Raven 1

by D M Barrett

  “I’ll take it if it doesn’t cost me money,” the banker said.

  “I’ve got an outstanding deal for you on that last foreclosed store on Main Street,” the preacher explained.

  “My offer is the PDP program that worked with Miss Ruby’s Ready-to-Wear,” George Hickman said.

  “The Preacher Development Plan is a very generous offer. But this is a gift. It’s a lot more lucrative than the PDP,” the preacher replied.

  “Lucrative! Lucrative! You are bringing a lucrative deal to me? This is definitely a dream. It just can’t be real,” the banker said with astonishment.

  “I had my hair cut and got a hot shave from a young man that just received his Master Barber license and wants to locate his business in Ferguson,” the preacher said.

  “I’m listening carefully,” the banker responded.

  “He’s been doing his apprenticeship with J.B. Oakley in Cookeville and paying one third of his receipts as a shop fee,” the preacher explained.

  “Keep talking. I think I know where you’re going,” George Hickman said.

  “He’ll pay you one third of his revenues for the first year in lieu of rent. He’ll fix up the place and provide his own equipment and supplies,” the preacher offered.

  “Have you done your usual ‘ciphering’ on this, preacher?” the banker inquired.

  “J.B. Oakley says it’ll take him about three months to get up to full barber pay, but after that, he should be able to make a good living into the future,” the preacher reported.

  “I’ll make out the lease. What’s his name?” George Hickman said.

  “Drusilla, call Dr. Marcus Whitman and get him here immediately. I need him to check Brother Hickman. I think he’s grown a heart,” the preacher said with a laugh.

  “I’m agreeing to this before you get to preaching to the crowd that George Hickman is Ferguson’s Ebenezer Scrooge,” the banker retorted.

  “Why Brother Hickman you’ve been touched by the spirit of Christmas!” the preacher proclaimed.

  “Indeed,” the banker said under his breath while he completed the lease.

  After he concluded his business at the Hickman Bank, the preacher decided to continue his Christmas Eve rounds and promote the Christmas service.

  At Scott’s Apothecary, Joe Scott presented a large gift box of assorted chocolates to the preacher. It was about five pounds and was from Switzerland.

  “Are you trying to sweeten me up for a better deal on the extract business for next year?” the preacher asked with a smile.

  “Not in the least. I’m making more money that I can spend and the church is making more money than you can give away,” Mr. Scott replied.

  “He’s expecting you to give that to Nurse Bilbrey for Christmas and heat up the romance,” Dr. Whitman explained as he walked from his office into the apothecary.

  “That’s the second time today that I’ve been quizzed about my intentions with Nurse Bilbrey,” the preacher reported.

  “I gotta know, preacher, who was the first?” Joe Scott queried.

  “If you must know, it was George Hickman at Harriman Bank,” the preacher said.

  “I would have never guessed that George Hickman was a romantic at heart,” the pharmacist remarked.

  “I told him I was ready to have Dr. Whitman check if he’d grown a heart,” the preacher replied as the three men broke into hearty laughs.

  “Grab that love candy, preacher. I’m buying you an early lunch at the Bluebird today,” Dr. Whitman instructed.

  “What’s the special today?” Joe Scott asked.

  “It’s Saturday. That means meatloaf, three vegetables, cornbread, and chocolate pie,” the preacher said.

  “I ate a late breakfast. I’ll load up at Miss Rosie’s tonight. She’s having both ham and turkey and all the trimmings,” the pharmacist said.

  The doctor pointed toward the door. The preacher followed with the large box of candy.

  When the preacher and Dr. Whitman neared finishing their lunch, Dr. Whitman apologized but suggested that he had something important to share with the preacher. The preacher nodded affirmative for the physician to speak his mind.

  “I had the opportunity to see Beth Bilbrey yesterday before she made her rounds. She shared with me that she was seriously considering leaving her job as the county nurse and accepting employment teaching public health nursing at the Vanderbilt University School of Nursing,” Dr. Whitman said.

  “Why are you sharing this with me?” the preacher queried.

  “Preacher, if you gave that woman any hope of a future with you, she’d never leave this county,” the doctor explained.

  “Let’s see. George Hickman is now a gossip columnist. Joe Scott has decided to become my mother and encourage me to take a wife. Dr. Marcus Whitman has expanded his medical practice to include relationship counseling. My how Ferguson has changed in the past year and a half,” the preacher said slightly sarcastically.

  “Listen, Brother Mann. You can make jokes if you choose, but that woman is in love with you. It’s time for you to start fishing and stop cutting bait,” the physician said abruptly.

  “Marcus, I really do appreciate your concern. I have a deep fondness for Nurse Bilbrey. We are definitely compatible. She will make a wonderful wife,” the preacher confessed.

  “I am waiting for the ‘...but, doctor!’” the physician replied.

  “I’m just not sure that I’m ready for marriage again,” the preacher confessed.

  “Why do you say that?” Dr. Whitman queried.

  “This is highly confidential, and I know that you will keep it to yourself. Before becoming a preacher, I was a federal prosecutor in Mobile, Alabama. I put quite a few drug traffickers behind bars. Eventually, F.B.I Special Agent Gary ‘Whitehorse’ Simpkins and his task force built a case against the head of the cartel and I successfully prosecuted him.

  His younger brother sent assassins to murder us. We were out of town. But they murdered my wife and burned down our house in an attempt to cover their tracks,” the preacher said tearfully.

  “That is terrible. It is so very terrible. If I understand correctly, your hesitation centers on your fear that they may still be tracking you and that could put Nurse Bilbrey in serious danger,” the doctor remarked.

  “Your diagnosis is correct,” the preacher replied.

  “My recommendation is that you share this with her and let her make the decision. It’s the right thing to do,” the physician recommended.

  “I will take your recommendation under advisement,” the preacher promised.

  “Not to change the subject, but what’s your next stop Santa?” the doctor asked with a chuckle.

  “I’m stopping by the discount store to aggravate Jack Wright. Afterwards I’ll rest awhile at the church before heading over to Miss Rosie’s,” the preacher said.

  The doctor motioned for Doris Smith to bring the check. Upon delivering a tray of food to another table of customers, Doris headed for their table.

  “No check today, gentlemen,” Doris said.

  “Has Santa arrived early?” the doctor asked.

  “Santa Claus is sitting there with you. Both of you have given so many gifts to this community this year that on this Christmas Eve the Bluebird is paying for your lunch,” Doris instructed.

  “Your kindness is really appreciated,” the preacher said.

  “Be sure to take up a collection at that Christmas Service tonight. We’ve got a jar of money that we’ve been collecting for the church since Thanksgiving,” Mrs. Smith reported.

  “When he smells cash, he always does something biblical: he takes up an offering,” the physician said with a laugh.

  “Doris, bring that jar. Doctor Whitman needs to get a chance to donate,” the preacher instructed as the doctor reached for his wallet.

  * * *

  When the preacher arrived at Discount Grocery, Jack Wright was listening to WNOX-AM’s Christmas music. The shopkeeper put his finger to his
lips to signal that he wanted to hear the song that had just begun.

  Marilyn Mitchell was singing ‘Beautiful Star of Bethlehem’ and was accompanied by the Skillet Lickers. The lyrics said in pertinent part:

  “Oh beautiful star of Bethlehem

  Shining far through shadows dimmed

  Giving the life for those who long have gone

  Guiding the wise men on their way

  Unto the place where Jesus lay

  Oh beautiful star of Bethlehem shine on.”

  When the song had finished, Jack Wright reached for the radio to reduce the volume. The preacher nodded his approval for taking a brief respite to hear the song.

  “Preacher, those three wise men really impress me in the Christmas story,” Jack Wright said.

  “Why do you think that?” the preacher inquired.

  “These were important men. They had responsibilities. They decided to follow a star to the place of the nativity. They were wise and wealthy men and yet they chose a spiritual journey rather than just a journey through mortality,” the storekeeper explained.

  “In your observation you have identified the true spirit and wisdom of the biblical magi. But the scripture never tells us that there were three,” the preacher remarked.

  “It’s in the Christmas story. There were three wise men,” Jack Wright objected.

  “It has been assumed that there were three of them due to them bringing three different gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Some ancient non-biblical writers give them names that aren’t always the same,” the preacher replied.

  “Well, how many do you think there were?” Jack Wright asked with a slight irritation in his voice.

  “There were enough to get the job done, Brother Wright,” the preacher said with a smile.

  “Oh, before I forget, I’ve got something for you,” the storekeeper announced.

  Jack Wright handed the preacher a small blue gold trimmed box. The preacher opened it. It contained a gold wedding band and a gold engagement right with what appeared to be a diamond about one-half carat in size.

  “If you are proposing, the answer is no.” the preacher said abruptly.

  “I traded a Model A Ford for it years ago. I was already hitched. I’ve tried to sell it, pawn it, and otherwise get rid of it but can’t,” the merchant explained.

  “Why have you encountered so much resistance?” the preacher inquired.

  “One word: depression. For the past eight years money has dried up. No one buys anything except what they absolutely need. I probably could have sold the wedding band, but I didn’t want to break up the set,” Jack Wright replied.

  “Why are you giving it to me?” the preacher asked with a puzzled look.

  “It’s for you to give to Nurse Bilbrey. Everyone knows that you’re going to ask her to marry you tonight,” Jack Wright informed.

  “You have outdone yourself this time,” the preacher replied.

  “What do you mean?” Jack Wright asked.

  “You have graduated from a first-class gossip into becoming a fiction writer. There’s no way anyone could know that because I haven’t told that to anyone,” the preacher scolded.

  “It’s written all over your face. You are definitely in love. Every time you are around that woman your face lights up like the National Christmas Tree,” the shopkeeper remarked.

  “Take this back,” the preacher insisted.

  “I won’t do it. It’s back luck to take back a gift. It will be a sin for me to take it back,” Jack Wright said sternly.

  “And that’s the Gospel of Jack, I suppose. I’ll see you tonight at Miss Rosie’s. I’ll leave you to indulge in your wedding fiction and fantasy,” the preacher said as he turned for the door.

  * * *

  Miss Rosie started seating folks for her big Christmas Eve dinner at 5:30 pm. The tables turned steady for almost the next half hour. The meal was presented buffet style, all you care to eat.

  When the preacher arrived the snow and sleet had started, and the ground was already fully covered in white. He circulated amongst the town folk and the visitors.

  The guests included all the town’s business owners as well as Henry and Lucy Wooden and John and Martha Lester. There were quite a few passengers from The Mountain Excursion.

  At 7:00 pm the preacher approached the lectern. After a few introductory remarks, the service was opened with Marilyn Mitchell, accompanied by the Smith Brothers, singing ‘Go Tell It On The Mountain.’ It was followed by the congregation singing ‘Silent Night.’

  The preacher returned to the lectern and announced that he would be sharing his thoughts on ‘Joseph: The Forgotten Man Of The Nativity.’ That was one sermon that didn’t get preached on that Christmas Eve.

  Before he could launch into the text of his sermon, Sheriff Hankins entered the Bed & Breakfast and pointed toward the preacher. Sensing seriousness in his demeanor, the preacher motioned him to the front of the large parlor and the crowd.

  Speaking in a low voice Sheriff Hankins said, “There’s been a bus wreck a few miles east coming down the mountain from Crossville. Several of the 25 or so passengers are injured. Some are injured severely. We need help badly in recovering and treating the victims.”

  The preacher asked the sheriff to relay the announcement to the crowd. Dr. Marcus Whitman, and his nurse and wife, Anna Mae Whitman stood and made their way to the door. The preacher pointed to Joe Scott who stood and made his way to the door. They were followed by several men with trucks.

  Nurse Bilbrey announced to the group that she would stay to oversee the triage of the victims and provide immediate care for those most severely injured. What had began as a joyous occasion quickly turned into a serious situation.

  Injured and non-injured bus passengers began arriving in the assortment of pickup trucks serving as makeshift ambulances providing rescue and transportation. A large majority of the passengers had few or no injuries. There were several with broken bones, large cuts, and bruises. Nurse Bilbrey separated the more severely injured from the slightly injured and began giving aid to those who required the most care.

  It wasn’t long until Sheriff Hankins appeared with Dr. Whitman and Joe Scott. Two severely injured passengers were being transported on stretchers by some of the local men. Dr. Whitman motioned for the preacher.

  “I have two very seriously injured patients. One gentleman has a ruptured spleen and will bleed out in the next couple hours. The pregnant lady has gone into labor and it’s a breach birth. She needs an immediate emergency Caesarian delivery,” the physician explained.

  “You’re the doctor. It’s what you do,” the preacher replied.

  “I am a doctor, but I am not a surgeon. I have seen a splenectomy performed more than once but I have never done one. I have only performed two Caesarian deliveries and they were non-emergent,” Dr. Whitman explained.

  “You can do this. These people need help. Nurse Bilbrey can assist you. You should get busy!” the preacher barked.

  “It’s worse than you think. Both surgeries are time- sensitive. I can only do one procedure at a time. If I perform the splenectomy, I put the mother and child in danger of death from the delay. On the other hand, if I perform the surgical delivery, the man with the ruptured spleen will likely die. As you say, ‘It’s above my pay grade,’” the physician explained.

  “Make a choice. Get Nurse Bilbrey to assist you. If you procrastinate, you’ll chance losing all three patients,” the preacher urged.

  Nurse Bilbrey walked into the conversation. She asked Dr. Whitman for further instructions and he stood there silent and motionless. Sensing an unnecessary delay, Sheriff Hankins joined the group.

  “What’s the problem?” Nurse Bilbrey inquired as Sheriff Hankins shrugged his shoulders.

  “Sheriff Hankins draw your pistol and point it at Dr. Whitman,” the preacher ordered.

  “Preacher, have you lost your mind?” the Sheriff said with shock.

  “He can’t decide which serio
usly injured patient to operate on first: the man bleeding to death or the woman about to lose her baby and maybe her life. Put that pistol on him. We will force him a gunpoint to remove that man’s spleen,” the preacher said.

  “How do you see this working out?” Nurse Bilbrey asked with horror.

  “He will open that man’s abdomen, remove the spleen, and tie off the bleeders. You will close the incision,” the preacher replied.

  “I’ve seen abdominal surgical wounds closed many times. I’ve never done it myself. That is the work of a surgeon,” Nurse Bilbrey responded.

  “Tonight a general practitioner will be a surgeon, and a nurse will be a surgeon's assistant and close the wound. There’s no other choice,” the preacher opined.

  Sheriff Hankins reached for his pistol and pointed it directly at Dr. Whitman. The physician motioned for the sheriff to lower his weapon and nodded toward the man with the ruptured spleen.

  While the doctor and nurse performed the operation, the preacher explained the situation to the pregnant woman. She understood the situation and was very thankful that there was a doctor available for her and her baby.

  As soon as Dr. Whitman had finished the splenectomy, Nurse Bilbrey began stitching the incision. Joe Scott, who had served as an emergency anesthetist moved to the table with the pregnant woman to assist Dr. Whitman.

  The physician performed the Caesarian delivery with great skill and speed. As he lifted the infant from the mother, the umbilical cord ruptured, and the baby began to bleed out. The physician tied the ruptured cord as best he could, but the damage had been done.

  Dr. Whitman looked at the preacher and slightly shook his head from side to side. His gesture indicated that he believed the child was lost.

  While the large grandfather clock in the parlor struck twelve times, the preacher quickly removed his jacket and stripped off his shirt. He pointed to the bend of his elbow.

  “We don’t know this baby’s blood type. You haven’t had your blood typed and cross matched. The odds are that a transfusion of your blood will kill him,” the physician said as his voice broke.

  “I served in the war. I was seriously wounded. I know that my blood type is O. I am a universal donor,” the preacher reported.