Annie (7 page)

T
he following afternoon, Miss Hannigan was herd-ing the shivering orphans into the front hallway of the orphanage after having marched them home from school. “Come on, get in here, get in here, before you turn this place into an icebox,” she shrieked, pushing little Molly in and slamming the door shut.

“Now, out of them sweaters and downstairs to work,” ordered Miss Hannigan.

“Yes, Miss Hannigan,” chorused the ragamuffin gaggle of orphans as they took off their patched, threadbare sweaters and hung them up on hooks by the front door. They next filed glumly downstairs to their sewing machines as Miss Hannigan went into her office and turned on her radio. One of Miss Hannigan's favorite soap operas,
Ma Perkins
, was just coming on. She sat down at her desk, opened the bottom drawer, removed a pint of rye whiskey, and took a long swig from it. “Little girls,” muttered Miss Hannigan to herself, lighting a Lucky Strike cigarette and leaning back in her swivel chair to listen to the radio program. “Everywhere I look there's nothin' but little girls. I got all the headaches of bein' a mother and none of the advantages. Other women, they got husbands, buy 'em fur coats, take 'em out lah-dee-dah to the movies, but whatta I got? Little girls. I hate the sight of them. Still, there's one little girl I'd like to see again. That Annie. If I ever get her back here I'm gonna make her life so miserable she'll wish she was never born.”

Miss Hannigan must have briefly had some sinister ability to predict the future, for at the very moment that she was muttering about having Annie once again under her thumb, Annie was only a block away, being hauled roughly along the sidewalk by Sergeant Ward. “I'm takin' you back where you belong, you little devil,” he said.

Fleeing from the policeman the night before, Annie had again stumbled over a rock, and this time she had been caught. She'd spent the night in the dank lockup of a midtown police station, in a cell with several of the Hoovervillites who'd been arrested for disturbing the peace and given thirty days in jail by a coldhearted night-court judge. But Annie was too young to be sent to jail and was instead now being led by Sergeant Ward back to the orphanage. She'd be all right, Annie told herself, even if Miss Hannigan beat her every day, but she was worried about Sandy. He'd escaped from the police who were chasing him, but where was he now? Cold and hungry and homeless, without Annie to take care of him. What would become of Sandy? And how would she ever find him again? And what if he was nabbed by the dogcatcher? Then . . . Annie didn't want to think about it. Annie and Sergeant Ward had arrived in front of the orphanage. The policeman pulled the child up the steps to the front door and rang the doorbell.

“Yeah, who is it?” called Miss Hannigan, switching off her radio and coming to the hallway to peer out the window. Hearing Miss Hannigan's hated voice again, Annie felt a chill run up her spine that had nothing to do with the blustery December wind that was blowing down St. Mark's Place.

“Sergeant Ward from the Seventeenth Precinct,” said the officer as Miss Hannigan opened the door to let them in. “We found your runaway.”

“Oh, thank you, Officer,” said Miss Hannigan sweetly, flashing a false, toothy smile. “Well, well, well, if it isn't my dear little Annie. How nice to see you again, sweetheart.” Annie edged away from Miss Hannigan and said nothing.

“We found her livin' in one of them Hoovervilles over by the river,” Sergeant Ward explained, “with a bunch of bums.”

“They weren't bums,” muttered Annie through clenched teeth.

Sergeant Ward reached inside his jacket and took out a thin packet of money. “She had this here twenty-seven bucks on her—probably stole it,” he said, handing the packet to Miss Hannigan.

“I didn't steal it, I earned it—that's my money,” said Annie.

“Well, it's mine now, to help pay for your keep here, dear,” said Miss Hannigan, tucking the money into the front of her blouse.

“Also, she had some mangy mutt with her,” Sergeant Ward went on, “but he got away. We'll find him, though. Slap him in the dog pound.”

“I'm sure you will, Officer,” agreed Miss Hannigan, putting her arm heavily around Annie's shoulder as though in a gesture of affection. “Oh, poor punkin,” she cooed, “out in the freezin' cold with nothin' on but that thin sweater. I hope you didn't catch influenza.” Yes, thought Miss Hannigan, I hope you caught double pneumonia. “Thanks so much again, Officer,” Miss Hannigan said, smirking.

“All in the line of duty, ma'am,” said Sergeant Ward, turning to glower fiercely down at Annie. “And you. Don't let me ever hear that you ran away again from this nice lady.” Sergeant Ward flicked his finger on the visor of his cap to salute Miss Hannigan. At once, Miss Hannigan grabbed the girl by the scruff of her neck, dragged her into the office, and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Now I'm gonna have your head,” growled Miss Hannigan in a low, menacing voice. “And you ain't runnin' away from here ever again.” Miss Hannigan took a slow drink from her bottle of whiskey and smoothed her skirt. “Well, missy, are you glad to be back with your Miss Hannigan? Huh?”

“Yes, Miss Hannigan.” Annie stood her ground.

“Liar!” screamed Miss Hannigan. “What's the one thing I always taught you? Never tell a lie! Well, what's the one thing I always taught you?”

“Never tell a lie, Miss Hannigan,” Annie repeated evenly.

Miss Hannigan grabbed Annie and violently shook her. “For what you done, runnin' away, I could get fired,” Miss Hannigan hissed. “Have the Board of Orphans stickin' their nose in there. Well, you're gonna pay for it. I promise. You'll be sorry they caught you and brought you back here.” Miss Hannigan took down the wooden paddle that hung on the wall behind her desk and smacked it smartly across her palm. “So you never cry when I beat you, huh?” Miss Hannigan laughed. “Well, this time we'll see about that.”

• • •

Outside, soon after Sergeant Ward had left the orphanage, a long black Rolls-Royce limousine had turned onto St. Mark's Place and glided to a halt in front of the orphanage. A uniformed chauffeur alighted from the limousine and opened the door for a beautiful blonde woman of about twenty-eight. She was wearing an elegantly cut fox-collared cashmere coat with a salmon-pink hat, and was carrying a slim brown calfskin briefcase. The young woman nodded to the chauffeur as she stepped out of the limousine, then gracefully climbed the front steps of the orphanage. Now, just as Miss Hannigan raised her paddle to begin beating Annie, the young woman rang the front doorbell.

“Now what?” snorted Miss Hannigan as there was a knock on the front door, and she quickly hung up the paddle and headed to answer the door. But first she turned to Annie and shoved her roughly to the floor. “You stay there!” she snapped. “I'll be back to take care of you. Right away.” Miss Hannigan went to the front door and opened it a crack. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Oh, good afternoon. Miss Hannigan, is it?” asked the young woman.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good,” the young woman calmly continued. “I'm Miss Grace Farrell, and the New York City Board of Orphans suggested that I . . .”

“Come in, come in,” stammered Miss Hannigan. Mistaking Miss Farrell for an official of the Board of Orphans, she was terrified that she might be about to lose her job. In the Depression, where would a middle-aged spinster like herself ever find another job? Especially a job that included free room and board. So Miss Hannigan was trembling with fright as she led Miss Farrell into her office. “Who's this we have here?” asked Miss Farrell as she spied Annie cowering in a corner on the floor.

“Oh, that's just one of our dear little girls, Annie, who has been a very naughty little girl,” Miss Hannigan said with a false, high-pitched laugh.

“Oh, I see,” Miss Farrell murmured. “Now, Miss Hannigan, as I was saying, the New York City Board of . . .”

“Wait. Hold it,” bridled Miss Hannigan. “I can explain everything. It wasn't my fault. It was Annie, you see, who got into Bundles's laundry bag . . .”

“Miss Hannigan, I . . .” Miss Farrell began.

“And, sure, I know I should've informed Mr. Donatelli at the Board of Orphans instead of getting the cops into it, but I . . .”

“Miss Hannigan, I'm sorry, but I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about,” said Miss Farrell, causally putting her briefcase in her lap as she sat in a chair next to Miss Hannigan's desk.

Miss Hannigan suddenly changed. She looked coldly at Miss Farrell and then at her briefcase. “Wait a minute, hold it, sister, I got it,” snarled Miss Hannigan, heaving a secret sigh of relief. “If it's beauty products you're peddlin', you come to the wrong lady. 'Cause I don't need none. Get out!”

“Miss Hannigan, I am not ‘peddling' anything,” Miss Farrell calmly replied. “I am the private secretary to Oliver Warbucks.”

“Oliver Warbucks?
The
Oliver Warbucks?” Miss Hannigan's jaw hung slackly open in astonishment.

“Yes,” said Miss Farrell. “
The
Oliver Warbucks.”

“Oh, my God!” Miss Hannigan exclaimed. “I read in the
Daily Mirror
that Oliver Warbucks is the richest man in America. The richest man in the world!”

“Yes.” Miss Farrell was coolly matter-of-fact. “That is more or less true.” She shifted her position slightly on the chair. “Now, Miss Hannigan, Mr. Warbucks, as a gesture of charity, has decided to invite an orphan to spend the Christmas holidays at his home. And I've been sent here to select one for him.”

“You sure he wouldn't rather have a lady?” Miss Hannigan gave a high-pitched giggle. “I got two weeks of vacation comin'.”

Miss Farrell paid no heed to Miss Hannigan's feeble attempt at a joke as she took an official-looking document from her briefcase. Annie had been staring at Miss Farrell from the moment she entered the room. Her heart had all but stopped when she saw the beautiful blonde woman, for she was sure that it was her mother who had at last come to get her. With her shining blonde hair and beautiful face, Miss Farrell looked exactly the way Annie had always pictured her mother. But even if Miss Farrell wasn't her mother, Annie thought, she was surely the second-nicest and most lovely looking woman in the world.

“So what sort of orphan did you have in mind?” asked Miss Hannigan, nervously pacing back and forth and stopping only to block Annie from Miss Farrell's view.

“Well, she should be friendly,” said Miss Farrell. Twisting around behind Miss Hannigan's back, Annie gave Miss Farrell a friendly little wave. Noticing the wave, Miss Farrell grinned and waved back. Miss Hannigan, starting to pace the room again, didn't see the wave, the grin, or the wave back. “And she should also be intelligent,” added Miss Farrell.

“The capital of Florida is Tallahassee,” Annie spoke up brightly. “Capital T-a-l-l-a-h-a-s-s-e-e, Tallahassee!”

“You, shut up!” Miss Hannigan threw a murderous glance at Annie.

“And cheerful,” Miss Farrell continued. Annie laughed loudly and very cheerfully—with Miss Farrell in the same room, it was easy to be cheerful.

“Be quiet,” Miss Hannigan snapped at Annie. “And how old?”

“Oh, age doesn't really matter,” said Miss Farrell, leaning slightly to one side to get a better look at Annie. “Oh, say, nine or ten.” From behind Miss Hannigan, Annie motioned upward so Miss Farrell would suggest a higher age. “Or eleven,” Miss Farrell said. Annie kept on motioning upward. “Or even twelve,” Miss Farrell suggested. Annie motioned for Miss Farrell to stop. “Yes, twelve would be perfect.” Annie patted her head to indicate red hair. “And, oh yes, I almost forgot, Mr. Warbucks prefers redheaded children,” said Miss Farrell, smiling at the little game she found herself playing with Annie behind Miss Hannigan's back. Annie leapt eagerly to her feet, but Miss Hannigan at once shoved her down again.

“Twelve? A redhead?” Miss Hannigan thought for a moment. “No, I'm afraid we don't have any orphans like that around here.”

“Well, what about this child right here?” asked Miss Farrell, pointing to Annie, who once again popped to her feet.

“Annie? Oh, no, you wouldn't want her,” said Miss Hannigan, stepping between Annie and Miss Farrell. She was trying to think as fast as she could in her rattled state. “You wouldn't want her because she's . . . she's a drunk! Yes, that's it. She's drunk. A drunk and a liar.”

“Yes, I'm sure she's a drunk and a liar,” said Miss Farrell lightly, not for a moment believing Miss Hannigan's outrageous lies. She held out her hand to Annie. “Annie, come here,” Miss Farrell said gently. Annie edged her way gingerly around Miss Hannigan and, smiling, went up to Miss Farrell.

“Annie, would you like to spend the next two weeks at Mr. Warbucks's house?” asked Miss Farrell.

“Oh, I would love to,” breathed Annie. “I would really love to.”

“Hold it!” snapped Miss Hannigan. “You can have any orphan in the orphanage, but not Annie.”

“Why not?” Miss Farrell coolly asked.

“I just told you.” Miss Hannigan was losing her temper. “She's a drunk and . . .”

Miss Farrell looked Miss Hannigan sternly in the eye. “I assume, Miss Hannigan,” she said with authority, “that the reason you don't want to let Annie go with me has something to do with all that business about the laundry bag and the police. Perhaps I should call Mr. Donatelli at the Board of Orphans and tell him all about—”

“Oh, no, no, no, no—that won't be necessary,” replied Miss Hannigan with a high-pitched laugh.

Miss Farrell picked up the official-looking document that she'd taken from her briefcase and thrust it into Miss Hannigan's hands. “Sign it,” she ordered.