Take My Hand(65)

“Around the state?” Lori whispered. “How we supposed to find out what’s going on around the state?”

“I got three kids at home and a husband that work two jobs. My mama had to come over to watch the kids tonight for me to even be here,” said Liz.

“You know I can’t drive,” Lori added.

I shushed them. “There’s eight of us. Between us, we got telephones and good handwriting. We got family and friends all over this state, from Huntsville to Mobile. Call your cousins, aunts, uncles. Reach out to white folks you think got a warm ear and ask for help. Ask around. Get your church involved. This case is national news, and everybody knows you work at the clinic where it all went down. There’s no need to sneak.”

“Why can’t that white lawyer do all this? Why us?” said Gina.

“He’s working on it, too. And yes, we could leave it all to him. But don’t y’all want a chance for redemption? Don’t you want a hand in turning this ship right-side-up?”

I was hoping they wouldn’t ask me if Lou knew about my plan, because he didn’t. I waited while everyone sipped their cooling tea. My hand shook as I lifted my cup. Ty hadn’t uttered a single word. Before the meeting, we had agreed that I would lead things off.

Alicia directed her questions to me, but she watched Val as she spoke. “How do we do it, Civil? Where do we start?”

Ty handed me a manila folder. I passed around the Xerox copies. “I’ve made a list of the places in the state that get money from the federal government and have the authority to sterilize. I’ve also listed all the hospitals where the surgeries could possibly take place—telephone numbers, addresses, even hospital director names.”

“Where’d you get all this?” Val asked, running a finger down the list.

“The telephone book. The library.”

“When we call, what do we say?” Val asked.

She had said it. I heard it loud and clear. When we call. “You tell the truth. Tell them who you are. Your name. Your association with the clinic. Tell them you are just trying to gather information, and leave it at that. The key is to find a sympathizer, a fellow medical professional who has heard about the case and wants to help.”

Liz asked for a pen, and Ty rolled blue Bics across the table. As she picked up the pen she said, “I got an ex-boyfriend who works in medical records at Regional Med in Anniston. He cheated on me, so I do believe he owes me. Y’all can cross that one off the list.”

“My old boss is a doctor at the big hospital in Birmingham. He heads up one of the departments there. He’ll help.”

“My cousin a janitor at Providence down in Mobile. He a talker and know everybody and everything. Leave that one to me.”

They rattled off their connections.

“Remember,” I said, “don’t do nothing illegal or immoral. We are nurses, not liars. And we don’t want to justify one bad deed with another. You don’t need names, just verifiable numbers of cases.”

I thought of Daddy and the time he’d shared with me some of the burdens of being a family doctor, how he carried his patients’ secrets, the diagnoses kept from their loved ones—cancer, high blood pressure, diabetes. A family practitioner in communities like ours knew a lot.

“Civil,” Val said.

“Hmm?”

“I’d like to lead a prayer if you don’t mind.”

“Alright, then.”

When we’d first begun this journey I’d always been respectful of Val. Somewhere along the way that respect had diminished. But as we all joined hands and closed our eyes, I was moved by the power of the older woman’s prayer, the conviction of it. If someone had been able to see through the blinds that night, they would have seen eight grieving nurses joined together in a fight that we believed was just.





THIRTY-FOUR





The trial had not even begun, but the media arrived in droves. Daddy made note that Montgomery hadn’t had so many journalists since the Selma march eight years prior. Two vans camped on the street running through Dixie Court. It was a good thing the Williams family didn’t have a phone, because the newspaper people seemed to have everybody’s telephone number. Daddy left ours off the hook at night when he got home. He told anyone who needed to reach him to call Glenda. One night, I walked out of the beauty shop and a flashbulb popped off in my face.

At church, the pastor preached on “Unnecessary Trouble.” It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn he was looking at me throughout the entire sermon. He talked about allowing God to fight our battles, waiting on the Lord. After service, one of the members asked Mama if I would get any money out of the case. Before she could answer, a woman dressed in red from head to toe walked by, saying, “That white lawyer probably taking all the money.” The exchange upset Mama, and on the way home she asked me if it was true.

“Lou is trying to change the law, Mama. Later, the girls can sue for damages.”

“What’s motivating him?” She slipped off a white lace glove.

“I think he’s doing it out of conviction.”

She spoke softly. “Well, I suppose that’s not impossible.”

“Mama, I’m surprised you letting these gossips get to you.”