Miz Sarah Enlists A New Assistant

When Brigadier General Harmon E. Marshall, U.S. Army, Ret., entered my office, I thought he carried himself with the air of someone used to command. He was tall and fit, with a weatherbeaten face and an erect carriage. "He cuts a very impressive figure," I thought to myself.

On his arm was Mrs. Marilyn Hart, a lovely woman in her own right and one of the most eligible widows in Atlanta. When John Hart had had died unexpectedly five years ago from a brain aneurysm, he had left his heart-broken wife alone but extremely wealthy. Since then, one of the favorite games of Atlanta society was speculating on who might console the widow in her loss. Now, it appeared, that question had been answered.

"Come in, come in," I said, extending my hand to Mrs. Hart. "I'm Sarah Cannon. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Then I turned to her companion. "And you must be General Marshall. I've heard so much about you."

"Don't believe a word of it," he said with a straight face.

"But it's all good," I protested.

"Then you definitely ought to discount it," he said with a smile and a wink.

"How disarming," I thought, as I ushered them into my office. "For a distinguished soldier to be so self-deprecating is a charming way to put people at ease."

General Marshall certainly came with a prestigious reputation. He was a decorated officer who had fought in the first Gulf War. Unlike most senior officers, General Marshall had actually led his men in combat, and had both the Silver Star and a Purple Heart to show for his efforts.

"General Marshall," I said, "I can't help but ask: are you by any chance related to the famous World War II general George Marshall?"

He smiled indulgently at me. "I get that question quite often. Actually, we are, but it's a very distant relationship. I think he was my great uncle once removed. Of course, that doesn't keep me from trading on the name."

Once again I was charmed by the easy way he made fun of himself.

I settled the two of them on the settee and fetched them a glass of fruit tea. Then I took the arm chair beside them. "Now, how can I help the two of you?"

Marilyn was the first to speak. "Mrs. Cannon . . .

"Please," I interrupted, "everyone calls me Miz Sarah."

She smiled and nodded. "Miz Sarah, my dear friend Emma Wolfolk told me that you are the best family law attorney in Atlanta and that I had to come see you on this."

I didn't know Emma Wolfolk, but I knew of her. She was another young widow in Atlanta society, not wealthy like Marilyn Hart, but certainly very visible in charitable and social activities. Her photo regularly graced the society section of the Atlanta

Journal Constitution

.

"How very kind of her to recommend me," I said. "So what is it you need?"

General Marshall intervened. "It will be easier if I explain." Marilyn deferred to him with an adoring gaze.

"As I'm sure you're aware," the General said, "Marilyn has consented to have me for her husband, and our wedding is only a few weeks away. I've been a lonely old soldier since my wife died years ago, but Marilyn has brought joy back into my life."

Marilyn clasped his hand in hers and beamed.

"The thing is," the General went on, "Marilyn is a wealthy woman. While generals are paid decently, my net worth would be a small fraction of hers. The last thing I would ever want people to think is that I am some sort of opportunist trying to take advantage of her in her grief over the loss of her late husband."

At this, Marilyn frowned and shook her head to make it clear she would never believe such a thing about her fiancé.

"Accordingly," he continued, "I believe the only honorable thing for me to do is to enter into a pre-nuptial agreement that protects Marilyn. We need your help in drawing up such an agreement."

"I can easily do that," I reassured them, "and let me commend the two of you for having the wisdom to take care of such matters in advance of your marriage. When two people are young and have few or no assets of their own, such considerations aren't as important. But when both parties are mature adults, reaching an agreement in advance can avoid future problems, especially in the event of a dissolution of the marriage."

Marilyn was clearly perturbed at my last statement. "Harm and I are deeply in love, Miz Sarah, and there's no possibility of us ever parting."

"If I were in your shoes, Marilyn, I would take General Marshall's wish as a very tangible sign of just how much he does love you," I reassured her.

She sighed at my words. "I hadn't thought of that," she said. She clasped his hand even tighter.

After that, we went on to have a discussion about the elements normally found in most pre-nuptial agreements. However, as I was about to wrap up, General Marshall interrupted. "There's just one more thing, Miz Sarah. In the event of a divorce, the agreement you've outlined calls for us to part with the same assets we had as when we entered the marriage. But that's not good enough for me."

He cleared his throat. "I want Marilyn to know that I will love her and honor her forever, forsaking all others. Accordingly, I want it spelled out that if I should break my marriage vows and commit adultery, I will automatically forfeit half of my current and future assets to her. That's the only way I can think of to show her how serious I am about loving her forever."

Marilyn gasped at his unexpected offer. "Oh, Harm," she said adoringly, "what a wonderful, unselfish husband you're going to be!"

Then she turned to me. "Miz Sarah, the only way I would ever accept Harm's proposal is if it applies equally to me. I want Harm to know that I love him just as much as he loves me!"

"But Marilyn," I objected, "even without having both of your financial statements in front of me, we've already agreed that there is a considerable disparity between your net worth and the General's. I really can't advise such a provision."

"It doesn't matter," she said grandly, "it will never come into question. It's the principle of the thing: Harm loves me unreservedly, and I want him to know that I am no less committed." With that, she threw her arms around his neck and the two of them embraced before me.

When we had concluded, the two of them left hand in hand. I still wasn't comfortable with what Marilyn wanted to do, but it was clear that they were not to be dissuaded. And I had to admit that the two of them appeared to be deeply in love. "Besides," I thought, "it was General Marshall who proposed the agreement in the first place."

It was no trouble to draw up the agreement as they had specified, and I sent two copies off to them to review. If they were satisfied, I suggested they retain a signed copy for themselves and send one back to me for safe-keeping. Given how caught up they were in their wedding plans, I figured it might be a while before I saw them or the agreement again.

As for me, I too had marriage-related concerns. I had been without an assistant for several weeks now, ever since my last one, Cindy McCarty, had gotten married. I had hoped I might be able to keep her even after she got engaged because she was so sharp and capable. And, if truth be told, I'd watched her grow up from a recent college graduate who acted more like a teenager into a mature young woman ready to take the next step in her life. It may be a natural part of life, but it still always hurts a little to watch one of your chicks leave the nest.

But now that she was gone I couldn't deny reality any longer: I needed a replacement, and fast! So I followed my usual routine by contacting the placement office at Agnes Scott College, my old alma mater. I liked to pick my assistants from Agnes Scott because I knew anyone I found there would be sharp as a tack and of good character. Besides, it was a way for me to give back to the school.

Mrs. Ryan had headed the career planning office for many years and had recommended a number of my former assistants. When I called her this time, however, she had a surprising suggestion. "I know you usually look for new graduates, Miz Sara, but would you consider an alumna who graduated four years ago? She's interested in a career in the law and has a background that might be interesting to you."

I hesitated at that, but Mrs. Ryan had never steered me wrong before, so I asked her for more details.

"Miz Sara, she's here in my office as we speak. Why don't I send her over and let you meet her for yourself? I think you'll be impressed."

I agreed reluctantly. I didn't like the idea of buying a pig in a poke, but I was willing to give an Agnes Scott grad the benefit of the doubt.

Approximately an hour later, there was a knock on the glass doors of my home, which also serves as my office. When I opened the door, there stood a tall, slim African-American woman. She was wearing a navy blue suit with skirt and jacket over a high-necked white blouse. Her shoes were black and utilitarian.

"Definitely not a slave to fashion," I thought irreverently.

She thrust out her hand to me somewhat stiffly. "Mrs. Cannon? I'm Marcella Jackson. Mrs. Ryan sent me."

"Come in," I said, and invited her back to my office. She headed for the chair in front of my desk, but I steered her toward the settee instead. "This will be a little less formal," I told her. After I'd offered her a glass of fruit tea, I sat down across from her.

"Please tell me a little bit about yourself, Ms. Jackson," I asked. "What have you been doing since you graduated, and how did you come to be interested in the law?"

"Mrs. Cannon," she began, but I interrupted her.

"Most everybody calls me Miz Sarah," I said.

She nodded. "Very well, Miz Sarah. After I graduated, I enlisted. I have spent the last four years in the Army."

I was surprised. "I doubt many Agnes Scott graduates choose the military to start their careers. What made you do that?"

She smiled wryly. "A couple of reasons. The big one was that my father, my grandfather and my great-grandfather were all in the Army, and I'm an only child. I was destined for the Army from before I was born. The other reason was sheer pragmatism: I figured the only way I could afford law school was with the help of the G.I. Bill."

I nodded. "That makes a lot of sense. Where were you stationed?"

"Afghanistan, ma'am."

Now I was impressed. "That must have been quite an experience."

Her eyes focused on something far away. "Yes ma'am. I saw some things there that I don't think I'll ever forget."

"And now you're looking for some experience in the law," I said, trying to shift her away from some obviously painful memories.

She snapped back to the present. "That's right. I wanted to enroll in law school right away, but Mrs. Ryan suggested I get some practical exposure first to see if it suits me."

We talked at some length about her experience and interests. She was an impressive young woman. She'd been a history major at Agnes Scott and had done well in her studies. Since she wanted to join the military and was a college grad, I would have guessed that she'd have aimed for Officer Candidate School. Instead, she opted for the general infantry and took Basic Combat Training because she wanted to take the same path as the men in her family. After four years of service, including a combat stint in Afghanistan, she decided that she didn't want to make a career of the military. She wouldn't tell me about her experiences over there, but I got the impression that she'd lost some close friends.

When she'd brought her history up to the present, I spent a little time telling told her about what I did, how my office operated and the kind of help I needed. Finally, I asked her what she thought about what I had said.

She took a deep breath and then said, "Miz Sarah, I have to be honest with you: I don't think I'm the right person for this job."

"Oh?" I said in surprise. "Why not? I thought this was what you wanted."

"I do want to learn about the law," she said vigorously, "but not this kind of law. I want to help people in poverty with their legal problems, not work with a bunch of rich folks fighting over who gets to keep the country estate."

"Interesting," I thought. "She's feisty enough. I'd have my hands full with this one." But as I thought about her, I found myself intrigued. I knew she was intelligent and idealistic, and I respected her service in the military. And Mrs. Ryan had seen something in her too. On the spur of the moment, I decided to take a chance.

I smiled at her. "I think you'll find that an awful lot of the issues facing poorer citizens involve family law, and that the issues are much the same, regardless of income. Regardless, I can assure you that I work with all kinds of clients and I don't apply a means test. The one thing all my clients share in common is a need for the protection of the law."

I sat up a little straighter. "How about this: you 'enlist' with me for a three-month probationary period. If I feel you're not working out, we'll shake hands and part company with no hard feelings."

I could see her frown when I said "probationary period," so I hurried on. "At the same time, I'll be on probation with you. If you still don't feel like this is what you want to do, or if you decide you just don't like working with me, you can walk away without repercussions. In the meantime, I think you'll learn a good bit about the practice of law in the real world. And at least you're not likely to be shot at!"

She grinned at that last comment, yet I could see she was still torn. But apparently she was capable of making quick decisions too. "Alright, Miz Sarah, if you're willing to take a chance on me, I guess I should be willing to take a chance on you."

With that, she extended her arm and we shook hands. "Well," I said, "if we're going to work together, what should I call you?"

"Oh," she said, embarrassed that we hadn't already established that, "please call me Marcy. That's what my family calls me."

The first few weeks with Marcy were interesting. On the one hand, she was a quick learner and a hard worker. She wanted to know about everything I did and why I did it, so much so that I often had to shoo her out the door at the end of the day. In addition, she was extremely well organized, more so than I, if truth be told.

On the other hand, she was very formal. Maybe I was reading too much into her past, but it seemed to me as though she had to hold herself back from snapping to attention every time I walked into the room. It was amusing at first, but I began to feel frustrated that she couldn't relax around me.

I'd think we were starting to make progress, but then something would happen to get her guard up again. For example, when I received the signed prenuptial agreement from Marilyn Hart and General Marshall, I showed it to Marcy as one example of the kind of work I do.

"Oh, I've heard of them," she said contemptuously. "She's that rich widow who's marrying the general who doesn't even know how to salute right. They're exactly the kind of people I don't want to work with."

I was amused at her indignation. "Now, Marcy, Mrs. Hart can't help it if her husband died and left his estate to her. And as for General Marshall, what's wrong with his salute?"

"I saw him once on the local news," she said, "and the salute he gave would have earned him a chewing out from my drill instructor."

"I expect a Brigadier General has more important things to worry about than his salute," I said, but Marcy was not be persuaded.

I just sighed and let the matter drop. "Patience is a virtue . . ." I reminded myself.

The next learning experience for her came a few days later when I had a call from an old friend who wanted to come by to ask my help. We set up an appointment and I asked Marcy to sit in with us. When the appointed time came, she was closest to the door when a knock alerted us to our visitor's arrival. Opening the door, she beheld an elderly African-American gentleman escorting a woman young enough to be his daughter.

"Marcy," I said, "allow me to introduce you to Lucius Rayford, an old friend and a member of my church. Lucius, this is Marcella Jackson, my new legal assistant."

Lucius smiled cordially and shook Marcy's hand. "How do, how do," he said. Then he turned to the woman beside him. "And this is Cora Hopewell, the young lady I called you about."

Marcy and I greeted her and led the two of them into my office. Marcy got everyone seated and I poured some fruit tea I had ready for everyone. When we were all settled, Lucius explained the reason for their call.

"Cora has been with my wife and me for the past two years, and she's a real good worker. But now she's run into a bit of trouble: her husband wants to divorce her and she doesn't know what to do. I told her I knew just the person who could help her, and that's when I called you."

I smiled at Lucius and then turned to the young woman, whose eyes were brimming with tears. "Mrs. Hopewell, I'm very sorry for your trouble. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Miz Sarah, I don't rightly know what happened. Me and Jerrold had been married a while, and things weren't great between us, but they weren't bad, if you know what I mean. But week before last he came home one night and told me he'd found somebody he liked better than me and he wanted a divorce. I never would have believed it." With that she began to cry quietly.

Lucius put his arm around her in a fatherly manner. "She's been taking it mighty hard, and when some fellow came round and handed her the papers, she just about lost it. I told her she needed a lawyer to make sure she was treated right, and then I called you."

"You did just the right thing, Lucius," I assured him.

I reached over and took the young woman's hand. "Mrs. Hopewell, if your husband doesn't want to be married any more, there's nothing we can do to stop him. But what we can do is make sure you're protected and treated fairly. That's what the law is for."

"I just feel so helpless, Miz Sarah," Cora said. "Jerrold always took care of everything, paid all the bills and bought everything we needed. Now he's moved out and I don't know where to start."

"I think we might be able to help with that too," I said. "Marcy, can you get together with Cora and help her figure out her budget?" When Marcy nodded enthusiastically, I turned back to Cora and Lucius. "Marcy is one of the most organized people I know. She'll get you straight in no time. Meanwhile, let me have the papers that were served on you and I'll contact Jerrold's attorney to get started on the settlement."

Cora seemed a little more encouraged as she and Lucius headed for the door. Before he departed, Lucius turned back to me and gave me a little hug. "Thank you, Miz Sarah," he said. "She's been so down that I just had to try and help her out. I know she's in good hands now."

"Thank you, Lucius, we'll do what we can," I said. "Please give my best to Mabel."

After they had left, Marcy seemed unusually quiet. After a minute, she came and stood before me. "I didn't realize you worked with clients from the ghetto, Miz Sarah."

"Don't be fooled," I told her. "Lucius Rayford is a successful, well-to-do businessman. He and his wife started a house-cleaning business some thirty years ago. Today they own one of the largest cleaning services in the city of Atlanta.

"At the same time, I can also tell you that he has never forgotten his roots, and he has given a start to dozens of young men and women who needed work. Cora Hopewell is just one of the more recent ones."

"Well, I'll be very glad to meet with Cora," Marcy replied. "I feel like I can really help her get herself organized. She's the kind of person I was hoping to be working with."

"I'm sure you can help her, dear," I said.

"But I do have a question," Marcy went on. "Why didn't you ask her for a retainer before she left? I thought that was your normal practice."