He’d always known it would come to this. As Penn had said, the past was fighting its way to the surface, like a sunken corpse filling with the gases of decay. Knowing what tomorrow might bring, Tom had allowed himself two shots of bourbon along with his evening cigar, then sat up reading The Official Records of the War of the Rebellion. Tonight he had reread the order, given at Gettysburg, that had placed the “University Greys” of Ole Miss—Penn’s alma mater—in the first wave of Pickett’s Charge. Lee’s fatal mistake had doomed every last boy in that unit, and the Confederacy with them. To Lee’s everlasting credit, after he was beaten, he had forbidden any guerrilla activity that would extend the conflict, and had supported Reconstruction.
Tom thought about the Lost Cause myth, and how Jim Crow had grown out of Reconstruction as surely as World War II had grown out of Versailles. In so many ways, the primary issue of the Civil War had never truly been settled, and both North and South were complicit in this tragedy. A hundred years after the dreadful sacrifice at Antietam, President Kennedy had been forced to call out the National Guard to get a single black man admitted to Ole Miss. Kennedy’s assassination a year later had set LBJ on the road to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which opened the way for black leaders to carry their struggle onto Main Street, USA. And God, how white America had fought back—both North and South.
Tom’s life was inextricably bound up with the tumultuous events of that era. His seven-week affair with Viola had begun two days after they had patched up Jimmy Revels, Luther Davis, and the Double Eagles after that highway brawl, and it had ended—truly ended—on the day Frank Knox died. One day prior, Viola had asked Dr. Lucas to switch her to Dr. Ross, leaving Tom crazed with longing and emotionally adrift. When he arrived at the clinic the next morning, he’d been thinking only of himself, with no idea what fate had in store for him. Within sixty minutes, Viola Turner would teach him just how blind a man could be to the world around him, and even to those he loved.
As per Dr. Lucas’s orders, Viola began that day working under Dr. Ross, who was elated by the new arrangement. Tom got Anna Mae Nugent, an older white nurse, as a substitute. He went through the motions with his first five or six patients, then told Anna Mae that he needed to make some calls from his office. He’d just closed the door and removed his stethoscope when he heard a shout from up near reception. A moment later, Anna Mae came barreling up the hall.
“They just brought a man in from Triton Battery!” she cried. “A pallet of batteries fell on him. He’s tore up bad, Doc. Looks like a hospital case, but he was already here, so I told them to put him in the surgery.”
Tom grabbed his stethoscope and walked calmly toward the surgery, his grief over Viola easing with every step. Dr. Lucas was performing an appendectomy at the Jefferson Davis Hospital, but even if he’d been in the clinic, Lucas would have expected Tom to take this case. Dr. Lucas liked nice, clean surgeries scheduled far in advance. Surprise traumas weren’t to his taste. The upshot of all this was that Tom wouldn’t even have to ask for Viola; it was understood that she assisted on all trauma cases that came to the clinic.
“Do you need help, Tom?” Jim Ross asked from a doorway to his right. “Anna Mae said the guy looks bad.”
“No, I’m fine,” Tom said quickly. “I’m just going to stabilize him, then get him transported to the emergency room. I’d appreciate it if you’d call an ambulance for me.”
“Done.”
“Anna Mae?” Tom called. “Pull the man’s record.”
“I’ll have it down there in a second.”
Tom turned the corner and almost plowed into Viola, who was hurrying up the hall from the direction of the surgery.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Who’s with the patient?”
“Two of his friends.”
“No nurse?”
“No.” Viola’s face was taut, her eyes dead. “I’m not treating him.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m not treating that man.”
“Who is it?” Tom asked, stunned by her defiant tone.
“Frank Knox.”
Suddenly Tom thought he understood. It was Knox and two Klan buddies who had assaulted Jimmy and Luther seven weeks earlier. It was only natural for Viola to hate the man. But refusing to treat him was unacceptable.
“Viola, you have to get in there.”
Her eyes flashed fury. “Anna Mae can do it.”
“How badly is he hurt?”
“Bad enough. Head injury. Cracked ribs, maybe a pneumothorax.”
“Anna Mae can’t handle that! I need you.”
Viola closed her eyes, and he saw then that she’d probably slept as little as he—maybe less.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but you don’t have a choice. I don’t, either. Get back there.”
She averted her eyes and muttered something that sounded like curses in French. Then she set her jaw and looked him dead in the eye. “I won’t work with his friends in there,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Kick them out, then! Hell, I’ll do it.”
After another moment, Viola turned and hurried back toward the surgery. Tom was starting after her when Anna Mae tapped him on the shoulder and passed him a manila file labeled BENJAMIN FRANKLIN KNOX. The label had a blue border, indicating the patient was an employee of the Triton Battery Corporation. Tom flipped open the file and walked slowly back toward the surgery.
As he passed through the little waiting room near the lab, he saw Sonny Thornfield and Glenn Morehouse, the two other men involved in the assault on Jimmy and Luther, pacing the room like expectant fathers. Thornfield was still limping from the bullet wound Luther Davis had given him two months earlier.
“Hey, Doc!” Thornfield called. “Is Frank gonna be okay?”
“I haven’t seen him yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”
“He’s tore up bad,” Morehouse said. “Half a pallet of batteries hit him.”
“That colored nurse kicked us out,” Thornfield griped.
“That’s what she’s supposed to do. You guys were in the service. You know to stay out of the way. There’s an ambulance coming now, and we’ll be moving him to the hospital right away.”
“Okay, sorry,” Thornfield said. “Do whatever you can, Doc. You can’t let Frank die.”