by D M Barrett
After about 15 minutes Dr. Whitman arrived with his nurse holding the baby. SheMammy opened the door and he exited with Nurse Bilbrey following him.
“What’s the verdict?” the preacher asked.
“I can have the dress finished within two weeks of returning from New York City with Henry Wooden. You can get started on a sibling for that little tyke,” SheMammy reported.
“I was asking Dr. Whitman about that child,” the preacher said giving a stern look toward SheMammy.
“It’s a boy. He’s slightly malnourished but in pretty good shape. He has a pretty serious orthopedic problem, however,” Dr. Whitman remarked.
“What’s the nature of his orthopedic problem?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“He has two congenitally dislocated hips. Unless they are corrected, he’ll never be able to walk,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“How’s it treated?” the preacher inquired.
“Sometimes affixing a length of flat aluminum to a child’s shoes to separate its legs and hold them in position for a couple of months works. The hips relocate permanently to their proper positions,” Dr. Whitman said.
“Will that work on this baby?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“I don’t think so. I think he will need some corrective surgery,” the physician opined.
“Can you perform the surgery?” the preacher inquired.
“It’s beyond my expertise. I’ve never even seen it done. I’ve only read about it. He needs surgery in a big city hospital by an experienced pediatric orthopedic surgeon,” the doctor responded.
Sheriff Hankins entered the conversation and said, “I’m here to take custody of that child. That can be sorted out later.”
“You’re not taking that child anywhere. He has been placed in the care of the church, and in its care he will stay until legally adopted,” Preacher Mann cautioned.
“That child has been abandoned it’s my job to turn him over to the state. That’s the law, preacher,” Sheriff Hankins barked.
“This child is a foundling, as opposed to an orphan or a runaway. It has been placed in the care of the church. It is now in both my legal and spiritual care as a foster parent. The state may be parens patriae, or the father of all its children, but this child is in the care of our Heavenly Father and his servant,” the preacher said as he raised his voice.
“Well, I’ll check into it,” Sheriff Hankins rebutted.
“You’d better check into it. I’m the one with the law degree and this child. I recommend that you stop giving legal opinions and stick to being a county sheriff. That’s a job more suited for a man with an eighth-grade education,” Preacher Mann said as his face reddened.
Sheriff Hankins, as Nurse Bilbrey would eventually write in her journal, ‘tucked his tail between his legs without even a whimper and sulked off.”
“Were you wearing your lawyer hat or your preacher hat this time?” Dr. Whitman inquired.
“He got a spicy combo plate like they serve at the Bluebird Café,” the preacher responded.
“What happens next?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“With only a few exceptions, the child is in the foster care of the church until it reaches legal age or it is legally adopted through the court,” the preacher explained.
“What are the exceptions?” Joe Scott asked.
“Joining the military at the appropriate enlistment age and getting married at the minimum legal age for marriage in Tennessee are exceptions. These acts are called emancipation or acts that are disadvantages and advantages of being a minor,” the preacher explained.
“Looks like someone is going to be in for the long haul,” Joe Scott opined.
“The difficulty and expense of this child’s orthopedic condition will likely be an impediment for many adoptive parents,” Nurse Bilbrey opined.
“I’ll adopt the baby,” SheMammy said bluntly.
There was a long pause without anyone speaking. They were all assessing the chances of Clayton Martin’s success in being unmarried and rearing a handicapped child.
“You think because I wear women’s clothes and design women’s lingerie, that I’m a pervert. You think that makes me unfit to be a parent,” SheMammy said rather defensively.
“We see a busy, unmarried, self-employed middle-aged man, who lives about a half-hour’s drive down Brotherton Mountain to the Ferguson school, and a businessman who often travels to sell his products and promote his product line,” Preacher Mann explained.
“Without this expensive orthopedic surgery, this child will likely never walk. He will need a large amount of care for the rest of his life. We’re not sure you’re ready for something like that,” Nurse Bilbrey added.
“I want to adopt that boy. I am willing to give him the care he needs and deserves. I will move from the mountain and live closer to town,” SheMammy replied.
“What about the orthopedic problem?” Dr. Whitman queried.
“Let me put it this way: Old SheMammy has the first dollar he ever made and he’s made more dollars than just about anyone else in Putnam County. George Hickman, at Harriman Bank, can verify my financial condition. I can pay for the surgery. I can pay for travel and lodging. I can hire a nurse for many years. It’s that simple,” Clayton Martin exclaimed.
“Clayton, step outside the apothecary. Let us discuss the situation privately. We’ll give you our honest opinions on this adoption,” Preacher Mann said.
“That’s no problem,” Mr. Martin said as he stepped outside Scott’s Apothecary.
“What do you think?” the preacher asked.
“I’ve known Clayton Martin a lot longer than any of you. He’s the real deal. He’s likely the largest depositor in Harriman Bank and one of the richest men in the county. He’ll do what he says he’ll do. I’m supportive,” Joe Scott said.
“This child’s future will hinge on correcting those dislocated hips. He can live a normal life. I have confidence in SheMammy as an adoptive parent,” Dr. Whitman opined.
“Clayton Martin is certainly not a pervert. His inclination toward transvestitism is not a mental illness. It does not interfere with his activities or his judgment. I can give a professional opinion about that and I can have several respected psychiatrists testify to this, too. I support him being allowed to adopt this child,” Nurse Bilbrey stated.
“I was convinced that it would work after he had made his own case. I just wanted to hear what all of you had to say. But we’ll all be saying it again in front of the court at the adoption hearing,” Preacher Mann said.
The door opened and Sheriff Hankins walked inside the apothecary. The group thought that Sheriff Hankins and Preacher Mann could be headed for another verbal, and possibly physical, altercation.
“I’m not here to cause any trouble. I wanted to tell Preacher Mann that I talked to Judge Pete Mitchell in Cookeville. He said the preacher was right, that I should apologize and that I should do my homework before challenging one of the best lawyers that ever graduated from Vanderbilt Law School,” Sheriff Hankins reported.
“I knew that Pete Mitchell was the Chancery Court Judge in Putnam County. We were in Law School together. He served as my Associate Editor on the Vanderbilt Law Journal,” the preacher replied.
“Yeah, he told me that, too,” the sheriff replied with a sigh.
“You mean to tell us that you’re tight with the judge that’s going to oversee the adoption?” Nurse Bilbrey said with incredulity.
“I meant to not tell you that I knew the judge,” Preacher Mann replied.
“He set me up. I took the bait,” the sheriff said.
“He set us all up,” Dr. Whitman remarked.
“Solomon said, ‘The way of a fool is right in his own eyes: but he that hearkeneth unto counsel is wise,’” Preacher Mann stated.
“Sheriff, bring in SheMammy. He’s intending to adopt that child,” Dr. Whitman instructed.
“If I’d known Clayton Martin intended to adopt that baby, I’d never have gotten into that argum
ent with the preacher. I’ve known Clayton Martin for decades. He is one of the most honorable and richest men in this county. Hell, I wish he’d adopt me,” Sheriff Hankins said as he opened the door.
“What’s the verdict, preacher?” SheMammy asked.
“Apparently, the stork delivered that child to the wrong location. He is in your care until the adoption is final. We’ll need to get Judge Pete Mitchell to issue a custody order before you can get that surgery done,” Preacher Mann announced.
“I’ll take Clayton and the boy to Judge Mitchell’s office and tell him about the custody order,” Sheriff Hankins reminded.
“Sheriff,” the preacher said.
“Yes,” Sheriff Hankins responded.
“You are one of the most honorable and hardest-headed men I’ve ever known,” Preacher Mann announced.
“That means a lot to me,” Sheriff Hankins said he made his way to the door.
“Come on Preacher Mann. We missed breakfast at Miss Rosie’s. You can buy me lunch at the Bluebird Café,” Nurse Bilbrey said.
“I’ll get country ham, biscuits, scrambled eggs, and red eye gravy,” the preacher said as he rubbed his hands together.
In unison, the group asked the question contained in the title of the song by the Coon Creek Girls and voiced in a KNOX-AM commercial: How Many Biscuits Can You Eat This Morning?
As Preacher Man and Nurse Bilbrey started to leave Smith’s Apothecary, he voiced the answer from the song: “Forty-nine and a ham of meat.”
7.
Anathema Maranatha
It was a rather blustery mid-morning March day when Sheriff Hankins and Preacher Mann walked into the Ferguson Branch of Harriman Bank. George Hickman looked up and almost swallowed his unlit cigar.
“Now if it’s about that bank robbery last year, I told you all I could recall at the time it happened. If anything, my memory is fuzzier today that back then,” George Hickman disclaimed.
“We’ve laid that to rest, Mr. Hickman. I’m just dropping the preacher off. We’ve been looking at some foreclosed property,” Sheriff Hankins explained.
“Good! That’s very good. I’d love to have our first PDP deal of this new year today,” the banker beamed.
“What’s a PDP deal?” the sheriff queried.
“It’s the Preacher’s Development Plan. He advocates for a new business, beats me down on the rent or purchase price, and keeps the bank from making a profit for six months to a year,” Mr. Hickman explained.
“After two years he’s had to make plans for a bigger vault to hold all that new money,” the preacher said with a chuckle.
“I have to admit that with those PDP deals the bank is better off than any time in the past decade,” the banker admitted.
“Well, I’m gonna leave you and the preacher to work out another PDP deal. But, this one has the full support of the county and the state,” Sheriff Hankins said.
“We will get it hammered out. He always puts me in a headlock to get his way,” Mr. Hickman reported.
Mr. Hickman looked toward the bank vault and motioned for the sheriff to remain seated. He was acting so suspiciously that the sheriff unsnapped the strap holding his revolver in its holster. He placed his hand on the 38 caliber revolver and looked alternatively at the preacher and the banker.
George Hickman leaned forward toward the paid and whispered, “I need to talk about something while Drusilla is working in the vault.”
Sheriff Hankins removed his hand from his revolver and snapped the strap on the holster. The preacher sighed and scooted his leather captain style chair closer to the banker’s large desk.
“Say on,” Preacher Mann urged.
“Drusilla is 22 years old. It time for her to find a man and get married. Folks around here believe that if a woman is unmarried at 25 she’s an old maid,” George Hickman explained.
“What’s that have to do with us?” the preacher asked.
“You’re the best man I’ve ever seen for solving problems and cutting deals. I figure that you can find a man or two that would be a good match for Drusilla,” the banker explained.
“How do I fit into this picture?” Sheriff Hankins asked with a puzzled look.
“You’ve been the sheriff for almost twenty years. You know a lot about everybody in this county. If a boy’s been into someone’s sheep, you know about it,” George Hickman replied.
The sheriff and the preacher looked at each other and then burst into laughter. The banker’s sheep comment was the first time they’d heard that criteria.
“How does Drusilla feel about a husband?” the preacher inquired.
“She likes the idea but she would be a little embarrassed about our having this discussion,” George Hickman said.
“I’ve got a really good prospect. He’s a really nice young man, he’s recently employed in a public service job, and he’s destined for success,” Preacher Mann opined.
“Who is it?” the banker asked bluntly.
“He’s talking about my newest deputy, Tom Kelly,” the sheriff added.
“Tom Kelly, that’s Thelma and Ned Kelly’s boy. I can’t see him as a deputy. He’s always seemed a little sleepy-eyed to me,” the banker responded.
“He’s alert now. He led the search party that rescued the Tubbs and Martin boys from a cave in Buck Mountain,” Sheriff Hankins remarked.
“I read about that in the Friday edition of The Mountain Gazette. Sounded like you and the preacher were heavily involved in that rescue,” the banker said.
“We had a part in locating them but Deputy Kelly oversaw the rescue and extraction,” Preacher Mann explained.
“To put it bluntly, preacher, I was really hoping for someone whose family had more than two nickels to rub together. It’ll be a long time before Tom Kelly will ever accumulate much on a deputy’s pay,” George Hickman replied.
“You gotta tell him the news preacher. I want to see him swallow that unlit cigar,” Sheriff Hankins said with a laugh.
“What news? What’s he talking about, preacher?” the banker queried.
“In this Friday’s edition of The Mountain Gazette, there will be a follow-up story to the Buck Mountain rescue. We found several rich veins of low sulfur coal embedded in the ceiling and walls of that cave. Blue Diamond is opening a mine to extract the coal,” the preacher reported.
“Preacher, you’ve definitely got the Midas touch. You have the uncanny ability to turn lemons into lemonade in every situation!” George Hickman exclaimed.
“It’s even better. Say on, preacher,” Sheriff Hankins responded.
“Buck Mountain is owned by three Ferguson families: the Tubbs, the Martins, and the Kellys. They’ll all be depositing their checks in accounts here and Blue Diamond will be opening payables, receivables, and payroll accounts at this bank,” Preacher Mann disclosed.
George Hickman removed the cigar from his mouth. Years later, both the preacher and the sheriff claimed they saw a tear trickle down George Hickman’s left cheek.
“In other words, Deputy Kelly is Ned and Thelma’s only child from later in life. He stands to be the beneficiary of all that coal money. In time, he may be your largest private depositor,” the sheriff opined.
“Drusilla, Drusilla! Come quickly! The preacher needs to see you right now,” George Hickman shouted.
Drusilla ran out of the bank vault. She had no idea what created an urgency for her to see the preacher.
Before either the preacher or the sheriff could say anything, George Hickman declared, “Preacher Mann has found you a potential husband. It may even be divinely inspired. You need to hear him out.”
Drusilla fixed her eyes firmly on the preacher. Her demeanor was that of desperately waiting for his next word.
“Drusilla, I’m walking a tightrope between ministering and meddling. This conversation may tip me over into the meddling side,” the preacher said.
“Who is it? Is it someone I know?” Drusilla asked.
“It’s Tom Kelly. He’s n
ow Deputy Tom Kelly. I think you should think about him if he should call on you,” the preacher reported.
“We went to school together. He is quite handsome and he’s a caring and compassionate person. I had no idea that he was interested in me,” Drusilla responded.
“There’s definitely an interest. I can assure you that,” Sheriff Hankins said.
“I will suggest that he contact your father about calling on you. I recommend that you spend some time together and get to know each other. It may be a match or a mismatch. The two of you will have to decide,” Preacher Mann recommended.
“Daddy, what do you think?” Drusilla asked.
“I am in 100% agreement with these two fine men. You should take some time and see what happens with the two of you,” George Hickman said.
Drusilla hugged her father, kissed the preacher on his right cheek, and shook the sheriff’s hand. She returned to the vault and continued her work.
“Now that went well, don’t you think?” George Hickman inquired.
“You got a hug, the preacher got a kiss, and I only got a handshake and I’m Kelly’s boss,” the sheriff said with a chuckle.
“Being a public servant is often a thankless job,” Preacher Mann said with a smile.
“This public servant is going to make his appointed rounds and let you two get on with the PDP details,” Sheriff Hankins said as he placed his sheriff’s hat on his head and made his way to the bank’s front door.
“What type of foreclosed property has caught your eye, preacher?” the banker asked.
“I have an interest in the old Simpson mansion that’s past Miss Rosie’s place,” he replied.
“Now preacher, we all know that you’re getting married and will have to move out of your sleeping quarters at the church. It goes without saying that you and Nurse Bilbrey can afford any dwelling in this part of the county. But you don’t need that piece of property,” George Hickman remarked.
“What’s wrong with the property?” the preacher inquired.
“It’s too big. It’s somewhat dilapidated. It has over 100 acres of land that goes with it. There’s only about one-third of the property suited for farming. I hope you get the picture,” the banker explained.
