The Pink Bonnet

by Tolsma, Liz;

  He forced himself to breathe out. R.D. had had enough of this. Couldn’t afford to get involved. Couldn’t afford to know the truth. He moved to leave.

  Vance blocked the door. “Not so fast.” The words hissed between his teeth. “You aren’t going anywhere until you agree to get those records.”

  R.D. made a vain attempt to push Vance to the side. “Let me by.”

  “I’m not releasing you until I have your promise.”

  “This is blackmail.” Just how men raised like Percy turned out.

  “Nothing worse than what Tann did to Mrs. Dowd. Are you going to assist us?”

  “I can’t get them.” He grabbed Vance by the arm but couldn’t get the man to budge.

  “You’d better find a way. What if you lost your only child?”

  At Vance’s quiet question, R.D. ceased his struggle. What if something happened to Pearl? He’d be frantic, would do anything he had to in order to get her back.

  But the resemblance. Maybe it was an old picture. No, he couldn’t allow himself to even think such a thing. He’d do anything to protect his precious Pearl.

  “I’m waiting for your answer. Will you help us?” Vance’s words were deep and strained, like a dog waiting to be let off a leash.

  What could he do? This was the woman from the letter Landers had him read. What Miss Tann had done to Mrs. Dowd was wrong. How awful to lose your child in such a tragic manner, especially when also mourning your husband’s death.

  On the other hand, how could an adoptive couple give back the child they believed to now be theirs? What if …? “How old did you say the girl was?”

  “Three.”

  R.D. struggled to keep from wetting himself.

  Pearl was three.

  No, no way they could be the same child. Though the resemblance was strong, it was too much of a coincidence. It couldn’t be so. He squeezed his eyes shut as if he could shut out the thought. If someone came to take Pearl away, he wouldn’t be able to stand it.

  “I’m waiting.” Vance’s breath sent a shiver skittering down R.D.’s spine.

  Bile rose in R.D.’s throat. “I told you, no one has access to those records.”

  “That’s not quite the truth, is it?”

  R.D.’s mouth went dry. What would Vance do to him if he didn’t agree to cooperate? What would Landers and Crump do to him if he did? He gulped. “You don’t expect me to break the law, do you?”

  “I expect you to do whatever is necessary. The way I see it, the law has already been broken.”

  Pearl’s laughter rang in his head. To lose that would rip his heart from his chest. And she’d only been with them a few weeks. How could he yank a child from a loving home?

  “I can’t help you. I could lose my job, my home, my family. Even my life.”

  Vance now stood toe to toe with R.D. “No one said it would be easy or without risk. But sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the right cause.”

  Was this the right cause?

  “You’re a father. How would you feel if your child were stolen from you?”

  He pushed back against Vance’s shoulders. “That’s all I’m thinking about.” His voice raised in pitch with each word. “Do you believe Crump or his gang will let me get away with snooping? There are secrets in there.”

  “Secrets that deserve to be uncovered. Not only for her but for countless other women and children over the years. If you don’t help them, who will?”

  Why did it have to be him?

  Chapter Nine

  The floral fragrance of chamomile tea wafted from the cup on Percy’s coffee table. Whenever Pa went on a tirade, Tenny would brew Percy a cup of chamomile and tell him it melted away troubles. He set aside the mystery novel he’d been reading and sipped the hot liquid. His sister had been right. With each mouthful, the worries of the day slipped further away.

  His shoulders tightened. At least he had the clerk’s assurance of help. What remained to be seen was if Griggs would follow through.

  Percy gulped the tea and burned his tongue. He clicked on his Tiffany lamp, the warm, rich red and green colors spilling over the words in his book. His stomach rumbled. Maybe it was time to dip into the pot of chicken soup his housekeeper, Lola, had made and was keeping warm on the back of the stove. The savory, salty odor drew him to his spotless kitchen, which even boasted a Westinghouse refrigerator.

  From the pot sunk into the back of his Hotpoint range, he ladled a bowlful of the chunky, carrot-laden soup then cut a slice of warm, crusty french bread. Before he could enjoy a mouthful, his doorbell rang the Westminster Chimes. He sighed.

  He moved through his paneled formal dining room, the living room, and the screened front porch and opened the door to find Tann and her dark-skinned chauffeur, James, standing on his step. The doorman had made good on his promise.

  Percy widened his eyes and put on his best surprised face. “Miss Tann. I didn’t expect the pleasure of a visit this evening.” Could she smell the soup? Should he offer her some or would that encourage her to stay?

  “Cut the bologna, Vance. It doesn’t become you.” Tann pushed by him and into the house, her pants whispering as she walked, James on her heels. “I’m here on business.”

  Was there any other reason? “I thought we had covered everything we needed to get through for the next few days.”

  “So had I. But I heard you paid a visit to the office after hours the other night.”

  He left her and James standing in the middle of the living room, but she didn’t need an invitation. She settled herself on his brown and white cowhide sofa.

  “Yes, I was there.” No use in denying it. “As I told the watchman, I left a file. Or I thought I did. Turns out, I had it with me the entire time, stuffed inside another folder.”

  “Is that the case?”

  “Of course.” And plausible, at least to him.

  “And why would you have a woman with you?”

  “With all due respect, Miss Tann, my personal life is private and not a matter I wish to discuss.”

  “So you are involved with Mrs. Dowd?”

  He clenched his jaw to keep from opening and closing his mouth like a fish. The guard was thorough. He must have given a good enough description of Cecile to Tann that she managed to make the connection. “There must be a mistake.”

  “Come, come, Mr. Vance. Don’t play games with me.” She rose from the couch and wandered around the room, examining the pink cherry blossom Japanese vase on the mantel and his collection of art deco cigarette cases in his built-in bookshelves.

  There was no use in trying to hide anything from the woman. Somehow, she always found out. “Fine, it was Mrs. Dowd with me. We have formed, yes, a relationship. Just a friendship, mutual companionship, nothing more.”

  Tann swirled around so fast she almost toppled over. With a deep breath, she retained her composure. “Your association with the lady is of concern to me. I believe I warned you to stay away from her.”

  “Again, it’s my personal business.”

  “Not when it affects mine.”

  “How so?” Percy strode three steps in her direction as she fingered the brass candlesticks on the table behind the sofa.

  “She is attempting to interfere with the adoption of a child. That is no small matter. Is that why she was with you the other night at the office?”

  “I told you, I believed I’d forgotten a file.”

  “Rather convenient, isn’t it? I thought I’d taught you to be a better liar.”

  Is that what an alliance with Miss Tann and her ilk required? Not a good understanding of the law or excellent communication and argumentation skills but the ability to lie and cheat and steal? He grimaced.

  “Does that make you uncomfortable, Mr. Vance?”

  During the dark, long nights when Pa went on his drinking binges, Percy and Tenny would often seek shelter in the hayloft. She would calm him by telling him Bible stories she’d learned when the family still attended church.
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  Part of his brain screamed at him to run from the immorality of associating with Tann. The other part of him surveyed every well-appointed corner of his home and screamed at him to do whatever it took to become a success.

  “What do you expect of me?”

  “To do what I tell you and not an iota more or less. And no more questions. You must cut off all ties with Mrs. Dowd. Our business with her is concluded. There is no need for you to see her.”

  Percy gulped. “What if I enjoy her company?” Which he did.

  Tann waved him away. “Memphis is a large city. There are plenty of other, more deserving women. Why do you want to be tied to a woman of her rank? She’s nothing but an uneducated rat.”

  Percy crossed the room to where Tann stood beside the brick fireplace. “She is nothing of the sort. More of a lady than you are.”

  Tann slapped him across the face, and he staggered backward. “How dare you.”

  “I could have you brought up on charges of assault.” His eyes watered as his cheek stung.

  “You wouldn’t dare.” She ducked around him and over to James. “I’ll take my pistol now.”

  The man with an ebony face reached into his coat pocket, produced a dull iron hand revolver, and passed it to Tann, who slipped it into her large black purse.

  As she exited the front door, she turned and spoke over her shoulder. “Watch your step, Mr. Vance. Watch it very carefully.”

  Usually bustling with activity, people coming and going, proceedings taking place behind closed doors, the mausoleum-like marble courthouse was unusually quiet tonight. R.D. had never been here alone. And never at night. The stillness of it all was like a shadow following him. He tried to shake it off to no avail.

  Darkness covered the long hallway, thin slivers of moonlight snaking underneath the office doors enough to light his path. His footsteps echoed in the silence. His arms broke out in gooseflesh. Losing the dim moonlight, the blackness of the stairwell was palpable. Something he could grasp and hold in his trembling hands. Here, he had to switch on the flashlight. He missed the bottom stair, tripping and dropping the light. It clanked to the floor. Even though he reminded himself that no one was here, he held his breath.

  No noises.

  Good.

  With a whoosh, he released the air. He unlocked the door to the giant records room. Decades upon decades of birth, marriage, and death certificates. Census records. And adoption records. Perhaps even his own daughter’s papers.

  Dust floated in front of the light beam and tickled his nose. He sneezed. And froze. Again, no one came.

  He moved on, sweeping the light before him as he searched through the sections of files. When he found the correct aisle, he steadied himself against the end of the shelf. Then he turned the corner. Boxes and boxes were lined up by year. Each box was wrapped in red tape. When they said the records were sealed, they meant sealed.

  The box marked June 1933 was shut, impossible to investigate without breaking the tape. And he wouldn’t go that far. When it was discovered that the box had been opened, an investigation would follow. And as clerk of court, the blame would come to him at some point.

  Tann and Crump and the rest were much more of a force to be reckoned with, one he didn’t want to tangle with.

  But July 1933 had yet to be sealed. He reached out to slide the box from the shelf. Something clinked. Was there someone in the hall? He switched off his flashlight and stood without making a sound, keeping his breathing shallow. No more noise. Still, he couldn’t take the chance that someone lurked outside the room. He crept to the door. Tiny bit by tiny bit, he turned the knob then pulled. The door creaked, so loud in the stillness. R.D. winced. Tensed. Waited. Nothing. He relaxed and peered through the crack. No one about. The long, dark hall was quiet. Deserted.

  He closed the door without making a sound and hurried back to the files. No more gadding about. He pulled out the box. Even the files inside were wrapped in tape. He fingered through them, but there was no Millicent Dowd. What he found at the end though, stopped his heart.

  Pearl Raylene Griggs. His daughter.

  So the names on the records were the adoptive names. The birth names must be on the inside. He wouldn’t be able to locate Mrs. Dowd’s child without unsealing each and every record. Far, far too risky.

  But in his hands, he held Pearl’s history. Dare he open it?

  His entire body quaked, his knees weak. What if she was Mrs. Dowd’s daughter? Did he even want to know? He couldn’t swallow. Her name blurred in front of his eyes. What should he do?

  “That child can’t do nothin’ right. We’re sending her back.” Willard stomped around the kitchen, his face red.

  Gladys poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him.

  “Even the beating I gave her didn’t do no good. And all that money I spent on her, down the drain. If’n you haven’t heard, woman, there’s a depression on.”

  “Sit and let me get you some breakfast.” Best thing to do when he was in one of his moods was to not get him riled up even more. Stay calm.

  He thumped into one of the cracked kitchen chairs. Would he ever fix it? Gladys sighed. Likely not.

  “I’m telling you, that Tann woman duped us. Said Fanny was a good worker, but she ain’t nothin’ of the sort.”

  She sprinkled a drop of water on the griddle to check if it was hot enough and then poured the pancake batter. “She’ll learn. Give the child time. She’s only just come to us.”

  “Should’ve never listened to you. Griping about not enough help in the house and how Quinn worked with me and why couldn’t you have someone with you. That’s why men are to rule the home. Womenfolk don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  When he stopped for a breath, Gladys flipped the pancakes. Something deep inside of her resisted the idea of sending Fanny back. Maybe it was those big green eyes or her innocent round face. Maybe it was that Gladys had always dreamed of having a girl of her own.

  “I see what you’re thinking.” Willard jabbed his fork in her direction. “Don’t get too attached. She’s going back.”

  Gladys lifted three cakes from the pan and placed them on her husband’s china plate. “She’s not. Give her time. She’ll learn. That one’s a smart one, for sure.”

  She turned to go back to the stove and caught sight of Fanny standing in the kitchen doorway, her chin trembling. But today, she’d put her overalls on correctly. “See what I mean. She’s already dressing herself just fine.”

  “Should’ve been able to do that from the start,” Willard mumbled as he shoveled his breakfast into his big mouth.

  He scarfed down three more pancakes, scraped back his chair, and marched to the barn. Quinn had been in there working for an hour already. Poor kid. Quiet. Gladys didn’t know him well. She’d slip him some pancakes later.

  Gladys turned her attention to Fanny. The little girl’s mouth turned down, but her eyes remained dry.

  “Would you like a pancake?”

  Fanny shook her head, her brown hair bouncing with the motion. She stared at the dirty wood floor.

  Gladys knelt in front of her. Sorry mite. She’d been through so much. “What’s the problem?” Willard’d likely have a fit if he caught her speaking to the child so nice and all.

  “I want my momma.”

  “Fanny.” Gladys touched her cool, bony hand.

  Fanny flinched and backed away. “I not Fanny.”

  “Of course you are. You’re being silly this morning. Come on, if’n you have some breakfast, you’ll feel better.” Gladys grabbed Fanny by the wrist and dragged her to the table.

  “I don’t wanna eat.”

  “Course you do. You love my pancakes.”

  “I want my momma.”

  Gladys leaned close and hissed in Fanny’s ear. “If Pa hears you, you’ll get another whoopin’. I know you don’t want that.”

  “I want Momma. I be good. I go home.”

  “That’s enough of that. Now eat. I’m yo
ur ma, and your pa is in the barn doing chores. You’d best hush and fill up. Today is bread-making day, and we need to get to it.”

  But Fanny only took three bites of her breakfast. After much pleading with her, all of which did no good, Gladys cleared the plate. “Waste of food. And during the depression, no less. Best not let your pa catch you not cleaning your plate.”

  Gladys motioned to Fanny. “Get washing then if you ain’t gonna eat. There’s gonna be nothing but skin and bones left of you pretty soon.” Gladys took her coffee mug and sat at the kitchen table.

  Perhaps they needed to call a doctor. Fanny hadn’t eaten much since she’d arrived, and the tiny child had gotten even smaller.

  Fanny pulled a chair over to the sink and pumped in the water. She took each dish and slid it into the water. The last one slipped from her grip and splashed in with a great crash.

  Gladys rushed over and pulled out pieces of plates. Heat built into her chest and exploded like a volcano. “What’ve you done?” She shook the broken dishes in Fanny’s face. “They’re busted, each one of them. Nothing left. What are we supposed to eat off of?” She towered over the child. “We ain’t got money for more. These were my mimi’s.”

  Fanny jumped from the chair, ran to the far corner behind the table, and cowered in a little ball. Still boiling, Gladys rushed toward her. “You stupid, careless child. How’re you gonna make this right? Are you gonna buy new ones?”

  Fanny stared at her.

  “Well, are you? You got the money for more? Cause your pa’s gonna be awful mad when he comes in and finds out what happened. You think the beating you got the other day was bad, you just watch out. Ain’t gonna be no mercy for you this time. And he’ll be meaner than a bull with me. How could you do this to me? Can’t you do nothin’ right?”

  Fanny’s eyes widened.

  “Answer me, girl.”

  She pinched her lips shut.

  “Answer me now.”

  Fanny shrank farther into the corner.

  “You naughty, naughty girl.” Gladys yanked her from under the table and squeezed her forearm. She raised her hand to strike Fanny.