White Salmon Hospital, Klickitat County, Washington, early June 1919.1
Only two days into her new post and she was already beginning to feel refreshed. Standing on the hospital porch and looking down and west, the gorge of the Columbia River spread out as far as she wished to see. The smell of the river, the scent of the trees, the warm late afternoon breeze, all lifted her spirits. A train whistle blew; or was it a river boat? She had yet to differentiate the sounds. It was all so unlike Philadelphia, or France. Dr. Cunningham had left the previous morning, after a whirlwind tour of the three ward “hospital”, actually the converted home of a previous country sawbones. Upstairs, a women’s ward, a men’s ward, and pediatric ward. Downstairs an examining room that doubled as the operating theatre, a recovery room, and offices for a matron, and two nurses. And herself. Dr. Roberta Anne Hemling, recent widow; and newly arrived here on a six-month contract as locum for Dr. Cunningham. 2
Dressed in her preferred workday ‘uniform’; navy blue ankle-length skirt, simple white blouse and a navy blue single-breasted, four button lapel-style tunic similar to her uniform in France; and sipping thoughtfully at a mug of coffee, the thirty-four year-old widow made a handsome figure against the backdrop of the white clapboard building. A nurses’ watch was pinned to her right breast pocket, and a small red/white/blue ribbon, representing the Médaille de la Reconnaissance Française, pinned to her right lapel. Her mid-length brunette hair kept blowing playfully across her face in the light river valley breeze. She was letting her mind drift with the breeze, wondering what her months here would bring. Surcease and rest, she hoped.3
It had been a quiet morning, as compared to her recent experience; having only set a mill worker’s broken arm, and delivered Mrs. McCurdy’s baby boy, discussed the one suspected case of Spanish Influenza with the Matron Crawford, and continuing to acquaint herself with this wild and wonderful place called White Salmon, Washington. She watched the minimal village traffic pass by on the street out front; a farm wagon coming in, draught horse plodding, loaded with firewood destined for the boilers of some river boat; a goods truck chugging out of town to make a delivery, a gaggle of ten to twelve year-olds making their way home from school. All very idyllic. Just the medicine she needed.4
Behind her, in the Matron’s office she heard the jangle of the phone; the only one in the building. She could visualize the portly Matron reaching for the elderly candlestick telephone instrument, annoyed at the sound of the ringer box and impatient to stop that annoyance. She smiled at the mundane image.5
“Oh, Doctor,” came the wheedling voice through an open window, “it’s for you.”6
She left the porch and its magnificent view, entered the short hallway and turned into the cubicle the Matron called her ‘office’. “Here’s the doctor,” the Matron was saying into the mouthpiece. Taking the proffered instrument Doctor Hemling didn’t even have time to speak before the voice on the other end launched into a hurried and nasal command, “This is Deputy Sherriff Manning, Doc. The Sheriff’s over at Husum. We gotta suicide at Hopgarden Lodge.” The caller abruptly rang off without further instruction or comment. She stood there a moment, looking askance at the phone in her hand. “Suicide at Hopgarden Lodge,” she questioned herself aloud.7
“You’re the Medical Examiner for this side of the county,” the Matron said after a moment of silence; the edge of disrespect in her voice quite clear. Despite her gender, the old-school Matron had no use for ‘women doctors’. It took a moment for Roberta to remember the part of her contract that stipulated her role as Medical Examiner for the western third of Klickitat County. Regaining her sense of awareness and familiarity with command, Roberta put down the phone and addressed the Matron. “OK. Then tell me how to get to Hopgarden Lodge in Husum.” 8
Bristling, but compliant, the Matron explained, “Take Slaughterhouse,” she used the older name for North West Lincoln Street, “to West Jewett which bends west and then north as South-West Pucker Huddle Road. Go north five miles to Indian Creek Road. It’s on the right just before White Salmon River at Husum. Just before crossing the wooden bridge over Indian Creek you’ll see a large house on the left. That’s Hopgarden Lodge. Can’t miss it.”9
“Thank you Matron,” the doctor said, with a disarming smile. “I’ll check in with the night nurse when I get back.”10
“Very well, doctor.”11
Going to her own, somewhat larger, office, Roberta grabbed her bag and a shawl, and walked out the front entrance. There sat Dr. Cunningham’s 1915 Model-T four-door sedan. After putting her bag in the car, Roberta retarded the spark, cupped her right hand on the crank handle, adjusted the choke wire at the bottom of the radiator, and slowly turned the crank to prime the engine. Switching to her left hand, she gave the crank an almighty yank, and was satisfied to have the engine start first pull. Manipulating the Ford’s pedals she rattled away from the hospital and into her first major foray in Klickitat County, Washington.12
Banging and bouncing her way along the rutted road northward toward the settlement of Husum she drank in the early summer landscape. Wheat fields, an orchard, forests, creeks, scattered farmsteads, the road winding up and down the hillsides. She was immensely grateful for the opportunity to be in this refreshing countryside. Her uncle Thomas in Seattle had been right in recommending that she take up this temporary position as a transition from the war. She wasn’t really ready to settle down, and recognized the trauma that still sat like heaviness on her soul. Not seven months since the Armistice, and only two months back in the States; not quite eight months since the death of her husband.13
Driving the ageing Ford was child’s play compared to driving an ambulance through shell cratered French villages and country roads torn up by caissons, galloping teams of horses and track-laying vehicles. Still, she was glad that she and Dr. Cunningham had checked over the mechanics of the car before he left, and that the radiator and gas tank were full. The car labored slowly up the hills, and the five mile drive took almost twenty minutes. The Matron’s directions were clear enough, and the house was indeed too big to miss. 14
A hundred yards down Indian Creek Road she could already see the roofline of the lodge. On arriving at the turning she entered a tree-lined lane that lead to a wide yard. Set between the yard and the White Salmon River bank was a log-cabin style two-storey lodge. There had to be at least six rooms on each floor. Parked in the yard were several Chevrolets, and another, but newer, Model-T, with “Klickitat County Sherriff” painted on the front doors. She parked next to the sheriff’s vehicle, grabbed her bag and walked up to the front porch. A stocky older man in blue bib-and-brace denim overalls, a brown vest and bowler hat stood at the door, looking impatient.15
“Who’r you?” He asked in a gruff manner, eyeing Doctor Cunningham’s well known Model-T. “Where’s the med’cal ‘zaminer?”16
Roberta stepped up onto the porch, and using her full five feet seven inches of height looked the man square in the eyes. “I’m Doctor Hemling, and I am the Medical Examiner.”17
“But where’s Doc Cunningham?”18
“Off on his sabbatical. I’m his locum. And who are you?”19
“He’s off ona what? And you’re a which?” The man looked thoroughly perplexed.20
“He’s gone off to Europe for six months,” she explained patiently, “and I’m his replacement at the hospital. And that makes me the Medical Examiner for this side of the county. Now, again, who are you, and where is this suicide?”21
The man pulled back a flap of his vest to reveal a Sheriff’s badge pinned to a brace, and a shoulder holster holding a short-barreled small caliber revolver. “Guess I’m the Sheriff. The man’s upstairs, but I can’t let no woman examine him. He’s a mite messy.”22
Doctor Hemling squared her shoulders. She was used to being patronized, and didn’t stand for it. “Sheriff, my contract says I’m the Medical Examiner. The County Commissioners say I’m the Medical Examiner. I saw more butchered men in my time in France than I suspect you have in your entire lifetime. Now, Sheriff, if you’ll pull your finger out of your….ah….ear, then we can go upstairs and have a professional look at the deceased gentleman.” 23
The Sheriff quickly pulled his index finger out of his left ear, where he had been worrying the wax and dirt hibernating there. It was his habitual action when he was confronted with a situation he didn’t fathom. He looked embarrassed, and a little cowed, so he turned on his heels and walked into the lodge without a further word. In the hallway he placed his hat on a bronze bust. Roberta was somewhat speechless at this, as she recognized it as a genuine Rodin. On the way to the staircase they passed a sitting room containing eight people. One was the Under Sheriff, who exited the room, and followed Roberta and the Sheriff up the stairs. 24
The lodge was a mixture of rustic charm and western opulence; illustrated best by the chandeliers made of wagon wheels, illuminated with Viennese cut lead-crystal lamps. It reminded her, vaguely, of a brothel she’d had to enter once to attend to a stabbing victim. They ascended the wide staircase and entered the hallway. Bedroom doors lined the hall. At the far end stood an open door.25
“In there,” instructed the Sheriff, gesturing. He stepped aside, and let Doctor Hemling past. Then he and the Under Sheriff entered and stood against the wall, observing this strange creature called a ‘woman doctor’.26
Doctor Roberta put her bag on the dresser nearest the bed. Standing back from the bed she first took in the whole scene; bed, body, night table, dressers, closets, side door, windows, etc. On the night table she observed several bottles of prescription medications. She picked up a bottle marked Tincture of Laudanum. It was half full, but felt heavy for its volume. Putting it down, she addressed her attention to the victim.27
Lying in the single bed was the corpse of a gunshot victim. Three things immediately caught her attention; the rictus of pain, or surprise, frozen onto the victim’s face; the location of the entrance wound, under the jaw; and the pistol gripped by the right hand immediately below the entry wound.28
“Who was he?” Roberta asked.29
“Simeon Kraft, owner and President of the National Mills Company. They make breakfast foods; and Maltum, the coffee substitute.”30
“Hmm. Any witnesses?” she asked.31
“His nurse heard the shot and came running from her apartment in the carriage house. Nobody else home when he did it,” answered the sheriff.32
“Did she give a time for when she heard the shot?”33
“Yeah. One fifteen. She’d given him his one o’clock medication and gone to her room for a break. Heard the shot a few minutes later and ran back to the house.”34
“Is the nurse available? I need to talk with her.”35
“OK, I’ll get her,” replied the Under Sheriff. “By tha’ way, lady, I’m Osgood Barkley, Under Sheriff of Klickitat County.”36
“And I’m Doctor Hemling, Dr. Cunningham’s replacement.” 37
“Glad ta meet ya’,” he drawled on his way out the door. 38
Opening her bag Roberta pulled out a tongue depressor and pried open the victim’s mouth to confirm the trajectory through the roof of the mouth. The exit wound had punched a hole through the top of the skull, scattering brain tissue, bone fragments and scalp all over the pillows and bedhead. The spent and gory bullet protruded from the wooden bedhead. Next she gave her attention to the entry wound. The stippling, burn marks and residue were consistent with a shot fired with the barrel pressed against the skin. It was the location of the wound, under the jaw, that puzzled her. Lastly she looked at the pistol and the right hand holding the gun.39
The arm and hand lay on top of the bedspread. The hand clutched the pistol, a 1905 Savage Arms .32 caliber automatic, in such a way as to indicate that the gun was fired with the grip resting on the coverlet. Secondly, the gun hand lay very close to the jaw. There didn’t seem to have been any recoil to move the hand away, or any change in the angle of the pistol. The angle of the pistol didn’t match the trajectory of the bullet. All this also puzzled her.40
The Under Sheriff and the ‘nurse’ came in then. “This is Agnes Murphy, Mr. Kraft’s nurse.”41
The young woman in question was outfitted in a light blue dress and white smock, and was wide eyed and still in some shock. Roberta asked her to be seated.42
“You’re a nurse?” Roberta, suspicious, questioned immediately.43
“Not really, Mam. I’m a maid in the Kraft household. His doctor just gave me instructions on how to change his dressings and when and how much medication to give him. That’s all. I…I didn’t do nothin’ wrong did I?”44
“No, Agnes,” Roberta tried to be re-assuring, “I’m sure you didn’t. Now, tell me about this dressing, please.”45
“Mr. Kraft had his appendix out two weeks ago. Up in Yakima, where he lives. Then he and the folks came down here for him to rest up.” 46
Roberta turned to the bed, lifted and moved the gun arm, and pulled back the covers. Unbuttoning the man’s pajama top she removed the fresh bandage over the incision, took a long look, and then sniffed both the bandage and the sutures.47
“Didn’t you notice the irritation and swelling around the incision, or the smell?” she asked, with the tone of a doctor addressing a student nurse. Her professional eyes, and experienced nose, had seen and smelled an infection.48
“I knew that he was sore and he said it hurt some. That’s what the doctor gave him the Laudanum for. He had a drop in his Maltum four times a day.”49
“And you gave him Laudanum at one oclock?”50
“Yes, Mam. I changed his bandage, gave him his medicine, helped him sit up so he could look out the window at the river, and left him to his regular afternoon nap. I went to my room then. Everyone else was gone out, you see. I check on him again at two thirty, regular.”51
“How was he acting when you gave him his medication?”52
Well, he said he hurt some, and would I put a tiny drop more Laudanum in his Maltum, and that he otherwise felt good, and the country air was helping him think clearly. He always liked to come spend time here, you see.”53
“So, he wasn’t acting depressed? Just in pain?” 54
“Yes, that’s right. Just some pain. His doctor said that a man his age would take a few weeks to heal up.”55
“What is his age?”56
“Mr. Kraft is……he was…. Sixty two years old. Just had his birthday to.”57
Thank you Agnes that will be all. You didn’t do anything wrong, my dear. His doctor should never have made you look after him. He should have had a trained nurse.”58
“Thank you, Mam. You some kind a’ doctor lady?”59
“Yes, Agnes. I am a surgeon and run a hospital.”60
“Oh, that’s good.” She got up to leave. “You know,” she said as she was at the door, “it was Mr. Wilson who arranged to have me nurse Mr. Kraft; not the doctor. An’ Mr. Wilson, he got the ‘scriptions from the drug store, too”61
“Who is Mr. Wilson,” Roberta asked the sheriff after Agnes and Osgood had left.62
“Vice President of National Mills Company. He’s down stairs. Well, what’s your verdict, doctor?” ‘Doctor’ was said in ‘that’ tone, but Roberta ignored it.63
“Sheriff Waddell,” Roberta said in her friendliest tone, “let’s have a seat and talk this over.”64
The both grabbed one of the fiddle-back chairs in the room, and sat facing each other.65
“Sheriff, I spent a year in France as a volunteer surgeon in Red Cross hospitals, mostly within artillery range of the Front. I treated wounded French, Belgian, American, and even captured German soldiers. Men with horrific wounds, and many with shell shock and other traumas. I performed operations on all sorts of wounds, some of them self-inflicted. I also performed autopsies and ran pathology tests. Before that I worked in hospital in Philadelphia for eight years. So, I’ve seen a lot of death, and more than a few suicides.”66
“OK,” the sheriff allowed, grudgingly.67
“In my professional opinion, this does not look like a suicide, but rather a suspicious death.”68
“What! Whatja’ mean, lady?”69
“Doctor,” Roberta corrected him frankly. “You will address me as Doctor, if you please, Sheriff Waddell,” emphasizing ‘sheriff’.70
Slightly chastened he replied, “OK. But what do you mean, not a suicide. Sure looks like it to me.”71
“In my experience, Sheriff, men using a pistol aim for the temple; or less often shoot themselves in the mouth. Rarely do they use a pistol to shoot themselves under the jaw. For that they use a rifle; and tend to do it in a sitting position. Secondly, to point a pistol under the jaw, if it is done, the individual usually turns the pistol so that the barrel is parallel with his neck, not pointed away from it, as with our victim. Lastly, the Savage Arms automatic has a bit of kick to it; I know, I own one; and should have pushed the barrel away from the entry wound when fired. It didn’t; which suggests something other than suicide to me.”72
“What something other?” the rancher-turned-sheriff asked slowly.73
“Well, if he didn’t shoot himself, then someone else did, I should think.”74
“You mean, murder! Naw. A man don’t think about how he holds his gun when he’s gunna’ kill hisself. Mr. high-an-mighty Kraft is in pain. He’s just had some laudanum. He can’t handle it, he’s confused, so he ends it all. Nothin’ else happened here, Doc.” 75
The stubborn finality of the sheriff’s negative pronouncement shocked Roberta. She didn’t know if he was blinded by prejudice against women doctors, was plain stupid, or just too lazy to follow up on her opinion.76
“My report will itemize my findings.”77
“You go ahead and write your report. And I’ll write mine. People don’t go killin’ each other in ‘my’ county. Tonight the undertaker from Goldendale will crate up the body and send it up to Yakima, where it will be buried. His family and friends will mourn; and then get on with their lives. Case closed.” The hardness in his eyes didn’t frighten Roberta, but she knew the mindset well enough, and understood that there was no way to confront it head on.78
She stood, walked to the dresser and picked up her bag. “Good day, Sheriff.”79
The two of them walked down the stairs in silence. At the entrance to the sitting room she walked away from the startled sheriff and introduced herself to the group of obviously shaken people.80
“I am Doctor Roberta Hemling, county Medical Examiner. I understand that you are Mr. Kraft’s family and friends. I would like to express my condolences to you.”81
The sheriff had regained his wits, interrupted Roberta, and announced, “The Doc here was just leavin’.”82
One of the men in the group caught the tension between the sheriff and the doctor, stepped forward and asked, “May I accompany you to your car, Doctor Hemling? I am Anderson Hartledge, attorney for National Mills.”83
Taking the cue, Roberta answered immediately, “I would be most grateful, Mr. Hartledge, thank you.” The sheriff led his under sheriff into a corner to converse, while Hartledge and the doctor walked out to her car.84
“I couldn’t help notice the friction between yourself and Sheriff Waddell,” he observed when they were out of earshot of the house.85
“Mr. Hartledge, the sheriff and I had a disagreement about the nature of Mr. Kraft’s death.”86
“Oh? Of what nature?”87
“I felt that the death was suspicious, and the sheriff disagreed.”88
“Suspicious. A very powerful term coming from a Medical Examiner. Would you care to elucidate?”89
“No, thank you, Mr. Hartledge. With no witnesses it boils down to two contrary opinions.”90
“But your opinion…..”91
“My opinion has no hard evidence, only experienced observation. And that, as you know, would by itself hold little weight in court. If the sheriff chooses not to investigate, then I have no recourse.92
“Investigate…” Hartledge ruminated, “yes investigate. Thank you for that, Doctor. May I help you start your machine?” Roberta climbed into the driver’s seat while Hartledge turned the crank. She smiled to herself when it took him three inexpert pulls to get the engine started. Roberta thanked him over the cough of the engine, reversed, and then pulled away from the lodge. Technically, apart from filling in a form and mailing it to the sheriff, her job was done. But she didn’t like to be thwarted by incompetence, or worse. She would find some way to determine if her judgment was correct.93
“All in all,” she thought as she drove back to White Salmon in the growing dusk, “not a good afternoon at all.” It reminded her that her late husband, Walter, had always stood in awe of her persistence in the face of opposition. The memory was bitter-sweet.94
Checking in at the hospital on her way ‘home’ to Dr. Cunningham house, Roberta spoke with the night nurse, and then dropped in to see Mrs. McCurdy and her new baby. Then she drove the two blocks to her accommodation, fixed a light meal, drew a bath, and then went to bed. Her sleep was a kaleidoscope of scenes from France mixed with the day’s events. She was somewhat fatigued when she awoke. It was Wednesday, one of the three days of the week when she opened the doctor’s surgery at the house, and was merely on call for the hospital. She hoped she’d have a few routine patients to occupy her mind, and dull the sting of yesterday’s professional snub.95
As she prepared to make breakfast she rummaged through the householder’s pantry, and found a jar labeled “MALTUM”, with the slogan “Avoid the Coffee Jitters – Drink Maltum”. In large type the label boasted the benefits of Maltum, speaking of its aroma and vitamins, and claiming that it promoted health, peacefulness, and energy. She boiled the kettle, and mixed herself a cup. She sniffed at the esters wafting up from the dark brew, trying to identify the ingredients; malted barley, aromatic hops, and chicory were easy to identify. A sip: also parched wheat, brown sugar, and probably corn starch, were her guesses. ‘About the same as POSTUM. Certainly not the wonder beverages that it, or Postum, claim to be, but drinkable, and not harmful,’ she thought to herself. She’d buy a jar next time she went shopping, just so she wouldn’t use up Doctor Cunningham’s dwindling supply. 96
Doctor Roberta Anne Hemling’s office, Town of White Salmon:97
Her first patient of the day occupied her mind greatly. 98
Having no clerk or nurse assisting her, patients simply sat in the tiny waiting room, and the Doctor saw them in turn. This morning when she opened her office door at precisely nine a.m., a tall young man stood there awaiting entry.99
“Good morning. Are you our new doctor?” he asked in a very friendly manner. “I’m Wilber Williams; but people ‘round here just call me ‘Willie’, or ‘Wee Willie’ if’n they want to make fun of my height.” He stuck out his left hand; an action Roberta interpreted immediately.100
She shook his hand with her left, saying “Good morning to you Wille; I’m Doctor Hemling; but you’re welcome to just call me ‘Doc’ if you wish. Come in, please.”101
“Thanks, Doc,” the young man said, heading familiarly for the patient’s chair next to the doctor’s desk. “Doc Cunningham said he was goin’ on vacation, and we’d have a new doc for a while. He didn’t say you’d be a she.” He smiled a big smile, and looked at the small ribbon on her lapel. “We had some women doctors at the hospital at Argonne. They were good, and good to us, too. You were in France weren’t you?” 102
“Yes, Willie; it seems we both were. Now, is it just the right arm, or are their other wounds?”103
“Just the right arm, Doc. They sent me home in January, and discharged me. Said the arm should heal up Okay; but it still gives me grief. I figured I’d come in first thing, and get acquainted some. Don’t mind, do ya’?” he had such a happy grin that she didn’t mind at all.104
“Okay, take off your shirt and let’s take a look.”105
Willie slid off his braces and unbuttoned his shirt. Roberta closely watched the level of movement in his right arm and the dexterity of his right hand. His actions were stiff, but no pain registered on his face. The shirt off she looked long and hard at the jagged purple scar that ran from his elbow to his shoulder. “Shrapnel?” she questioned; though she knew the answer.106
“Yep. Kinda’ walked along my arm when I was runnin’. Opened me up like a tin can. I didn’t even know it till I tried to shoot my rifle. ‘Walking wounded’ they tagged me; but I wasn’t doin’ too much walkin’ by the time they got me to the hospital.”107
He obviously loved to chatter; and Roberta just listened; knowing that it was his coping strategy, as well as a good way to get information. “Have you been exercising this arm, Willie? It seems a bit stiff. Is it giving you any specific kinds of pain?”108
“My family owns an orchard, up a Husum. I try to do my part of the work, if that’s what you mean by exercise. Hurts at night, and when it gets cold.”109
“Did the army doctors show you any exercises to help get the arm limber again?”110
“Tolt me to squeeze lemons. Don’t got no lemons; only apples and stonefruit.”111
Roberta laughed. “I think what they meant was to squeeze something soft like you were squeezing a lemon for lemonade. Something like an India-rubber ball or a tennis ball. Even a baseball would do. Squeeze it, oh maybe twenty times each, four times a day. Hold your arm out straight, like this,” and she demonstrated. “It will hurt at first; but it will get the muscles working properly again, and restore the circulation in that arm. Another good exercise is to hold an axe in your hand. Hold it out in front of you, count to twenty and then lower it slowly. Wait a minute, and then raise it back up again slowly, and count to twenty again. Do that a couple times a day for the next month. Then come see me. I’ll bet you ‘two bits’ it will be mostly healed up and strong again.”112
Willie gave a big smile. “Gee, thanks Doc. You’re on.”113
“Is there anything else, Willie?”114
“Sorta’. But I don’t know if’n a doctor can help.”115
“What is it Willie?”116
“I just kinda’ feel, well, sorta’ lost, ya’ know? I don’t rightly fit no more. I like farm work, and Ma and Pa need me, at least till my two younger brother’s get older.” The smile had left his face. “But Ma treats me like a baby, an’ Pa keeps his distance from me.”117
Roberta was quiet for a minute, to see if he had more self-revelations, and to gather her own, parallel thoughts. “You know, Willie, I didn’t feel like I fit in either when I came back from France a couple months ago. You, and all the other veterans, and the doctors and nurses all went through things that the folks back home could never experience, and have difficulty understanding. Some of those folks are embarrassed that they can’t understand. Others feel jealous, or angry, or frightened over our experiences. But it’s up to us to help them understand, Willie. Did your father ever serve in the military?”118
“Yep. In the Army during the Spanish-American War. But he never got out of the US of A.”119
“Well, there’s part of the problem and part of the solution, Willie. You’ve done something he’s never done. But, you both share the experience of military life and discipline. When I served in hospitals in France, even though I wasn’t in the Army, I had to learn how to take orders, as well as how to give them. Try talking to your Pa about the things you have in common; camp life, drill sergeants, officers, bad food…”120
Willie laughed at this. “Yeah, I can do that. He used to tell stories like that when I was a kid.”121
“Okay. Once you break the ice with the things you share, then you can start talking about the things that are different.”122
“Okay; but what about Ma?”123
“Does she scare easily?”124
“Like a mouse,” he chuckled.125
“Then she’s probably still scared about having almost her ‘baby’ to the war. And when you came back, wounded, and changed; grown up, and she didn’t like it. She’s probably trying to make it like it was before.”126
“I never thought of that,” he admitted. “What do ya’ reckon I can do about it?”127
“Two things, I think. She must feel insecure. First, as you to build understanding with your father, he can provide more sense of security for your mother. Second, are their things you used to do with or for your mother that you could do now, without undermining your manhood and independence?”128
He thought for a moment. “I used to tend the veggie garden for her, and keep the foxes out of the chicken run. I haven’t been doing that since I came home, ‘cause of my arm.”129
“Both of those things will help your arm heal, Willie. And they are visible reminders of how you used to be, and can be again. What do you reckon? Think you can do it?”130
“Another ‘two bit’ bet?” he asked with a sly grin.131
“You’re on, Willie. Tell me in a month.”132
He laughed as he put his shirt back on. “Thanks Doc. How much do I owe you?”133
“What did Doc Cunningham charge you.”134
“Since I come home, just a bit of fruit, in season.”135
“That will do me, Okay; but it has to be worth more than four bits!”136
“Deal,” he laughed. “I’ll drop some in next time I’m in town.”137
A thought occurred to her. “Willie, you said you live out near Husum.”138
“Yeah, that’s right, in the flats near the river. We pump water from the White Salmon for the orchards when the rain shadow is bad. Why?”139
“What do you know about a place called the Hopgarden Lodge?”140
“You mean Mr. Kraft’s place? Bunch o’ rich folk always stayin’ there. Don’t have nothin’ to do with local folk.”141
“Yes, that’s who I mean.”142
“I heard that ol’ man Kraft shot hisself. Don’t know why tho’.”143
“That’s Okay, Willie. I was just wondering. Now, you remember to do those exercises, and talk to your father, and help your mother. Report back to me in a month.”144
Yes, Mam. I surely will. Goodbye.” 145
She showed him out of her office and into the small waiting room. “Bye Willie.” 146
A young woman, thin and narrow featured, and dressed in mourning clothes, sat in the room. “Hello Willie,” she greeted the veteran, and stood when the doctor invited her into the office. Willie’s response was made inaudible by the door closing.147
Extending her hand, Roberta said, I’m Doctor Hemling, and you are?”148
The patient shook hands politely and took the proffered chair. “Mrs. Emma Anderson, Doctor Hemling. I’m very pleased to meet you. Welcome to White Salmon. Please call me Emma.”149
“What seems to be the problem, Emma?”150
“No problem, really Doctor. I came to offer you some help.”151
“Some help? Are you a medical student or a nurse?” 152
“Oh, no Doctor. I’m… I mean…I was… an office clerk.”153
Roberta was puzzled by this seemingly confident, but confusing young woman. “I still don’t understand, Emma.”154
“Well. I’m guessing that Dr. Cunningham didn’t leave you any patient notes, and no records about prescriptions, or who owed him unpaid fees, did he?”155
Roberta chuckled. “You obviously knew the doctor well. No he didn’t. Why?”156
“I’ll also bet you that there are few records at the hospital, either. No supply inventory, no birth and death records, nothing.”157
The smile left Roberta’s face as she thought of the clerical problems she’d discovered upon her first day at the hospital. “That’s correct,” was all she’d allow, not wishing to criticize a colleague or the matron.158
“So, that’s why I’ve come to help. You need a clerk, to start keeping records, make appointments, and keep your accounts. Dr. Cunningham, well, he is a lovely gentleman, but he’s a ‘horse and buggy’ man. I know you’re going to be here for six months.” Emma was waxing enthusiastic, and Roberta was intreagued. “Think of how organized and modern we could make the hospital and this practice. Then, when Doctor Cunningham gets back, well, you see, it would be up and running, and he’d have to accept it.”159
“The Hospital Board would have to accept it,” Roberta observed practically.160
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Emma blushed slightly, “I forgot to mention. My maiden name was Stone. My father is Mr. Albert Stone.”161
“Ah, I see,” was her reply when the name of the Hospital Board chairman was mentioned. “You’ll put pressure on Daddy and he’ll put pressure on the Board, is that it?” Her tone was a little caustic, as she hated ‘politics’ in medicine. 162
“Well, actually, Doctor, it was his idea in the first place.”163
Roberta raised an eyebrow, and changed her position in her chair.164
“You see, my husband died of Spanish Influenza last year. He was in the Army, in California, training to go to France. We had been living in Olympia. When America joined the war and all the young men volunteered, well, so did Wilber. I thought he was ever so brave. To stay in Olympia I got a job as a clerk-typist at the National Mills head office. But when Wilber died I moved back here to live with Father and my two younger sisters.”165
“Well, it is a commendable idea, and the practice and hospital certainly needs a clerical hand on the tiller; but I can’t afford to pay your wage. And, I suspect that the hospital paying you would be a conflict of interest, what with your father being chairman and all.”166
Emma grew flustered. “I’m so sorry. I just plain forgot to mention it. I wouldn’t ask for a wage. I’d volunteer. I live with Father, and Wilber left me a small estate. Oh, please,” she pleaded, “it would keep me out of Father’s hair, and I’d be ever so useful. Besides, you’re a woman. And with Congress about to propose the Nineteenth Amendment, we’ll have the vote, finally. We can show the local stick-in-the-muds how to really run a hospital.”167
Roberta looked at Emma so long and seriously that the young woman started to loose her enthusiasm, and began to worry; but she daren’t interrupt the doctor’s obvious deliberation. Finally, Roberta drew a breath, and asked, “What qualifications do you have?”168
“Father sent me to a girls’ school in Yakima, and after that I did a year at a business school in Seattle. I worked at the National Mills head office for five months in the typing pool, and doing filing. Since coming back home I’ve worked for Father as sort of a secretary; but I don’t want to be tied to his lumber mill all my life.”169
Roberta made up her mind. “You can start here day after tomorrow; nine o’clock. You’ll need official Board approval to start at the hospital, though. So, one step at a time. It is your responsibility to obtain the necessary patient diaries, index cards, calendars, ledgers and receipt books. Is that clear? That’s your first test.”170
After another five minutes discussion, Emma floated out of the office on a cloud of joyful purpose; while Roberta sat in her office and wondered aloud, “what have I unleashed?”171
The morning gone and she’d seen one patient, and hired one clerk. Not exactly what she’d expected. What had she expected? Something very different from the bustle of Philadelphia, and the unremitting pain of France. And above all the aching loneliness caused by the death of her husband.172
The wall-mounted wooden box telephone jangled in the waiting room. She was wanted at the hospital. She grabbed her bag, hung the ‘gone to the hospital’ sign on the outside door, locked up and headed down the street at her usual quick-march stride. 173
Dr. Hemling’s office, a fortnight later:174
Emma sat at her new desk as the picture of efficiency. Copying out the doctor’s rushed scrawl into a meticulous and eminently legible copperplate, she looked up as the waiting room door opened. She smiled broadly at the gentleman who entered, “Good morning Marshal van Maas. How are you today? The Doctor is with a patient and will be with you soon. Please take a seat.” Within five minutes a very pregnant woman exited the doctor’s inner office and went to Emma’s desk to settle her bill.175
“Are you next?” she enquired of the gentleman. When he stood up her immediate assessment was ‘military man’. Almost six feet tall, strongly built, ramrod erect, blond mustache and a short haircut, the man was dressed in khaki pants, highly polished boots, and a military-style stand-up-collar khaki shirt. He held a dark grey, featherless, Homburg hat in his left hand. On his right shirt pocket hung a badge.176
“Doctor Hemling,” interjected Emma as the pregnant patient left, “this is the White Salmon-Bingen Town Marshal, Mr. William van Maas.” She pronounced it as ‘mess’; and the doctor saw the laugh lines at his eyes crinkle. He shook Roberta’s hand and smiled, his grey eyes assessing her, politely. “You are too formal, Emma,” he chided. To Roberta he said, “Just calling me ‘Marshal’ will do, ‘Doc’.”177
“Marshal, it is then,” she replied as she showed him into her office and motioned to an empty chair. He took the one closest to her desk.178
She had been eyeing his skin colour, and said authoritatively, “Malaria.”179
He nodded. “I was stationed in Panama for several years; but it was worse in Cuba.”180
“Marines?” she asked, sensing the answer.181
“Yes. I resigned my commission in ‘12’ because of the long-term malarial relapses. I came here for the fishing and hunting, decided to stay, and was elected Town Marshal four years ago. Dr. Cunningham had me on Quinine whenever I felt a fever coming on. I thought I’d better come in and let you know.” For the next half an hour Doctor Hemling discussed his case history, and questioned him closely about his liver and kidneys, and the dosages of Quinine Dr. Cunningham had him taking. She wrote out a new script for him to fill at the drugstore. She thought they were finished when he started a new topic. “I heard along the trap-lines that you ran into a little trouble with Sherriff Waddell over Kraft’s death.”182
Roberta sat back and thought for a moment. She felt that she understood van Maas’ type; professional in everything they do, competent though perhaps never brilliant, with a strong sense of values and a duty motive. In short, someone trustworthy. “To his face and in my Medical Examiner’s report I stated that in my professional opinion Mr. Kraft’s death was suspicious, and not likely to have been a suicide. I haven’t heard back from the Sheriff.”183
“You aren’t likely to either. I understand that he quashed your report. Most everybody in the county courthouse is in his pocket, so it won’t go any further. His family were early settlers here, cattle ranchers, powerful.”184
“What if I went to the Kraft family, or to the Washington State Attorney General….? 185
“Bill Tanner,” van Maas supplied the name.186
“Bill Tanner, then?”187
“You’d need more than your gut feeling, even if it’s correct. Tanner’s a lawyer. He’d be death on Waddell’s incompetence….”188
“Or worse,” the doctor interjected.189
“…. but without real proof, he wouldn’t listen and the Governor wouldn’t back him. You see, the Governor wants to set up a State Police force, and Waddell is pushing hard to get appointed to it. I think all you can do is await any developments and see what turns up. But before I offer to help, I need to know exactly why you feel it was suspicious.”190
“Wait a moment.” Roberta went to the door, and peeked into the waiting room. A mother and child were waiting. “I’ll be another five minutes, Emma,” she told her clerk. Closing the door and sitting down she explained her observations and opinions to Marshal van Maas.”191
“Yes. That all sounds logical. I had to deal with a few suicides in the Marines, also. Your theory fits with my more limited experience. But it is my opinion of Kraft himself that suggests foul play rather than suicide. He was a self-made man, a real Horatio Alger type. And, the few times I talked with him he seemed levelheaded and stable; not some moody eccentric. And, he was still reasonably young, only sixty two.”192
“Look,” the Town Marshal continued, “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. Between us we may come across something.” He stood, and offered his hand. “I’m glad to meet you ‘Doc’. I’ve been looking at that French ribbon on your lapel. Some of my friends fought at Belleau Woods. They said that some lady doctors did a great job of patching them up.” He watched her eyes go distant for a moment.193
She sighed after he’d left. Perhaps, she thought, some truth about Kraft’s death might just come out, after all. After writing up her patient notes on the Marshal’s malarial condition, and the other bits of case history he’d disclosed, she went into the waiting room to greet her next patient.194
JEWETT BLVD, WHITE SALMON, WASHINGTON, late June, 1919: 195
Almost four weeks into her sojourn in White Salmon, Roberta had established a routine, of sorts. Monday, Wednesday and Friday were office hours at her home, seeing any patients that made an appointment, or as was more likely just showed up. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays were scheduled days at the Hospital. Every day, all day, she was ‘on-call’ for the hospital; as a regular expectation of being the only doctor for the area. Sunday mornings she attended the service at the Congregational Church. Sunday afternoons she spent driving throughout the district to learn the roads, farms and settlements. From time to time she’d drop in on a farm, just to say ‘hello’ and get a feel for the area’s general wellbeing.196
Whenever she could manage it, Roberta took some time in the afternoons to walk through the town park and down the main street. Besides the walk, to ‘clear the cobwebs’ as she put it, it also allowed her to talk to townspeople and shop keepers. In this way she was getting to know the community better, and to be better known herself. It never ceased to surprise her though that it was the women who were sometimes reluctant to speak with her. While not ‘pretty’ by the standards of the day, she was handsome. Secondly, she was a young widow, and not an old crone. Lastly, she was a professional in a farming community and mill town. Three reasons why some women avoided her. Not so the men. They were always glad to see her, to greet her, or try and engage her in conversation.197
On several occasions she met Marshal van Maas. During these brief conversations she learned that he was forty years old, had graduated from Annapolis Naval Academy in 1901, had been a Major in the Marine Corps, was unmarried, had his office in the Town Hall, had two part-time deputies, and was an avid fisherman. Today, upon leaving the Post Office she met him, in the company of a ferret-faced older man.198
“We were just on our way to try and locate you, Doc. Knew you were likely to be out for your afternoon stroll. This is Mr. Jason Purdy, from Seattle. He runs a detective agency. Mr. Anderson Hartledge, attorney for National Mills, has retained him to investigate the death of Mr. Kraft. He’d like to have a word with you, if he may.”199
Roberta had been watching the detective during Marshal van Maas introduction. She saw a dandified chunky man in an Edwardian suit and bowler hat, hooded eyes, and nervous body language. She took an intuitive dislike to him immediately. The detective did not attempt to shake hands, only touched the brim of his hat when introduced, and muttered a bland ‘good day’. 200
“Perhaps we can walk back up the street to the park, and find a convenient bench, gentlemen,” Roberta suggested, somewhat defensively. When they reached the central park Roberta sat at one end of a bench, Purdy at the other, while the Marshal stood facing them, an observer to the conversation.201
“Does Mr. Hartledge think it wasn’t suicide?” Roberta asked the detective immediately upon sitting.202
The man clearly bristled at her having opened the conversation. “He just wants things cleared up, Mam; ‘cause of the business, you see. I often do work for Mr. Hartledge. I used to work for Pinkertons; but now I have my own agency. So, here I am to ask a few questions on behalf of National Mills.” His manner was meant to be disarming, but had the opposite effect on Roberta.203
“I see,” commented Roberta non-committaly.204
“Why was it you told Sheriff Waddell you thought the death was suspicious?”205
Roberta launched into a very brief recitation of her observations. So brief, in fact, that Marshal van Maas gave her a quizzical glance; as she had been much more detailed with him. Detective Purdy, focused on Roberta, missed the Marshal’s questioning look, and accepted the doctor’s summary at face value.206
“If it was a murder, doctor, who do you think was the killer?”207
“I would have no way of judging that, Mr. Purdy,” was her reply. Her thoughts, however, she kept to herself.208
“So you have no idea other than your suspicions?” 209
“Not suspicions, Mr. Purdy. Professional judgment based on experience.”210
“Have you spoken to anyone about your opinions, Doctor?” 211
Roberta noted his use of the word ‘opinions’. “Not beyond my written report to Sheriff Waddell, and a brief mention to Marshal van Maas.”212
“I see. Well, I think that is about all, thank you Doctor. I’ll take my leave now.”213
“What will you report to Mr. Hartledge?”214
“I haven’t finished my investigation, yet, Doctor. And at any rate, my report will be confidential. You would have to ask Mr. Hartledge personally, yourself; and he would answer, or not, at his own discretion.”215
Purdy and Roberta rose from the bench. The Marshal said, “I’ll walk you back to your car, Mr. Purdy.” As Purdy turned to walk away, Roberta quickly mouthed to the Marshal, ‘come see me.’216
As Purdy and the Marshal walked towards the Town Hall Roberta set off for her house. She was agitated by the conversation just finished. She hadn’t liked the man’s manner or tone; but hoped she wasn’t just being thin skinned. It was just that he had seemed dismissive. And, it puzzled her that Hartledge would hire a private detective when surely he and the company had some political clout in Olympia; or could motivate the Yakima County Sheriff and Coroner to investigate, even across county lines.217
An hour later Marshal van Maas knocked on her waiting room door; it being unseemly for him to knock on a young widow’s front door. Besides, it was a professional, and not a personal matter. 218
“You didn’t trust him, did you, Doc?” van Maas began as he entered the room. It wasn’t surgery hours, so they sat in waiting room chairs rather than in her office. “You certainly didn’t give him a full bottle.”219
“No, I did not,” Roberta said matter-of-factly. “I guess I mentally questioned Mr. Hartledge’s motive for hiring a detective, as much as I disliked the questioner himself. I hope that doesn’t sound petty or defensive. I guess I’m tired of having my professional skills questioned.”220
Marshal van Maas sat thoughtfully for a moment, and then looked at the doctor with understanding. “Hard being a woman in a man’s profession isn’t it?” he commented rhetorically. She gave him a very unladylike snort of derision and rolled her eyes. They both laughed, and then got serious again.221
“It seemed to me,” Roberta began, as if discussing it with herself, “that Mr. Purdy was more interested in who I had shared my concerns with than with my professional observations. And even those observations he tried to reduce to mere ‘opinions’.”222
“Well, I can say that, as an ex-Pinkerton agent, he would possibly have been an unsavory character. Pinkertons do have that reputation. And if, as he himself said, he’s done detective work for Hartledge before, then Mr. ‘H’ may not be lily pure either. But, that is my biased opinion. You see, I’ve been doing my own quiet digging in the last few weeks.”223
“Oh?”224
“Oh, indeed. I know a few ‘little birds’ who will talk about certain things. All part of being a small town police officer. In Yakima and Olympia, Mr. Hartledge is said to be chasing Kraft’s daughter, Judith. Her father dying when the daughter’s suitor could become the next president of National Mills just seems too convenient to my suspicious mind. And the guests’ whereabouts on the day of Mr. Kraft’s death should have been investigated thoroughly; which of course Sheriff Waddell didn’t do. Also suspicious.”225
“Very.”226
“I’ve learned that Mrs. Kraft and Judith were here in town shopping on the day; but that the other guests, Mr. Hartledge, and Mr. Webster Wilson the Vice President of National Mills, were both out fishing that day. But they don’t have corroborating alibis, because they were each fishing alone on separate streams; Wilson on the White Salmon and Hartledge on Indian Creek. The only times their locations can be verified was when the Under Sheriff and the Deputy went looking for them just before you arrived.”227
“So,” Roberta thought aloud, “that makes them potential suspects; unless we think that some outsider came in and murdered Mr. Kraft.”228
“That doesn’t seem too likely to me. Occam’s Razor, you see.”229
“Occam’s Razor?” Roberta querried.230
“A rule-of-thumb I learned at Annapolis. ‘Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem’, or “entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity”.”231
“Showing off are we?” Roberta jibed good naturedly.232
“No. It simply means that you take the simpler of two competing theories. In this case, a stranger killing Mr. Kraft is the more complex theory; but one of the guests doing it is the simpler theory. So, if it was murder, then that makes Mr. Hartledge and Mr. Wilson….”233
“Though not the nurse, I should wager.”234
“…the primary suspects.”235
Just as they voiced this conclusion the wall phone rang, and Roberta went to answer it.236
“Dr. Hemling speaking,” she answered into a faint and crackling line.237
“Doc? This is Fred Bronson, up at the Trout Lake General Store. I gotta Injun woman here about to give birth, and she’s having troubles. Can you come up here? We got no way to get her to the hospital today.”238
“I’ll be there as quick as I can, Fred. Count on it.”239
“Problem?” asked the Marshal.240
“Indian woman up at Trout Lake having trouble with a delivery. I’ll have to drive up there.”241
“That would be Joseph Meadow’s wife, Mary. She’d be due about now. It’ll be her third. Look,” he said as she ducked into her office to grab her bag, “I’ll drive you up there. My car is faster than Doc Cunningham’s, and besides, Joseph is a friend of mine.”242
“Okay. You go start your car while I let the Hospital know where I’ll be.” She rang the operator who connected her to the hospital. The car, a powerful 1918 Chevrolet V-8, was already backed around and ready to drive off. Red with white lettering on the front doors saying ‘Marshal’, the vehicle would eat up the miles to Trout Lake much more rapidly, and safely, than the doctor’s tired Model-T. 243
On the drive up Marshal van Maas explained that Joseph Meadow, also known as ‘Klickitat Joe’, was a member of the “Prairie People” tribe but lived on the southwestern corner of the Yakima Indian Reservation nearest Trout Lake. He made a living, of sorts, as a hunting and fishing guide in the southern Cascade Range and the local tributaries of the Columbia River. “He was my guide when I first came up here,” he observed. 244
Trout Lake General Store, near the Yakima Indian Reservation, Klickitat County:245
Thirty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of the Trout Lake General Store. Joseph Meadow and Mr. Bronson were standing on the front porch waiting. 246
“My wife’s with her to help you,” Bronson informed them as they got out of the Chevrolet.247
“They are round back, I show you,” Joseph said more helpfully. Roberta grabbed her bag and followed the man to a paddock behind the store. There she found Mary Meadow almost exhausted from labor, lying on a blanket in the back of a buckboard. Mrs. Bronson was exhausted also, but more from worry. Roberta introduced herself, and began her examination.248
Joseph said, “I leave women now,” and went to check on his old mule that grazed in the paddock. Then he walked back to the front of the store, where he found the Marshal with a freshly purchased tin of tobacco and some beef jerky. Bronson had returned to his shop keeping, though there were no customers in the hamlet today. The two men sat in the Marshal’s car and talked, smoked and chewed the jerky. They talked about everything except women and birthing babies.249
Within half an hour the wail of a newborn split the afternoon. Ten minutes later Doctor Hemling came around the corner to inform Joseph that he was now the father of a boy. After holding his emotions in check for so many hours, he finally let out a broad grin, and leapt out of the car to run to his wife and new child.250
“It was a breached birth,” Roberta informed the Marshal. “I had to perform a Cesarean. It was a near thing. If Bronson hadn’t phoned and you hadn’t driven your faster car, I’m sure we would have lost them both.”251
The Marshal nodded at this information, patted Roberta on the shoulder and understatedly said, “I’m glad too. Joseph is a friend.”252
“She’ll have to rest here a few days, till the sutures knit a bit. That unsprung wagon would be too much for her.”253
The Marshal frowned. “None of the locals here will have them in their houses. Joseph will make camp in the field. I’ll talk to Bronson.”254
Just then a beaming father brought his new son for the Marshal to see. “We name him William Robert Meadow. Mary says you save her and baby, cut baby out. I thank you. Maybe baby grow up to be doctor, eh?”255
“There are already Indian doctors, Joseph. One of them was Doctor Susan LaFlesche Picotte. She was an Omaha woman from Nebraska. She graduated from the same medical school that I did. There is a hospital named after her.”256
“This makes me glad to hear, Doctor Roberta.”257
Roberta returned to the buckboard to double check on Mary Meadow. She and van Maas didn’t head back to White Salmon until dark, when she was satisfied that all the stitches were holding and that there was no post-partum bleeding. The Marshal took the return trip a bit slower. Along the way he informed Roberta of the information Joseph had shared regarding the day Mr. Kraft had died. It still wasn’t proof, but it did tip the balance in their minds. But, still, they would have to await other developments before they could use Joseph’s information. 258
Doctor Roberta Anne Hemling’s office, July, 1919:259
Roberta heard a conversation in the waiting room, and expected Emma to announce a patient momentarily. When several minutes had past and no knock came at her door, Roberta grew inquisitive, got up and opened the door a crack. In the otherwise empty waiting room she overheard Emma and Willie having an animated chat. He was perched on a corner of her desk, and she was leaning forward in her chair; the two of them wrapped in an envelope of private space. At his feet sat a box of Ball canning jars, full of preserved fruit. 260
Roberta smiled, waited another minute, and then opened her office door. The two young people sprung apart like startled pigeons, Willie looking awkward, and Emma turning several shades of red, they both waited for the doctor to speak. Discretely pretending not to have observed a thing, Roberta said, “Oh, hello Willie. I thought I heard voices in the waiting room. Come for a check-up on that arm?”261
“Ah…yes Doc. And I brought some of Ma’s canned fruit for you. She says the apples’ll make good pies; and the stonefruit is good for jams.”262
“You tell her I’m grateful, please, Wilie. And tell her I make my pies with apples, raisins, brown sugar and some ground nutmeg.” Turning to the still flustered Emma, Roberta instructed, “Emma would you please carry that box into my kitchen for me while I tend to Willie’s arm?” Roberta couldn’t help allowing a smirk to slip on to her face momentarily. Emma hefted the box and exited through the door that linked the house with the surgery, while the doctor and Willie went into the inner office. 263
“Have you been doing the exercises, as I suggested, Willie?”264
“Yes, doctor, every day,” he replied as he slipped off his shirt, “see?”265
Roberta could indeed see an improvement in the muscle tone as well as a healthier looking scar. She manipulated his fingers, hand, wrist, elbow, and shoulder socket. “That’s very good, Willie. A bit of liniment in cold weather, and you should have no future troubles.”266
“And your advice about Ma and Dad worked too.”267
“Oh? Tell me about it.”268
“When Dad and I were working in the orchard I got us talking about camp life. After a few days he opened up some, and started askin’ questions on his own. I don’t tell him the really bad stuff, ‘cause, well, you know why. And Ma seen me doing chores I used to do; and without bein’ asked. When she stopped naggin’, and started singin’ in the kitchen, I knew she was on the mend.”269
“That’s great news, Willie.” 270
“And there’s more,” he enthused. “My brothers have grown so that now they’re takin’ on more and more of the heavy chores from Dad. Dad and I talked, and after the harvest is in I can get me a job in town. I’ve already talked to Mr. Haverman at the garage. He says I could talk the trunk off’n elephant; and that he needs a salesman who can also do mechanical repairs. I love workin’ with mechanical things, Doc. So, come autumn I’ll have me a town job, an’ a future where I fit in….Oh… I near forgot. Mr. Haverman wants a note from you sayin’ my arm’s fixed.”271
Roberta got a sheet of hospital stationary and an envelope out of her desk drawer, wrote a short note passing Willie’s arm as fit, and handed it to Willie. She smiled her biggest smile. “You might have need of a wife to go with that job, eh Willie?”272
He looked at her with a cheeky grin and a conspiratorial wink. “I just might do, mightn’t I,” he allowed. Pulling on his shirt he was about to leave the office when Roberta handed him two quarters. “What’s this?”273
“We had a bet, two bits on the arm, and two bits on your folks. You won. I’m paying up.”274
“Gee, thanks, Doc.” 275
She closed the door behind him, not wishing to listen in on any continuing conversation. She wondered if Willie understood what a catalyst Emma would make him as a wife. And, she mused, the Apostle Paul had good reasons for encouraging young widows to remarry. She wondered, not for the first time, how well she’d face up to the looming first anniversary of her husband’s death; and if she qualified as a ‘young widow’ or not.276
As she was brooding on this she heard the phone on the wall behind Emma’s desk jangle. A moment later Emma’s shrieking “Doctor!” caused her to bolt out of her office and grab the earpiece away from a shaking assistant. Willie, still there, stood agape.277
“Yes,” she bellowed down the line. Listening, her face took on a hardness no one in the town had witnessed yet. This was her ‘frontline’ face, the look she wore when a convoy of wounded was brought in. She fought her anger with efficiency and organization, and above all skill. She barked orders.278
“Willie, bank robbery, wounded, go start my car!” His military training kicked in, and he obeyed without asking why.279
“Emma, phone Nurse Hargreaves and order, not tell, order her to come to the hospital immediately. Then close the office and follow me over to the hospital.”280
Before Emma could ask anything, the doctor had run to her office and grabbed her bag, then run out the door and jumped into the now running Model-T. “Go!” she commanded. Willie raced the two blocks to the hospital, where Roberta jumped out before he could bring the car to a full stop. She was already inside by the time he parked away from the entrance. Behind him the Marshal’s car and two civilian cars had raced up the street and pulled up in front of the hospital. Willie helped the two deputies carry a badly wounded man inside, while passengers assisted the less wounded.281
Inside Doctor Hemling was clearly in command. She was instructing, in no uncertain terms, Matron Crawford on the division of labor. “Hargreaves will assist me in the operating theatre. You, and Nurse Manning, will prep the wounded, and monitor them. I decide who gets treated first. You are to commandeer any civilian who helps bring in wounded as orderlies to assist you with the wounded, and with out existing patients. And, lastly, you are responsible to keep all, and I mean all, gawkers and busybodies out of this hospital. And that includes our esteemed board members. Emma will be here shortly, and will take patients’ personal details. Is that all clear?”282
A cowed Matron, in over her head with this kind of emergency, acknowledged the doctor’s instructions, and went off to prepare the hospital for the most difficult day it had yet experienced. 283
As Roberta turned to face the entrance four men carried a badly wounded man into the building. “All the others are ‘walking wounded’, Doc,” Willie informed her. Roberta looked at the wounds and ordered the men to carry him into the operating room. The walking wounded she assessed as they limped in. First through the door was Marshal van Maas. He was indeed limping, leaning on a civilian, a bullet wound to his leg. Roberta, in her professional detachment, didn’t have time to reflect on her friend having been wounded. “Men’s ward,” was all she said after she’d torn open his pant leg and inspected the location of the entry wound.284
Next through the door was Mrs. Simpson, with a head would. Roberta assessed it as a graze, but instructed Matron to keep watch for any signs of concussion or paralysis. “Women’s ward,” and the distraught woman was led away. 285
Last in was Wayne Cooper, the bank teller. She assessed him as having a shoulder wound and a grazed rib. “He’ll be next, Matron,” Roberta ordered. “Pre-op morphia and atropine for the men. No analgesics for Mrs. Simpson.”286
Nurse Heargraves arrived then, and Roberta pushed her into the theatre to scrub up. While they washed and put on aprons, Roberta kept up a running set of orders. To the Deputies and Willie standing around she said, “I want you three out of here. Report to Matron and assist her. Keep all civilians out of this hospital, I want no nosy busybodies poking around, understand?” 287
“We need to stay and guard the prisoner, Doc,” one deputy protested.288
“Sam, he’s too badly shot up to go anywhere, and once we anesthetize him he definitely won’t go anywhere. Every one but Sam out, now! Sam, you stay and hold the prisoner until Nurse Hargreaves administers the anesthesia. Then you leave to.”289
“Yes, Doc.”290
“And all of you, wash up with carbolic soap before you touch anyone or anything else!”291
“Yes, Doc.”292
To Nurse Hargreaves, the best trained of her three nurses, she instructed, “I want you to sedate the patient using a chloroform and ether combination; chloroform first followed by ether, using two separate masks. Use the Schimmelbush mask for the chloroform; then a second mask for ether with two layers of gauze. I will start with the right lumbar wound. The arm we can attend to if he survives the abdominal damage.” While the nurse got to work on the anesthetic, Doctor Hemling started an intravenous saline drip, trying to make up for some of the volume of the man’s blood loss.293
Despite her extensive field hospital experience, the operation was still a complex and wearisome one. An hour and a half after starting, Roberta had the perforations of the ascending colon and small bowel repaired, contamination cleaned out of the site, her incision and the exit wound sewn up. From the arm she removed a bullet, then set and plastered the upper arm. 294
The matron stuck her head into the theatre when Roberta called out for her. “This one is ready to go to the ward. Tell a deputy he can handcuff him to the bed, if he wants. I want him on minimal amounts of morphine and atropine until I have finished these other patients and can check up on him.”295
As two of the impressed orderlies carried the first patient out on a stretcher, two other brought in Mr. Cooper. Already partially sedated he went out like a light as Nurse Hargreaves started the anesthetic. After checking that the chest wound was indeed only a graze to the second rib, Roberta turned her attention to his shoulder. Removing the bullet was straightforward. The hairline fracture of the collar bone would heal once the arm was strapped firmly down for a few weeks. Sewing him up was a matter of but a few minutes, and the Matron was instructed to bind him up tightly back on the ward.296
Mrs. Simpson was next in. Roberta spoke softly and kindly to the middle-aged lady. Her main desire was to keep Mrs. Simpson calm. ‘She was one very fortunate woman’, Roberta observed aloud. The bullet had struck a silver ornament on Mrs. Simpson’s fashionable hat, purchased in Seattle no less, and had been deflected. Instead of penetrating her skull, the bullet had merely caused a lengthy flesh wound; causing Mrs. Simpson to have a humdinger of a headache. Roberta carefully checked Mrs. Simpson’s eyes for signs of hemorrhage or concussion. She checked her reflexes and hearing and had her walk around the operating table without holding on. Satisfied that there was no indication of concussion, Roberta had the nurse clean the wound and Roberta gave it four stitches for good measure. 297
“A day’s bed rest here and some analgesic for the pain and you’ll be right as rain by the weekend, Mrs. Simpson.” Slightly patronizingly, she added, “You’ve been very brave, Belinda. I’ll write a script out instructing your husband to take you back to Seattle to buy a new hat as a reward. Okay?” Mrs. Simpson beamed at the praise as Nurse Manning helped her back to her ward.298
Last in was Marshal van Maas. This was a calculated risk, as Roberta didn’t know if the bullet had travelled around inside the leg or not, doing additional damage. But she wasn’t about to play favorites in the order of treatment. Van Maas came in under his own steam, but with a deputy walking behind, should he topple over. 299
“Playing brave Marine, are we?” Roberta chided pointedly. “Put him under, nurse, and well see how faithful this Marine really is.”300
Once he was out, Roberta’s probe quickly located the bullet. After the bullet she removed a small splinter of bone. Probing found no additional damage. She sewed him up, called in the matron, and called it a day. She asked Nurse Manning to clean up the theatre while she and Nurse Hargreaves went for a well-earned mug of very strong coffee and a bully-beef sandwich each. 301
Roberta then cleaned up, checked the status of the theatre, and began checking up on her patients. The prisoner, sedated and unconscious, lay in a bed in the far corner of the ward, furthest from the door. One arm was handcuffed to the bed, and a Deputy Marshal stood leaning up against the wall next to the bed. The patient’s heart sounded strong, and his respiration was normal. She moved on to Mr. Cooper.302
“How do you feel, Wayne?” she asked the groggy patient. “Mite sore, Doctor. How long I gotta’ stay here?”303
Just a few days, Wayne. Just till I’m sure there’s no infection and that your shoulder is healing Okay. Your rib will be sore for a while, but there was no damage. But you won’t be counting change for a while with that arm all tied up.”304
“Reckon they’ll give me some time off, Doc?”305
“I reckon Christmas came early for you, Wayne. Maybe I can have a bit of a word in your manager’s ear.”306
“I’d be obliged,” were his fading words as he drifted off into narco sleep. In a way, it always amused Roberta, the things people in shock could worry about.307
Lastly, in the men’s ward, she went and sat on the edge of Marshal van Mass’ bed. He was awake and alert, though his face showed the strain of the gunfight, wounding and operation.308
“How ya’ doin’ Doc?” He asked when he saw the deep fatigue in her eyes. 309
“Just another day in sunny France,” was her attempt at a humorous reply. “Tell me what happened. I’ve been too busy to ask before, you might have guessed.”310
“Yeah, I guessed. Good thing we had a battlefield surgeon in town, eh?”311
“Hmm”, she mused, but wouldn’t be drawn. “Now, tell me what happened,” she insisted.312
The kid,” meaning the robber, “is from Oregon. He came across the river by boat. I guess he planned to rob the bank, hightail it back across the river, out of our jurisdiction, and then disappear somewhere in Oregon or maybe California. At any rate, there was just Wayne Cooper, and Belinda Simpson in the bank when our idiot desperado went in. He demanded all the cash in the drawers. It only came to about $700. Wayne musta’ made some fool move when he handed over the sack of money, ‘cause the boy shot him twice. Belinda screamed, and he took a shot at her on the way out of the door. 313
Sam Cooke, in the Emporium next to the bank, heard the shots and phoned me straight up. By then the kid was running down the street, back towards the landing. My car, engine off and coasting downhill, could roll faster than he could run, so the deputies and I got there same time he did. He fired once, and hit me. We three each fired once. He went down. The rest you know.”314
He took a rest from talking for a minute. In her mind Roberta was thinking, “Damn you, William van Maas! I came here for a rest, not more shooting!’ He looked at her compassionately; and she realized that she must have whispered her thoughts aloud. Embarrassed, she observed, “You’ll have to stay off that leg for at least a week. The bullet nicked a bone. Then there’ll be no work…” He began to protest, “No work, I said, for another two weeks. After that its crutches or cane until I say otherwise. And that’s going into a letter to the town council.” Her eyes were flashing, and he took her very seriously. 315
“What about my prisoner?”316
“If he lives, you can have him just as soon as I say he’s fit to stand trial. Now, you need some rest. I’ll check on your leg around ten tomorrow morning.” 317
With that she went into the women’s ward and made sure that Mrs. Simpson was resting quietly. Then she called her three nurses into her office for a debriefing, praising them for their fine work. Finally, she headed home; walking this time, and enjoying the solitude. Sitting in the parlor in the gathering dusk she drifted into a fretful sleep, only to be awoken by a mid-summer heat-lightening storm over the Columbia River Gorge. 318
She found herself shaking from the combined stress of the emergency operations and the artillery-like lightening strikes. It was all too much like France. On top of that she missed her husband, Walter; who himself had died when an artillery barrage had hit the advanced field hospital where he was assigned. She spent no little time, there in the lengthening night, crying for all the things and people she’d lost in the last year. She awoke in the morning, stiff and sore, still in the same chair.319
Throwing some wood into the woodchip water heater, she made some breakfast while the water temperature rose. Then she had a bath before dressing and heading back to the hospital. Breakfast and a bath were luxuries she had often gone without in France. So, to that extent she was grateful, and somewhat refreshed.320
It only took a moment to see that Mrs. Simpson could be discharged that morning. The dear lady would have enough gossip to keep her clique going for weeks to come. And the hat, Roberta felt assured, would be often displayed. She laughed to herself, and went and wrote the note for Mrs. Simpson’s husband: ‘prescribed, one shopping trip to Seattle to purchase a new hat. Signed, Doctor Roberta Anne Hemling, Surgeon.’321
Wayne Cooper was doing well, and she told him to expect to be released tomorrow. She’d already spoken to Mr. Demmerley, the bank manager, about Wayne’s recuperative needs, and gotten his assurance that the bank, a branch of its Seattle parent company, would give him a bonus and some time off.322
Her prisoner-patient, now known to be one Thomas Matthews, gave her a triple headache this morning. Firstly, his condition had deteriorated in the night; something to be expected, actually. She checked his bandages, and decided to put in a drain for the abdominal wound. She asked Matron Crawford, herself showing signs of strain from yesterday, to have him prepped for the brief procedure. Once the drainage tube was in place, Roberta was happier with the patient’s chances. She ordered another bottle of saline drip for him.323
Secondly, Under Sheriff Osgood Barkley eventually arrived, demanding to be able to transport ‘his’ prisoner to the Klickitat County Jail in Goldendale. Roberta carefully, clearly, emphatically, and repeatedly explained to the erstwhile officer of the law that the prisoner could not legally be transported until she gave her written authorization. Whoever had jurisdiction, local, county or state, no one was going to transport the prisoner until she said so. End of debate.324
She won, of course; both the law, common sense, and her stubbornness, were on her side. Several times during the debate with Osgood she had caught a look of mischief on the Marshal’s face out of the corner of here eye. After the Under Sheriff was politely, but firmly, sent packing, Roberta went over to van Maas’ bed. Their talk was interrupted by the third circumstance surrounding the prisoner-patient. This came in the person of one Susan Pettiford, the prisoner’s common-law ‘wife’. On hearing about the shootout, she’d gotten someone to boat her across the river from Oregon that morning.325
She was a bedraggled sight. It didn’t take Roberta long to work out that, one, Miss Pettiford was none to bright, and two, that she was probably the instigator of the failed robbery attempt. When she arrived and asked to see Thomas, Roberta took her into her office and explained his medical condition. Not until Roberta was satisfied that the girl would not fall apart on seeing her wounded mate would she allow her into the ward. Thomas Matthews was still unconscious from the recent procedure, so the young woman simply sat near his bed, with a Deputy still in attendance, and wept softly. 326
Roberta had learned that the couple were destitute, ostracized by her family, and that she had nowhere to stay. Roberta, with some of the compassion she rationed judiciously, phoned the Congregational Church. Speaking with the pastor’s wife, Roberta arranged for the Ladies’ Guild to care for Miss Pettiford. Besides, Roberta reasoned, it would do the ladies of the Guild a world of good to serve someone else for a change.327
White Salmon Hospital Board Meeting, Mid-August, 1919:328
Chairman Stone called the special meeting to order. “I’ve called this extraordinary meeting because I have received a telegram from abroad that has a direct bearing on the running of our hospital.” Taking out his glasses, Stone began to read:329
Paris, July 12, 1919 – stop -330
Regret to inform you Dr Cunningham died of complications following 331
Emergency Gall Bladder surgery – stop - Have arranged for his remains to 332
be repatriated to White Salmon – stop – Expect casket by end of July – stop - 333
Signed – James Alexander334
Cultural Attaché335
US Embassy336
- end - 337
A buzz circulated around the table, except for Dr. Hemling, who saw the implications immediately. Stone let the shock and conversation burn out naturally. Hettie Young, spinster, was especially distraught, and needed time to deal with the news. Eventually, the six board members regained their composure.338
“Dr. Hemling,” Stone addressed her, “in light of this unfortunate turn of events, I would like to know if you are prepared to extend your contract an additional six months. That will allow us the necessary time to select a suitable candidate for a permanent position. You of course would be eligible to apply for that position if you so desired.” The committee members all voiced their desire to see Roberta stay on for an entire year. Indeed, they were quite insistent. 339
“With the Board’s indulgence,” Roberta began, “I’d like a day or two to consider your request. May I have until Friday, then?” The Board agreed, and the special meeting was adjourned in a hubbub of commiseration regarding Dr. Cunningham’s untimely death. To Roberta it was a double challenge, and she left the meeting quite torn. 340
“Well?” posited the Marshal as they sat in her home office the next day. 341
“Yes, well.” Roberta hedged. 342
“Would it impinge on any major plans you have if you stayed another six months?”343
“No, not really. I was only planning on going back to Philadelphia and setting up my own practice. But I hadn’t committed to anyone about it.”344
“And, if you stay, you could be more effective in reorganizing the hospital; and maybe tackling your idea of fortnightly clinics in Trout Lake, BZ Corner and Glenwood.”345
“There is that,” she allowed.346
“Changing the subject for a moment, I have been talking with some contacts in Olympia and Seattle about Joseph’s information. Be prepared for things to get interesting.”347
“Interesting, in what way?”348
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we,” he answered mischievously. She shot him a withering look. He stood, smiled and as he left said, “Let me know what you decide. Okay?”349
“Okay.”350
That afternoon Joseph Meadow entered the waiting room, carrying a native basket and another artifact, and a bundle wrapped in newspaper. He asked to see the doctor. 351
Roberta stood and greeted Joseph as he was shown into her office. “Hello, Joseph. It’s good to see you. You didn’t drive your wagon all the way down here did you? Are you sick?”352
“No Doctor. I’m Okay. I come with Mr. Bronson on his truck. Mary sends you a present for helping her birth William Robert.”353
“That’s very kind of her, Joseph. Are she and the baby doing well? I can drive up to Trout Lake to see them if you want me to.”354
“I think she come see you when she wants. But she sent you these.” He handed over the basket he had been carrying. “She make basket so that you can pick berries and fruit when harvest comes.” Then he handed over what looked like a miniature tennis racket, without strings. The handle was a pole that led to a loop. In the loop was a net made of string. From the net a draw string led back up the handle. “This is child’s toy, a dip net for salmon fishing. Mary hear your husband die. She sad. Say not good you live alone. You take net and catch new husband come salmon fishing time.” Lastly he handed over the package. “This is smoked salmon. Very good food. You hang it up it stay good all year, like beef jerky.”355
“I don’t know what to say, Joseph. These are very special gifts. I thank you and Mary very much.”356
Joseph reached inside his shirt and pulled out an envelope. “Marshal asked me to give this to you. Very important.”357
Roberta took the envelope, which had been addressed to Marshal van Maas with an Olympia postmark. Inside was a summons. Her eyes got wide as she read.358
“I get one also. We take train, I think.”359
Roberta nodded. “Yes, Joseph, we will take the train. Tomorrow.”360
After Joseph left, Roberta wrote a letter to Mr. Stone, accepting the offer of six additional months; and requesting an immediate week’s leave of absence to attend to ‘personal business’ in Seattle. She asked Emma to hand-deliver the letter to her father immediately. After Emma had left, Roberta made a series of phone calls, and then went into the house to pack.361
WHITE SALMON HOTEL, LATE-AUGUST, 1919:362
There was only one decent restaurant in the town of White Salmon, at the Columbia Hotel. Judith Kraft and her fiancée Mr. Anderson Hartledge, attorney at law, were want to have lunch there every Friday when they, and her mother, were staying at Hopgarden Lodge. Despite the death of Mr. Kraft, the family still used the lodge, simply having closed off the two rooms at that end of the house. There had been no great love-loss between Mr. and Mrs. Kraft, and he was ‘out of sight was out of mind’; as long as his will gave the National Mills Company to her and Judith. 363
So, today being no exception. Judith and Hartledge had driven into town and entered the hotel dinning room. Judith sported a brand new diamond engagement ring that sent the women dinners into a twitter. Soon after they were seated Sheriff Waddell came in and seated himself with them. A pleasant conversation ensued, and they were about to order when Marshal van Maas entered the dinning room. Striding directly to their table, the Marshal pulled up a chair, turned its back to the three dinners, and straddled the chair facing them.364
“What is the meaning of this, Marshal?” fumed Hartledge. Judith added an insulted “Really, Marshal.” And the Sherriff stifled a profanity.365
Marshal van Maas merely smiled and gave his attention to Judith Kraft. “There is a children’s poem of which I am partially familiar, Miss. Kraft. It goes like this: "The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--Of cabbages--and kings--And why the sea is boiling hot--And whether pigs have wings."366
“I think,” he continued, “that the time has come to tell you a little story.”367
“Marshal, this is outrageous. I must ask you to leave this table at once,” demanded Hartledge.368
Van Maas ignored the protest, but when he saw the Sheriff’s hand edge under his vest, he said in a very cold voice, “I’d be keeping your hands in plain sight, Sheriff. You see those two men at the table by the door? They’re my deputies, and they don’t take kindly to people breaking the local ordinance about carrying weapons within the town boundaries.” The sheriff withdrew his hand from his shoulder holster and eyed the Marshal with eyes of ice. Judith saw that both guests were cowed, and turned a puzzled face to the Marshal. He continued his ‘story’.369
“You see, Miss Kraft, there was a little pig that wanted to fly very badly. It didn’t have wings of its own, so, being a very bad pig, it decided to steal some. But to steal those wings it had to kill the person who owned the wings. And then the dirty little pig had to marry the daughter of the man he killed. He was a very ambitious pig.”370
Not being particularly obtuse, Miss Kraft looked questioningly at her fiancée, and saw fear in his eyes. Van Maas continued. “There was another little pig. He was ambitious and wanted to fly too. He thought that he could grab a hold of the flying pig’s feet, and get a ride to his preferred destination, you see.”371
At this veiled accusation the Sheriff, who had been digging at the wax in his ear, suddenly stood, in disregard of the two deputies, and was reaching for his gun when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. “No you don’t, Waddell,” an authoritative voice ordered. The hand forced Waddell back into his seat, reached under his vest and withdrew the revolver.372
“Miss Kraft, I’d like to introduce Mr. Jerome Hughes, Assistant Attorney General for the State of Washington. Mr. Hughes, Miss Judith Kraft.” She looked up and beheld a very dapper, and very imposing man of about thirty five. His face was set hard. She realized that he must have been sitting at the table behind Waddell the entire time. Then she recognized the woman also sitting at that table; Doctor Roberta Anne Hemling. There was a look of sheer victory written on her stern face.373
“Mr. Anderson Hartledge, I have here a warrant for your arrest issued by a grand jury impaneled to consider the wrongful death of Mr. Simeon Kraft.” Handing the warrant to Hartledge, Hughes continued, “I therefore arrest you for the murder of Mr. Kraft.”374
At that Judith Kraft lunged across the table screaming a string of oaths Marshal van Maas hadn’t heard since leaving the Marine Corps. She raked Hartledge’s face with her manicured nails, leaving track marks across one cheek. Doctor Hemling came over to restrain and comfort her, and led her out of the dinning room, and away from all the gawking dinners.375
Hughes then turned to Waddell. “Conklin Waddell, I am authorized to arrest you for conspiracy to murder.”376
At this the Marshal made a hand signal to someone standing outside the dinning room, and in walked two burley men. Dressed in brown cavalry britches, blue uniform shirts, Sam Brown belts, and visored police-style hats, the pair were introduced by Hughes: “These gentlemen are officers of the Washington State Police, and will take you under custody to Olympia to stand trial.”377
Handcuffed, Hartledge and Waddell were taken, protesting and indignant, out of the hotel dinning room by the two troopers and a smiling Hughes, assisted by the Marshal’s two deputies. Marshal van Maas and Doctor Hemling drove the distraught Kraft woman back out to Hopgarden Lodge. There they explained the day’s events to a thoroughly angry Mrs. Kraft.378
“He betrayed us!” Mrs. Kraft kept repeating. Finally, Roberta offered both women a sedative.379
“How,” a finally subdued Judith Kraft asked, “were you able to prove that Hartledge killed my father?”380
The Marshal replied, “The professional judgment of Doctor Hemling, and the testimony of a witness who saw Hartledge leaving the house immediately after the shot was fired. If Hartledge hadn’t made such an effort to throw us off the scent by having his thug Purdy undertake a fake investigation, then we probably wouldn’t have been motivated enough to pursue the matter once Sheriff Waddell had quashed Doctor Hemling’s report.”381
“Purdy was the real give-away,” added Roberta. “He was too interested in my actions and not in obtaining evidence. Marshal van Maas did some checking on our Mr. Purdy, and found out that his so called detective agency was used by Hartledge to intimidate National Mills employees in order to keep the unions out of the company. Bashings and murder were part and parcel of Purdy’s operations.”382
“And, Waddell was an easy one to figure,” continued van Maas. “He was ambitious, and corrupt. As a rancher and wheat grower, he had a business arrangement with Hartledge, that after Mr. Kraft’s murder he would supply National Mills at inflated prices. Also, he wanted to be appointed to a senior post in the newly created Washington State Police force, and felt that Hartledge could help with his political connections. Hartledge knew this, and used that ambition to enlist Waddell in his plans. He just hadn’t planned on Doctor Hemling being the Medical Examiner; as he had banked on Dr. Cunningham’s well known lack of thoroughness.”383
“On the day,” explained Roberta, “Hartledge only pretended to go fishing. As soon as the two of you had driven away he snuck into Mrs. Kraft’s bedroom via the back stairs, and waited until the nurse left. Then he entered Mr. Kraft’s room through the connecting master bedroom door and shot him. The Laudanum was extra strength, and Mr. Kraft was too stuporous to defend himself. He then planted the gun in Mr. Kraft’s hand and bolted down the outside staircase facing the river. There he was seen by someone who knew him by sight, and who knew he had not been fishing on Indian Creek, as his alibi claimed.”384
“Who was that witness, and why didn’t he come forward sooner?” asked Mrs. Kraft.385
“It was Klickitat Joe, Joseph Meadow, the fishing guide. He had had a client on the Indian Creek that day and knew that Mr. Hartledge couldn’t have been in two places at once. He didn’t come forward immediately for two reasons. Firstly, Sheriff Waddell had always abused Joseph, arresting him on false charges several times just because he was the traditional owner of the land the Waddell family ranches on. It was just spite, and Joe didn’t trust the Sheriff. Second, Joe didn’t know Doctor Hemling at all, whether she was trustworthy or not. It wasn’t until she saved the life of Joe’s wife that he told me about Hartledge.”386
“But the gun. Wasn’t that my husbands?”387
“No,” explained the Marshal. “Your husband bought several at one time. He kept one, and gave one each to Hartledge, Webster Wilson, and also to your company Treasurer and Secretary. Hartledge knew where your husband kept his. He removed your husband’s and kept it as his own when he got back to Yakima for the funeral. There was no record of who had been issued with which gun, and they were all identical. Savage Arms provided me with the batch’s serial numbers. A check showed that Wilson and the other two company officers had the last three serial numbers, but that the gun that killed your husband was the second on the list. Logically, your husband’s would have been the first, or lowest, serial number.”388
“Marshal van Maas convinced the Attorney General to convene a grand jury. I and Joseph were subpoenaed to give testimony. The Marshal gave his circumstantial evidence, and the grand jury issued the arrest warrants for Hartledge and Waddell; and for Purdy also. The actual trials will take some time, and a guilty verdict isn’t assured….”389
“….But we can hope,” interjected the Marshal. “I’m sorry for your disappointments and shock Miss Kraft. I hope you can bear up under it all. Especially since you may be called to give evidence of Hartledge’s behavior towards you and your mother in the weeks since your father’s murder.”390
“”Hell hath no fury”, Marshal, believe me. It will be a pleasure to rip the wings off that pig.”391
NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1919:392
The Marshal had joined Roberta, the hospital staff and board for an afternoon tea. Emma was there with her beau Willie. Roberta thought they looked a good couple. As people stood around munching on finger sandwiches and apple pie, the Marshal took Roberta aside for a little talk.393
“I wanted you to know that I’ve decided not to run for Town Marshal again, Roberta.”394
“What do you plan to do then?”395
I was thinking of buying Hopgarden Lodge from the Krafts, and starting up a real fishing and hunting lodge. I know an expert guide and his family who would make a great business partner. With the new parks and highways the governor is planning, this area will be more accessible to tourists”396
“This guide? Someone I know, is it?” 397
“Yep, could be.”398
Roberta was quiet for a moment.399
“Oh, by the way, William,” Roberta asked coyly, “when is the Salmon fishing season?”400
Puzzled, he replied, “Right now, actually. Why?”401
“No special reason, William. No special reason,” she smiled.402
POSTSCRIPT, 1944:403
The letter he handed to his parents read:404
“Greetings from the President of the United States of America,405
Having already passed his pre-induction physical, and being a member of the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps, and pursuant to the Selective Service Act, upon his graduation from medical school, William Robert Meadow will report to the Personnel Officer at the Camp Pendleton Naval Hospital, San Diego, California for assignment on or before June 30, 1944, submitting this letter as authorization. Under the conditions of the Selective Service Act, the above mentioned medical practitioner is required to serve for the duration of the present hostilities plus a minimum of one additional year.406
Commodore George H. Eggleston, M.D., FACS407
Division of Medical Services408
Bureau of Personnel, US Navy”409
Author notes
This is a work of fiction. Only the localities are genuine.
Women Doctors: Social and professional pressures against female doctors in the US before World War 1 were intense. However:
Of the more than 6,000 female physicians in the USA at the outset of WWI, over 2,200 of them registered with the Volunteer Medical Service Corps where they stood "at call" for war relief work.
More than sixty women doctors worked in France under the Red Cross while and wore the uniform of the American Women's Hospital organization.
The US government refused to commission women as military surgeons. After much campaigning, fifty-five women were appointed as “Contract Surgeons” with the US armed forces during the next eight months, and they represented seventeen states as well as the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico. Most of them were hired at first lieutenant's pay, but without rank, pension, bonus, or regulation uniform. None were ever commissioned into the American Forces. In 1919 their contracts were summarily cancelled. Most served Stateside as anesthesiologists, pathologists, and social health professionals, while a handful served in frontline hospitals supporting U.S. troops in France.
MALTUM is a fictional coffee substitute in competition with POSTUM. The National Mills Company is also fictional.
POSTUM: Post Cereal Company produced a powdered beverage made from wheat bran, wheat, molasses, and the Maltodextrin from corn; and advertised it as a healthful alternative to coffee, being caffeine free, fat free, sodium free, and Kosher. It made C.W. Post a multi-millionaire. Post committed suicide following an operation.
KLICKITAT COUNTY, Washington state, USA. Klickitat County, immediately south of Yakima County, is located in south central Washington, has a geographic area of 1,880 square miles and ranks 16th in size among Washington's 39 counties. The area was once home to the Klickitat and Wishram tribes. The Columbia River forms the southern border. The Klickitat and White Salmon rivers, both tributaries of the Columbia, flow through Klickitat County. The county's economy has been based on sheep and cattle raising, wheat, orchards, timber, and an aluminum smelter[now closed]. Goldendale, population 3,760, is the largest town and county seat. As of 2000, Klickitat County's population was 19,161, two-thirds of whom live in unincorporated portions of the county.
CITY of WHITE SALMON, Klickitat County: White Salmon is a city in Klickitat County, Washington, located at the mouth of the White Salmon River. The population was 2,193 at the 2000 census. It is located opposite Hood River, Oregon on the Columbia River. White Salmon was officially incorporated on June 3, 1907. The original modest local hospital was located on Slaughterhouse Road, at the home of a former doctor. The village of Bingen is immediately to the east of it.
HUSUM is a locality in Klickitat County just north of White Salmon. The White Salmon River and Indian Creek run through the settlement, and they have excellent water quality and fishing. BZ Corners is just north of Husum, and Trout Lake north of BZ Corners.
OLYMPIA, Washington: State capital.
The Pinkerton National Detective Agency, usually shortened to ‘the Pinkertons’, was a private U.S. security guard and detective agency established by Allan Pinkerton in 1850. They were notorious as brutal strikebreakers and industrial spies for big business. Fearing this ‘private army’, several state governments passed anti-Pinkerton laws. The FBI took over much of their detective role, and Pinkertons switched their business focus.
TINCTURE of LAUDANUM: a narcotic mixture of opiates and alcohol was historically used to treat a variety of ailments, but its principal use was as an Analgesic and Antitussive.
SAVAGE ARMS CO; Model 1905 .32, 9-shot automatic pistol was a very popular ‘pocket pistol’ in the USA before World War 1. It was advertised for ‘home security’, and so easy to shoot ‘your grandmother could use it’. C.W. Post gave one to each of his senior executives.
Médaille de la Reconnaissance Française. Ribbon: White with blue, white and red edges. Awarded for services in aid of the casualties of war.
Nineteenth Amendment: Giving US Women the right to vote in all local, state and federal elections. “The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex. Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.” On May 21, 1919, the House of Representatives passed the amendment by a vote of 304 to 89 and the Senate followed suit on June 4, by a vote of 56 to 25. By August 18, 1920, thirty-six state legislatures had ratified the Nineteenth Amendment, making it a part of the U.S. Constitution.
Spanish Influenza: The 1918 flu pandemic (commonly referred to as the Spanish Flu) was an influenza pandemic that spread to nearly every part of the world. It was caused by an unusually virulent and deadly influenza, a strain of subtype H1N1. Most of its victims were healthy young adults, in contrast to most influenza outbreaks which predominantly affect juvenile, elderly, or otherwise weakened patients. The pandemic lasted from March 1918 to June 1920, spreading even to the Arctic and remote Pacific islands. It is estimated that anywhere from 50 to 100 million people were killed worldwide. An estimated 500 million people, one third of the world's population (approximately 1.6 billion at the time), became infected.
Malaria: Plasmodium vivax, the second most important species causing human malaria, accounts for about 40% of malaria cases worldwide and is the dominant malaria species outside Africa. P. vivax and P. ovale form hypnozoites, parasite stages in the liver that can result in multiple relapses of infection, weeks to months after the primary infection.
Doctor Susan LaFlesche Picotte: 1865-1915; Omaha Tribe, Nebraska; an 1889 graduate of the Woman's Medical College of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Penn.
Story title: Of Shoes and Ships: From the poem; The Walrus and The Carpenter, by Lewis Carroll.
Washington State Police: The WSP were actually formed in 1920.
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Congratulations my friend, an excellent story from start to finish. I started reading without considering how long the story was and it held my interest admirably right to the end. Just one point with malaria, it does often re-occur years after the initial dose. I have personal experience with it from 1968 in PNG right up to 1987. The last time was in NZ where the local GP had no experience with it at all and only my insistence about testing for it got me the right treatment.
You should put some of your stories together and publish them. They are wonderful reading.
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Thanks Bob; I bet it takes as long to read as it did to write!
Yes, I knew that malaria could recur years later; but I figured having the Marshal suffer a recurrance would make the story even longer, even though it would be authentic.
I couldn't pass up a place named Klickitat for a story locale. [Almost as good as Koolyanobbin or Poppitinnabin] I was within spitting distance of the town of White Salmon 34 years ago, and got to drive along the Oregon side of the Columbia River for a few miles. I think only Tassie could match it!
Sorry to hear you had a rough go with malaria. -
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It did tale a while to read, but it was time well spent. I like a good well written yarn, especially when the background and the geography has been well researched and laid out. You have done it all here.
Malaria is one of those insidious diseases that sit and wait till you get a bit run down; then hits again. Outside the tropics it's hard to get the Malarial suppressant tablets just when you need them. Consequently, you get a worse dose than was necessary. I don' get it anymore, touch wood.
Stay well
Bob
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