The Trial of Dr. Kate

by Michael E. Glasscock III

  “I’m amazed by how well you do clean up,” Shenandoah said with a grin.

  Shenandoah got to Hattie Mae’s just as she and Mr. Applebee climbed the hill to the house. Both were out of breath.

  “Lord have mercy, Shenandoah, if He don’t send us some rain soon, we’re going to die in this heat. I ain’t seen nothing like it in all my days. Just look at Mr. Applebee. Poor thing is miserable.”

  “I know what you mean. I can’t wait for October. What’d you think of the jury selection today?”

  “Fireworks’ll start soon enough.”

  Shenandoah said, “By the way, Hattie Mae, I’m going over to Bobby Johnson’s house for supper tonight. Thought I’d better let you know.”

  Hattie Mae gave her a crooked grin. “Better watch out, Shenandoah. That boy’s going to hog-tie you yet.”

  “We’re just friends, Hattie Mae.”

  The old lady giggled as Shenandoah got into her car. She got to Bobby’s right at six o’clock. An angry sun still hung high in the western sky, and the temperature on the Coca-Cola thermometer by Bobby’s front door read 98 degrees. She knocked on the screen door, and in about three seconds, Wally came charging down the hallway.

  “Miss Shena, Daddy!”

  Shenandoah opened the door and walked in as Wally ran to her and put his arms around Shenandoah’s right leg.

  Shenandoah walked down the hall with Wally attached to her leg like a leech. Bobby appeared from the back of the house and said, “Wally, get off Shenandoah’s leg.” He hurried forward and removed the boy. “Come out to the back porch. I’ve got a job for you.”

  Wally and Shenandoah followed Bobby down the hallway, by the kitchen, and out the back door. As they walked, Wally pointed to his hand. “Gone.”

  Shenandoah took Wally’s hand in hers and traced her index finger over the area where the wart had been the day before. She glanced at Bobby. “When did this happen?”

  “When I got him out of bed this morning, it was gone.”

  “Maybe it rubbed off in his sleep,” Shenandoah said.

  “I couldn’t find it in his bedclothes. Could be Dr. Kate’s right. Some things can’t be explained by science.”

  Bobby pointed to a small wooden bucket with a metal crank on top. “Have you ever made ice cream?”

  “No. We didn’t have a refrigerator in Beulah Land.”

  “I swear, Shenandoah, I wonder about your childhood—if you even had one.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  “This is rock salt. You put ice in the bucket and over the metal part and add the salt. Then you crank. When it gets too hard to crank, it’s ready. You got to keep adding salt and ice. I’ll be in the kitchen with Momma.”

  For the next fifteen to twenty minutes, Shenandoah cranked the handle with gusto. It was harder work than she thought, and her arm grew tired and sore. Finally, when she could crank no longer, she went back into the house and found Bobby, his mother, and Wally in the kitchen. Bobby had a beige apron around his neck and was frying tomatoes on the stovetop. Wally sat on the floor playing with a pan and wooden spoon, beating it like a drum. Mrs. Johnson was mashing boiled potatoes with a large fork. Grease splattered over the stovetop, and every so often Bobby lifted a tomato out of the frying pan and placed it on a folded brown paper grocery sack.

  Shenandoah couldn’t believe that Bobby was actually cooking. Most of the men she knew couldn’t boil water. Careful, girl. Get a grip. This won’t work. Can’t work. She carried the wooden bucket to where Bobby worked. “I think this must be ready. I can’t crank it anymore.”

  Mrs. Johnson said, “Give it to me, Shenandoah, and I’ll put the ice cream in the freezer.”

  As they sat down to eat, Bobby took Shenandoah’s right hand and Mrs. Johnson the left. They bowed their heads, and Mrs. Johnson said, “Lord, thank You for this food. We appreciate all the many good things You bring into our lives. Help us to follow Your example in all we do. Bless everyone at this table, and please, Lord, help our dear and beloved Dr. Kate in her hour of need. In Christ’s name. Amen.”

  Wally sat on two big books next to his grandmother so she could supervise his eating. Mrs. Johnson glanced at Shenandoah. “Help yourself, Shenandoah.”

  Shenandoah picked up the large platter covered with fried tomatoes and handed it to Mrs. Johnson. “We didn’t eat this well in Beulah Land.”

  Bobby laughed. “This is what I call a triple S, a southern summer supper. Fried green tomatoes, fried okra, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. We’ve also got sliced cucumbers soaked in vinegar, fresh cornbread, and sweet iced tea with a sprig of mint.”

  “It all looks good, and I’m sure I’ll eat too much.”

  Wally used his hands to scoop up his food, and within minutes, mashed potatoes smeared his face.

  Mrs. Johnson passed Shenandoah the cucumbers. “Tell me about yourself, Shenandoah.”

  “I guess you know I’m a Coleman from Beulah Land. Everyone seems to know that. I left Round Rock in 1938 when I graduated, ferried airplanes during the war, then college, and now I work for the Memphis Express.”

  Mrs. Johnson kept eyeing Shenandoah throughout the meal as if she didn’t quite trust someone who’d come from Beulah Land, even if she did have a steady job. Shenandoah got the impression that Mrs. Johnson would guard Bobby’s best interests with her life. Wally kept a constant stream of chatter going, and Bobby seemed oblivious to most of it. From time to time, he glanced Shenandoah’s way and flashed a shy smile.

  The ice cream Shenandoah had helped make turned out to be delicious, served with slices of fresh peach on top. She would have eaten two helpings had she not stuffed herself on fried okra and fried green tomatoes.

  Shenandoah helped Bobby and Mrs. Johnson clear the table. As she placed her plate on the countertop, she said, “I’m happy to help with the dishes.”

  Mrs. Johnson pulled Wally out of his chair and said, “Wally can help me with the dishes. You and Bobby go sit on the porch where it’s cooler.”

  Shenandoah followed Bobby through the house. As they passed the living room, Shenandoah noticed a large photograph of a man hanging on one wall. Stopping, she asked, “Who’s that?”

  “My father. He got killed six years ago when his tractor overturned. We lived on a farm then, just south of Round Rock.”

  They stepped onto the front porch, and Bobby led Shenandoah to a wooden swing. The sun slipped behind the mountains, and a gentle breeze drifted in from the east. Fireflies darted about the yard like little moving neon lights. Shenandoah settled in next to Bobby. Bobby pushed the swing into motion with his foot.

  “Tell me about your father,” Shenandoah said.

  “Just a Parsons County farmer. His sister is Army’s mother. The farm was his whole life. He inherited it from his father. When he was killed, Momma couldn’t bear to live there, so she sold the place and moved us to town. She worked at the shirt factory until Wally came along and my wife died. Now she keeps him and takes in sewing, does alterations, and makes dresses.”

  “Did you like the farm? Do you miss it?”

  “I miss Poppa and the farm. I was born there. Dr. Walt brought me into this world, and Dr. Kate delivered Wally in that front bedroom,” he said, pointing to a window across the porch.

  Bobby took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He sighed and asked in a soft voice, “Do you think everything is going to be all right? Will Dr. Kate get off?”

  “Jake Watson seems confident. We’ll know soon.”

  Bobby placed his arm around Shenandoah’s shoulders and pulled her to him. Shenandoah remained quiet for a long time, pressed against his chest. She could feel his heart beating. She let her head fall against the back of the swing, closed her eyes, and sighed. She couldn’t remember feeling more content in her whole life.

  She lay next to Bobby for several minutes, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and then made a decision that she’d dreaded since the first day she’d seen him on the side of th
e road. “I don’t think I should see you again, Bobby, after tonight,” Shenandoah said.

  Bobby sat up and pulled his arm from her shoulders. Looking into her eyes, he said in a hoarse whisper, “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”

  Shenandoah moved away from him and placed her back on the arm of the swing. “When the trial’s over, I’ll go back to Memphis, and I’ll never see you again. I need to cut this off before it’s too late. It may already be too late.” Her voice trailed off.

  Bobby picked up her hand and held it tightly. Shenandoah opened her eyes and held her gaze steady. She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  He pulled her to him again and held her tightly. “I need you, Shenandoah,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know I need you in my life.”

  She felt light in his arms, so light she feared she might fly away from him on a light breeze if he didn’t hold on to her with all his might.

  Chapter 11

  On Tuesday morning, Shenandoah made her daily pilgrimage to see Kate. The judge had allowed her to wear her own clothing in the courtroom, and she was dressed in a blue cotton dress and black high-heeled pumps. A silver headband held her hair back, and she looked marvelous.

  “You seem in good spirits this morning,” Shenandoah said.

  “I’m sick and tired of the county’s drab gray. How are you, Shenandoah? Ready to see me raked over the coals?”

  “I guess things will heat up today or tomorrow.”

  “I don’t have much time this morning. Jake wants to go over a few things with Rebecca and me. I’ve been thinking a lot about you and Junior. I really think you should go see your uncle while you’re here. This morning might be a good time.”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  She put her arm around Shenandoah’s shoulder and pulled her tight against her body. “Do it for me, please.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow for sure.”

  “Thanks, Shenandoah. Anything new?”

  “Not really. I had supper at Bobby’s last night. He’s a good cook, which kind of surprised me. Oh, I forgot. I met Mr. Flatt’s chauffeur yesterday at lunch. Nice colored guy who’s going to be a lawyer. Told me some interesting things about his boss.”

  “Such as?”

  “He may be flashy, but he’s also competent. Jake’s up against a pro.”

  Kate rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Great.”

  “Sorry. I thought you should know.”

  * * *

  As the morning went on, things began to fall into place. By the time lunch recess rolled around, Thelonious and Jake had agreed on eight of the twelve jurors.

  Shenandoah found Austin Davis working on the Cadillac under the same maple tree.

  “You’re going to rub all the paint off. How many times a week you polish it?”

  Austin looked up. “Every day. Thelonious likes to see his reflection in the hood.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem from where I stand. You think Mr. Flatt would give me an interview?”

  “Not in the middle of a trial.”

  “I didn’t think so. Had lunch yet?”

  “I didn’t have time this morning to get anything before we left.”

  “We could get sandwiches at the Esso station,” Shenandoah said.

  “Suits me.”

  Austin replaced the top on the can of polish and set it on the floorboard in front of the driver’s seat. Then he pushed the button on the driver’s side to raise the window.

  Shenandoah said, “Do that again. I’ve never seen automatic windows.”

  Austin pushed the button several times, and they watched the window travel up and down.

  “I’ve been looking for the gas cap and can’t find it. Where’d they put the damn thing?” Shenandoah asked.

  “It’s in that driver side tail fin,” Austin said as he walked to the back of the car. “You push on this reflector button, and the taillight pops up.”

  He demonstrated this, and Shenandoah said, “So that’s what you get for five grand. Pretty neat.”

  On their way to the Esso station, Austin glanced at his new friend. “Shenandoah, I got a problem.”

  “What?”

  He looked around and then moved closer to Shenandoah and said in a low voice, “I need a place to go to the bathroom. I could go out on the edge of town and squat, but that’s hard for a city boy. Know what I mean?”

  “You got to go right now?”

  “No. I just need someplace to go when the urge hits.”

  “I’ve got a colored friend named Hank. After lunch we’ll look for him.”

  They bought ham sandwiches, potato chips, and Cokes at the station and went back to the maple tree to eat.

  “Where in Chicago are you from?” Shenandoah asked.

  “East Side.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Okay, but kind of run-down. First part of the century was better.”

  “You like the blues? You know, like Beale Street?”

  Austin wiped a drop of mustard from his upper lip. “Never been to Memphis. I’m more into jazz, New Orleans style.”

  “I like that too.”

  When they finished, Shenandoah put their leftovers in one of the paper sacks and took it to a trashcan in front of the station. Austin pulled out a pack of Winston cigarettes and offered one to Shenandoah.

  “No, thanks. Ever think of quitting?”

  “Like them too much. Can we go to your friend’s now?”

  “Sure, we’ll take my car. I doubt Thelonious would want us using the Cadillac.”

  “That car’s his pride and joy, but he lets me drive it some.”

  They drove to the clinic and found the waiting room empty. Shenandoah rang the bell, and Jazz slid back the glass partition.

  “What you want, Miss Shenandoah?”

  “I need to talk to Hank. Know where he is?”

  “Out back in the garden. I tell the old man not to work in that heat, but he don’t pay me no mind.” Then with a sly grin, she asked, “Who’s your friend?”

  “Sorry, Jazz. This is Austin Davis from Chicago. Austin, Jazz Boldt.”

  Jazz almost curtsied as she smiled and gave Austin a wink. Shenandoah thought she saw Jazz flush when Austin took her hand. Austin came across as suave, a far cry from the average colored man in Parsons County.

  “Pleased to meet you, Jazz. What a cool name! Your momma give you that?”

  She said, “My momma died when I was born. Old Hank, my daddy, gave it to me.”

  Shenandoah asked, “What’s going on at the clinic? First time I haven’t seen the place full of patients.”

  “Dr. Compton won’t be here ‘til Thursday, and we ain’t got no shots today.”

  “Where’s Nurse Little?”

  “Working on charts.”

  “Give her my best.”

  Austin winked at Jazz and said, “So long, Jazz. Nice meeting you. You here every day?”

  “Sure. Come by sometime and I’ll give you a cup of coffee or something.”

  Shenandoah thought, Surely Jazz and Austin can’t have much in common. Though all young men and women have at least one thing in common.

  Shenandoah said, “I think Jazz likes you, Austin. She might be a little old for you, though.”

  “I’d say she’s just right.”

  They found Hank with a hoe in his hands pulling weeds out by their roots. He stood in a row of shoulder-high corn, his straw hat pulled hard over his ears. Sweat trickled down both cheeks, and his shirt stuck to his back.

  “You should be careful in this hot sun, Hank,” Shenandoah said.

  “I be used to it by now. Just drink a heap of water.”

  “Hank, this is my friend Austin Davis from Chicago. He’s got a problem.”

  Hank lifted his hat off his head and swiped his brow with the back of his hand. Squinting into the midday sun, he said, “Don’t say.”

  Austin reached out, shook Hank’s hand, and said, �
�Nice to meet you, Hank.”

  “What you be doing in Round Rock all the way from Chicago?”

  Shenandoah piped in. “He drives for the prosecutor from Nashville.”

  Hank frowned and set his jaw. “The one be after Dr. Kate?”

  “Yes, but Austin only drives for him. He’s got no part of hurting Dr. Kate.”

  Hank shifted his eyes to one side and stroked his chin softly. “What’s the problem?”

  “They drive up each morning from Cookeville, and Austin hasn’t got a place to go to the bathroom. I thought you could help.”

  “I got an outhouse over at my place. You could use that.”

  “Thanks, Hank. Could you show us? I don’t know where you live.”

  Hank asked, “Got your car?”

  “Yes.”

  “You drive me over, I’ll show you.”

  They drove to the outskirts of town where the black families lived. Hank’s house was small, well kept, and sported a new coat of white paint. The yard showed signs of the drought, but cosmos and petunias filled the long beds along the front and sides of the house. Hank led them to the backyard where they saw the outhouse.

  “Help yourself. Come anytime,” Hank said.

  Austin and Shenandoah got back to the courthouse a few minutes before one. Turning to Austin, Shenandoah asked, “Think you can find your way to Hank’s?”

  “Sure, I’ve got a good sense of direction. Does Jazz live there?”

  “No, at the clinic over the garage.”

  “Just curious.”

  “Want to eat together tomorrow?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Just at that moment, Shenandoah heard tires squealing and looked up to see a 1946 Ford coupe skid to a stop next to where she and Austin stood. Three teenage boys jumped out of the car and sauntered over. Shenandoah thought they looked like high school football players. The biggest one leaned into Shenandoah’s face. “What’s a white woman doing talking to a nigger?” he said.

  Shenandoah slipped her hand into her shoulder bag and curled the fingers of her right hand around the butt of her snub-nosed .38 pistol. Glaring at the boy, she said, “Get out of my face, asshole, and mind your own business.”