The cleaning people were always very thorough, but in the hot Georgia summer, dust has a way of returning the minute you stop cleaning. So when the front doorbell rang, I had on my apron and was using my turkey feather duster.
I could see through the lace curtains the figure of a young man waiting on porch so I opened the door to let him in out of the summer heat.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"I'm looking for Sarah Cannon," he said.
"I'm Miz Sarah," I replied. "What can I do for you?"
"No," he said, "I'm looking for Sarah Cannon, the attorney."
"That's me, honey," I replied, "Come on in."
I guess now's as good a time as any to introduce myself. I'm Sarah Cannon, an attorney practicing family law in Atlanta. In this day and age family law is, of course, mainly divorce work. A lot of attorneys don't like that kind of work, they think it's unsavory. But when a marital union dissolves, I've seen a lot of good people get hurt, and I don't mean just emotionally. I figure that if I can help protect some poor spouse legally and financially, I'm doing her -- and usually , though not always, it's a her, not a him -- a real benefit.
I've been doing this for a long time. I won't tell you how long, because a lady is under no obligation to give her age. But I will tell you that I can remember seeing the Kennedy-Nixon debates on TV, if that helps.
If you've managed to stay in a profession like the law as long as I have, you're either pretty good or you're a millionaire with a hobby. I won't brag on myself, but I'm not a millionaire.
My office is actually the first floor of my home, which is near Piedmont Park, if you're familiar with Atlanta. My late husband and I bought the house many years ago, and I've been here ever since. I like having my office in my home; it makes the commute to work easy, which is very important in a city with traffic like Atlanta.
Anyway, after I enlightened the rather flustered looking young man who had come to see me that morning, I led him through the French doors into my office and maneuvered him over to the settee on one wall. Once he was settled, I asked him "And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
He smiled a bit at my greeting and replied just as formally, "I am Mr. Stephen Markham."
Walking over to the little ice box I'd had built into the armoire, I asked, "Well, Mr. Markham, will you join me in a glass of sweet iced tea? It tastes mighty good on a hot day, especially with one of these sugar cookies I baked."
While he took his glass of sweet tea and helped himself to a sugar cookie, I looked him over carefully. He appeared to be in his late twenties. I could tell he was left-handed from the way he held the plate with the tea and cookies in his right hand. His hands also revealed that however he made his living, it was not by manual labor.
He was nice-looking but not movie-star handsome, slightly above average height and appeared to keep himself in shape. I was glad to see he wasn't overweight; it troubles me to see so many young people carrying all that extra. He had a sensitive face, but today it looked deeply troubled.
"Now," I said, "what brings you here today?"
"It's my wife," he replied sadly, "she wants a divorce."
"Excuse me just a minute, honey. I think I'd like someone to join us for this."
I went out of my office and across the hall to another office that used to be a parlor. When I peeked in the door, Emily Mereweather looked up from her computer expectantly. "Miss Emily," I said, "I have a prospective client in my office. Would you please join us?"
"Yessum," she said, like the good girl she was.
As she arose, I thought yet again what a lovely young lady she was, tall and willowy, with her brown hair tied back with a simple ribbon. Her sleeveless summer dress reinforced her femininity.
I was pretty high on Emily. She came from a good family and had recently graduated from Agnes Scott College. I hire all my assistants from my alma mater because they're all well bred, well educated young women. And besides, it seems like a good way to repay the college for the fine education it had given me.
Emily wasn't an attorney; that isn't what I wanted. A family law practictioner like me really doesn't need a legal assistant because family law just doesn't require a lot of legal research. But someone who is earnest and ambitious, and who has a quick mind and a good heart, can be of great help doing other kinds of research, especially with all the blogging, tweeting, social networking and who knows what all that passes for communication these days.
I felt that having Emily sit in on the initial interview would be useful. Since she was close in age to our would-be client, she might have a different perspective from someone as old as I am. At the same time, hearing her assessment of our client would give me more insight into Emily. You can tell a lot about a person from how they see others.
When we walked back into my office together, I noted approvingly that the young man stood as we entered. I always appreciate good manners; they're not common these days.
"Mr. Markham, I'd like you to meet my assistant, Miss Emily Mereweather. Miss Mereweather, this is Stephen Markham. He's seeking our assistance with respect to a possible divorce."
Emily nodded demurely.
After we were all seated, I prompted Mr. Markham to give us the particulars of his situation. The young man proceeded to give a rambling account of his marriage to his "beautiful" wife Lola, whom he married right after college, their only child, Anita, to whom he was devoted, and the sudden service of divorce papers, seemingly out of the blue. Moreover, shortly after the initial confrontation, Mr. Markham told us he had been handed a restraining order prohibiting him from contacting his wife and young daughter or coming within 200 yards of them until all legal issues were resolved.
Initially, his tale sounded depressingly familiar; after all, most of my practice is dealing with unhappy marriages. But I frowned when I heard about the restraining order, for this suggested the possibility of violence, something I would not have expected from this well-behaved young man. Clearly, there was more here than met the eye, or at least, I admitted, my tired old eyes.
After he had completed his discourse, I sat up a bit and shifted in my chair. "Mr. Markham, I have to inform you that the majority of my clients are ladies rather than gentlemen. Likewise, in the majority of the cases I accept, it is my client who is the suer, and it's my job to ensure she gets her due. I'm not making any judgment about your situation, but, since it's outside my normal practice, I would like a little additional time to consider whether or not to accept your case.
"If you will return to my office tomorrow at this time, I'll let you know what I've decided." With that, I rose from my seat, indicating that our interview was over.
He rose likewise, but his facial expression made it clear that he was both surprised and disconcerted by my response. "Um, well, I thought lawyers took whatever clients came their way," he protested.
"Some of them do, Mr. Markham," I replied primly, "but I am not one of that type of lawyer."
"Okay," -- here he paused and then gave a small smile -- "I heard you were the toughest . . . I mean the best . . . divorce attorney in town, so I guess I'll take my chances tomorrow."
"You're kind to share a favorable opinion with me, Mr. Markham. We'll see you tomorrow. And when you come," I added, "be sure to bring a copy of the papers that were served upon you. If I accept your case, I'll need them."
He flushed, realizing he should have brought the papers with him today, then shook my hand and said, "Well, good day, Miz Cannon, good day Miz Mereweather," and departed.
After he was gone, I turned and raised my eyebrows to Miz Emily. "Well, child, what is your first impression of our visitor?"
Without hesitation, she replied, "He doesn't seem like the type of man who would drive his wife to seek a divorce. He appears to be a gentle person and very well-mannered. I thought his concern for his daughter was genuine." She hesitated a second, and then blurted out, "And he's nice-looking, too." With that, she blushed and looked down.
"I agree that he's an attractive fellow," I said soothingly. "But when a wife suddenly seeks a divorce, there's usually a good reason. And when she feels she has to seek a restraining order, that's a bad sign."
"So before you let yourself be too taken by his nice looks and his good manners, I want you to get on the internet and do a little research. See if you can find any clues about what Mr. Markham is really like. I'll need it this afternoon so you and I can review it together and I can make a decide whether or not to represent him."
Chastened, Emily said "Yes, Miz Sarah," and hurried to her computer.
When she had gone, I tidied up the ice tea glasses and uneaten sugar cookies. As I cleaned, I thought to myself, "Young Markham was right about one thing: most attorneys have little choice but to take whichever clients come their way. Even worse, some attorneys have to chase after clients, pecking around accidents and such like hungry birds. And worst of all in my book are those so-called attorneys who advertise for clients like some barker at a carnival shilling for the bearded lady. You're a lucky old gal, Sarah Cannon: you've been doing this long enough and well enough to get to pick and choose the people you represent. And if you're luckier still, you might even bring a little justice into this world every once in a while."
I said an "amen" to that last thought and returned to my desk.
Only an hour later or two later, as I sat reviewing another case, there was a gentle rap on my office door and Emily stuck her head in. "Can I come in, Miz Sarah? I've found some information on Mr. Markham."
I waved her in and she sat down in front of my desk, straightening the skirt of her dress in a lady-like manner. She had a large stack of paper with her that she'd obviously printed off the internet. She began organizing her print-outs into neat stacks based on an outline she'd made for herself.
I was glad to see how much energy she had brought to the task I had given her. "My, my," I said, "You must be very taken with Mr. Markham's looks. I can see how motivated you were."
