by D M Barrett
“What did you do?” Brother Mann asked.
“I took most of my clothes to a charity store and traded them for clothes for the mother, son, and daughter. I donated all of my dolls but two to the local orphan home. I took two of my best dolls to the little seven-year-old girl. Afterward, I told my father that he was right that I wasn’t the kind of person that was meant to be a nurse.
“I can’t stand it. Tell us how you ultimately became a county nurse or visiting nurse,” Dr. Marcus Whitman implored.
“After everything was done and said, my father went into his study and removed something from his desk. It was a Hillman Hospital Diploma that recited that I had completed all requirements to be a state-approved or registered nurse.
He handed it to me and said congratulations. I realized that I did care about people and that I could take care of patients in all kinds of need. I continued nursing, both academically and clinically, at Vanderbilt University and Vanderbilt Hospital. I became a country nurse to travel, assess, and help meet the needs of rural, especially indigent, patients,” Nurse Bilbrey concluded.
It was a few minutes before Preacher Mann, Doctor Whitman or Jack Wright spoke. They all realized that they were very, very blessed to have a woman like Beth Bilbrey as their county nurse.
* **
“You’ve got to share with us the most important event or reason that led you to become a physician, Dr. Whitman,” the preacher said.
My initial interest in life was to be a woodworker. Actually, my goal was to become a custom furniture maker. My family had always apprenticed into a trade and made a good living. My father was a blacksmith. My grandfather was a carpenter,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“Did you do any apprenticeship?” Jack Wright asked.
“At fourteen years old I began to work for a Jewish gentleman named Abraham Abromowitz. Abe was a very skilled tradesman from Germany. He made furniture for the richest families in Europe. His pieces were hand-carved and highly decorative. He made everything from bedroom suites, dining tables and chairs, and servers and hutches. He crafted custom mantles, banisters, and chests. There wasn’t any type of woodworking he couldn’t do. He decided to settle outside Memphis,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“Were you paid for your work?” the preacher asked.
“My father was given $100 a year for the first two years, and I was given a new dress suit each of those years. Thereafter, I was to be given a percentage of each piece of furniture we made and sold,” the physician explained.
“Did you make any furniture on your own?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
At the end of my second year and into the beginning of my third year, Abe let me pick out a small piece of furniture for me to work on alone.
“What did you choose?” Jack Wright queried.
“I decided to make a small chest for my mother. It was about two-foot long, two-foot deep, and eighteen inches wide. It was a red cedar chest for her scarves, pins, and lockets. It had a thin, removable tray to hold other jewelry. It was the first and last piece of furniture that I ever made,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“What happened? Why did your woodworking career end?” the preacher asked.
“One day in late March, a man in his thirties motioned for Abe to come outside for a private conversation. I sneaked a peek through the shop door and saw him giving measurements with his hands to Abe. The man was crying,” the physician cleared his throat and started to continue.
“What was he looking for?” Jack Wright inquired.
Dr. Marcus Whitman continues with a single tear running down his right cheek, “Marcus, this is George Barry. He needs to talk to you. I nodded and the man began to speak. He explained that his newborn son had just passed away. They were indigent and the child was born at home. There was no physician. The umbilical cord had ruptured, and the infant bled to death.”
“That was so very preventable with just a minimal amount of care during the delivery,” Nurse Bilbrey said.
Dr. Whitman nodded and continued, “I felt sorrow for the parents but wasn’t sure what I could do. Abe said bluntly that the man needed the chest I had made to bury his child. Abe offered to pay me for the chest.”
“What did you do?” Preacher Mann asked.
“I went and got the chest for the man. I turned the tray upside down. I placed a satin pillow that my sister had made to fill the bottom of the chest on top of the tray. It was now meant to be a resting place for the couple’s stillborn son. When he saw the chest that was to be his child’s coffin, he cried, hugged my neck, and thanked me several times,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“What happened then?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“I told Abe that the chest was my gift for the family. I said that I realized had more interest in medicine that woodworking. I went to medical school with an eye on becoming a doctor in a rural area. Fate placed me in Ferguson,” Dr. Whitman concluded.
After a few minutes of silence, Sheriff Hankins entered the dining room from the kitchen. He had a smile on his face which likely indicated good news.
“Why the big smile?” the preacher asked.
“After getting almost seven inches of snow, a warm front moved through and it’s coming a warm rain. In a few hours you should be able to walk back to the Discount Store and Community Church,” he opined.
Doris bolted through the door and shouted, “Ain’t nobody leaving! I’ve made two dozen biscuits and cut a ham!”
“The state patrol has plans to open the main highway at sunrise. You’re serving the only food between Cookeville and Crossville. You should plan on baking more biscuits and frying more ham for the weary travelers,” Sheriff Hankins said with a hearty laugh.
3.
Lost Boys
The preacher walked across the street from Community Church to Discount Grocery. There was about three inches of snow on the ground from the night before, and it was snowing again by mid-morning.
It was colder but not very windy. The preacher turned up the collar of his black wool overcoat and held his black wool hat close to his head.
As he entered Discount Grocery, Louis Barrett remarked, “Preacher you just cost me a cup of coffee and two stale donuts.”
“What were you and your cub reporter gambling on this time?” the preacher asked as he shook the snow from his topcoat and hat and hung them on the hooks by the front door.
“I bet him that you’d be out before noon and he bet you’d come over after noon,” Jack Wright explained.
“You abused the man,” Preacher Mann opined.
“How did he abuse me?” Louis Barrett inquired.
“In two years I have always showed up at Discount Grocery before noon,” the preacher replied.
“I never bet unless it’s a sure thing, newspaperman,” Jack Wright said with a chuckle.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Louis Barrett said.
“What brings you across the road in this weather?” the merchant asked.
“I had to hear another episode of huddling spiders, wooly worms, and they’re the reason we’re having six snows at six inches or more this winter,” the preacher said with slight sarcasm in his voice.
“Actually the six heavy snows were predicted because of the six heavy fogs in September,” Jack Wright explained.
“Louis, now you’ve got an amateur meteorologist and a cub news reporter in the same man,” the preacher remarked.
“Actually, he is a good source for news,” the newspaper editor offered.
“He’s definitely got a nose for gossip,” the preacher said.
“If it’s true, it ain’t gossip,” the storekeeper rebutted.
“That’s not what you said when that story came out about your drinking moonshine weekly with that Lewis girl,” the preacher replied.
“You said you wouldn’t talk about that if I wouldn’t ask about your and Nurse Bilbrey’s wedding plans,” Jack Wright reminded.
“Hey, that may be good front-page story for Friday’s paper,” Mr.
Barrett said.
“Are you that lacking for a good news story?” Preacher Mann queried.
“We can’t run another story about another big snow. Not much happens when the weather is like this. We spent two issues on your invention of the portable water heater,” he explained.
“Oh yeah, it was a front-page narrative commercial for Discount Grocery’s success in sales as the exclusive distributor in the southern states,” the preacher remarked.
“You should be happy. You got a big fat check already with more checks on the way. I’m selling several dozen a week and Jeremy Ford can’t keep up with the demand.
Jeremy had to get Finis Lawrence to get his folks to help build them. Sales are continuing to climb. He’s getting distributors everywhere,” Jack Wright reported.
“Just make sure everyone involved shows up at church on Sundays. Remember what Job said about the Lord giving and taking away. We all have to stay on his good side,” the preacher exhorted.
“I’ve got perfect attendance for this whole year and last year,” Jack Wright responded.
“Patricia and I haven’t missed a meeting since I came to Ferguson,” Louis Barrett replied.
The preacher nodded his head affirmatively as one of Sheriff Hankins’ deputies walked into the store. He had a serious demeanor.
“What can we do for you?” Jack Wright asked.
“I’m here to take that preacher in,” Deputy Kelly demanded.
“Unless you have an arrest warrant, you’re not taking me anywhere,” Preacher Mann said firmly.
“Am I gonna have to cuff you and drag you out of this store?” the Deputy asked.
“I haven’t committed a crime of any sort in your presence. I have two witnesses that will swear that I haven’t yet breached the peace. Now you’d better move on or give me a good explanation about what’s going on,” Preacher Mann said with a raised voice.
Deputy Kelly grabbed his gun and pointed it toward the preacher. Louis Barrett was shocked. The preacher stood firm.
Suddenly, Deputy Kelly heard two clicks behind him. Jack Wright had lifted a double barrel, double-trigger shotgun from beneath the counter and placed the end of the barrel against his head.
“Deputy, there are two possibilities in your immediate future. You have the option of putting that pistol down slowly and carefully on the floor and leaving this store intact. Alternatively, you can fire your weapon and the undertaker will be picking up pieces of your skull and brains scattered all over the front of this store. It’s your choice,” Preacher Mann explained.
Deputy Kelly carefully laid his revolver on the counter and backed toward the front door of Discount Grocery. He was quite upset at what had transpired.
“Sheriff Hankins is looking for you. He’ll be here before long. You three hoodlums will be damn sorry when he gets through with you,” the deputy said as he turned and hurried out the door.
“Looks like The Mountain Gazette may have a front-page story for Friday’s edition,” Preacher Mann remarked.
“Hoodlums! Where does he get off coming in this store, trying to grab the preacher, and pulling a weapon on him?” Louis Barrett asked.
“Nobody comes in my store and assaults my customers without cause – not even one of Sheriff Hankins’ deputies,” Jack Wright said with a reddened face.
“Would you really have shot him?” Louis Barrett queried.
“If that boy had fired on the preacher, they’d been looking for his skull and brains all the way back to Cookeville,” the shopkeeper said firmly.
“Let’s all calm down for the moment. That’s Ned and Thelma Kelly’s boy. He’s a good kid. I can’t understand why he’s acting that way,” the preacher replied.
“I’m not armed. I don’t have a weapon. I just want to talk,” Sheriff Hankins yelled outside the front door.
“Stop at the door and turn around,” Jack Wright yelled.
Sheriff Hankins came into Discount Grocery unarmed. He did a 360-degree turn. He was not even wearing his hat.
“All I got is a pocket knife and a slapjack,” the sheriff explained.
“Jack, put that cannon down. We need to get some answers from Sheriff Hankins,” the preacher instructed.
Sheriff Hankins lowered his hands and walked toward the preacher. The preacher was still disturbed by what happened. His demeanor did not signal hospitality or cordiality.
“I need to apologize to the three of you for what happened with that Kelly boy. Everything is my fault,” Sheriff Hankins said apologetically.
“It’s your fault because you gave him a gun and turned him loose on the public!” Jack Wright shouted.
“Sheriff Hankins, this is going on the front-page of The Mountain Gazette. I’ll be pushing for your removal by recall,” Louis Barrett promised.
“Like I said before, let’s all calm down. This man has apologized and accepted blame. We need to give him the opportunity to explain things,” the preacher instructed.
“Jack Tubbs and Ray Martin came to the jail this morning. Their boys never returned from squirrel hunting on Buck Mountain yesterday. Each of them thought the boys were at the other’s house. When Jack Tubbs went over to Ray Martin’s to get Jackie, they both found out that the boys were missing,” Sheriff Hankins explained.
“Are they still missing?” the newspaper editor asked.
“They are missing and neither man has a clue about their whereabouts,” the sheriff said.
“How does that situation give rise to your crazy young deputy pulling a gun on the preacher?” Jack Wright asked.
“Deputy Kelly had been out on patrol checking the main road for anyone needing help. When he walked through the door, I told him to bring in Preacher Mann and not take no for an answer. He thought the preacher was involved in some sort of serious crime involving the Tubbs and Martin boys,” Sheriff Hankins explained further.
“Why did you need me?” the preacher asked.
“We desperately need to map out a search plan and comb Buck Mountain. You are the best person I know to do something like that. It’s really a matter of life and death. We need to find them before that temperature falls toward zero tonight,” Sheriff Hankins said with his head hung low.
“In 1875, a gentleman named Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. We are fortunate to have one at the Sheriff’s Office and one at Discount Grocery. No call was received. I’ve been here for the past hour-and-a-half,” Louis Barrett said.
“I sent the Kelly boy to drive the preacher from the store or church to the jail so he would avoid the snow and ice. I never thought about calling first,” the sheriff replied.
“Regardless of the outcome, your headlines on Friday’s Mountain Gazette will be about these lost boys. It won’t be about what happened here today. What do you need us to do?” the preacher asked.
“I need about six men and my two deputies to comb Buck Mountain,” Sheriff Hankins replied.
“Come on Shotgun Man. We’ll ride to the jail in the back seat lock up. Louis can stop by Finis Martin Lawrence Sawmill and Salvage and pick up two of his guys. We’ll have eight searchers including the sheriff and me,” Preacher Mann instructed.
“Is there anything else?” Jack Wright asked.
“Sheriff Hankins needs to pick up Deputy Kelly’s revolver and give it to him,” the preacher said.
“You took it. You need to return it with a little short sermon,” Sheriff Hankins opined.
“It’ll be very short. We’ve got lost boys to find. Let’s ride,” Preacher Mann responded.
* **
Buck Mountain was actually an elevated hill with a flat top. It was heavily wooded and covered with rocks. There were four old dilapidated shotgun houses scattered around on the flattest area on the mountain.
The local elevation in Ferguson was 1883 feet above sea level. Unlike Brotherton Mountain, Buck Mountain was only a few hundred feet above average terrain.
Nevertheless, the rocks, trees, and brush made the few hundred feet cli
mb formidable until its top flattened out. It was considerably more a chore for men than young, teenage boys.
Sheriff Hankins and Preacher Mann were the last searchers to climb a portion of Buck Mountain. It was more than a 30-degree angle and they had to stop frequently.
“I heard that there are two or three old run-down houses on top of this mountain,” the preacher remarked.
“Actually there are four. They were abandoned long before this depression started,” the sheriff said.
“What happened to the people?” the preacher asked.
“The ground was too rocky. The soil was poor. They couldn’t eke out a living on this mountain,” Sheriff Hankins responded.
“Do you think something happened and those boys spent the night in one of those deserted dwellings?” the preacher queried.
“If they did, the younger guys will get there long before us and this search will be over,” the sheriff replied.
“This snow is really coming down. This wind is trying to blow us off the side of this mountain, too,” the preacher noted.
“We need to find a brush arbor or something like that and take shelter for a while,” Sheriff Hankins instructed.
“I see a little smoke about 30 yards ahead. We may have to overlook some illegal moonshine still and sit around that ‘shiners fire,” the preacher said with a chuckle.
“On a day like this he’ll only get scolded a little, but he’ll get granted total immunity,” the sheriff promised.
As the pair fought their way across the side of Buck Mountain to get some warmth from the ‘shiners fire, they realized that there was no still. It was a little smoke coming from a small cave in the side of the mountain.
When the preacher and the sheriff reached the cave opening they heard the crackle of the small fire. In just a moment or two, they heard two voices.
Sheriff Hankins yelled loudly, “Jackie Tubbs, Charles Martin, are you in there? This is Sheriff Hankins talking. I am with Preacher Mann.”
“This is Charles Martin. We’re in here,” he replied.
