Miz Sarah Strikes Back

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."

Ignoring my teasing, she picked up her outline and got right to business. "Here's what I've found so far."

"He was born in Nashville, but his family moved to the Atlanta area when he was still in grammar school. He graduated from Emory University with a major in art. That was about six years ago, so that would make him only about five years older than me."

"He's an artist and his paintings have begun to generate some favorable interest locally. He hasn't had any big-ticket sales, but after the last art fair in Centennial Olympic Park, he got a nice mention from the critic who writes for the Journal-Constitution."

"He's married -- at least for the time being -- to Lola Markham, nee Martinez, formerly of Miami Beach. They apparently met in college and were married right after graduation. As he mentioned, they have one daughter, Anita, who's now three years old." She paused in her recitation, looked up and added, "I've seen her picture -- she's adorable."

"He has no arrests, no complaints, no warrants," Emily went on, "not even a traffic ticket. Until the restraining order was issued, the police had no record of him whatsoever."

"Very good," I said, "now what can you tell me about Mrs. Markham."

Emily pulled a different set of papers out of her stack and referred to a page that appeared to be a biography from a corporate website. "She's a vice-president and senior account representative for the Atlanta branch of Hamilton Johnson, which is the largest publicly-held public relations firm in the country. She joined them as an intern while she was in college, began working there full time upon graduation, and has been there ever since. Currently she's directly responsible for a bunch of big name clients here in the metro area."

Emily handed me the sheet so I could look at her picture, and I blinked in spite of myself. In my day we would have called Lola Markham a "bombshell." Her wavy dark hair fell past her shoulders, framing a striking face. Even in her tailored corporate power suit, you could tell she had curves in all the right places.

"Very pretty," I remarked.

"If you like that type," Emily sniffed disapprovingly.

"Hmm, well what do you know about her life outside work?"

Emily proceeded to pull out another set of print-outs, these apparently from Lola's Facebook page. There was a lengthy list of memberships and activities, along with a selection of thumbnail photos showing Lola at various parties, events, charitable activities and the like. "It's a little hard to say where work leaves off and her social life begins. She certainly does get around," Emily remarked.

She paused, then added, "I think it's interesting that there aren't any pictures of Stephen on her page, or her daughter, for that matter."

"Let's not make any hasty judgments, dear," I said. "That could just be because of the nature of her work, or because she likes to keep her personal life private."

"Well, maybe, but if I had a husband as nice and talented as he seems to be, I'd want to show him off." As she realized what she'd just said, Emily blushed again, and she hastened to add, "and her daughter."

"It seems you've taken a bit of a shine to the fellow," I smiled. "Just don't let that cloud your judgment." Emily avoided looking at me.

"Nevertheless," I went on, "I have to agree with you that Mr. Markham seems a somewhat unlikely candidate for a philandering husband. And I think he's even less likely to be a physical threat to Mrs. Markham or their daughter. It all makes me think there's more to the story than what we've heard so far, so perhaps I will take his case after all."

"Oh, I'm so glad, Miz Cannon!" Emily spoke up.

The next day found Stephen Markham again knocking on the door of the old home that served as my office. "Do come in, honey, it's much too hot to be standing out there," I said, ushering him into the front hall.

When we entered my office, Emily was already seated in the side chair with her hands demurely folded in her lap. She looked up from under her eyelids and said sweetly, "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Markham."

"It's my pleasure, Miss Mereweather," he replied with a smile. I could tell she was pleased he had remembered her name.

"Let's get started," I said, sitting down on the other end of the settee from Mr. Markham. "As I told you yesterday, it is usually the case that I represent the female side in a domestic dispute. However, Emily and I have found some things about your circumstances that have made us both a tad curious. Accordingly, I think I will make an exception in your case, and will represent you, Mr. Markham, if you'll still have me."

Stephen's face showed his relief, and he began to express his appreciation. I stopped him quickly: "Don't thank me now, young man. I haven't done anything to merit your gratitude just yet. Hold all that until after I've accomplished something useful."

He nodded his understanding, but I could clearly see how relieved he was for me to represent him.

"Well, now that I've decided to represent you," I went on, " I'd like your permission to call you Stephen." When he quickly nodded his assent, I continued, "And you may call me Sara."

"Thank you, Miz Sara," he said politely.

"Now, Stephen, the first thing I'd like to do is to look at the papers that were served upon you, as well as the restraining order. I trust you've brought them with you?"

Stephen quickly reached into the inside jacket pocket of the summer suit he was wearing and withdrew a thick sheaf of legal-size papers. He handed them to me.

It didn't take me long to see that the petition for divorce was standard boilerplate; it read like it had been copied out of a legal textbook. The restraining order was also unremarkable, so I turned next to the proposed division of property.

"Well, well," I remarked. "It seems Miz Markham wants your house and all its contents, she wants primary custody of your daughter, and she wants you to pay child support. Sounds like she pretty much wants everything she can get her hands on."

Stephen's face had resumed the expression of sorrow and dismay it had worn the previous day. "If she takes all that, it will just about wipe me out," he moaned. "I won't have a place of my own to live or to paint, and I'll pretty much lose Anita altogether."

He bent his head in bewilderment. "I just don't understand why she's turned so spiteful towards me. I've never been anything except loving to her."

With a pitying expression, Emily began to pat his arm.

"Now, now, Stephen, nothing's been decided yet. In chess, this would only be the opening move; the game is far from over," I encouraged him.

"But there is one thing that still concerns me, and that's this restraining order. What in the world did you do to cause your wife to seek the protection of the police?" I asked.

Stephen flushed a bit, this time in anger rather than embarrassment.

"It was the damnedest thing -- oh, excuse me, Miz Sarah!" I waved away the oath and beckoned him to continue.

"It was the darnedest thing: I was meeting with Roger Avery, my agent, about some paintings I was hoping to sell. As we sat there talking, some fellow I'd never seen before in my life came up to me and asked if my name was Stephen Markham. When I told him it was, he handed me some papers and said, 'You've been served.' When I opened them and saw that it was a divorce petition from Lola, I was just dumbfounded."

"Go on," I encouraged.

"Well of course I broke off my meeting with Roger and rushed home to find out what was going on," Stephen resumed. "But when I got there, the door was locked and my key wouldn't work. I began pounding on the door and then I heard Lola inside. She wouldn't open the door so I had to yell at her to be heard. All she would tell me was I couldn't come in and to just go away and let the court settle everything."

Stephen looked at us helplessly. "I was astounded: I couldn't go into my own house? Then I thought about Anita and when I asked Lola where she was, she told me I couldn't see her till all this was settled! I guess I must have flown off the handle then, because I started pounding on the door and threatening to kick it down. Suddenly, before I knew what was happening, a policeman had hold of my arm and was dragging me away from the house. He told me that if I didn't leave immediately he'd have no choice but to arrest me.

"I was terribly angry and upset, but I've been raised to respect the law, and I certainly didn't want to get arrested, so I finally left and went to my brother's house. The next day, I got this restraining order," he concluded.

"What did you do then?" I prompted him.

"Well, I talked with my brother, and he told me I needed to get a lawyer quick. When I told him I didn't know any lawyers, he said that you were the best damned -- excuse me -- the best divorce lawyer in town and I'd better get over to see you right away to ask if you'd take my case."

"Well, I guess I need to make a peach cobbler to give to your brother for such a nice endorsement," I said with a smile.

Putting the legal documents down, I turned to look at Stephen and Emily. "Before we can do anything, I need a lot more information to work with. Emily, I need you to take Stephen back to your office and learn everything you can from him. Find out about his life history, his family, and his friends and associates.

"What are you looking for, Miz Sarah?" Emily asked.