“You have any idea why Kate passed out?”
“You’ll have to ask her about that. I’m running late. Maybe we can talk later.”
“I’ll stop by the garage.”
When Shenandoah opened the door to the vestibule of the jail, she saw Deputy Masterson sitting behind the desk.
“Doc’s waiting for you, Shenandoah. I just left her in there ‘cause I knew you’d be coming.”
Kate looked up as Shenandoah entered the room. “Morning, Shenandoah. I’m glad to see you.”
“Was Army just here?” Shenandoah asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Looking away, Kate said, “Army is a longtime friend. I won’t ignore my friends just because of vicious rumors.”
Her voice seemed strained, and she fidgeted with a pocket in her dress. Shenandoah put her hand on Kate’s and felt a hard object. Pulling her hand away, Shenandoah saw the top of a small silver flask sticking out of the pocket of Kate’s dress.
“Is that what I think it is?” Shenandoah asked.
Kate’s face flushed. She wouldn’t meet Shenandoah’s eyes.
“Why didn’t you tell me you have a drinking problem?” Shenandoah continued. “Is that why you can’t remember anything about the day Lillie died?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, Kate, you’ve got to level with me.”
“You’re not my attorney. What gives you the right to judge me?” Kate said, raising her voice two octaves. “I think you should go.”
“I’m not judging you, Kate. I’m only here because you’re a dear friend and I care what happens to you.”
“Leave me alone.” Kate’s eyes flashed, and she swallowed hard.
“So you can take a drink, stave off the DTs? Is that vodka? Is that how you’ve hidden your problem for all these years?”
Kate’s shoulders began to shake, tears flooding her eyes, but she remained silent.
Shenandoah moved her chair closer and put her arm around Kate’s shoulders. Pulling Kate toward her, she said, “Did Army get you hooked on this stuff?”
Kate raised her head and looked Shenandoah in the eye. “I’d like to blame it on my father’s genes, but in truth I’m the one who’s responsible. I saw what it did to him, yet I took the same path.”
“Does Jake know?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you still drinking? Have you tried to quit?”
“Over the years I’ve tried to quit several times. I even joined Alcoholics Anonymous for a while. I drove to Cookeville once a month. But I’d get stressed out over work and start drinking again. I’m what’s known as a functioning alcoholic. The reason I can’t remember anything about the day Lillie died is because I blacked out.”
“I thought you said you passed out. What’s the difference?”
“When someone drinks alcohol over a long period of time—when they’re an alcoholic—there can be problems with their memory. Alcohol interferes with the transfer of information from short-term to long-term memory. In a blackout the individual may act normal, drive a car, walk around, do all kinds of things, and yet have no recollection of what they did. It’s called an alcohol blackout. Sometimes the person does pass out, falls asleep. That’s what happens to me a lot of the time.
“I’m weaning myself off, though. I have to do it slowly or I would go into the DTs. You may not know it, but the mortality rate when you go into the DTs is twenty-five percent.”
“Does Kingman know what’s going on?” Shenandoah asked.
“No. He wouldn’t care if I died in his rotten jail.”
“Why does he hate you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll listen.”
* * *
WPA workers built the Round Rock High School in 1936 when Kate was a sophomore. The water tower, where the city stored water from the deep wells at its base, stood like a sentinel across the street. The town’s name, painted in big black letters on the body of the tower, could be seen from miles away.
In high school, Kate and Army Johnson dated on a steady basis, so most boys were afraid to approach her. There was one exception. Jasper Kingman, a junior that year, was a bitter enemy of Army Johnson, and they fought constantly both on and off the athletic field.
Kate made a habit of studying in the library after school for an hour before returning to her father’s clinic. Jasper Kingman found her there on a Thursday afternoon and pulled out a chair opposite hers.
Grinning like a village idiot and leaning forward on his elbows, he said, “Army ain’t around, Katie girl, so I think I’ll get in your pants.”
She looked up from her work. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“You’d better get out of here, Jasper.”
“What’re you going to do, call your boyfriend?”
Just then, Mr. Applewhite, the principal, entered the room, and Kate glanced in his direction. Jasper smiled and got up. “There’s plenty of time, girl. I ain’t graduating ‘til next year.”
The next day, as the students were changing classes, Jasper walked up behind Kate, pinched her derriere, and strolled on by. She watched in shock as he sauntered down the hall.
For the next week, Jasper went out of his way to harass Kate. He would shove her into a wall, pinch her, or knock her books to the floor. The final insult occurred at lunchtime on a Friday. Kate and two of her girlfriends were walking down the stairs from their second floor American history class when Jasper sidled up to her, threw his arms around her shoulders, and planted a wet kiss on her lips. Several of his friends stood at the bottom of the stairs and cheered.
Kate’s reaction was swift. She brought her right knee up into Jasper’s crotch with all her might, doubling him over. As he lowered his head, she brought her knee up again, breaking his nose and causing him to tumble backward down the stairs.
She looked down on his prostrate body, blood flowing from his nose, and shouted, “Don’t you ever touch me again, you goddamned bully, or I’ll slit your throat!”
Jasper’s friends bent double with laughter, and one of them tried to help him up. When Jasper stood, he slipped in his own blood and fell. That brought more laughter and a flush to Jasper’s face.
Kate’s friends began to heckle Jasper and taunt him: “Big bully let a girl beat him up. Big bully let a girl beat him up.”
Kate tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder and said loudly, “I guess you thought I’d get Army to fight my battles. I fight my own.”
* * *
Shenandoah laughed. “That explains it all. Wonder why I never heard that story.”
“I doubt Jasper or his friends wanted to spread the word, and I had my revenge already. I never told Army.”
“How have you been able to keep your drinking from Jasper?”
“Jasper is afraid of Army. He’s not about to challenge him. And Masterson is on my side. He helps me hide it from Jasper because I saved his little girl when she came down with a severe case of pneumonia.”
Taking Kate’s hand in hers, Shenandoah said, “I’m sorry if I came off as sanctimonious. I was just shocked to learn you have a drinking problem. Has it affected your work?”
“Most of the time it hasn’t, but I’d be lying if I told you it never did. The blackouts have been very worrisome. Sometimes I can’t account for two or three days. Nurse Little and Jazz Boldt cover for me a lot. Believe me, this thing with Lillian finally convinced me I had to get the situation under control once and for all. I’m going to quit.”
Shenandoah nodded. “Okay. I trust you. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Just keep what you know to yourself. Who’d you talk to yesterday?”
“I talked to Baxter, Coach Brown, and Brother Abernathy. And Hank Boldt—Jazz’s father.”
“And?” Kate asked, her eyebrows raised. “Hank vouched for me, didn’t he?”
“He did, although I’m not
sure how useful he’d be as a witness, of course. As for Baxter—as you might expect, Baxter has it in for you and for me as well. There’s no question he’s a powerful enemy.”
“We’ve been at each other’s throats for years. What about Coach?”
“He’s in your corner. We talked about the state tournament.”
“My glory days,” Kate said, a smile crossing her lips. “I can just imagine what the preacher said.”
“Thinks you’re a sinner. He’s pretty sure you do abortions, but he has no proof. Do you?”
“Sitting in jail is probably not the place to discuss that topic.”
“Okay. I’m going to swing by Army’s garage today.”
“Go easy on Army. He’s still in shock over Lillian.”
“See you tomorrow,” Shenandoah said as she stood to leave.
Kate placed her arms around Shenandoah and gave her a hug. Then Shenandoah pushed the button, and the deputy let her out of the room.
Outside, a cloudless sky stretched as far as the eye could see, and the sun beat down with the fury of a freshly lit torch. Sweating, Shenandoah stepped between the whittlers and continued across the courthouse yard.
This drinking business is terrible, she thought. It’s got to go against her at the trial. The county is full of born-again Christians like Brother Abernathy. How is Jake going to deal with this?
Just as she reached her car, she noticed Hank Boldt coming toward her from the other side of the street. As always, Hank had a big smile on his face.
Shenandoah waved. “You thought of anyone I could talk to about Dr. Kate?”
Hank removed his straw hat and said, “Yes, ma’am, Miss Shenandoah. I think you might talk to Randall Moody over in Moodyville. I know him and his wife had some trouble with a birthing, and Dr. Kate saved his baby girl.”
“Moodyville? Out Highway 30, about five miles north of town?”
“Yes, ma’am. Take the first street after High and turn left. That’ll take you to 30, and it’s a right fine road. Jest follow it.”
“Thanks, Hank.”
* * *
Deciding to see Army later, Shenandoah left Round Rock and soon found herself on a good but narrow blacktop road. It wound through the countryside, creating a shady tunnel under large maple trees. Beams of bright sunlight filtered through the leaves, making her giddy. Soon, she drove onto a plateau, and about five miles to the northeast she could see the foothills of the Smoky Mountains that she remembered from childhood. A lone buzzard circled high on a thermal close to the road.
Until that moment she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the mountains. The Delta country around Memphis was as flat as a pancake and devoid of character in her view. She’d had ambivalent feelings about Round Rock all her life. Now she felt even more confused, for she realized she had deep ties to the people and the land itself.
She passed a small country graveyard on her left. A rusting wrought iron fence enclosed the ancient, crumbling headstones. Several of them leaned precariously to one side, high weeds engulfing them. The land she passed had drought-browned grass, and the cows looked skinny. There were several sickly tobacco patches and some bare plowed fields.
As she moved through a curve, she noticed a Dodge pickup sitting on the side of the road. From the lines of it, she could tell it was a brand new model, though it was already covered in limestone dust from one of the unpaved county roads. Even the driver’s window was opaque. It pulled in behind her as she passed.
She wouldn’t have thought anything about the truck if it hadn’t been for the incident with the tires. But it followed her for about a mile, staying roughly twenty yards behind her car. She felt a lump in her throat and noticed her pulse quicken. Slowly, she pressed the accelerator toward the floorboard, speeding up to fifty miles an hour. The truck did the same. Her mouth felt dry, and she pulled her purse next to her leg. It contained a snub-nosed Colt .38.
She kept accelerating, as did the truck. She hit a straight stretch and glanced at her speedometer. The needle was pinned at eighty miles an hour. The truck pulled alongside her car. The passenger window was opaque with dust as well.
Suddenly, the truck swung into her lane, forcing her to hit the shoulder of the road. She fought to keep the car from sliding into a ditch, but was able to pull the left front wheel back onto the asphalt and once again gain control. The whole time, the truck stayed right beside her.
Ahead, a tractor pulled onto the road in her lane. She stepped on the brakes and slowed the car just as the truck swung into her lane again. This time she lost control. Her car went off the road, jumped the ditch, and plowed through a dry field. She fought the wheel, trying to keep the car from flipping over.
Finally, the car came to a stop in an explosion of dry Parsons County dirt. Her chin hit the steering wheel, and for a split second, she lost consciousness.
Quickly, she shook herself awake and looked out of her window. The truck sat in the middle of the highway. As soon as she moved her head, the truck began to move, and within seconds it was barreling down the blacktop, moving out of sight.
Shenandoah crawled out of the car and saw the tractor moving across the field toward her, brown dust flying off its big rear wheels. She reached into the car and removed her purse. She slipped the Colt out and held it in her right hand behind her back.
As the tractor approached, Shenandoah saw that it was driven by an old woman with a tattered straw hat pulled down over her furrowed face. The tractor made an abrupt stop, and the woman crawled down and wandered over to Shenandoah. She spit a trail of tobacco juice from the side of her mouth.
“You okay, honey? Why’d that truck run you off the road?”
Relaxing, Shenandoah slipped the pistol back into her shoulder bag. “I have no idea. Did you recognize the truck?”
“Ain’t never seen it before in these parts. You sure you ain’t hurt none?”
“I’m fine. Could you pull my car back up onto the highway?”
The woman spit another stream of tobacco juice through her parched lips and laughed. “I ain’t got nothing else to do. Ain’t nothing to plant in this dried out Parsons County dirt. This damned drought’s sending me to the poor house.”
With that, the old woman walked back to the tractor and removed a long chain from a metal box behind the driver’s seat. She wrapped it around the brace of the car’s front bumper and laid it out on the ground. Then she climbed into the driver’s seat and fired up the diesel engine. She turned the tractor around, backed up to Shenandoah’s car, and attached the chain to the tractor’s trailer hitch.
“Sit in the car, honey, and steer the thing back up to the blacktop while I pull it.”
Shenandoah scrambled back into her Chevy as a bloom of black diesel smoke bellowed out of the tractor’s exhaust. The tractor’s big rear wheels dug into the parched earth, and the right one began to spin before it finally gripped the surface and began to move forward. The car’s steering wheel spun quickly as the wheels lined up with the path of the tractor.
Once the car rolled onto the highway, the tractor stopped and the old woman released the chain. Shenandoah crawled out of her car and walked to where the woman stood gathering up the links.
“How much do I owe you?” Shenandoah asked.
The woman frowned. “Nothing. It were jest the neighborly thing to do. You ought to talk to the sheriff about that pickup, though. Somebody’s got it in for you, child. That’s for damn sure.”
“Thank you,” Shenandoah said as she pulled a business card from her purse. Handing it to the woman, she said, “My name’s Shenandoah Coleman. You ever get down to Memphis, call me, and I’ll take you to lunch.”
The old woman laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. “I’m eighty-two-year-old and ain’t never been out of Parsons County, lady. Don’t reckon I’ll be going to no Memphis. But it were nice of you to offer.” She extended her hand. “My name’s Annabelle Lee Montgomery Tate. Be careful, honey. Stay clear of that damned pickup.�
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Shenandoah patted the woman on the shoulder, and said, “Thank you again. You’ve been a great help.”
Once again behind the steering wheel, Shenandoah started the car and watched the woman drive the tractor away. Slowly, she pressed the accelerator and moved the car forward. Her mouth was dry and she held on to the wheel with a firm grip to keep her hands from shaking.
Shenandoah realized she was frightened more than she wanted to admit. She’d been in some scary spots during her days with the WASP, but she’d always escaped them unscathed. The scariest episode had been when she fell out of a Stearman biplane in 1942 while training as a student pilot. Moving down the highway, she let her thoughts drift back to that time.
* * *
It was hot, humid, and miserable, as only a midsummer’s day in Houston, Texas can be. Even at 6:00 a.m., the temperature was 85 degrees and climbing. Shenandoah Coleman was performing a pre-flight check on a Stearman Model 75 biplane before taking her first check ride. Her instructor, Hal Morris, was a mean-ass captain in the US Army Air Corps, and he was known for his flash temper. They had been training together for three weeks. Shenandoah had obtained her civilian license before the war and had more than eight hundred hours recorded in her log book. However, the army insisted on training the women pilots again in military aircraft. After all, they would be flying some of the most advanced aircraft in the world. Their main mission would consist of flying planes from the factory to Army Air Corps bases.
Perspiration beaded across Shenandoah’s forehead as she drained gasoline from the tank to check for water in the fuel. She’d just finished when her instructor walked up.
“Grab your parachute and prop the plane, Coleman. I’ve got ten check rides today, so move your skinny ass.”
Shenandoah felt her face flush, but she reached for the parachute that lay on the concrete next to her and slipped it on. While Hal climbed into the back seat, Shenandoah walked to the front of the plane and prepared to crank the prop.
“Contact!” Hal yelled, and Shenandoah pulled the big blade with all the power she could muster from her one hundred and fifteen pounds. The engine caught, and Shenandoah ran around the left wing and climbed into the front cockpit. She should have been in the rear cockpit because that was where the pilot in control always sat. But Hal insisted that his students sit in the front, because he was always in control.
The Trial of Dr. Kate Page 6