She ran to the phone and asked the operator to get Dr. Kate on the line. When the doctor answered, Edwina said, “Come to the house as quick as you can, Dr. Kate. Lester’s had a convulsion fit.”
“Is his temperature elevated?”
“He feels awfully hot to the touch. Please hurry.”
“Fill the tub with cold water, throw in all the ice cubes you can find, and put Lester in. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Dr. Kate said.
Fifteen minutes later, Dr. Kate knocked on the front door. Swinging it open, Edwina said, “Thank God, you’re here, Dr. Kate. I’m worried sick.”
“Take me to Lester.”
The two women rushed down the hallway to the bathroom where Dr. Kate found Lester unconscious in a tub filled with floating ice cubes. She opened her doctor’s bag and removed her stethoscope. “Let some of the water out so I can listen to Lester’s chest,” she instructed. Then she placed the instrument on the man’s ribcage and listened carefully while Edwina pulled the rubber plug out of the bathtub drain.
Pulling the stethoscope from her ears, Dr. Kate turned to Edwina. “Lester’s lungs are full of fluid,” she said. “He has a severe case of pneumonia. I’m going to give him a penicillin shot and call an ambulance. He has to get to the hospital in Livingston tonight.”
Edwina frowned and looked at the floor.
“What?”
“Buford won’t let me do it.”
Dr. Kate sat on the bathroom floor and stared at the older woman. “What’s going on, Edwina?”
“Nobody knows about Lester. That’s the way it’s always been. Buford wants it that way. He helped me get Lester into the tub, but he won’t let me send Lester to the hospital.”
“Help me get Lester out of the tub,” Dr. Kate said.
The two women managed to drag the unconscious man from the tub and lay him face down on the tiled floor. Then Dr. Kate pulled a vial out of her bag, stuck a needle into the rubber stopper, and pulled white liquid into the syringe. Then she stuck the needle in Lester’s buttock and pushed on the plunger. Sitting back on the floor, she looked at Edwina and said, “Let me get this straight. The senator has a retarded son whom he’s kept secret, and he would rather let this innocent man die than have people know the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Where is Buford?”
“I reckon he’s gone back to bed.”
“Where’s your room?”
“Down the hall. First door on the right.”
Dr. Kate placed the syringe back in her bag and glanced at Edwina. “Try to make Lester comfortable while I call the funeral home for an ambulance. Then come with me to your bedroom. I’m going to talk to Buford. Where’s your phone?”
“In the hall next to our room.”
Dr. Kate went to the phone, lifted the receiver, and told the operator, “Get me Walton’s Funeral Home in Livingston.”
She made the arrangements and replaced the receiver. Edwina accompanied her to the bedroom where Buford Frampton lay sleeping. Kate flipped on the wall switch, and the room flooded with incandescent light from the ceiling fixture. Buford sat straight up in bed with eyes wide, mouth open.
“What the hell? What are you doing here, Kate?”
The doctor towered over the senator. “Buford Frampton, you’re an arrogant, selfish bastard! God’s given you a special gift, and you’re too damn stupid to realize it. Any idiot can love and take care of a normal child. God only gives difficult children to people who have the strength to love and care for them. It’s God’s way of testing people’s integrity, the integrity of their souls. You’ve failed God.
“I’m sending Lester to the hospital. The ambulance will be here in about an hour. I want you to go with him and check him in. And from this day on, I want you to fulfill God’s plan.”
Buford Frampton sat in his bed, the sheet and blanket pulled to his neck, and stared at Dr. Kate with bloodshot eyes. Then his shoulders began to shake, and he gasped for breath as his sobs ricocheted off the walls of the big room. He blew his nose on the sheet and furiously dabbed at his wet eyes.
* * *
“I’d never seen the man cry in all the years I’d known him,” Edwina concluded. “Buford thinks of himself as a good Christian, and when Dr. Kate pointed out his sin, why, he just went all to pieces. As God’s my witness, from that night on Buford has loved and looked after Lester like a father should. He takes him to town, all around the farm, and they go fishing in the big pond out back and take long walks together. They’re the best of friends, and all because Dr. Kate had the courage to tell Buford the truth. To say the things I should have and didn’t.”
At that moment, the front door opened, and Buford Frampton entered the room, followed by Frank Clement and a man whom Shenandoah assumed to be Lester. Lester looked to be in his mid-fifties, with a nearly bald head that seemed too large for his squat body. He had the smile of a child.
“Who’re you, young lady?” Buford Frampton asked.
“Shenandoah Coleman, Senator. I’m a reporter with the Memphis Express.”
“Reporter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, meet the next governor of Tennessee. And this is my son Lester.”
The future governor shook Shenandoah’s hand, and said, “Frank Clement.” Lester stood behind his father and continued to smile and slowly nod his head.
“What can I do for you, young lady?” Buford asked.
“I’m writing a book on your friend E. H. Crump. I’d like to interview you about the Crump machine.”
Edwina pushed the ottoman aside. “I got work to do,” she said.
“Now isn’t a good time, Miss Coleman,” said Buford. “The governor and I have some politicking to do this afternoon. But I’m always happy to talk to the press. Give me a call tomorrow or the next day. You make a special trip just to see me?”
“Actually, I’m covering Dr. Kate’s trial, but I would’ve made the trip to talk to you anyway at some point. I’m fascinated by Mr. Crump.”
“You should be,” said Frank Clement. “He’s a powerhouse in West Tennessee.”
“Hell, all Tennessee,” Buford added.
“I’ll call tomorrow morning, if that’s okay,” Shenandoah said.
“After nine—not before.”
“Yes, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Clement. Good luck with the election.”
“Gordon Browning won’t know what hit him.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Lester. See you tomorrow, Senator.”
* * *
By the time Shenandoah parked the Bel Air on the street in front of the Round Rock Medical Clinic, there were only a few cars remaining in the parking lot. Dr. Compton had told Shenandoah he would be at his own clinic in Livingston that afternoon.
In the waiting room, she saw four women holding small children in their laps. The humidity and heat in the room were stifling. The ceiling fan managed to stir up stale, hot air, but it did nothing to cool the room. Three girls about six years of age played with a doll-house in one corner.
Shenandoah eased up to the glass partition and pushed the call button. Jazz slid the window back and, when she saw her, asked, “What you want, Miss Shenandoah? You was just here this morning. We awful busy right now.”
“Afternoon, Jazz. That’s the same thing you said to me this morning.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“I’d like to talk to Nurse Little. Dr. Kate asked me to see her.”
“She’s giving shots. Will be most the afternoon.”
“Dr. Compton’s not here, is he?”
“No. Nurse Little’s just following orders, giving shots.”
“Surely she could take a short break. I mean, she has to get tired of giving shots. She’ll need to rest her arm, if nothing else,” Shenandoah said.
Rolling her eyes toward the ceiling, Jazz said, “Let me ask her. Her arm might be sore by now.”
Jazz closed the window in Shenandoah’s face, so she sat down and pick
ed up a two-month-old issue of Popular Mechanics. When Shenandoah was halfway through the magazine, the window opened, and Jazz motioned for her to come through the door.
“Nurse Little said she needed a rest, so she’ll talk to you for a few minutes. Her office is down the hall there on the left. Want some coffee?”
“Yes, I’d love some. Black.”
Shenandoah walked down the hallway and found Nurse Little’s office. Her diploma from Nashville General Hospital Nursing School hung on one wall, and on the other, opposite her desk, hung pictures of children. Some were of newborns; others ranged in age from one to fifteen or sixteen. She sat and waited for Jazz to bring the coffee.
“Nurse Little will be a few minutes yet,” Jazz said when she arrived. “That Dr. Compton orders a lot of shots. Sometimes I feel sorry for those little guys.”
Shenandoah took a sip of coffee and said, “Thanks, this is perfect.”
Just then, Nurse Little walked into the room carrying her own mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a patient chart in the other. She placed the chart on her desk as she moved around to the chair. A tall woman—five-eight at least, Shenandoah figured—she carried herself with poise and grace. Her white hair, cropped stylishly short, framed a pleasant face, and she wore a starched white uniform with a nurse’s cap pinned to the back of her head. She had flawless pale skin. Her blue eyes were radiant.
She had a bemused expression on her face. “So, you’re the infamous Coleman who escaped Beulah Land,” she said as she extended her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Shenandoah.”
“The feeling is mutual, Nurse Little. I really appreciate you taking the time to see me. I know you’re busy.”
“Right now I’m responsible for a lot of pain and suffering. Not real popular with the little ones.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee. “So you want to talk about Dr. Kate.”
Jazz gave a cough. “If you don’t need anything, Miz Little, I got some charts to file. Nice talking to you, Miss Shenandoah.”
Jazz almost curtsied as she left the room. Shenandoah looked back to Nurse Little. “Can you spare a few minutes?”
“A few, that’s all.”
“Kate said you would know what her schedule was on the day Lillian died. If she’d made other house calls.”
“The way we work is simple,” Nurse Little said. “Dr. Kate sees patients until around five or six. She eats supper, and then she starts her evening rounds. I hand her a list of people and she starts out in that old wreck of a car of hers. If someone calls in while she’s out of the office, I track her down by calling the homes of people she was to see. Sometimes she doesn’t get home until midnight. On occasion, she’ll make house calls in the morning before starting here at the clinic.”
“Did she do that on the twenty-third of March?”
“Yes.”
“When did she get here?
“A little after nine o’clock.”
“Was she upset? Did she seem different in any way?
“She was always upset whenever she’d just been to see Lillian.”
Shenandoah was making notes as fast as Nurse Little talked. “I hadn’t realized she’d come back to the clinic after seeing Lillian,” she said. “Why was Dr. Kate up around Static that afternoon? Why wasn’t she here?”
“We got an emergency call. A boy drowned in Widow’s Creek. She had to pronounce him.”
“But that’s a good way from Static.”
“I have no idea why she ended up in Static.”
“You know about her drinking—why she blacked out.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you worked at the Round Rock Medical Clinic?”
“Oh, God, dare I tell you how long? An eternity—forever—and I’ve loved every minute. This is my life, Shenandoah.”
“You worked with Dr. Walt?”
Nurse Little looked out the window and didn’t say anything for several seconds. Finally, she cleared her throat and began. “I came to work for Dr. Walt the summer I graduated from nursing school. I hadn’t even taken my state boards. You probably don’t know that my maiden name was Coleman.”
Surprised, Shenandoah shook her head in disbelief. Until this moment, she had assumed that she was the only one from her clan who had been able to break free of Beulah Land. Evidently Dr. Walt had been a mentor for Nurse Little like Miss Frances had been for Shenandoah.
“I remember you as a child,” Nurse Little continued, “and I knew your mother and father, as well as his three brothers. I married Arthur Little in 1941, two days before Pearl Harbor. My Art got himself killed in France on D-Day. Like you, I was one of the few to escape Beulah Land. Walt—Dr. Walt; excuse me—paid for my tuition. I guess he thought I had potential, and he overlooked where I came from. My father was a binge drinker like most of the Coleman men, and my mother, God rest her soul, was a pitiful, illiterate cousin to my father. What can I say?”
“I remember Dr. Walt taking care of my father when he got hurt at the sawmill,” Shenandoah said. “I take it he was a special human being.”
Nurse Little smiled and said, “Oh, yes, Dr. Walt was special. When Rose Mary died—you know, giving birth to Kate—Walt, Dr. Walt, went into a deep depression. If it hadn’t been for his patients, their need for him, I’m quite sure he’d have killed himself. He loved Rose Mary so much, so very much …”
Nurse Little’s eyes filled with tears and she stared into space, her gaze looking through Shenandoah.
“Is that when he started to drink?” Shenandoah asked.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“He slipped into it slowly. I didn’t even suspect at first. By and large, he was a functioning alcoholic.”
Neither of them said anything for several seconds. Then, straightening her shoulders, Nurse Little said, “Well, so much for that. What you’re interested in, Miss Shenandoah Reporter, is the special daughter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dr. Kate is special, her father’s pet. I often felt sorry for Rebecca, given the way Dr. Walt doted on Kate. Perhaps she was his last link to Rose Mary. I’m not sure. For some reason Rebecca wasn’t resentful. I always found that amazing—you know, that she wasn’t jealous. As she got older, Rebecca spent a lot of time with Jake Watson. She used to go by his office every afternoon after school and help him with paperwork. I’m sure that’s why she became an attorney.”
“I think Kate looks a little like her father. Is her personality like his?”
“Oh, yes, the spitting image, as they say. Not only did they look alike, but their personalities are the same.”
“She’s an independent woman, to say the least. Was her father like that?”
“Dr. Walt marched to a different drummer, no doubt about it. You know a lot of older people up here still live in the last century. If you live in the nineteenth century, Shenandoah, it affects how you see the world around you.”
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“You have a driver’s license?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Dr. Walt drove all over Parsons County, and he never had a license, never paid federal income tax, and never had a social security number. As far as the federal government was concerned, Dr. Walt didn’t exist.”
“He had a medical license, didn’t he?”
“He graduated from Vanderbilt Medical School in 1912, and the state medical licensing board was founded in 1901. So, yes, he had a license.”
“How did Dr. Walt get away with paying no income taxes?”
“Come and I’ll show you.”
Shenandoah followed the nurse down the hall toward the receptionist’s desk where Jazz sat typing. At Jazz’s desk, the nurse pulled out the lower drawer on the left side. Reaching in, she removed a shoebox and set it on the desk. Inside, divided into stacks with rubber bands around them, were one-, five-, ten-, and twenty-dollar bills. Shenandoah frowned, small creases forming around both eyes. Nurse Little smiled and sa
id, “Our bookkeeping system.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. Dr. Walt took cash as payment for his services. God rest his soul, he never charged his patients much, five or ten dollars for most things, and even that depended upon the tobacco crop. A baby might bring a ham in the fall. It was chickens and eggs all through the Depression, not much more.”
“Didn’t he have a bank account?”
“Just shoeboxes full of bills stuck in the oddest places. We still find them from time to time. The dear fellow never knew how much money he had.”
“Is Dr. Kate the same?”
“More or less. She bought lots of war bonds—felt it was her duty. But it’s hard for her to keep up with how much money she makes, because people pay her with hams or chickens or eggs to this day.”
“Bartering.”
“I guess.”
“I believe it’s illegal.”
“May be, but it’s the only way Dr. Kate and these poor people can coexist.”
“Dr. Compton thinks of her as a missionary.”
“She is.”
“Do the doctors in Livingston—say, Dr. Compton and his part-ner—do they, ah, barter?”
“Some do, but not as often. There’re more people with jobs in Livingston and Cookeville. They do things differently than we do up here. I guess you’d say they’re more businesslike.”
Shenandoah shook her head. “I don’t suppose my friend Kate has a driver’s license.”
Nurse Little laughed. “You’re right. She’s just like her father.”
It was after four o’clock by the time Shenandoah thanked the nurse and left the Round Rock Medical Clinic. Just as she turned on to Main Street, she saw Bobby pull up beside her in the Ford hot rod. He waved her over, and they parked on the shoulder of the road. Bobby got out of the Ford and walked back to Shenandoah’s car.
“Where you going?” Shenandoah asked.
“I’m on a run.”
“Going to Nashville?”
The Trial of Dr. Kate Page 12
