Viola also worried about the Ku Klux Klan, which had grown rabidly active across the state during the past four years. Jimmy was a musician, but he’d become obsessed with the Reverend Martin Luther King, adopting both his nonviolent philosophy and his habit of putting himself in harm’s way. Jimmy’s nocturnal activities were making Viola a nervous wreck. Tom tried to reassure her, but the danger could not be denied. As the company doctor for Triton Battery (a deal negotiated by Dr. Lucas), Tom had discovered that a significant fraction of the company’s white workers were racists of the first order. They didn’t even try to hide their membership in the Klan, or the fact that they were “taking a stand” in the battle for white supremacy. Because Tom was white, they simply assumed that he shared their prejudices.

The tension between Tom and Viola mounted in concert with the racial tension on the streets of Natchez, but whatever barrier remained between their professional and personal lives was shattered not long after a black man was murdered by a white deputy in a barbecue restaurant across the river. On a night when the KKK and the black Deacons for Defense were preparing for armed conflict, a midnight phone call awakened Tom from an uneasy sleep.

“Dr. Cage,” he said with a military alertness developed in Korea and West Germany.

“Dr. Cage?” whispered a female voice. “This is Viola. I need help. I’m in trouble.”

Tom’s heart began hammering, and blood surged through his arteries. “Where are you?”

“At the clinic.”

Tom could barely hear her. He looked at his watch. One twenty-five A.M. “What’s happened?”

“Jimmy’s hurt. Bad. I wouldn’t have called you, but he can’t go to the hospital. I tried to handle it myself, but I can’t stop the bleeding.”

Tom heard her usually calm voice spiraling into panic. Common sense told him to ask whether the police were involved, but instead he said, “Just try to stabilize him. I’m on my way.”