Raven 1

by D M Barrett

  “Tell him what he’s up against, Captain,” the preacher urged.

  “There are 250 Cherokee warriors deployed on your left and right flanks. There are another 50 Cherokees holding position on the high ground behind you. Your company is boxed in on two sides and we hold the high ground.

  In the event we make a frontal assault, the Cherokees’ will attack both flanks and set fire to the high ground behind your position. Company E will be forced to stay and die of fire and smoke inhalation or retreat from the Cherokees attack directly into our killing field,” Captain Moore explained.

  “What do you think, Master Sergeant?” the preacher asked.

  “Our position is not defensible. After overwhelming casualties we will be forced to surrender,” the master sergeant replied.

  “We will defend this position to the last man,” Lieutenant Anderson quipped.

  “Lieutenant, tomorrow one of two things is going to happen,” the preacher remarked.

  “What are those?” Lieutenant Anderson asked.

  “I will either preach your funeral or agree to testify against you at your court martial,” the preacher said firmly.

  “We will not withdraw,” the Lieutenant still insisted.

  “In about 30 seconds, I am going to turn and walk toward Captain Moore’s lines. There are close to 100 soldiers and Cherokee warriors taking aim at your body presently. If you again fire on us under a flag of truce, you and the master sergeant’s bodies will be unrecognizable thereafter,” the preacher said.

  As the preacher and the peace delegation turned to walk away, Lieutenant Anderson yelled, “Wait! Stand down!”

  Rather than accepting a surrender, the men of Easy Company were given a flag of truce, permitted to shoulder their weapons, and march east on Highway 70 to Knoxville.

  Major Baker recommended that the Tennessee militia battalion and the Cherokee warriors remain in Ferguson until Company E reached Knoxville.

  While the officers, the preacher, and other locals dined at Miss Rosie’s for dinner, Joe Scott burst through the door waiving a telegram.

  Joe Scott handed the telegram to the preacher who read its contents. He then handed it to Major Baker.

  “What does it say?” the newspaper editor asked excitedly.

  “It’s from the President of the United States addressed to the U.S. Army commander at the TVA site near Ferguson, Tennessee. It says, ‘You are ordered to immediately vacate your position and return to the Richmond Depot. This matter will be personally resolved by Secretary Hull and the Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation – Eastern Band,’” Major Baker explained.

  “What do you think, preacher?” the Mountain Gazette editor asked.

  “I wished I’d had that a couple days ago. I wouldn’t have seven stitches across my right shoulder,” the preacher said.

  “Now you’ve got a matching set of scars,” Nurse Bilbrey said as the others raised their eyebrows.

  15: Outcasts

  There was a loud, rapid knocking on the church’s front door with someone exclaiming, “Preacher! Preacher!”

  Slightly annoyed, the preacher replied, “What?”

  Jack Wright asked, “Are you decent?”

  “Except when I’m around you,” the preacher responded.

  “Come on preacher. Open the door. This is important,” Jack Wright said.

  The preacher opened the front door of the church building. He saw Jack Wright standing there with a large woven basket covered with a red gingham cloth.

  “What is that?” the preacher asked with a puzzled look.

  “It’s a picnic basket from Miss Rosie,” the storekeeper said.

  “Why is Miss Rosie sending me a picnic basket?” the preacher queried.

  “She said that the county nurse told her that the two of you were going to Brotherton Mountain to call on some patients. She fixed this so the two of you could have lunch beside Miller’s Lake,” Jack Wright explained.

  “That’s odd,” the preacher replied.

  “Everyone knows about that budding romance between the two of you. It was in the newspaper,” Jack Wright said.

  “Oh yes! That wonderful Around Town column,” the preacher lamented.

  The two men heard a vehicle stop at the store across the street. The preacher closed the meetinghouse door and the duo headed to the store.

  As they approached the 1937 Blue Dodge Coupe, Nurse Bilbrey asked, “What’s in the basket?”

  “It’s a picnic lunch that Miss Rosie donated for the two of you,” Jack Wright responded.

  “Did you have her do this?” Nurse Bilbrey asked looking at the preacher.

  Before the preacher could respond, Jack Wright said, “She did it to help with your flowering romance.”

  “The column said ‘budding’ romance,” the preacher reminded.

  “Wow,” the nurse said.

  “Admit it preacher. There is some romance here. It’s worth bragging about,” the shopkeeper said excitedly.

  “I’m neither admitting nor denying anything to you. You are a full-blown gossip,” the preacher said in an accusatory manner.

  “I’ve been thinking that Miss Mable may be the confidential source for The Mountain Gazette,” Nurse Bilbrey reasoned.

  “Well, if it’s true, it ain’t bragging,” Jack Wright insisted.

  The preacher rolled his eyes. Nurse Bilbrey uttered a slight giggle.

  “Give me that basket you old tattle-tale,” the preacher said.

  The preacher placed the picnic basket in the back seat of the coupe. He crossed behind the car and opened the driver door for Nurse Bilbrey. She sat down and the preacher closed the door.

  The preacher crossed in front of the car, opened the front passenger door, looked at Jack Wright and instructed, “Not one word or I’ll hide a fruit jar of moonshine behind your counter and tell Miss Frankie.”

  As the pair drove away, Jack Wright said to himself, “There’s no doubt about it. That preacher has been bitten by the love bug.”

  “We’ve got two, maybe three stops, up on the mountain today,” the county nurse explained.

  “I have no other plans,” the preacher replied with a smile.

  After a few minutes of silence, Nurse Bilbrey remarked, “Louis Barrett told me about Captain Moore’s recitation of your Medal of Honor citation.”

  “It was necessary for Lieutenant Anderson to understand that the negotiator had received the nation’s highest military honor,” the preacher responded.

  “Tell about it,” the nurse inquired.

  “Sounds like the newspaper man gave you the details,” the preacher said.

  “I want your personal version,” the county nurse implored.

  “You heard the story. I will give you the rest of the story that explains why I am reluctant to talk about it,” the preacher stated.

  “I want to hear the rest of the story,” she said.

  “As we rushed the third machine gun emplacement, the Germans were yelling, ‘Wir geben auf! Wir geben auf!’ Neither of us understood German.

  First Sergeant Gary ‘Whitehorse’ Simpkins, who is now the chief at the Nashville ATU Field Office, had rushed in front of me and began firing his rifle into the machine gun nest. I moved from behind him with a grenade in each hand and tossed them into the machine gun emplacement.

  Secondary explosions severely wounded Whitehorse and sent two large pieces of shrapnel into my left upper chest. The fragments missed my heart but collapsed my lung. Gary had multiple fragments in his legs, but they were not life threatening,” the preacher explained.

  “That’s a great story. I don’t understand why you are so reluctant to relate it,” the nurse said.

  “We later discovered that the three Germans were pleading, “We give up! We give up!” the preacher said with a slight break in his voice.

  “There’s no way you could have known. It could have been a ruse. It was in the heat of battle. The two of you were within seconds of being slain,” Nurse Bilbre
y excused.

  “Nevertheless, killing nine men in battle is not something that requires regular discussion,” the preacher said.

  Changing the subject, the nurse asked, “Have you ever been married?”

  “I was married until just before I returned to Vanderbilt. My wife died,” the preacher replied.

  “What happened? What caused her death?” Nurse Bilbrey asked with a slightly raised voice.

  “That’s another story for another day. We’re here at your first stop,” the preacher said.

  “Great!” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “Why are we here, anyway?” the preacher inquired.

  “I have you here to broaden your horizons today,” the county nurse explained.

  “You seek to increase the range of my knowledge, understanding or experience?” the preacher queried.

  “Indeed!” the nurse responded as she exited the car door that had been opened by the preacher.

  “Before we go in, let me tell you a little bit about this young man. He was stricken with polio at age two. He started walking on crutches at age four. He attended grade school with Miss Evelyn Lafevor coming to this house two hours a week. He graduated high school via home study at age 16.

  He is now 18 and a senior engineering student at Tennessee Polytechnic Institute in Cookeville. He is brilliant. His name is Jeremy Ford.”

  “Why are you seeing him? Is he ill?” the preacher asked.

  “Your alma mater’s medical school is doing a research study of the lingering effects of infantile poliomyelitis. I am a contributor to that research,” Nurse Bilbrey explained.

  “My horizons are ready to be broadened,” the preacher said as they approached the Ford dwelling.

  Jeremy Ford saw the pair approaching and greeted them at the door. After the exchange of pleasantries and introductions, he invited the nurse and preacher inside.

  “Where are your parents?” the nurse inquired.

  “They’re running errands in town. Mostly picking up mail and packages at the Ferguson post office,” Jeremy replied.

  “Are you able to attend classes at TPI?” the preacher asked.

  “Yes, I attend classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays and work at home,” the young man replied.

  “Jeremy is a radio designer and radio engineer,” Nurse Bilbrey explained.

  “Tell me about that,” the preacher asked with a curious expression.

  “It’s easier to show you,” Jeremy Ford said as he directed the pair into a large adjoining room.

  When the preacher entered the room, he noticed shelves and benches filled with equipment and radios of all sorts. Jeremy hobbled toward his work bench and sat down. There were two folding chairs near the bench. He invited the preacher and the county nurse to sit down.

  “These are all radios that I’ve repaired, designed, or redesigned. I have them set to various frequencies and listen to stations both local and worldwide. Most are receivers only, but several are transmitters,” the young man instructed.

  “What do you listen to worldwide?” the preacher asked.

  “Mostly international shortwave stations in Europe, South America, and a few in Asia,” he replied.

  “Do you know all those languages?” the preacher asked.

  “Most of the ones that I listen to are English speaking, but I’ve picked up a little French, German and Spanish over the years,” the young man responded.

  “Do you ever listen to local stations?” the preacher said with a chuckle.

  “Actually, being almost atop Brotherton Mountain gives good signal access. I listen to local stations within about a 250-mile radius of the mountain. At night when the low power AM stations sign off, I pick up stations from across North America from New York, Chicago, New Orleans, Denver, Los Angeles, and others,” he explained.

  “Why can’t you hear those during the daytime?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.

  “The lower part of the earth’s atmosphere absorbs signals on the AM radio band. At night the absorption is much, much less. With the small local stations signed off at sunset, the larger, more powerful distant stations can be heard,” Jeremy replied.

  “You said that some of these are transmitters. Do you talk to people around the world, too?” the preacher inquired.

  “Not exactly talk like on the telephone but communicate in international Morse Code similar to telegraph operators but only wireless instead,” the young man said.

  “How can you understand each other?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.

  “We use something like shorthand or abbreviations that mean the same things in all languages. These are called Q signals. For example, QTH is location. QSO means a radio contact. CQ means seeking a radio contact,” Jeremy Ford explained.

  “What led you to this type of engineering?” the preacher asked.

  “I started by building a small crystal powered radio after reading a magazine article and ordering a kit. Later, I started fixing up junk AM radios for Finis Martin to earn a few dollars. After that, I built a shortwave radio and sold it to a New York company. They had it patented and started selling them. I do work for lots of companies now including the U.S. government,” Jeremy said.

  “What are your future plans?” the county nurse asked.

  “Find a woman. Get married. Have a few kids. Continue making a good living,” Jeremy said with a chuckle.

  “I support that program,” the preacher remarked.

  “Jeremy are you having any new problems from the polio?” the nurse asked.

  “I get a few muscle spasms in my thighs occasionally. If I get really fatigued, it’s hard on me. I have to pace myself. It’s really the same situation like the last time you checked on me,” the young man said.

  “That’s a good report. I hate to drag Brother Mann away. I know he’d love to tinker with your radios,” Nurse Bilbrey said as she smiled.

  “He’s always welcome. I’ll teach him Morse Code,” Jeremy said.

  “I’m saving my money to buy one of those shortwave radios,” the preacher promised.

  * * *

  As the couple made their way to the next patient, the preacher offered, “Jeremy Ford is an amazing young man. In spite of his condition, he has educated himself and carved out a career in an expanding field. He will do well in life.”

  “Your horizons have just been broadened. But there’s more to come,” Nurse Bilbrey promised.

  “What’s the next stop?” the preacher asked.

  “Prepare to really be broadened,” the nurse said.

  “What do you mean?” the preacher asked.

  “We are going to see Clayton Martin. He is a rather reclusive gentleman with an unusual proclivity,” she said.

  “What’s his proclivity?” the preacher asked.

  “He wears women’s clothing. He designs women’s lingerie,” the nurse explained.

  “How do you treat that?” the preacher asked excitedly.

  “At this stage it’s not exactly a mental illness. It does not cause him distress or significantly interfere with his daily functioning. Once again, one of the Vanderbilt Medical School professors has asked me to follow him as a case study. There is no medication. If treatment was needed it would be directed talk therapy.” Nurse Bilbrey explained.

  “Does he dress fashionably?” the preacher said stifling a chuckle.

  “You can see for yourself. We’re here,” the nurse reported.

  When the pair stepped onto the wooden porch, Mr. Clayton Martin opened the door and greeted them. He was dressed conservatively in a ladies’ colorful sundress, dress shoes, and a moderate amount of jewelry.

  “Mr. Martin, this is Thomas Mann from Ferguson,” Nurse Bilbrey said.

  “I know this man! He’s that wonderful preacher that has done so much for our town. He got shot in that awful war last week. Are you doing well, preacher?” Mr. Martin inquired.

  “I am healing nicely. Thank you for asking, Mr. Martin,” the preacher responded.

  “Just call me ‘She
Mammy’ since everyone else does,” Mr. Martin said with a laugh.

  “How did you come by the name ‘She Mammy’?” the preacher asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m an old man that wears women’s clothes and looks like an old woman,” She Mammy replied.

  “I understand that you actually design women’s clothing, too,” the preacher said as he slightly changed the subject.

  “You are so delicious. Come in and let me show you some of my collection,” She Mammy invited.

  The inside of the Martin home looked like the inside of a garment factory. There was fabric everywhere. There were bolts of cloth stacked on work tables.

  “What’s your best-selling line of garments?” the preacher queried.

  “Oh, without a doubt, it’s my designer women’s lingerie line. It’s quite lucrative,” She Mammy explained.

  “Where do you sell most of your ladies’ lingerie?” the preacher asked.

  “Not in Ferguson,” Mr. Martin said with a laugh.

  “I suppose it’s in the larger markets like New York, Chicago, Atlanta, and Los Angeles,” the preacher suggested.

  “Yes. I also do a lot of mail order sales through Henry Wooden’s warehouse,” She Mammy explained.

  “Have you sold anything to Nurse Bilbrey?” the preacher asked with a smile.

  “I’ll never tell,” She Mammy said with a smile.

  “Actually, his designer line is expensive. But, it’s beautiful,” the nurse replied.

  “Do you own any of his products?” the preacher probed.

  “Are you doing research for The Mountain Gazette?” she replied.

  “Mr. Martin, can you fix her up with an outfit for $20?” the preacher asked.

  “That will buy a couple of my very best outfits. I’ll do my best to help that budding romance blossom,” he said as he started looking for just the right outfits for the nurse.

  “That Around Town column is going to be the death of me yet,” the preacher remarked.

  “Indeed,” the county nurse said as she gave him a telling look.

  “Mr. Martin, can I ask you a few questions about your work?” the preacher asked timidly.