Free The Trial of Dr. Kate by Michael E. Glasscock III Page A

jest the neighborly thing to do. You ought to talk to the sheriff about that pickup, though. Somebody’s got it in for you, child. That’s for damn sure.”
    “Thank you,” Shenandoah said as she pulled a business card from her purse. Handing it to the woman, she said, “My name’s Shenandoah Coleman. You ever get down to Memphis, call me, and I’ll take you to lunch.”
    The old woman laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. “I’m eighty-two-year-old and ain’t never been out of Parsons County, lady. Don’t reckon I’ll be going to no Memphis. But it were nice of you to offer.” She extended her hand. “My name’s Annabelle Lee Montgomery Tate. Be careful, honey. Stay clear of that damned pickup.”
    Shenandoah patted the woman on the shoulder, and said, “Thank you again. You’ve been a great help.”
    Once again behind the steering wheel, Shenandoah started the car and watched the woman drive the tractor away. Slowly, she pressed the accelerator and moved the car forward. Her mouth was dry and she held on to the wheel with a firm grip to keep her hands from shaking.
    Shenandoah realized she was frightened more than she wanted to admit. She’d been in some scary spots during her days with the WASP, but she’d always escaped them unscathed. The scariest episode had been when she fell out of a Stearman biplane in 1942 while training as a student pilot. Moving down the highway, she let her thoughts drift back to that time.
    * * *
    It was hot, humid, and miserable, as only a midsummer’s day in Houston, Texas can be. Even at 6:00 a.m., the temperature was 85 degrees and climbing. Shenandoah Coleman was performing a pre-flight check on a Stearman Model 75 biplane before taking her first check ride. Her instructor, Hal Morris, was a mean-ass captain in the US Army Air Corps, and he was known for his flash temper. They had been training together for three weeks. Shenandoah had obtained her civilian license before the war and had more than eight hundred hours recorded in her log book. However, the army insisted on training the women pilots again in military aircraft. After all, they would be flying some of the most advanced aircraft in the world. Their main mission would consist of flying planes from the factory to Army Air Corps bases.
    Perspiration beaded across Shenandoah’s forehead as she drained gasoline from the tank to check for water in the fuel. She’d just finished when her instructor walked up.
    “Grab your parachute and prop the plane, Coleman. I’ve got ten check rides today, so move your skinny ass.”
    Shenandoah felt her face flush, but she reached for the parachute that lay on the concrete next to her and slipped it on. While Hal climbed into the back seat, Shenandoah walked to the front of the plane and prepared to crank the prop.
    “Contact!” Hal yelled, and Shenandoah pulled the big blade with all the power she could muster from her one hundred and fifteen pounds. The engine caught, and Shenandoah ran around the left wing and climbed into the front cockpit. She should have been in the rear cockpit because that was where the pilot in control always sat. But Hal insisted that his students sit in the front, because he was always in control.
    Shenandoah pushed the throttle forward and the plane began to taxi. She performed a series of S turns so that she could see where they were going. At the end of the runway, she revved the engine and checked the magnetos and the carburetor heat. All the engine gauges were in the green. Satisfied that all systems were functioning perfectly, she rolled onto the end of the runway and again pushed the throttle forward. As they gained speed, she put forward pressure on the control stick between her legs and raised the tail of the plane. The biplane eased off the runway, and Shenandoah pulled the nose up to the horizon. At 1,000 feet above ground level, she made a left turn and entered the airport pattern. Then she did a right turn, exited the pattern,