The Trial of Dr. Kate

by Michael E. Glasscock III

  “What do you think of him?”

  “He’s a politician. What can I say? He’s probably no worse than the rest of them.”

  “Do you have a history with him?”

  “I have a history with almost everyone in Parsons County.”

  “And?”

  “You’ll have to ask Buford.”

  “I will. I’m going to try to see him this afternoon. I understand he has a big farm just outside of town.”

  “It’s a showplace. You’ll be impressed.”

  “Can you think of anyone who could account for your activities on the day Lillian died? Did you make any other house calls?”

  “I don’t know, but you might check with Jazz or Nurse Little. They knew where I was supposed to be—who I was to see—that sort of thing.”

  “Jazz is Hank Boldt’s daughter? The one you grew up with?”

  “I’m closer in some ways to Jazz than to Rebecca. Don’t get me wrong—I love my sister, but we were never close.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll go by your clinic this morning and try to talk to them. Any other suggestions?”

  “I think Fred Compton is there today. He’s covering my patients two days a week. I’m sure he’ll talk to you.”

  “May I tell him you suggested it?”

  “Yes.” Tears welled in Kate’s eyes, and she took Shenandoah’s hand in hers. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your friendship. I’ve felt deserted in the last couple of months.”

  “I do care, Kate. I’m sure a lot of people do.”

  “Shenandoah, I want you to know I’m beholden to you for all your help. It means so much to me.” Then Kate gasped. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry. I plum forgot to ask if you’ve had any more trouble.”

  “Someone ran me off the road on my way out to Randall’s. A new Dodge pickup. A Miss Tate pulled me back on the highway with her tractor.”

  “Did you recognize the driver?”

  Shenandoah shook her head. “Window was too dirty.”

  “I don’t like this, Shenandoah. I don’t like it one little bit. You need to see the state trooper.”

  “If anything else happens, I will. I’ve got to go before Jasper has a fit. See you tomorrow.”

  Kate gave Shenandoah her usual hug, and then Shenandoah pushed the buzzer for Deputy Masterson and left the jail.

  It was barely nine o’clock, but the temperature was already in the low nineties. Even the whittlers seemed subdued and lethargic, and they barely cleared a way for her to descend the steps.

  Shenandoah found the clinic and parked the Bel Air behind a Ford pickup. Cars and trucks lined the street. The place looked like a madhouse already, with some families waiting on the steps. She made her way up the stairs, stepping over two- and three-year-olds. The waiting room was even more crowded, and she realized that Jazz and the nurse would probably be too busy to talk to her. She decided to ask if the doctor could spare a minute or two.

  At the reception window, she pushed the ringer button, and a young black woman slid the glass partition open. She held a phone in her hand, and when she replaced the receiver, Shenandoah leaned through the window and said, “You must be Jazz. Dr. Kate told me I should look up Dr. Compton. Think he’s got a few minutes?”

  “You Miss Shenandoah?”

  “Yes. All these people waiting to see him?”

  “He’s awfully busy right now.” Sweeping her hand toward the waiting room, she said, “These folks are sick, Miss Shenandoah, and they need to see the doctor. He ain’t got time to be talking to no reporter.”

  Shenandoah took a business card out of her wallet and handed it to Jazz. “Dr. Kate asked me to see him. Please give this to the doctor and tell him I just want a few minutes.”

  She took the card and got to her feet. “Wait here,” she said.

  Shenandoah glanced around the waiting room to hostile stares. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but instead studied the furnishings in the room. Gray linoleum covered the floor, and the high ceiling had a whirling fan. The framed pictures that adorned the walls looked as if children had drawn them. The orange vinyl chairs could have come from someone’s kitchen.

  A door opened, and Jazz said, “Dr. Fred said he’d talk to you for a minute.”

  Shenandoah slipped through the door and followed her down a long hallway. They passed several examination rooms filled with patients. At the end of the hall, Jazz led her into a cramped office and motioned for her to sit in a chair opposite the desk.

  As she turned to leave, Shenandoah said, “Wait a second. I had a nice talk with your father the other day. He’s awfully proud of you, but I guess you know that.”

  She smiled, turned to face Shenandoah, and crossed her arms over her bosom. “What did you and old Hank find to talk about?”

  “You, mostly, and Dr. Kate—and about his run-in with my uncle some time ago.”

  “That poor white trash is going to get hisself killed one of these days. He ain’t got the sense God gave a goose. He’s just plain mean and no good. All of them Coleman people to the man are no good.” Jazz’s milk chocolate complexion reddened. “I’m sorry, Miss Shenandoah. I plain forgot you was a Coleman.”

  “Don’t worry, Jazz. I don’t think much of my uncle Junior myself. Your father said you and Dr. Kate grew up together. You two must be pretty close.”

  Jazz squinted at Shenandoah with narrowed eyes and said, “You wouldn’t be trying to pump me for information now, would you, Miss Shenandoah?”

  “I am a reporter.”

  “Dr. Kate and me are like sisters, so to speak. That don’t mean nothing against Miss Rebecca ‘cause she’s a fine lady. It’s just that Dr. Kate and me was always together as kids ‘til she went off to college and medical school. I stayed on to look after Dr. Walt. I cooked and cleaned for him. Proud of it, too.”

  Jazz turned to leave, and Shenandoah touched her on the arm. “How about telling one good story about Dr. Kate?”

  Again, she narrowed her eyes. “You a God-fearing woman, Miss Shenandoah?”

  “Do I believe in God? Is that what you’re asking me?”

  “The good Lord. Do you know Jesus?”

  Shenandoah said, “I probably look at religion a little differently than most people.”

  “Faith’s a hard thing for some folks. They don’t rightly know how to come by it. That may be your problem, Miss Shenandoah. But there’s a widow lady over in Allons—she’s got faith ‘cause of Dr. Kate.

  “When Dr. Kate took over after her daddy died, she’d get plumb lost looking for folks’ houses. She even put a small compass on the dash of her daddy’s old Ford station wagon. One Saturday afternoon in 1944, she got really lost looking for Mrs. Jack Murray’s house. That old woman had called the office thinking she’d had a bad heart attack. Being lost, Dr. Kate stopped at a house in the middle of Allons to get directions. She got out of her car and walked to the front door and knocked twice on the house of a Mrs. Smith.

  “What Dr. Kate had no way of knowing was that a few minutes earlier, Mrs. Smith’s three-year-old daughter had popped a peanut into her mouth and then started coughing. Mrs. Smith told Dr. Kate later that the little girl turned blue and rolled over on her side and kept gagging. Mrs. Smith said she’d dropped to her knees and started to pray: ‘Lord Jesus, keeper of my soul, please send me a doctor before my baby dies. Please, Lord.’

  “When she saw Dr. Kate standing at the door, Mrs. Smith’s eyes filled with tears, and she screamed, ‘Lord Jesus, you’ve answered my prayers! This way, Dr. Kate, hurry!’ Dr. Kate saw what was happening and ran to where the child lay gasping for breath. She swept up the child, grabbed her by the ankles, and turned her upside down. Then she beat the little girl on the back until the peanut flew out of her throat. Mrs. Smith sat on the floor rocking back and forth, saying, ‘Thank you, Lord. Thank you for answering my prayer.’

  “Dr. Kate saved that baby’s life and made a believer of Mrs. Smith. That widow lady knows Jesus. Yes, sir, she’s
got the faith.”

  As Jazz turned and left the room, Shenandoah took her seat and scanned the area. The desk, piled high with patients’ charts, also contained an open Physicians’ Desk Reference. Children’s drawings covered the walls, and a harsh fluorescent light lit the room from the center of the ceiling. All in all, the office was as starkly furnished as the waiting room.

  Dr. Compton walked in carrying a patient’s chart. He looked to be about four inches taller than Shenandoah. His shirttail had worked its way out of his pants, he had a little potbelly hanging over his belt, and his tie hung to one side. A stethoscope was looped over his neck, and his dark brown hair, clipped into a crew cut, was flat on top. He pulled a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, tapped one out, and lit it.

  Flopping into the chair behind the desk, he said, “I’m glad you came in—gives me a chance to catch my breath. I’ve been busier than a one armed paper hanger in a hurricane.” Leaning across the desk, he held his pack of cigarettes in front of him and said, “Care for a smoke?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Damn things can’t be good for you, but, Jesus, I love them. Could say I’m addicted. What can I do for you?”

  “Kate asked me to come by and say hello. She told me you’re seeing her patients twice a week. That’s awfully nice of you.”

  The doctor took a long drag on his cigarette. “I owe Kate anything I can do to help. If I didn’t see them here twice a week, I’d have to see them in my office in Livingston. Some of these folks are so poor and so sick that it’s a problem for them to go that far to see a doctor. My partner and I are taking turns until this mess is straightened out.”

  “Does Kate see this many patients a day?”

  “A good number of us country doctors see a hundred or more patients a day. Poor Kate’s by herself, doesn’t have anyone to swap calls with. We try to give her a weekend off, but she seldom takes it—works twelve to fourteen hours a day, seven days a week.”

  Shenandoah asked, “How long have you known her?”

  The doctor looked up toward the ceiling. “Six years. I got out of med school in March of 1946 and had three months to kill before I started my internship. I’d heard about this woman doctor in Round Rock. I’m from Livingston—grew up there. I wrote her a letter and asked if I could work with her for three months without a salary. She said yes, and it was an incredible experience. I learned more in those three months than I did during my entire internship.”

  “Why didn’t you come here to practice?”

  “I’d always planned to go home. Besides, I’m not sure Kate wanted or wants a partner. She’s kind of a loner. All I can tell you is, she’s one of the best doctors I’ve ever known. She’s fearless, dedicated, caring. I can’t say enough good things about Kate Marlow.”

  Dr. Compton smashed his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ve only got a minute or two. I have to get back to my clinic for afternoon patients. But I’ll tell you a story about Kate before I go. Come with me.”

  Shenandoah followed the doctor down the hallway to a room that was larger than the others. An examining table, with stirrups at one end, sat in the middle. Stainless steel instruments filled several glass-fronted cabinets. A headlight from a 1936 Ford hung over the table from the center of the ceiling.

  Dr. Compton said, “Doesn’t look much like an operating room, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “This is where I did my first appendectomy. I’d been at the clinic about a month when an old farmer came in late on Friday afternoon.”

  * * *

  Jazz Boldt pulled back the glass window to see a tall, gaunt man with a flushed face standing bent over with his right hand held to his side.

  “You okay, Mr. Couch?” Jazz asked.

  “I’m right poorly, Jazz. The doc in?”

  “Come on back and I’ll get her.”

  She opened the door, and the man, still bent at the waist, followed her to an examination room.

  “Lie down on the table, Mr. Couch.”

  A few seconds passed before Dr. Kate entered the room, followed by Fred Compton in a short white coat.

  “What’s wrong, Earl?” she asked.

  “Pain in the side, Doc. Hurts like hell.”

  Dr. Kate undid the man’s belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled his pants to his knees. As she did this, she said, “This young doctor just graduated from UT. His name is Dr. Fred Compton and he’s helping me today.”

  When the doctor touched his abdomen with her hands, Mr. Couch jumped. “You had them hands in ice, Doc?”

  “Sorry, Earl, my hands are always cold. Does it hurt more when I press here, or when I let up fast like now?”

  “Jesus! Sorry, Doc. It definitely hurts worse when you let up.”

  Turning to Fred Compton, she asked, “What do you think?’

  “Appendicitis?”

  “My thought, too. Tell Jazz to get the OR ready.”

  “Aren’t you going to send him to Vanderbilt?” Fred asked.

  “Not enough time. The appendix is about to rupture. If he gets peritonitis, he could die. We’ve got to do it. In fact, I’m going to help you.”

  Dr. Fred Compton’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  The young doctor had only watched surgical procedures while in medical school. The thought of taking up a scalpel and actually slicing into someone’s skin made him shudder.

  They transferred Mr. Couch to a gurney and rolled him into the operating room. The man crawled onto the table, and Dr. Compton helped him remove his pants and underwear and then reached up and adjusted the light onto the man’s belly. Next, he scrubbed the skin with disinfectant soap. Jazz took a metal container of chloroform out of one of the cabinets and placed a metal cone covered with gauze over the man’s nose and mouth. She dripped the liquid on the gauze, and within a few minutes, Mr. Couch passed out.

  Dr. Kate and Dr. Compton scrubbed their hands with disinfectant soap and brushes for exactly ten minutes by the clock. In the OR, they put on sterile gowns and rubber gloves and placed sterile towels followed by sterile sheets around the area of the abdomen that Fred had scrubbed with soap.

  “Show me McBurney’s point,” Dr. Kate said. The young doctor placed his index finger on the lower right quadrant of Mr. Couch’s abdomen. Handing him the scalpel, she said, “Make your incision there.”

  His hand trembled as he lowered the knife to the skin and drew it in a straight line, opening the first layer and exposing the yellow fatty tissue. Together he and Dr. Kate clamped the arteries and veins, and in a few minutes they had the abdominal cavity open. She placed her gloved hand in and pulled up several loops of small intestines. “Here it is,” she said as she isolated the red and swollen appendix.

  Dr. Compton took a silk suture attached to a large curved needle, stuck it through the base of the appendix, and tied it several times. After doing this twice, he took scissors and clipped between the sutures, freeing the appendage.

  “Good job,” Dr. Kate said. “Now let’s close up and give him a penicillin shot.”

  They closed the wound in layers and applied a pressure bandage to the operated site, then transferred a still unconscious Mr. Couch to the wheeled gurney and took him to an overnight room. Dr. Compton sat at his bedside for the next three hours and waited for the man to regain consciousness, checking his blood pressure and pulse every fifteen minutes.

  The following morning, the two doctors walked into the room to find Mr. Couch dressed in his shirt and pants, sitting on the side of the bed, eating a plate of scrambled eggs, grits, and bacon from Jazz’s kitchen.

  “How you feel, Earl?” Dr. Kate asked.

  “I gotta get out of here, Doc. My mules and me need to plow that two-acre plot next to the house today.”

  * * *

  Shenandoah sat back in her chair and said, “That’s a remarkable story.”

  “Know anything about the War of Northern Aggression, Shenandoah?” Dr. Compton asked.

  “The
North won.”

  “There was one Yankee sympathizer whom I’ve always admired. An East Tennessee fellow, actually—won the battle of Mobile Bay for the Yankees. Captain Farragut’s claim to fame was his battle cry, ‘Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.’ Like Farragut, Kate doesn’t worry about the obstacles in her path. Do what you have to and don’t look back. Kate’s motto, and now mine.”

  “Do you think Dr. Kate is capable of murder?” Shenandoah asked.

  Dr. Compton reached for another cigarette and held the unlit Pall Mall in his mouth for a moment before lighting it. “Kate Marlow is one of the finest physicians—finest human beings—I’ve ever known. She is what all of us should be. Hell, she’s damn near a missionary, for Christ’s sake. That’s an insulting question, and I refuse to justify it with an answer.”

  Shenandoah stood and shook hands with the doctor. “Thanks for your time. I know Kate appreciates all you’re doing for her. Would you consider being a character witness at her trial?”

  Dr. Compton nodded, pick up a patient’s chart, and said, “I’ve already told Jake Watson I will.”

  Shenandoah walked back to the waiting room. When she passed Jazz, she said, “Dr. Kate asked me to talk to you and Nurse Little. I’ll try to get back this afternoon when you’re less busy.”

  Leaving the clinic, Shenandoah glanced at her watch and saw that it was close to noon. Driving to the square, she saw cars lining both sides of Main Street. At the courthouse, a crowd of people was milling around the big yard. What looked like a high school marching band was playing a John Philip Sousa march at a deafening volume as more and more people joined the throng.

  At the top of the courthouse steps, on the long porch, a microphone and lectern stood like a lone sentinel, and red, white, and blue crepe paper hung over the massive double doors. A line of ladder back chairs had been placed behind the lectern, and a huge banner over the door read ELECT FRANK CLEMENT GOVERNOR!

  A young man dressed in a white suit walked onto the porch, followed by Jasper Kingman, Baxter Hargrove, and a tall, cadaverous man with a long mane of striking silver hair. The crowd started cheering as each man took a seat.