The Trial of Dr. Kate (6 page)

“She’s asked me to talk to some folks. Try to find her some character witnesses. She thinks it’ll help to have people on her side,” Shenandoah said.

“Like anyone, Kate has her supporters and detractors. She’s a complicated individual.”

Shenandoah set her coffee cup down and glanced around the periphery of their table. “I know the Coleman clan isn’t very popular around here,” she said in a low voice, “but can you think of anyone who might have it in for me personally?”

“Something happen?”

“I’ve got a new Chevy, and when I went to my car this morning, all four tires were slashed. Had to buy new ones.”

The coach shook his head. “I have no idea. Who knows that you’re helping Kate? Could have something to do with that.”

“I have a suspicion that it’s more about me. I was never too popular around here.”

“If anything else happens, swallow your pride and ask Jasper for help. He’s an ass, but in truth, he’s a pretty good lawman.”

Shenandoah shook her head. “Can’t do that. Kate suggested I talk to Jimmy Joe Short.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Enough about my problem. Let’s get back to Kate. Didn’t her family go to the First Baptist Church?”

“I think so.”

“Think I’ll go talk to Brother Abernathy. Surely he’ll have good things to say about Kate.”

* * *

After finishing her coffee, Shenandoah slipped behind the wheel of the Bel Air and drove to the First Baptist Church on Main Street, three blocks from the square. The red brick building with its white steeple looked exactly as she had remembered it. She entered the church proper, but no one was there, so she walked to the adjoining building, which housed the Sunday school and reception hall. She found the preacher there, climbing the stairs to his office.

“Afternoon, Brother Abernathy. Could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

The preacher, a thin man with short black hair and bushy eyebrows, squinted at her. “Sure. Let’s go to my office.”

Once there, Brother Abernathy sat behind his desk and motioned for Shenandoah to sit in a worn leather chair opposite it. He leaned back in his swivel chair and asked, “What can I do for you?”

“My name’s Shenandoah Coleman. I’m a reporter for the
Memphis Express,
and I’ve come to cover Dr. Kate’s trial. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“You from Beulah Land?”

“A long time ago.”

“So you’re related to Junior.”

“My uncle. I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

“That drunken fool has caused me a great deal of trouble in the past, but that’s not your fault. What do you want to know about Katherine Marlow?”

“I understand she goes to your church.”

“As a child. I haven’t seen Kate in church since she left for college.”

“What do you think of her? Do you believe the rumors?”

“I don’t pay attention to rumors. What I think of Kate has to do with my own experience.”

“Could you elaborate on that?”

“I believe a woman’s place is in the home, married and raising a family,” Brother Abernathy said in a hoarse voice. “Women shouldn’t be doctors.”

“I’ve known Kate since grade school. She’s always been independent. It never surprised me that she’d follow in her father’s footsteps. Women are going into all the professions now. You can’t stop progress, Brother Abernathy,” Shenandoah said. “Look at me. I’m a professional in every sense, and I have no intention of marrying or having children.”

“It’ll ruin the family structure if that happens, dear. It’ll be a real tragedy. It’s just not good for society,” the preacher said, shaking his head.

“Could you tell me about some of your experiences with Kate when she did attend church?”

“She was independent to a fault. Thought she had all the answers. I asked her to read from Genesis one day in Sunday school, and she said she didn’t believe the world was created in seven days. When I told her that was blasphemous, she said God gave her a brain and she intended to use it.”

“That seems reasonable to me, Brother Abernathy. Don’t you think people have a right to interpret the Bible? Scholars do,” Shenandoah said.

“Katherine Marlow is no biblical scholar. And, no, I don’t think anyone has a right to interpret the Bible. It’s God’s sacred Word.”

“I’m afraid I don’t share your feelings, Preacher. I’m probably more skeptical than the average person.”

“Then I’ll pray for your soul, child. I trust the Lord will bring you to salvation yet.”

“I’ve heard you’re a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher. Do you ever have doubts?”

Brother Abernathy nodded and smiled. “I’m a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher because that’s what these people want. They need things simplified for them. Do I ever have doubts about my faith? Any intelligent man has doubts. But we’re discussing Katherine Marlow, not me.”

“You think she killed Lillian Johnson?”

“I think Kate’s an independent, stubborn woman who doesn’t know her place. I don’t believe she killed Lillian, but I do believe she’s amoral, and I’ve been told she breaks the law. I can’t prove it, but I’m sure she performs illegal abortions. If she’s a baby killer, she’s going to rot in hell. Besides, she’s a souse. Her father was a souse, and she’s a souse as well. Look at her hands, lady. Look at her hands.”

Shenandoah slipped her pen into her shoulder purse. “Thanks for your time, Preacher.”

As she walked out of the church, Shenandoah’s own hands trembled. She had noticed Kate’s tremor the first day she saw her at the jail, but in her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have thought of Kate as an alcoholic. No wonder she was so defensive and Jake Watson so elusive. No wonder she said she had passed out that day. Did she black out all the time?

Shenandoah knew she had to see Army Johnson. If Kate had a drinking problem, she thought it must have something to do with Army.

She followed Hattie Mae’s directions to Army’s garage and found it on a small street about five blocks from the courthouse. A fair-sized building made of corrugated steel siding with a tin roof, it sat back from the road about thirty feet. A faded sign over the large overhead door read
Johnson’s Garage.
Next to the building, a small area encircled by a chain-link fence held a number of junk cars, their hoods and trunk lids missing. Old engine blocks and rusted hubcaps littered the ground. She found the big corrugated steel door locked, and there was no response when she pounded on it.

Returning to Hattie Mae’s house, she parked under a big maple tree. As she walked up the sidewalk, she noticed the old black man she’d seen working in the garden the day before standing to one side. The man had a full head of silver hair and few wrinkles except for a set of crow’s feet around his eyes, which had yellow rings around the irises.

He almost genuflected when he said, “Afternoon, Miss Shenandoah.”

“How’d you know my name?”

“Miss Hattie Mae told me you was her new boarder—interested in Dr. Kate.”

“I am. I’m trying to find character witnesses for her. You take care of Hattie Mae’s yard, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. My name’s Hank Boldt. This drought done made it hard to keep them flowers living. If it weren’t for me hosing them down once a day, they all be dead by now. Heat got to you yet, Miss Shenandoah?”

“I’ve sweated at least a gallon today.”

“I know what you mean. I done kept a beeline to the water faucet since I got here. Miss Hattie Mae keeps some lemonade on the back porch. I was jest going to get me some. There’s plenty.”

“Lead the way.”

Hank put his straw hat on at a jaunty angle and took off around the corner of the house at a brisk pace. The small backyard had a narrow gravel alley running behind it. A large rain barrel caught water off the roof, and mint grew around its base. An old wringer clothes washer sat in one corner of Hattie Mae’s screened-in back porch, and a table and two chairs had been placed in the middle of the space. Hank held the screen door for Shenandoah and let her pass first. Another piece of cotton had been pinned to the center of it. A large pitcher of lemonade rested in the middle of the table along with two empty jelly glasses. Hank waited for Shenandoah to sit, then picked up the pitcher and filled both glasses. Shenandoah lifted hers before Hank took the other. The cold, tart liquid chilled the roof of Shenandoah’s mouth and gave her a sharp pain in both ears. Hank took a long swig and rolled his eyes. Then he leaned back in his chair and gave Shenandoah a big smile.

“I reckon I could tell you a thing or two about Dr. Kate if you want.”

“I’d like that, Hank. Let me get my notepad out.”

Hank leaned forward and rested his right elbow on the table, his hand curled around his glass. In a slow drawl, he began his story.

“I worked for Dr. Kate’s daddy ‘til he died. I still look after the clinic for Dr. Kate—mow the lawn, change the light bulbs, fix the plumbing, that sort of thing. My girl, Jazz, she do all the cleaning and the cooking too. Jazz and Kate growed up together. They always be friends, play together with dolls and such. Dr. Walt treat me and Jazz like we was family. Sometimes we eat at the supper table with them. That not a usual thing for colored folks. No, ma’am, not usual at all.

“See, Jazz’s mother and Dr. Kate’s didn’t neither of them make it through the birthing. No, ma’am, they both died giving them girls their life. Ain’t so uncommon for colored women to pass having their children, but we was all surprised when Miss Rose Mary didn’t make it. Yes, ma’am, that surprised everybody in Parsons County. You know, being the doctor’s wife and all. I don’t think Dr. Walt ever get over his loss. He seemed a sad man the rest of his days. And I miss my Willina something awful. I know what it means to be a sad man.”

Hank stared into space as he talked about his family, and Shenandoah could see his eyes moistening. Hank picked up the pitcher and refilled the glasses before continuing.

“You know, Dr. Kate ain’t afraid of the devil hisself. She be the bravest woman, white or colored, that I ever knowed. I think she might have saved this old life more than once. She done it once for sure. Around these parts, there ain’t many colored folks, least-ways in Parsons County. Me and Jazz and maybe ten, twelve other families is all. Most colored folks in Tennessee lives in the west, old cotton country down by the Mississippi. Not much use for slaves in these old mountains. Weren’t never any cotton in these parts.

“So me and Jazz and the other colored folks kind of stick out. We be different, and some white folks just plain don’t like that. Dr. Kate lets coloreds wait in the same room as whites, and that makes most white peoples mad. They ain’t got no choice in the matter, and that makes them even madder. Know something else, Miss Shenandoah? Lots of colored people don’t like whites any better. We smile a lot and nod our heads and the white people think we like them, but most often we don’t. No, ma’am. I seen many a time when I’d like to take my straight razor to a white man’s throat.

“In these parts the colored man ain’t got much say in things. It weren’t more than twenty year ago they lynched a colored man in Parsons County for stealing a pig. It were during the bad times, when Mr. Roosevelt was president. The poor fellow was jest trying to feed his children.

“I know it ain’t Christian, but I carry hate in my soul sometimes—hate for white folks. I worry Jesus gonna strike me down one day. I reckon if it weren’t for the likes of Dr. Walt and Dr. Kate, the coloreds and the whites would be at each other all the time.

“Miss Hattie Mae told me you was from Beulah Land. I don’t reckon I need to tell you your kinfolk are downright ornery and mean to coloreds. Particularly when they been drinking. Your uncle Junior be the worst of the lot. But I reckon you know that.”

Shenandoah nodded. “I’m aware of my uncle’s problems. I’ve been hearing about them since I arrived.”

Hank took a red bandanna out of his hip pocket and wiped his forehead and mouth. Then leaning back in his chair, the two legs resting at a precarious angle, he said, “I try to take folks for what they is, Miss Shenandoah, not where they come from. Two year ago this August be the night Dr. Kate save my life.”

* * *

The dog days of summer lasted through August in 1950, and the heat and humidity could have choked a man. Hank Boldt had been to supper at Laquinta Culpepper’s house down near the Putnam County line and was heading home around ten o’clock that evening. He and Laquinta had been seeing each other for about two years.

Hank’s 1937 Dodge sedan was generally a dependable car, but on that night it stalled dead in the middle of the highway. Unfortunately, he had just entered the curve at Beulah Land. “Lord have mercy,” Hank whispered under his breath. “I ain’t but thirty feet from some awful drunk Coleman men.”

He eased out of the car and closed the door as quietly as he could. Then he walked on tiptoes, staying on the shoulder of the blacktop. Hank hoped against hope that he could get past the drunkards without them noticing him.

The men, some ten or twelve of them, sat on the ground next to the lone water well. The area was lit by a single kerosene lantern, its yellow glow casting long shadows on the hill behind the men. When Hank recognized Junior Coleman, he gave a shudder. Like most poor white trash, the Coleman men hated colored people. If Junior spotted him, Hank would be in real trouble.

Hank held his breath as he passed the group. He was on the far side of the road, and the glow of the lantern didn’t quite reach the shoulder where Hank walked. He thought he might just make it when he heard Junior bellow, “Come here, nigger!”

Hank knew he’d never get away from the men even if he tried to run. They’d just chase him down. He removed his straw hat and shuffled across the highway toward his nemesis. “Yes, sir, boss. I be coming as fast as these old legs can get me there.”

Junior stood waiting for Hank, and as soon as the older man reached him, Junior backhanded him. Hank fell to the asphalt, and before he could get up, Junior sat on his chest and began to hit him with his fist. Both of Hank’s eyes began to swell, but he could see headlights on the road coming right at them. Then he heard the screeching of tires and the slamming of a car door.