Now everybody in four states knows your given name,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Since that has been settled, Jack, tell us about your day,” Dr. Whitman said.

  “It was so good that if it were any better I’d need two of me to enjoy it,” the merchant replied.

  “Give us a brief summary,” Nurse Bilbrey suggested.

  “I cut a big-money deal with the preacher and Jeremy Ford on their portable water heater. I sold more groceries and merchandise today than I ordinarily do in a whole month. To top it off, Frankie is trapped in Cookeville at her sister’s house, and I’m free as a bird till the weather breaks,” Jack Wright reported.

  “All he needs is some moonshine and that Lewis girl to show up,” the preacher said.

  “That’s confidential, not that anything happened, but you’re not supposed to tell things on members of your flock. There’s a sinner-preacher privilege,” the merchant replied in a rather serious tone.

  “First, I got my information from The Mountain Gazette gossip column. Everybody within a 25-mile radius of Ferguson knows about the story. Next, it’s called the clergy-penitent privilege and not applicable because the story is already public,” the preacher replied.

  “Tom, even if it’s true, isn’t talking about it like spreading gossip?” the nurse asked.

  “Like Judge Acker always said, ‘I’ll take it under advisement,’” the preacher said with a smile.

  “If it’s true it ain’t bragging and if everybody knows about it, it ain’t gossip,” Doris Smith remarked.

  “That’s from the Book of Doris, Chapter 1 verses 1 and 2,” the preacher said to the group’s laughter.

  “I’ll keep quiet and start frying chicken, corn and potatoes,” Doris said as she made her way to the kitchen.

  Before anyone could say anything else, the lights went off at the Bluebird Café. As Miss Rosie always says, it was dark as a dungeon.

  Doris emerged from the kitchen carrying a lit kerosene lamp. It was one of the ones purchased by Sheriff Hankins from Lawrence Sawmill and Salvage.

  “Doris, you are Semper Paratus,” Dr. Whitman remarked.

  “Come again?” Doris asked.

  “He’s saying in Latin that you’re always prepared or always ready,” the preacher explained.

  “Actually, Sheriff Hankins dropped two of these off for Brother Mann’s birthday gift. I’ll go light the other one for the kitchen,” Doris explained.

  “I hate to bring this up, but does this mean there’s no fried chicken and gravy?” Jack Wright asked quietly.

  “She cooks on a large wood stove. You’ll be picking the bones before long,” the preacher responded.

  “I didn’t have a lot to do so I started the meal early. All I’ve got left to do is fry some corn and bake a few biscuits,” Doris said with a huge platter of chicken in her hands.

  “How many biscuits can you eat?” the group said to the preacher.

  “I knew I’d never hear the end of that White Lily Flour commercial,” the preacher lamented.

  “Don’t you worry, Brother Mann. I can cook 49 and slice that ham that I’ve got hanging in the pantry,” Doris said.

  “You are good to me, Doris. Please hurry the meal so we can get their mouths stuffed for a while,” the preacher replied.

  * **

  Just as the preacher’s birthday dinner was ending, Sheriff Hankins showed up. He had a look of exasperation on his face.

  “Anything wrong, Sheriff Hankins?” Dr. Whitman asked.

  “While you have been at the Bluebird, about a half- inch of ice fell on the couple inches of snow and we had to park our patrol cars. It’s still coming down and we’re at almost six inches currently,” Sheriff Hankins reported.

  “We’ll have a tough time leaving here tonight,” Jack Wright explained.

  “You’d better plan on enjoying Doris’ hospitality for at least another day,” Sheriff Hankins said.

  “Looks like you’ll be using a lot of that pure, stone-ground White Lily Flour, Doris,” Jack Wright said.

  “I’ve got plenty of ham and biscuits for breakfast. I’ve got enough food to feed you for a week, if necessary,” Doris replied.

  “Doris, could I trouble you for some food for me and my two deputies?” Sheriff Hankins asked.

  “Tell ‘em to come to the kitchen. I’ll feed you all you can eat in the kitchen,” Doris Smith responded.

  “I guess we can sit in the dark and tell a few ghost stories,” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “Why don’t you tell us a Beth story?” the preacher asked.

  “What type of story are you wanting?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.

  “Tell us what single event was instrumental in your becoming a county nurse or rural health nurse,” the preacher replied.

  “That’s fairly personal. I’m not sure . . . I . . . uh . . .” the nurse stuttered.

  “Come on,” I’ll tell a story about myself, too,” the doctor said.

  Nurse Bilbrey began, “My father was a physician at Hillman Hospital in Birmingham, Alabama. In those days most nurses were trained at hospitals for three years in what was called diploma programs.

  Over time, nurses began to be trained in colleges and universities. I had almost completed Hillman’s nursing program when my father, head of the diploma program, said he had one final assignment for me.

  “What was the assignment?” Jack Wright asked.

  Nurse Bilbrey continued, “He had initiated one of the first home health care or visiting nurses’ programs in the country. I was sent to visit a very poor single mother and her two children in North Birmingham. The mother was suffering from tuberculosis and there was no funding for her to enter a rest sanatorium.

  “Beth, what type of treatment were you expected to render to her?” the preacher inquired.

  “You got more fiancé points for calling me Beth,” she said before continuing.

  “It was very basic convalescent care. I went to her house and made a nursing assessment and care plan. I expected other student nurses to have to render the care based on my plan. I took the nursing care plan and presented it to my physician father,” the county nurse continued.

  “You’ve got my attention. What did Doctor Bilbrey do with the care plan?” Dr. Marcus Whitman asked.

  “He handed it back to me and said, ‘Now go and take care
of the lady and her two children for a week,’” Nurse Bilbrey said with a slight break in her voice.

  “What did you do for them?” Brother Mann asked in a subdued tone.

  “The first day I bought some groceries and cooked them the first real food they’d had in several days. I scrubbed the floors, the windows, and beat out the rugs,” she said.

  “What did you do the next day?” Dr. Whitman asked.

  “I determined to heat water, fill a galvanized tub, help the woman bathe, and get her some clean clothes and linens. The son was about eleven years old but wouldn’t help fill buckets and heat water unless I helped him and his seven-year-old sister get baths and clean clothes first. He didn’t trust me, and said I’d take care of their mother and not return the next day,” the nurse explained.

  “What did you do?” Jack Wright asked almost mesmerized by the story.

  “I had no choice. I helped bathe and change the two children and then the mother. I left their rental home exhausted and went to my home exhausted and crying,” she responded.

  “What happened next?” the preacher asked.

  “My dad heard me crying and knocked on the door. I said come in and he did. He asked me what the matter was, and I told him that I had been turned into a maid, a washwoman, and a personal servant. He sat there silent,” she said.

  “What did Doctor Bilbrey say about your complaints?” Dr. Whitman inquired.

  “He said the problem with me was that I was spoiled, lazy, and had no interest in real work in helping other people. He said he was doubtful that I’d make it as a nurse,” she confided.

  “Well, you became a nurse, and a damn good one, I might interject. What happened after that?” Doctor Whitman asked pointedly.

  “He walked over to my closet, opened the door, and pointed at almost a hundred items of clothing and dozens of pairs of shoes, he looked around my room and pointed to the dozens of porcelain collector dolls scattered around.

  He reminded me that maids cleaned the house including my room. He said the cook prepared my every meal to order for me – whatever I wanted to eat. Finally, he said that my personal possessions were worth more than everything that family owned,” the nurse said as she sobbed.