by D M Barrett
The Goat Man rose from his seat and motioned for Preacher Mann to follow him to the rear door of the covered goat wagon. He opened the door and a boy about eight years old peered out at the two men. It was Albert McCartney, the son of The Goat Man.
Albert was dressed in goatskins clothes and was covered in soot on his arms, hands, and legs. His scuffed and worn leather shoes had large holes in them. The soles were worse. In later years the preacher remarked that “the boy’s feet were on the ground.”
“That’s my son, Albert,” Ches McCartney said as Albert tipped his dirty, greasy cap to the preacher.
The preacher said politely, “Glad to meet you, Albert.”
Ches McCartney closed the back door to the goat wagon. He motioned for the preacher to return to the campfire.
“My wife used to travel with us. She met up with an older fellow who used to live near us when we owned a farm in Iowa. One thing led to another and she wanted to leave me and the boy. The old man gave me $500 cash and offered to pay for the divorce. I figured she’d take off either way, so I took his money,” The Goat Man said.
“We can continue our discussion with lowered voices. Why don’t you ask Albert to get out of the wagon so he can have playtime?” the preacher queried.
“It wouldn’t be safe. When we were through this area a couple years ago, we got a lot of grief from that county nurse and the sheriff. She wanted the sheriff to lock me up for child neglect and take Albert away to a foster home,” The Goat Man explained.
“What happened?” Preacher Mann inquired.
“A man came by and warned us. He gave us money and told us to go south toward Sparta instead of east toward Crossville,” Mr. McCartney replied.
“Did you know the man?” the preacher asked.
“I can tell you since you’re the preacher and God would cut you down iffin’ you tell. It was Sheriff Hankins. We did what he said,” The Goat Man responded.
“That being the situation, why did you return to this area?” the preacher inquired.
“I just felt a strong preacher and a sympathetic sheriff could stifle a county nurse and both of them could help me with Albert,” Mr. McCartney said.
“I’ve got to disclose that I’m engaged to Nurse Bilbrey. If she ever finds out that I let you and Albert slip through her net, it’d be safer facing the Lord in judgment with a gallon of moonshine under each arm,” the preacher admitted.
“I’ve saved that $500 that old man gave me. I’m sure it’s enough to get Albert cleaned up, dressed in regular clothes, and on a train back to his mother in Iowa. After it happens, that nurse can’t say too much,” The Goat Man explained.
“Here’s my offer. After Ol’ Billy is interred, I’ll get Louis Barrett to take you Albert to the church. I’ve got an outdoor shower with heated water. You can bathe. I’ll get some clothes for you and Albert from the store across the road. When you’re both cleaned up, I’ll have the local barber to cut your and Albert’s hair. If you like, he’ll trim your beard,” the preacher explained.
“I can’t afford all that and get Albert Gene to Iowa, too. We don’t take charity,” The Goat Man replied.
“This isn’t charity. This is the Lord’s money. We both know that spending it to help a child in need is one of his highest priorities,” Preacher Mann responded.
“I’ll do it,” The Goat Man promised.
* **
It wasn’t long before Dr. Marcus returned and helped Ol’ Billy peacefully drift away into eternity. Jack Wright returned with Louis Barrett and Doctor Whitman to pay his personal respects to Old Billy and The Goat Man.
Miss Rosie donated a gravesite near Highway 70 in the large well-kept field in front of the bed and breakfast. It was outlined with twelve small stones in the days following the burial.
Many years later, when Jack Wright’s grown children, and those of Preacher Mann, read the merchant’s journal, the story of Old Billy’s interment brought a tear or two to quite a few eyes.
The merchant wrote:
“I’d never been to an animal’s funeral. The preacher spoke these words of comfort, ‘Now Lord, Old Billy, was both a sail and, when needed, a solid anchor for Brother McCartney. He was his watchdog and his roadside companion. He always listened intently to his master’s voice. We hope to listen to your voice and follow it as intently as he did for his master. It is our prayer that when we cross the river that separates this life to the next that we see this faithful creature grazing in clover in those eternal fields of heaven. Amen.”
Things happened rather quickly for Albert Gene after the interment of Old Billy. The preacher furnished the soap, hot water, and towels. Louis Barrett, Jack Wright, and Joe Scott paid for two outfits of clothes for Ches and Albert McCartney. The local barber donated haircuts for the McCartneys and a beard trim for The Goat Man.
The physician and the preacher argued about who would purchase Albert Gene’s ticket from Ferguson to Sigourney, Iowa. A compromise was eventually reached whereby the physician would donate half the ticket price to the church and Community Church would pay the boy’s train fare.
Albert Gene hugged all of his newfound friends in Ferguson. He gave to longest hug to his father. The Goat Man promised he’d be back for visits. Albert promised to re-join him eventually. It was a bittersweet farewell for all.
Preacher Mann never saw The Goat Man or his son again in this life. He occasionally saw a newspaper or magazine article about The Goat Man. The preacher said Ches McCartney reminded him of the patriarch Abraham who traveled many years yet “looked forward to that city that had foundations, whose builder and maker is God.”
* **
(Editor’s Note: The Goat Man, Ches McCartney, traveled in every U.S. state except Hawaii. It was estimated that his iron wheeled goat wagon traversed over 100,000 miles in the decades that followed until he eventually settled in Jeffersonville, Georgia.
Upon his retirement from his travels, and with the help of Albert Gene, his son, Ches McCartney founded a small, independent church in the late 1960s. He died at 101 years of age.)
5.
Pestilence
As the preacher started to turn the key to start his truck, he heard a familiar voice ask, “Where are you headed handsome?”
“I’m on my way to Miss Rosie’s. I have an appointment with one of her girls,” Preacher Mann replied.
“That better be a joke. You might want to try again,” Nurse Bilbrey admonished.
“I’m on my way to Miss Rosie’s to have lunch with my incredibly beautiful fiancé intending to rent a room and make passionate love to her all afternoon,” the preacher announced.
“Well, the first half of that answer was great. The part about making passionate love all afternoon is about 90 days away,” Nurse Bilbrey said with a chuckle.
“Whitehorse always said it never hurts to ask –- once,” the preacher remarked.
“You don’t fool me, Thomas Mann. You knew my answer before you asked,” the nurse opined.
“Why did you come to that conclusion?” the preacher queried.
“First, if you were serious you’d have invited me to tryst in Nashville or Knoxville. You would not have chosen a romantic afternoon in a room at Miss Rosie’s,” Nurse Bilbrey explained.
“Any other reasons?” the preacher asked with a large smile.
“You also know that if Louis Barrett saw the county public health car at the meetinghouse and your truck at Miss Rosie’s in the middle of the afternoon the story would make the Around Town gossip section,” Nurse Bilbrey added.
“The headline would read: Local Preacher and County Nurse’s Romance In Full Bloom,” Preacher Mann said with a hearty laugh.
“Exactly,” the county nurse said emphatically.
“We were supposed to meet at lunch at noon. Why are you in Ferguson this early?” the preacher queried.
“I stopped by Scott’s Apothecary for some supplies for my rounds. Dr. Whitman asked that I grab you and get you to his office,” Nurse
Bilbrey reported.
“That sounds like a sense of urgency,” the preacher responded.
“That’s why I left Joe Scott’s and came here directly,” she replied.
“Well, I’m waiting,” the preacher said.
“Waiting for what?” Nurse Bilbrey said with a puzzled look.
“I’m waiting for that grab,” the preacher explained.
Nurse Bilbrey wrapped her arms tightly around the preacher, quickly pulled him toward her, and gave him a rather long, romantic kiss. Needless to say, the preacher was both surprised and appreciative.
“Consider that a down payment on our honeymoon,” Nurse Bilbrey instructed.
“We’d better get to Scott’s Apothecary. I’m starting to move toward some naughty thoughts,” the preacher said slightly short of breath.
As the preacher closed the door and the couple made their way to Nurse Bilbrey’s county car, she remarked happily, “That was the effect I was going for.”
* **
When the couple arrived at Scott’s Apothecary, Joe Scott motioned them to the large storeroom behind the counter. He turned on the light and placed his index finger over his lips to indicate that they should be quiet.
“Flip off that light switch and give me another sample,” the preacher instructed.
“Thomas Mann, if you keep this up I’ll steal that portable electric water heater of yours. Those cold showers will keep you in line,” Nurse Bilbrey scolded.
Before the preacher could respond, he heard a light tapping on the door. Nurse Bilbrey partially opened the storeroom door and admitted both Joe Scott and Dr. Marcus Whitman.
“We heard you two talking. I hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” Dr. Whitman said.
“If you’d been interrupting anything that light would have been turned off,” Preacher Mann said with a chuckle.
“Joe Scott, if anything about this appears in the gossip column in The Mountain Gazette, I’ll tell your wife that you’ve been playing poker with Louis Barrett, Jack Wright and that new barber on Friday nights instead of making extra batches of flavored extracts,” Nurse Bilbrey said sternly.
“Ouch!” Dr. Whitman said.
“Joe, she’s mean like that. I wouldn’t take the chance,” the preacher remarked.
The pharmacist had a look of near horror on his face. He nodded his head quickly and affirmatively. Nurse Bilbrey maintained her firm look while the preacher and the physician had rather large smiles on their faces.
“I’ll deal with you later, Thomas Mann,” she said with her eyes fixed on the preacher.
Avoiding any reply, the preacher asked, “Why did you summon a preacher for a clandestine meeting in Joe Scott’s storeroom?”
“I didn’t summon a preacher. I summoned my lawyer,” the doctor said bluntly.
“What do you mean?” the preacher asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“I’m still slightly within my two years’ probation set by the medical board. You are my supervisor during that period,” Dr. Marcus Whitman explained.
“Have you been in this storeroom with a patient?” the preacher asked.
“Absolutely not, I am a happily married man,” Dr. Whitman insisted.
“I can vouch for that. He was only in here with Anna Mae Crowder Whitman a couple times before they were married and never anyone else,” Joe Scott said.
“How’d he keep that out of the gossip column?” the preacher inquired.
“He threatened me with worse than Nurse Bilbrey,” Joe Scott replied.
“What’s the issue that requires a consult with the lawyer and the supervisor?” Preacher Mann queried.
“What I’m about to tell you is covered by patient-physician privilege for Nurse Bilbrey, Pharmacist Scott, and myself. It is covered by attorney-client privilege between us,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“Certainly, go on with your story,” the preacher insisted.
“Frankie Wright, Jack Wright’s wife, has contracted active tuberculosis. I examined a sample of her sputum under the microscope and it was definitely Mycobacterium tuberculosis bacteria,” the physician reported.
“What is sputum?” the preacher asked.
“Sputum is the coughed-up mucus from the lungs,” the doctor replied.
“What’s the treatment?” Preacher Mann inquired.
Dr. Whitman looked at Nurse Bilbrey and nodded his head toward the preacher indicating that she should answer his question.
“There is currently no known cure. The disease is treated by isolation from family members and rest and proper diet in a sanatorium,” Nurse Bilbrey said.
“That will be devastating to the Wright family. Can’t she just rest at home?” Preacher Mann asked.
“Tuberculosis is spread through the air when people who have active TB in their lungs cough, spit, speak, or sneeze. She’d be putting many people at risk if she was not institutionalized. Currently half of all active TB patients eventually die from the disease,” Nurse Bilbrey explained.
“This is a pestilence of biblical proportions. Dr. Whitman, isn’t there something that can be done?” Preacher Mann pleaded.
“That’s why you are here locked inside this storeroom with the three of us,” the physician said.
“I’m waiting for this explanation,” the preacher remarked.
“The three of us have been reviewing journal articles, research reports, and newspaper accounts of a near-miraculous, almost wonder-drug, discovered by a Scottish scientist,” Dr. Whitman said as Nurse Bilbrey and Joe Scott nodded affirmatively.
“Say on, brother,” Preacher Mann said.
“In 1928, Sir Alexander Fleming, a biologist and physician, noticed a halo of inhibition of bacterial growth around a contaminant blue-green mold on a Staphylococcus plate culture. He concluded that the mold was releasing a substance that was inhibiting bacterial growth. Fleming grew a pure culture of the mold, concentrated it, and called it penicillin,” Dr. Marcus Whitman explained.
“That’s great. Just order a batch of this penicillin. It doesn’t matter what it costs. Community Church has the money or we can raise the money,” Preacher Mann said excitedly.
“Dr. Fleming has made the drug in small batches and has reported his several successes. He has focused mostly on the properties of penicillin rather than medical treatment. He has been unsuccessful in making a stable form of it for mass production,” Joe Scott replied.
“Joe, just make up a batch and let Dr. Whitman give it to Frankie Wright,” the preacher instructed.
“As a lawyer, you are aware that physicians are held to a standard to either perform or refrain from any practice or treatment that would be contrary to that of an ordinary, reasonable, or prudent physician,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“I don’t see the problem. Here’s a potential life- saving cure that can be made by Joe Scott and given to Frankie Wright by you to save her life,” the preacher reasoned.
“Preacher, it’s a lot more complicated than that. We’re unaware of any TB patient yet to be treated by penicillin. We don’t know an exact dosage or time frame for the treatment for this particular type of bacteria.” Joe Scott said.
Dr. Whitman added, “Fleming reported that in some of his clinical tests that certain patients developed serious rashes and some even nearly stopped breathing. The result for Frankie Wright could range from a cure to serious injury or even death.”
“Is this going to be a situation like the one at Christmas? Am I going to have to order Sheriff Hankins to pull his revolver on the town’s doctor and its pharmacist?” Preacher Mann queried.
“We were all hoping for something a little less dramatic,” Nurse Bilbrey remarked.
“Do the Wrights know that I’ve been told about Miss Frankie’s condition?” the preacher inquired.
“I obtained their permission to inform you of the situation. I assured them that it would not be discussed outside our presence. They both wanted to speak with you after this meeting,” Dr. Whitman reported.
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“I’m removing my preacher’s hat and now wearing my lawyer’s hat,” Preacher Mann said.
“I like Preacher Thomas Mann better than Lawyer Thomas Mann,” Nurse Bilbrey offered.
“I recommend that we get a very thorough consent to treat that sets out every known risk involved, no history of successful treatment for her condition, and calls it experimental in nature as likely being a treatment of last resort. It needs to contain both Jack Wright and Frankie Wright’s signatures notarized by Miss Drusilla Hickman at Harriman Bank,” Acting Lawyer Mann explained.
“What else do you recommend?” Dr. Whitman inquired.
“I will draft affidavits for Nurse Bilbrey and Joe Scott that state the credentials and recommend this course of treatment for Frankie Wright. I will draft an affidavit as the medical board’s appointed supervisor stating my support and recommendation for Dr. Whitman’s course of treatment for Frankie Wright,” Acting Lawyer Mann explained.
“Do we really need all that legal paperwork?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“We need it to shield us from civil or criminal liability if this treatment program goes wrong,” Acting Lawyer Mann responded.
“Criminal?” Nurse Bilbrey said with astonishment.
“If Dr. Whitman engages in a rogue form of treatment, he could be charged with criminally negligent homicide, involuntary or voluntary manslaughter, or possibly murder. We could all be charged as accessories to his criminal activity,” Thomas Mann explained.
“What’s the alternative?” Joe Scott asked.
“Send Frankie Wright to a sanatorium to spend the rest of her life away from her family until she eventually dies. The alternative is forced, permanent isolation from her friends and loved ones that will likely result in a death sentence,” Preacher Mann said bluntly.
“I’ll prepare the drug,” Joe Scott said.
“I’ll administer it,” Dr. Marcus Whitman said.
“I’ll help them both,” Nurse Bilbrey said.
“If it comes to it, I’ll preserve your licenses and keep us all out of jail,” Preacher Mann said.
