Alicia directed her questions to me, but she watched Val as she spoke. “How do we do it, Civil? Where do we start?”
Ty handed me a manila folder. I passed around the Xerox copies. “I’ve made a list of the places in the state that get money from the federal government and have the authority to sterilize. I’ve also listed all the hospitals where the surgeries could possibly take place—telephone numbers, addresses, even hospital director names.”
“Where’d you get all this?” Val asked, running a finger down the list.
“The telephone book. The library.”
“When we call, what do we say?” Val asked.
She had said it. I heard it loud and clear. When we call. “You tell the truth. Tell them who you are. Your name. Your association with the clinic. Tell them you are just trying to gather information, and leave it at that. The key is to find a sympathizer, a fellow medical professional who has heard about the case and wants to help.”
Liz asked for a pen, and Ty rolled blue Bics across the table. As she picked up the pen she said, “I got an ex-boyfriend who works in medical records at Regional Med in Anniston. He cheated on me, so I do believe he owes me. Y’all can cross that one off the list.”
“My old boss is a doctor at the big hospital in Birmingham. He heads up one of the departments there. He’ll help.”
“My cousin a janitor at Providence down in Mobile. He a talker and know everybody and everything. Leave that one to me.”
They rattled off their connections.
“Remember,” I said, “don’t do nothing illegal or immoral. We are nurses, not liars. And we don’t want to justify one bad deed with another. You don’t need names, just verifiable numbers of cases.”
I thought of Daddy and the time he’d shared with me some of the burdens of being a family doctor, how he carried his patients’ secrets, the diagnoses kept from their loved ones—cancer, high blood pressure, diabetes. A family practitioner in communities like ours knew a lot.
“Civil,” Val said.
“Hmm?”
“I’d like to lead a prayer if you don’t mind.”
“Alright, then.”
When we’d first begun this journey I’d always been respectful of Val. Somewhere along the way that respect had diminished. But as we all joined hands and closed our eyes, I was moved by the power of the older woman’s prayer, the conviction of it. If someone had been able to see through the blinds that night, they would have seen eight grieving nurses joined together in a fight that we believed was just.
THIRTY-FOUR
The trial had not even begun, but the media arrived in droves. Daddy made note that Montgomery hadn’t had so many journalists since the Selma march eight years prior. Two vans camped on the street running through Dixie Court. It was a good thing the Williams family didn’t have a phone, because the newspaper people seemed to have everybody’s telephone number. Daddy left ours off the hook at night when he got home. He told anyone who needed to reach him to call Glenda. One night, I walked out of the beauty shop and a flashbulb popped off in my face.
At church, the pastor preached on “Unnecessary Trouble.” It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn he was looking at me throughout the entire sermon. He talked about allowing God to fight our battles, waiting on the Lord. After service, one of the members asked Mama if I would get any money out of the case. Before she could answer, a woman dressed in red from head to toe walked by, saying, “That white lawyer probably taking all the money.” The exchange upset Mama, and on the way home she asked me if it was true.
“Lou is trying to change the law, Mama. Later, the girls can sue for damages.”
“What’s motivating him?” She slipped off a white lace glove.
“I think he’s doing it out of conviction.”
She spoke softly. “Well, I suppose that’s not impossible.”
“Mama, I’m surprised you letting these gossips get to you.”
“I’m just asking. Don’t be so defensive. By the way, you need to look for another job. Or go work with your daddy in the office.”
“I’m looking for a job, Mama.”
“You apply to anything?”
“Well, no, not yet. I can’t just walk in a place and fill out an application.”
“Why not?”
“Because my name is all over the papers. Besides, they don’t just advertise in the paper for nursing jobs.”
“Actually, they do. Look, if you can’t get nothing over there at St. Jude, then see if the schools are hiring. Maybe you could be a school nurse since you seem to be taking this sudden interest in children.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She didn’t answer, and I didn’t push it. I supposed I could apply at a hospital. The moment I’d seen those girls lying in that bed without enough pain meds, I’d wondered if there was a place for me at the hospital, giving patients the extra care that the doctors didn’t bother to give.
Mama pulled into the driveway. “Looks like somebody was following us.”
The man parked his blue Ford under a tree in the shade, and it shuddered to a stop. I could just make out the outline of a hat.
“Got their nerve. On a Sunday.”
“You alright?” Mama asked as we walked into the house.
“I’m going to change. Then I’m going to meet up with Ty. Make sure you lock up when you go out to the shed.”
Ty had told me he would meet me outside Lou’s office that afternoon. He wanted to be with me when I told Lou how the nurses planned to help. I watched my rearview mirror the whole drive over. Daddy had warned me to drive slowly so that the police wouldn’t have a reason to harass me. By the time I arrived at Lou’s office, my nerves were frazzled.
“What’s wrong with you? You alright?” Ty was standing beside his daddy’s car. It was late August, and the humidity was suffocating. He wore a collared shirt, open at the neck, and the sun glinted off his sunglasses. I tried not to remember the warmth of his arms around me, the scent of him. I was glad for the sunglasses. They kept me from having to look in his eyes.
“Some man followed me and Mama home from church this morning,” I said.
He held on to my arm. “Come on.”
We walked up the stairs to Lou’s office. The door was unlocked. A 7-Eleven Slurpee cup sat on the edge of Lou’s desk.
“Somebody followed Civil home from church today. She’s all spooked.”
Lou arranged the chairs. “You alright?”
I nodded. “Journalists, right?”
“Who else would they be? I gave a few interviews yesterday. They’re going to write the story anyhow, so I may as well tell our side. But, Civil, you don’t have to talk to them. And you can always walk over to the car and tell them you have no comment so they’re wasting their time.”
I nodded. Lou didn’t understand that I was afraid they weren’t really journalists at all.
“So what’s happening with the case?”
“I’m sure y’all heard of Judge Frank Johnson.”
We all knew Judge Frank Johnson. He was the head of the federal court in the middle district of Alabama, the judge who had ended the Montgomery Bus Boycott. He was also the judge who had ruled on our side for voting rights after the Selma march. He was already something of a living legend in Alabama.