by Alan Hynd
Doctor MacGregor observed, during the nightly sporting events in the barn, that the Sparling boys swigged great quantities of drugstore tonic. Most of the stuff contained a stout percentage of alcohol, as well as a small quantity of arsenic, not unusual for the day of unregulated medicines. Thus it was possible for a so-called teetotaler, if he didn’t mind the bitter taste, to get half crocked.
MacGregor’s closest friend was a young attorney in the town of Bad Axe, a few miles from Ubly and the seat of Huron County. His name was Xenophon A. Boomhower. MacGregor and Boomhower, with their wives, used to visit each other at night, and, after cards and refreshments, swap shoptalk.
“You know, Xenophon,” MacGregor said one night, “I’m worried about Mr. Sparling.”
“Righteous John Sparling? Why, he looks like he’ll live to a hundred,” said Boomhower.
MacGregor shook his head. “That’s just it. He’s like an apple that’s healthy on the outside with a malignant worm inside.”
“Meaning what?” asked Boomhower.
“Meaning that John Wesley Sparling,” Doctor MacGregor explained, “might be suffering from Bright’s disease. That would be my guess.
Bright’s disease, as it was known at the time, was a fatal kidney ailment of the day, involving a serious inflammation and malfunction of that organ. In the day, Ty Cobb suffered from it, though he survived it, as did Bram Stoker, author of Dracula, who died from it. To be diagnosed with it, was more likely than not, to receive a death sentence. Nonetheless, the good Dr. MacGregor put Sparling Senior on some medications.
But inevitably, one day in June, less than six months after MacGregor had first taken a look at Mrs. Sparling, the righteous farmer with the long black beard did something most unusual. He quit his work in the fields in the middle of the day and took to his bed. Pete, the eldest son, hustled over to Ubly to summon the doctor.
MacGregor drove down to the Sparling farm every morning and every night after that to minister to the patient, who seemed to have trouble keeping any food in his stomach. While Righteous John was in bed, the Sparling faun received a second visitor, a loud, belligerent little man of seventy, who lived near Ubly. He too was named John Sparling.
The visitor, however, was known as Old John. He was an uncle of Righteous John, a former State Senator and, in his earlier days, a renowned auctioneer. He was still a spry little character, and his vocal apparatus was mercilessly unimpaired, so that, when he spoke in his auctioneer’s voice, he could be heard practically in the next county.
On this day when he came to visit his nephew, after having heard he was seriously ill, the four boys were out in the fields, so Old John went right up to Righteous John’s bedroom. Righteous John was in no shape to receive a visitor, or even talk to one, since he was in a semi-conscious condition and practically on fire with fever.
Old John thereupon began a prowl of the house for Carrie Sparling. When, at last, he had looked everywhere for the lady except in her bedroom, he decided to try there.
Old John was used to barging through houses and opening doors without knocking—a carry-over from his auctioneer days—and so when he approached Mrs. Sparling’s bedroom he just turned the knob of the door and kept on going.
But the door was locked and Old John; moving too fast to stop, crashed into the door and shook himself up. When the door opened there stood the doctor and the farmer’s wife. Old John measured Mrs. Sparling and the doctor and walked away.
A few days later, Righteous John Sparling died. Old John was at the graveside. When the coffin was being lowered, he exploded.
“There’s somethin’ danged funny about why my nephew died!” he yelled.
“Danged funny! You all hear?”
Folks were in the habit of ignoring the old windbag, however. And they did again this day as they had in the past.
A few months after the head of the Sparling household had gone to his reward, MacGregor, looking to the future, decided it would be a good idea if the four boys took out some life insurance.
“But we’re all as healthy as can be,” said Pete, now the nominal head of the house.
“You never can tell by appearances,” said MacGregor. “Take your father. Look what happened to him.”
“You’ll do as the good doctor says,” said Mrs. Sparling. “He’s going to examine all of you for insurance policies and then we’re going to buy insurance.”
Conveniently, the doctor’s father, Alexander MacGregor, was an insurance agent in London, Ontario. The Doctor examined applicants for policies in his father’s company. A few weeks later, policies of $1,000 on each of the four boys with the Sun Life Association of Canada came across Lake Huron from the offices of Doctor MacGregor’s father.
It was a lovely night in the spring of the following year. The good doctor and his wife were spending an evening with their friends the Xenophon Boomhowers. Everybody was in good spirits except the doctor. He was depressed.
“What’s wrong, Doc?” asked Boomhower.
“It’s Pete Sparling.”
“Pete?” asked Boomhower, who knew the lad. “Why, he looks the picture of health. What’s the matter with him?”
“Acute pancreatitis.”
“Sounds serious. Exactly what is it?” The doctor reduced the ailment to layman’s language and indeed it was serious. At age twenty-five and at six feet two-hundred pounds, Peter should have been the very picture of Dairy State health. Instead, these days he was walking around the farm clutching his stomach. And, sure enough, Pete died shortly afterward, little more than a year after his father had died.
It wasn’t long after Pete’s death that Doctor MacGregor suggested to Mrs. Sparling that she and the boys leave the farm and move someplace else to get away from their sorrow. Everybody, especially Mrs. Sparling, was all for it. So Mrs. Sparling sold the farm and bought a smaller farm out of Sanilac County and up in Huron County, just outside of Ubly, where Doc MacGregor’s office was located. By this time, MacGregor was also acting as the merry widow’s financial advisor, so the move was quickly a done deal. The only dissenting voice was Old John Sparling who was now in the habit of popping off to anyone who would listen about the relationship between the esteemed country doctor and his late son’s wife. Gossip did begin to spread, but it didn’t have much traction.
A few months after the Sparlings moved into Huron County, fate intervened again. Who should become Prosecutor of the Huron County but Xenophon Boomhower? The Sparlings had just gotten themselves settled on their new farm and Xenophon had just gotten his seat warm as Prosecutor when Doctor MacGregor walked into his office one day with a worried look.
“What’s wrong, Doc?” asked the Prosecutor. Dr. MacGregor ran a nervous hand over his forehead.
“I’m worried, Xenophon,” he said. “Worried about Albert Spalding.”
“Good God, Doc!” said Boomhower. “Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with somebody else in that family!”
Well, sadly, yes. There was. Albert, Doc explained to the Prosecutor, had lifted a piece of farm machinery that had been too heavy for him and seriously injured himself internally. MacGregor paced up and down the Prosecutor’s office.
“I’m just scared,” he said. “Scared that we’re going to lose another Sparling. And I’d hate for any suspicion of foul play to fall on Carrie.”
“Heaven forbid, Doc!”
There was, MacGregor pointed out, a bright spot on the horizon. Thanks to his friendship and foresight, Mrs. Sparling was being well taken care of by insurance. The lady had, at his suggestion, taken out a couple of additional policies—one on Albert, the boy who had injured himself, and one on Scyrel, with a company called The Gleaners, which was also represented by the doctor’s father.
Boomhower got out a pencil and paper and began to do some figuring. Mrs. Sparling was now carrying in excess of $5,000 insurance, a lot of money then. When he was through, he looked up at MacGregor and said,
“Doc, it sure is a good thing that family met you
. Why, with Old John and Pete dying and with Albert in danger, poor Mrs. Sparling would be in an awful fix if it weren’t for that insurance. You’ve been one real friend to that family, Doc, I must say.”
A week or so after his visit to Boomhower’s office, Doctor MacGregor stopped by the only automobile dealer in Bad Axe and said he wanted to buy an automobile. Doc selected his automobile and said he would want delivery in about a month.
“How do you want to pay for it?” asked the dealer.
“In cash,” said MacGregor. “I’ll have the money in about a month.”
A couple of Sundays later, Albert Sparling complained of increased pains in his stomach. At dinner, Albert had no enthusiasm for eating. Doctor MacGregor took him into his office, which was in the front of the house, and gave him some medicine.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” MacGregor told Albert. “You’ll be behind the plow in a few days.”
However, sadly enough, Albert wasn’t behind a plow at all in a few days. He was six feet under in the family plot, not far from his father and older brother. Doctor MacGregor ascribed the death to the stomach injury that he had mentioned to Prosecutor Boomhower.
Then, less than a fortnight after the burial of the third Sparling, Doctor MacGregor took possession of his horseless carriage, paying cash for it. It was now April, 1911. Uncle John went wild with his accusations. How, he wanted to know, could MacGregor have afforded a new motorcar? The doctor often received a bartered payment for a house call - chickens, eggs or butter - and when he did receive cash the payment was two dollars. Nor had he been a wealthy man, it was recalled, when he had first examined, so to speak, Carrie Sparling.
Nonetheless, after Peter’s unfortunate passing, the doctor and his wife - remember his wife? - set out on a drive to his native Ontario. While the MacGregors were away on the trip, Mrs. Sparling bought a fine white house, for investment purposes, right in the village of Ubly, not, in fact, more than a hoot and a holler from the Doctor’s residence. When the MacGregors returned from their trip, there was some interesting action in Ubly. The house that Mrs. Sparling purchased was a big rambling affair. Since MacGregor was only renting the house where he lived and had his office, Mrs. Sparling, the widow, suggested that Dr. and Mrs. MacGregor rent the house she had bought.
And so they did. It wasn’t long after the Doctor and his wife had taken up residence in the Widow Sparling’s property that Mrs. MacGregor didn’t feel well. The Doctor made a hasty diagnosis of the trouble.
“Dear,” he said, “I’m afraid this climate is bad for your health. I suggest that you take a trip to Ontario and visit your relatives. That ought to clear things up.” As soon as Mrs. MacGregor left town, there was plenty of action in the house MacGregor was renting from the Widow Sparling. The widow frequently drove into Ubly from her farm, early in the morning, to spend the whole day in the house. One night, when the MacGregors were visiting the Boomhowers, the doctor seemed to be depressed again.
“What’s the matter, Doc?” asked Boomhower.
Plenty was the matter. Scyrel, the youngest of the Sparlings, had taken to his bed.
“Good God!” said Boomhower. “Don’t tell me somebody else in that Sparling family is going to die!”
MacGregor said he feared the youngest of the Sparlings had cancer. He had decided to call in other physicians for a consultation. MacGregor called in not one, but three doctors to look at Scyrel.
One was a local physician named Dr. Daniel Conboy. Dr. Conboy had extensive training in toxicology. While he had been consulted in Albert’s death and had previously agreed to the diagnosis of acute pancreatitis for Albert, something hadn’t smelled quite right to him about Albert’s passing. So he came into the Scyrel situation with some lurking suspicions. And since the passing of Albert, Dr. Conboy had consulted his trusty Encyclopedia of Medicine and found Scyrel’s symptoms indicated something else entirely: arsenical poisoning.
As Scyrel’s situation deteriorated, Dr. MacGregor, perhaps anticipating the thoughts of Dr. Conboy, out of the blue asked Dr. Conboy if he suspected arsenic as the cause for the patient’s itchy extremities and the irritation in his nose, mouth and throat. Conboy, surprised, allowed that this very well might be the case.
Boomhower specifically told Dr. MacGregor to notify him upon Scyrel’s death, for he wanted to order an autopsy. Dr. MacGregor again added that folks shouldn’t be surprised if the autopsy did show signs of arsenic. The Sparling boys were chronic consumers patent tonics, which contained the very same. Manufacturers did not have to adhere to any government regulations, and these “medicines” and “elixirs” promised cures for everything from scarlet fever to gout, and prevention of almost everything else.
Dr. MacGregor also suggested they hire a nurse to keep an eye on Scyrel. Dr. MacGregor thought this was a great idea and wasted no time hiring a Miss Marguerite Gibbs. She was tall and attractive, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She would be tending to Scyrel on an hourly basis, administering his medicines, monitoring his food and drink. In her spare time, she would also search the Sparling home for poison.
Two days later, the nurse discretely showed Dr. MacGregor a cardboard box she had found in the Sparling kitchen. It was filled with bottles of arsenic. Dr. MacGregor, showing what appeared to be deep shock, dutifully delivered the box of arsenic to the desk of Xenon Boomhower. The implications of Carrie Sparling’s involvement in the deaths of her husband and two sons lay within the flimsy walls of the cardboard box.
After Dr. MacGregor’s departure, Boomhower started to snap out of the trance that seemed to have held him during the past few months. He contacted the local sheriff, Donald McAuley, and requested that McAuley look into additional arsenic sources. Sheriff McAuley, a tall bear of a man in his 40s, began to prowl around the county. He learned a good deal more than what he had expected, hearing from the Sparling neighbors about an alleged affair between Dr. MacGregor and Mrs. Carrie Sparling, quite a scandal in these Edwardian times. Nor could the sheriff ignore the rants of Uncle John.
So Sheriff McAuley started to snoop a little further. Carrie Sparling was on his mind because of that cache of arsenic. But perhaps in addition to Mrs. Sparling, he reasoned, a closer look at Dr. MacGregor might be a beneficial idea.
Upon further investigation at the local bank, the sheriff learned each time Mrs. Sparling cashed an insurance check on the proceeds of her dead sons, Dr. MacGregor’s accounts profited quite nicely. So had Dr. MacGregor purposely thrown suspicion upon Carrie Sparling in attempt to divert the sheriff and the prosecutor?
On August 10, Dr. Conboy made an unannounced visit to the Sparling home. Mrs. MacGregor assisted the nurse in bathing Scyrel, who drifted in and out of consciousness. Dr. MacGregor comforted Carrie. Painfully obvious, Scyrel was about to meet his Maker.
On August 14, Dr. MacGregor called his physician comrades back to Scyrel’s bedside. Drs. Conboy and one Dr. Willett Herrington arrived, as did one Dr. Eugene Holdship, the local medical examiner. A man Jay S. Corcoran came as well. All present agreed Scyrel Sparling would die before dawn. The doctors departed, save Drs. MacGregor and Holdship. Dr. Conboy reminded Dr. MacGregor to summon him and Dr. Herrington in regards to the autopsy.
A few hours later, Scyrel gasped for the final time.
Always a man of action, Dr. MacGregor made the suggestion to Dr. Holdship they should perform an autopsy immediately. Dr. Holdship was unaware that Prosecutor Xen Boomhower had his own ideas of just who should do the honors.
Outside, Ubly’s undertaker, Mr. Hector McKay lounged on the Sparling hammock as he grieved yet another Sparling boy’s death. Dr. MacGregor approached Hector, asking him for his knife. Hector obliged. Dr. MacGregor promptly handed the blade to his acquaintance, informing Dr. Holdship he would make the cuts.
In the dark of night, Carrie Sparling held the lantern with as steady a hand as she could manage while Dr. Holdship sliced away, following the direction of Dr. MacGregor. Dr. Holdship removed a few vital organs: the liver, spleen,
pancreas and part of the upper intestine, placing them in jars as he removed them from their original owner. The liver appeared swollen and ruptured. Dr. MacGregor diagnosed his death as cancer of the liver, promptly asking Dr. Holdship if the organ appeared diseased to him, also.
Dr. Holdship nodded his agreement. When Dr. Holdship inquired as to whether he should dissect the stomach, Dr. MacGregor indicated Scyrel’s stomach looked fine.
“No need to disturb it,” MacGregor said. “We have our answers. Let’s just stitch him back up.”
At the break of dawn, Dr. MacGregor hopped in his new auto. He drove to Bad Axe, the jars containing Scyrel’s organs clanking together in an eerie tune in the back seat along the way. Boomhower, who had been preparing to leave for the Sparling farm so he could be present during the autopsy, was shocked when Dr. MacGregor drove up to the local courthouse and announced what he was carrying. Dr. MacGregor handed the jars filled to the brim with Scyrel’s organs to his friend, who had previously indicated the contents would be shipped to the University of Michigan for analysis.
Dr. Charles B. Morden, the Huron County coroner, along with Sheriff McAuley and Drs. Herrington and Conboy, stood in the street before the courthouse with their mouths open in surprise.
“Why had Dr. MacGregor performed the autopsy,” asked Boomhower.
“Didn’t want to trouble you,” MacGregor said. “I was happy to help.”
But before all three doctors could agree on a diagnosis, the youth qualified for a place in the family burial grounds. It was night when he passed away, not quietly in his sleep but noisily while awake. Doctor MacGregor and the third physician were at the bedside.
And so the fourth Sparling died, the fourth in three years. A speedy funeral followed.
Time passed and the stew began to come to a boil. Mrs. MacGregor’s condition didn’t seem to respond to treatment and the doctor was always sending her away to Canada. The woman seems to have been considerably less suspicious than some women whose husbands cheat on them but it must be said for Doctor MacGregor that he was, on the surface anyway, the soul of attention to his wife when she was around.