The Trial of Dr. Kate (13 page)

“Kate asked me to come by and say hello. She told me you’re seeing her patients twice a week. That’s awfully nice of you.”

The doctor took a long drag on his cigarette. “I owe Kate anything I can do to help. If I didn’t see them here twice a week, I’d have to see them in my office in Livingston. Some of these folks are so poor and so sick that it’s a problem for them to go that far to see a doctor. My partner and I are taking turns until this mess is straightened out.”

“Does Kate see this many patients a day?”

“A good number of us country doctors see a hundred or more patients a day. Poor Kate’s by herself, doesn’t have anyone to swap calls with. We try to give her a weekend off, but she seldom takes it—works twelve to fourteen hours a day, seven days a week.”

Shenandoah asked, “How long have you known her?”

The doctor looked up toward the ceiling. “Six years. I got out of med school in March of 1946 and had three months to kill before I started my internship. I’d heard about this woman doctor in Round Rock. I’m from Livingston—grew up there. I wrote her a letter and asked if I could work with her for three months without a salary. She said yes, and it was an incredible experience. I learned more in those three months than I did during my entire internship.”

“Why didn’t you come here to practice?”

“I’d always planned to go home. Besides, I’m not sure Kate wanted or wants a partner. She’s kind of a loner. All I can tell you is, she’s one of the best doctors I’ve ever known. She’s fearless, dedicated, caring. I can’t say enough good things about Kate Marlow.”

Dr. Compton smashed his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ve only got a minute or two. I have to get back to my clinic for afternoon patients. But I’ll tell you a story about Kate before I go. Come with me.”

Shenandoah followed the doctor down the hallway to a room that was larger than the others. An examining table, with stirrups at one end, sat in the middle. Stainless steel instruments filled several glass-fronted cabinets. A headlight from a 1936 Ford hung over the table from the center of the ceiling.

Dr. Compton said, “Doesn’t look much like an operating room, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“This is where I did my first appendectomy. I’d been at the clinic about a month when an old farmer came in late on Friday afternoon.”

* * *

Jazz Boldt pulled back the glass window to see a tall, gaunt man with a flushed face standing bent over with his right hand held to his side.

“You okay, Mr. Couch?” Jazz asked.

“I’m right poorly, Jazz. The doc in?”

“Come on back and I’ll get her.”

She opened the door, and the man, still bent at the waist, followed her to an examination room.

“Lie down on the table, Mr. Couch.”

A few seconds passed before Dr. Kate entered the room, followed by Fred Compton in a short white coat.

“What’s wrong, Earl?” she asked.

“Pain in the side, Doc. Hurts like hell.”

Dr. Kate undid the man’s belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled his pants to his knees. As she did this, she said, “This young doctor just graduated from UT. His name is Dr. Fred Compton and he’s helping me today.”

When the doctor touched his abdomen with her hands, Mr. Couch jumped. “You had them hands in ice, Doc?”

“Sorry, Earl, my hands are always cold. Does it hurt more when I press here, or when I let up fast like now?”

“Jesus! Sorry, Doc. It definitely hurts worse when you let up.”

Turning to Fred Compton, she asked, “What do you think?’

“Appendicitis?”

“My thought, too. Tell Jazz to get the OR ready.”

“Aren’t you going to send him to Vanderbilt?” Fred asked.

“Not enough time. The appendix is about to rupture. If he gets peritonitis, he could die. We’ve got to do it. In fact, I’m going to help you.”

Dr. Fred Compton’s eyes widened. “Really?”

The young doctor had only watched surgical procedures while in medical school. The thought of taking up a scalpel and actually slicing into someone’s skin made him shudder.

They transferred Mr. Couch to a gurney and rolled him into the operating room. The man crawled onto the table, and Dr. Compton helped him remove his pants and underwear and then reached up and adjusted the light onto the man’s belly. Next, he scrubbed the skin with disinfectant soap. Jazz took a metal container of chloroform out of one of the cabinets and placed a metal cone covered with gauze over the man’s nose and mouth. She dripped the liquid on the gauze, and within a few minutes, Mr. Couch passed out.

Dr. Kate and Dr. Compton scrubbed their hands with disinfectant soap and brushes for exactly ten minutes by the clock. In the OR, they put on sterile gowns and rubber gloves and placed sterile towels followed by sterile sheets around the area of the abdomen that Fred had scrubbed with soap.

“Show me McBurney’s point,” Dr. Kate said. The young doctor placed his index finger on the lower right quadrant of Mr. Couch’s abdomen. Handing him the scalpel, she said, “Make your incision there.”

His hand trembled as he lowered the knife to the skin and drew it in a straight line, opening the first layer and exposing the yellow fatty tissue. Together he and Dr. Kate clamped the arteries and veins, and in a few minutes they had the abdominal cavity open. She placed her gloved hand in and pulled up several loops of small intestines. “Here it is,” she said as she isolated the red and swollen appendix.

Dr. Compton took a silk suture attached to a large curved needle, stuck it through the base of the appendix, and tied it several times. After doing this twice, he took scissors and clipped between the sutures, freeing the appendage.

“Good job,” Dr. Kate said. “Now let’s close up and give him a penicillin shot.”

They closed the wound in layers and applied a pressure bandage to the operated site, then transferred a still unconscious Mr. Couch to the wheeled gurney and took him to an overnight room. Dr. Compton sat at his bedside for the next three hours and waited for the man to regain consciousness, checking his blood pressure and pulse every fifteen minutes.

The following morning, the two doctors walked into the room to find Mr. Couch dressed in his shirt and pants, sitting on the side of the bed, eating a plate of scrambled eggs, grits, and bacon from Jazz’s kitchen.

“How you feel, Earl?” Dr. Kate asked.

“I gotta get out of here, Doc. My mules and me need to plow that two-acre plot next to the house today.”

* * *

Shenandoah sat back in her chair and said, “That’s a remarkable story.”

“Know anything about the War of Northern Aggression, Shenandoah?” Dr. Compton asked.

“The North won.”

“There was one Yankee sympathizer whom I’ve always admired. An East Tennessee fellow, actually—won the battle of Mobile Bay for the Yankees. Captain Farragut’s claim to fame was his battle cry, ‘Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.’ Like Farragut, Kate doesn’t worry about the obstacles in her path. Do what you have to and don’t look back. Kate’s motto, and now mine.”

“Do you think Dr. Kate is capable of murder?” Shenandoah asked.

Dr. Compton reached for another cigarette and held the unlit Pall Mall in his mouth for a moment before lighting it. “Kate Marlow is one of the finest physicians—finest human beings—I’ve ever known. She is what all of us should be. Hell, she’s damn near a missionary, for Christ’s sake. That’s an insulting question, and I refuse to justify it with an answer.”

Shenandoah stood and shook hands with the doctor. “Thanks for your time. I know Kate appreciates all you’re doing for her. Would you consider being a character witness at her trial?”

Dr. Compton nodded, pick up a patient’s chart, and said, “I’ve already told Jake Watson I will.”

Shenandoah walked back to the waiting room. When she passed Jazz, she said, “Dr. Kate asked me to talk to you and Nurse Little. I’ll try to get back this afternoon when you’re less busy.”

Leaving the clinic, Shenandoah glanced at her watch and saw that it was close to noon. Driving to the square, she saw cars lining both sides of Main Street. At the courthouse, a crowd of people was milling around the big yard. What looked like a high school marching band was playing a John Philip Sousa march at a deafening volume as more and more people joined the throng.

At the top of the courthouse steps, on the long porch, a microphone and lectern stood like a lone sentinel, and red, white, and blue crepe paper hung over the massive double doors. A line of ladder back chairs had been placed behind the lectern, and a huge banner over the door read
ELECT FRANK CLEMENT GOVERNOR!

A young man dressed in a white suit walked onto the porch, followed by Jasper Kingman, Baxter Hargrove, and a tall, cadaverous man with a long mane of striking silver hair. The crowd started cheering as each man took a seat.

Shenandoah worked her way through the cluster of people to the foot of the steps. Glancing to her left, she saw Jake Watson standing close by. Shenandoah felt a nudge as if someone was trying to get past her, and she looked back to see Bobby Johnson’s smile.

“Interested in politics, are you?” he asked.

“I
am
writing a book about the Crump machine.”

“That’s one of Crump’s henchmen walking up to the podium now.”

Shenandoah glanced toward the stage to see the tall man with the mop of silver hair step up to the lectern. He raised his hand, and, speaking into the microphone, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the next governor of the great state of Tennessee, Frank Clement!”

The crowd began to cheer, and the young man in the white suit rose, walked to the podium, and shook hands with the man Shenandoah suddenly recognized as Senator Buford Frampton. Addressing the mass of people, he said, “Thank you, Buford. I would be honored to have a career in politics half as successful as yours.”

“Frank,” the senator said, “let me introduce this young lady with the bouquet of roses. Meet Miss Amanda Thompson.”

A little girl appeared out of nowhere and stood quietly at Mr. Clement’s side. He lowered the microphone so she could speak into it. “Mr. Clement,” she said, “Round Rock welcomes you to our fair city.”

Frank Clement took the flowers and patted the child’s head. “Thank you, Amanda. It is my pleasure to be here. Would you do me a favor, dear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take this beautiful bouquet of roses and lay it on the grave of one of our brave soldiers who died defending our country in the last war. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The crowd cheered and clapped. Frank Clement smiled and watched Amanda Thompson leave the stage. Then, turning back to his supporters, he said, “My friends, the administration of Governor Gordon Browning is rampant with frivolous spending of your tax dollars! Just to give you an example, I hold in my hand a gizmo that is in every state-owned car. Can you imagine what it is?” Here the young man held a small clear plastic device over his head and waved it back and forth. “This, my friends, is a prism! It’s attached to the windshield, and it allows our state workers to see traffic lights if they happen to drive too far under one. Can you think of a more ridiculous waste of taxpayers’ money?”

While Frank Clement continued to berate Governor Browning, Bobby focused his attention on Shenandoah. “I sure wish you’d reconsider my invitation, Shenandoah. I’d really like to spend some time with you.”

“Look, Bobby, I told you that I don’t have time to date. Besides, I’m a short-timer.”

“I’m not asking you to marry me, for God’s sake. All I want to do is get to know you. I think you’re fascinating.”

Shenandoah laughed. “Go take a cold shower.”

She watched Bobby wind his way through the crowd, and turning back to the stage, she saw Frank Clement wave his arms over his head in an attempt to make a point. Jake Watson eased away from the steps and started through the crowd. Shenandoah followed.

Jake crossed the street and entered the City Café with Shenandoah right behind him. When the older man took a seat a table, Shenandoah pulled out a chair and asked, “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” the lawyer said. “Did you see Kate this morning?”

“I see her every morning.”

“She really appreciates your concern.”

“You know that I’ve found a few people who’re willing to talk to me about Kate. She seems to have some staunch supporters and a few detractors.”

The lone waitress strolled up to the table and asked, “What’ll you have, Jake?”

“The special.”

“You, ma’am?”

“Same.” Turning back to Jake, Shenandoah asked, “What do you think of Frank Clement?”

“If he wins, he’ll be the youngest governor in the country. He’s bright and a natural-born politician. I suspect he’ll win.”

“He’s got the gift of gab and a flair for the dramatic. That bit with the roses was a little too much for me.”

“Tennessee politics, pure and simple.”

The meat loaf special arrived, and Mabel, the waitress, dropped both plates on the table with a clatter. Jake and Shenandoah ate in silence for several minutes. Finally, Shenandoah said, “Buford Frampton is an imposing fellow. Kind of reminds me of Andrew Jackson.”

“Old Hickory?”

“Yeah.”

“Now that you mention it.”

“How old is he?”

“I believe Buford’s about eighty-five.”

“Think he’ll ever retire?”

“Doubt it.”

“I want to interview him for my book. Any idea how I can get an introduction?”

“Just call him. When he finds you’re a reporter, he’ll talk to you—loves publicity.”

“There’s one other thing I’d like to ask you, Jake. Do you know anyone who drives a new Dodge pickup?”

“Can’t say that I do. Why?”

“Someone tried to run me off the road yesterday. And the second day I was here, someone slashed all four tires on my new car.”

“You get a license number?”

“The tag was covered with dirt or mud.”

“I guess you could talk to Jasper.”

“I can’t. He hates me. Kate recommended I see the state trooper.”

“He’s a straight arrow. That’s not a bad idea.”

“Thanks, Jake,” Shenandoah said as she stood. Then she walked up to the cash register to pay her bill. Dorothy, the proprietor, was running the register. Shenandoah asked, “May I use your phone and phone book?”