For the Love of Annie Read online

  "P. S. Her name is Annie."

  Once she was clean, the baby girl fell asleep. At Cooper's direction, Joe Bob fashioned a makeshift bed out of a laundry basket and an old blanket and Cooper carefully laid the sleeping child in it. "Keep an eye on her, Joe Bob." Cooper said softly. "And try not to awaken her...in other words, don't sing."

  Joe Bob grinned. "Right, Boss. Where're you goin'?"

  "I'm going to see Rev. Peterson. I won't be long."

  "GOOD MORNING, Sheriff. This is a surprise," the Baptist minister said as he stepped back to allow Cooper inside. Cooper took off his hat and followed the kindly man into a small study at the back of the house. "Have a seat." The minister gestured to a worn leather chair.

  Cooper sat down and, without preamble, explained his situation. "It's not that I have anything against the child," he said, as he finished the tale. "But I can't take care of her. I don't know how."

  "I can certainly understand your concern, Sheriff. How can I help?"

  "I was hoping you might know of a family who'd be willing to take Annie."

  The minister looked thoughtful. "Well, John and Priscilla Gilberry might be— "

  "Too old," Cooper said quickly.

  The minister smiled. "You know, son, placing a child is not as simple as placing a puppy."

  "I realize that, but Annie needs someone cheerful to raise her. Neither Mr. or Mrs. Gilberry would recognize a smile if one bit them on their backsides."

  The minister covered his mouth and coughed, but not before Cooper saw the twinkle in his eye. "In any case, rest assured that I'll do my best to find a suitable home for the baby. However, it may take some time."

  "Do what you can, Reverend Peterson. I can handle things for a little while."

  After talking with Rev. Peterson, Cooper retrieved Annie from Deputy Simmons and took her to a small house near the depot. There, he introduced his new charge to the most important woman in his life, Lizzie Jackson.

  Lizzie was a black woman of undetermined age with short, steel— gray, tightly— braided hair and coffee— colored skin as smooth as that of a young woman. She had been a house servant at Rose Hill, Cooper's family home in Alabama, but she was more than a mere servant to Cooper, she was his second mother.

  Lizzie's only child, a son, died only minutes after its birth. Two days later, Cooper was born to Juliette and Daniel Matthews. Juliette, frail and sickly, had been unable to produce enough milk for her baby, so Lizzie, still grieving the loss of her own child, was pressed into service as Cooper's wet— nurse. And from the first moment she held him to her breast, Lizzie loved Cooper like a son.

  "Lizzie, would you mind taking care of Annie until I can make arrangements for someone to take her in?" Cooper ran his hand through his hair. "I know I'm asking a lot, but I don't know what else to do. I have to work and I certainly can't take her with me."

  Lizzie cradled the child in her arms and smiled. "Lawd, I ain't held a baby in such a long time I done nearly forgot how good it feels."

  "If you think it'll be too much work— "

  Lizzie's black eyes speared him. "Too much work? Lawd, chile, takin' care of a baby ain't work. It's a joy. Don't you worry your head 'bout me and this baby, Cooper Matthews. We'll get along jus' fine."

  Cooper hugged the smiling woman and kissed her cheek. "You're the best friend a man ever had, Lizzie. I don't know what I'd do without you."

  "Maybe if you get yourself another wife, you wouldn' be needin' nobody to keep your babies."

  "Don't start nagging me about getting married again. Once was quite enough for me."

  "Huh!" Lizzie snorted. "That wasn' no marriage. Marietta wasn' no more'n a chile. I's talkin' 'bout you gittin' yourself a real wife. One that don't has to be told what to do and when to do it."

  "If I did want to marry again, what woman would want to live in my dingy little quarters over a jail? It's as far cry from Rose Hill."

  "The right woman wouldn't care where she lived long as she was with the man she loved," Lizzie insisted.

  "Lizzie, the subject is closed."

  Lizzie sniffed scornfully. "It ain't closed— it just shut for the day."

  "You're relentless, you know that?"

  "You callin' me a name I don't know."

  "That means you're stubborn as a mule."

  Lizzie grinned. "Yeah, I reckon that's true."

  Chapter 2

  March 1989

  Belle Rive Plantation, near Memphis, Tennessee.

  ANGUS MARKHAM sat in his library nursing a brandy while watching the sun rise. He'd awakened in the middle of the night and could not go back to sleep, so he'd pulled on his dressing gown and come downstairs to sit and think.

  "You're up early," came a voice from behind him.

  Angus glanced up to find Mary Louise, his daughter, standing in the doorway. "I couldn't sleep so I came down to watch the dawn."

  "You've been thinking about Willie." Her voice was gently accusing.

  "I feel closer to him here."

  Mary Louise smiled wistfully and moved into the room. "I know, so do I."

  Angus saw the sadness in his lovely daughter's eyes and knew her pain was as keen as his own. Willie was born when Mary Louise was only six years old. And when Angus' beloved Astrid died only hours after giving birth to his son, it was little Mary Louise who gathered the baby into her arms and into her heart. No sister, no mother for that matter, could have loved a child more.

  "I just keep thinking that it's my fault he's dead," Angus murmured.

  Mary Louise knelt at his knee. "Papa, we've been over this. It wasn't your fault. It's no one's fault. He died of yellow fever like so many others last summer. You didn't cause it and you couldn't have prevented it. No one could."

  Angus smiled sadly as he tucked a loose, silver— blonde curl behind his daughter's ear. "He should have been here at Belle Rive where he belonged instead of that wretched place in the city. If I hadn't pushed him to study law, if I had only allowed him to be what he wanted to be, he'd probably be alive today." Angus covered his eyes with a shaking hand. "He must have hated me for driving him away from his home."

  "Papa, don't. You didn't drive him away. And Willie never stopped loving you."

  "Then why did he keep the existence of my grandchild a secret?"

  "I think he was ashamed that he'd never married his child's mother."

  Angus shook his head and stared out the window. "That's another thing I don't understand. If Willie loved this Etta Blake so much, why didn't he marry the girl?"

  Mary Louise shrugged. "I don't know. He was trying to tell me when he...when he passed over."

  "God, I miss him."

  She patted her father's arm. "I know. I miss him, too." As if trying hide her own grief, Mary Louise stood up and straightened her skirts, and Angus noticed for the first time that she was dressed to go out. "You're going into the city again." It wasn't a question.

  "I have to find Etta and the child. I promised Willie. And just think, Papa, how wonderful it will be to have them here, to have a living, breathing part of Willie in this house again."

  "Yes, it would be wonderful. But, Weezie, if that detective you hired couldn't find her after all this time, what makes you think you can?"

  Mary Louise sniffed derisively. "The detective was an imbecile – totally incompetent. I've wasted months that could have been better served if I'd looked for her myself. I'm certain I can find her. After all, the woman can't have just vanished into thin air. I'll find her if it's the last thing I ever do."

  Angus smiled and shook his head. He knew there was no arguing with Mary Louise. Though at first glance one might think her a typically spoiled, vapid Southern Belle, it took only a few moments to realize that nothing could be further from the truth. Beneath Mary Louise's pale, unblemished skin and thick, silver— blonde hair there was an intelligence and determination that would rival any man's. No shrinking violet, his Weezie. On the contrary, Mary Louise Markham had a constitution of st
eel and a backbone of iron– and a heart softer than cotton wool.

  "Have you considered that the woman might not wish to be found?" he finally asked.

  "Of course I've considered it. But why should she hide from us? We're Willie's family, and everyone knows that we Markhams take care of our own." She straightened her shoulders. " At any rate, I refuse to give up. I promised Willie I'd find his little family and bring them home— and I mean to do it. Papa, I have to."

  Angus smiled and took her hand. "Yes, darling, I know."

  THAT EVENING Mary Louise hurried up the wide front steps of the white columned mansion and sailed through the front door. "Where's Papa?" she asked as she stripped off her gloves and unpinned her hat for Amos, the family's butler.

  "He's in the library, Miss Weezie," Amos replied.

  Mary Louise strode quickly down the wide marble hall in search of her father. "Papa," she said, her voice excited as she entered the library. "I've got wonderful news. I've finally found something that may lead us to Willie's child!"

  Angus stood up. "You've found Etta Blake?"

  Mary Louise sighed heavily. "I wish that were true, Papa, but like Willie, Etta died of the fever."

  Angus slowly lowered himself into his chair. "I had so wanted to get to know her. But I must admit that when we couldn't find her after so long, I had begun to fear the worst." Then he looked up. "The baby?"

  "Annie wasn't with Etta when she died. The nuns at the charity hospital seem to believe she left her child in the care of a friend."

  "Do you know how to find this friend?"

  "No. But I learned that Etta had one visitor while she was in the hospital— an attorney named Atkinson. Do you know him?"

  "The name is familiar— but no, it's been too long since I practiced law..."

  "No matter. I know he practices in Memphis. I'm going back to town tomorrow and I'll find him. And when I do, I feel certain he can lead me to the child." She twirled on the polished floor. "We'll have Annie here by Christmas, Papa, I just know it!

  THE NEXT morning Mary Louise Markham returned to Memphis and quickly hired a cab to take her to the law offices of Fortner, Whitt, and Atkinson.

  "Good morning," she said when she spied a clerk. "My name is Mary Louise Markham and I'd like to speak with Mr. Jerome Atkinson, if I may."

  "Of course," he said. "Please wait while I tell Mr. Atkinson you're here." In a moment he returned. "Mr. Atkinson will see you now, Miss Markham, if you'll step this way."

  She followed him down a hall and was shown into a book— lined office. Mr. Atkinson greeted her cordially and gestured for her to sit down. When he'd seen her settled comfortably, the attorney moved behind his desk and nodded to the young clerk still hovering near the door.

  "Bring Miss Markham some tea, Benson," he said, then turned his attention to Mary Louise. "Markham. The name is familiar. Are you by any chance related to Agnus Markham?"

  "My father," she replied and smiled a thank— you as she accepted the proffered teacup from the attentive law clerk.

  Atkinson's brows rose in surprise. "Angus Markham is a highly respected attorney in these parts. I cannot think why you would require my humble services."

  "I'm not here as a client, Mr. Atkinson. I'm here to gain some information regarding one of your clients."

  Atkinson leaned back in his chair. "Surely you know that the relationship between a client and his attorney is strictly confidential."

  She sipped from the teacup and then smiled. "I am, of course, familiar with client/attorney confidentiality. However, as this client died nearly a year ago, I hardly think it matters."

  Atkinson shifted in his chair. "That remains to be seen. What is the name of this client?"

  "Etta B. Matthews. She died of yellow fever in Charity Hospital last September. She had one visitor while in hospital and that visitor was you, Sir."

  Atkinson nodded. "I remember the visit quite well."

  "Could you tell me if her middle initial stood for Blake?"

  "It did. Etta Blake was her stage name. I assume you knew she was an actress?" When Mary Louise nodded, he continued, "Her legal name was Marietta Blake Matthews. She was a lovely young woman and a valued friend."

  Mary Louise tilted her head. "Forgive me, but I'm curious, Mr. Atkinson. How is it you were acquainted with Miss Matthews?"

  "Mrs. Matthews," he corrected.

  Mary Louise straightened and set down her teacup with a clatter. "Etta Blake was married?"

  "Yes, she was married for a good many years." He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't know?"

  "No, I certainly did not."

  Atkinson narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so interested in Etta? I dare say she would hardly have been considered your social equal."

  Mary Louise hesitated. "Etta Blake was...my brother and she were..."

  "Lovers?"

  To her consternation, Mary Louise blushed. "Yes. And, I've been given to understand she bore his child sometime in 'Eighty— eight. I'm trying to discover what happened to the child after Etta died."

  "I see." Jerome Atkinson's expression did not change.

  Mary Louise frowned. "Do you know what happened to the child?"

  Jerome Atkinson leaned forward. "I was quite fond of Mrs. Matthews. We were friends for years, having met shortly after she came to Memphis. She was a sweet and gentle woman. In the old days, we often shared dinner after her performances. I think I fell a little in love with her back then. But she was married and I was just starting my practice. Nothing ever came of the association except a deep and abiding friendship."

  "Why are you telling me this when all I want to know is— "

  "Because I want you to understand why I won't help you find her child. I don't like men who use women and then toss them aside, as your brother used and discarded Etta."

  "Willie didn't discard Etta," Mary Louise said, fighting to keep anger from her voice. "He loved her. He wanted to marry her, but she refused him. Not so surprising since you say she was already married." Mary Louise's voice was tinged with the shock of this latest discovery. Did Willie know, she wondered, that his beloved Etta had a husband somewhere? Were there other children? Then she mentally shook herself. "My brother adored the woman," she finished.

  "Did he? Then suppose you tell me why she was alone when she died? If he cared so much for Etta, why isn't he searching for his child? What kind of man would send his sister on such a mission?"

  "A dead one."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Though she tried, Mary Louise couldn't stop her tears. Willie Markham had been the kindest, most loving person she'd ever known. How dare this man malign him! "My brother died of yellow fever in August of 'Eighty— eight. His last words were of Etta and their child. I promised that I would find them and bring them home. And I've been trying to do that all these months, but— " Her voice broke.

  Atkinson handed her a folded handkerchief. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I didn't know."

  "You know nothing about my brother, yet you immediately jump to the conclusion that he abandoned his...his— "

  "Child's mother," he finished for her. His voice was kind.

  Mary Louise dabbed at her tears. "I've been searching for over a year and you're my last hope of finding my niece. Mr. Atkinson, if you know anything about what happened to Annie, please tell me."

  Atkinson quietly studied her. Then, as if he'd made a decision, he sighed. "Shortly before she died, Etta sent for me. She knew she was dying and she was deeply concerned as to what would befall her baby. When I asked her about the child's father, she refused to tell me his name. She said he was seriously ill and as she hadn't heard from him in several weeks, she was fairly certain he had since died. Etta insisted that revealing his name would be pointless and, under the circumstances, his connection with an actress might be a source of embarrassment to his family." Atkinson shook his head slowly. "I didn't believe her. I honestly thought she was making excuses for a man who had abandoned her."
/>   "Willie would never have intentionally abandoned her."

  He nodded sadly. "I'm sorry I wrongly accused your brother. But at the time..." He shrugged. "It is, unfortunately, a fairly common scenario. An actress would hardly be welcomed into the homes of most decent, God— fearing people." The last words were uttered with absolute disdain.

  "Our papa taught my brother and me not to be influenced by wealth or social standing."

  He smiled wryly. "I'd heard your father was a wise man and you've confirmed that. I'm also gratified to learn that Etta didn't waste her love on someone who couldn't appreciate what a truly, remarkable person she was." Jerome Atkinson covered his eyes with a shaking hand. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, please excuse me."

  It appeared that Jerome Atkinson cared much more for Etta Blake than he'd earlier admitted. After a moment, the attorney continued his tale. "As I said, Etta knew when she sent for me that she was dying. She gave me the address of Francine Mercer, a retired actress and an old friend of hers. Francine was caring for Annie, but as the woman was living on a small pension she couldn't support the baby forever. So Etta asked me to arrange for Annie to be sent to her husband in Alabama. After Etta died, I paid Francine to continue caring for Annie until I could be sure she was strong enough to withstand the long trip. Then, when she was nearly eighteen months old, I hired a couple to deliver the child into Cooper Matthews' care."

  Mary Louise stared at the attorney. "Doesn't it seem peculiar that Etta asked you to send the child to her husband? Did she hope he would believe the child his?"

  Atkinson shook his head. "No, Etta admitted she hadn't seen her husband in over five years." At Mary Louise's incredulous gasp, the lawyer chuckled. "I know, I felt much the same when Etta told me what she wanted. But she insisted that her husband was a good man and she was confident he would take good care of her baby no matter who had fathered it. I think her exact words were: 'Cooper has a soft heart. He's always been one to take in strays— including me.'"

  "What an odd thing to say."

  "Yes, I thought so, too."

  Mary Louise shook her head. "The man must be a saint."