Annie (14 page)

“Well, this is . . . wonderful news, Annie,” said Mr. Warbucks, trying to sound cheerful.

“Yes . . . wonderful news,” muttered everyone.

“Annie has found her parents,” said Mr. Warbucks, “and they seem to be a . . . a very nice couple.”

“Yes, very nice,” everyone murmured.

“You're lucky, Annie,” said Miss Farrell gently.

“Right, I'm lucky,” gulped Annie, trying not to cry. “Just think . . . New Jersey.”

“We have something even better than an adoption to celebrate—so please, champagne for everyone!” cried Mr. Warbucks, and glasses of champagne were quickly passed around. “Let us all give thanks for a most fortunate turn of events,” Mr. Warbucks went on, raising his champagne glass. “Because it is Christmas Eve and we have just had the most wonderful news in the world. Annie has found her mother and father. Everyone, I propose a toast. To Annie Mudge!”

“To Annie Mudge!” all the guests repeated, raising their glasses and glumly drinking. Annie could hold in her unhappiness no longer. She burst into tears and ran, sobbing, up the stairs to her bedroom.

“Annie, oh, Annie!” cried Miss Farrell, running to the bottom of the stairs. She'd have gone up to comfort Annie if it hadn't been for the arrival of another guest at the party. Into the room, pushed by a Secret Service man, came President Roosevelt in his wheelchair. Mr. Warbucks had forgotten that this was the night he'd invited the president for supper.

“Merry Christmas!” called out President Roosevelt in his cheeriest voice. He was grinning broadly.

“Merry Christmas,” muttered everyone gloomily.

President Roosevelt swiveled around to look up at the Secret Service man behind him. “I seem to have the same effect on everyone,” he said with a sigh.

Mr. Warbucks stood alone by the fireplace. “I've lost her,” he said quietly to himself. “I've lost Annie.” Miss Farrell hurried up to him. “Sir,” she said, “that Mr. Mudge, I think I've seen him somewhere before. I just can't remember where or when. But I have the strangest feeling that he's not who he says he is.”

If the Mudges were frauds, thought Mr. Warbucks, then there was a chance that he hadn't lost Annie, after all. He had to find out for certain by tomorrow morning. But how? He'd never asked for any man's help, reflected Mr. Warbucks, and he'd promised himself that he never would. But now he had to. Because, he suddenly understood, he wasn't as powerful as he'd always thought he was—he was as vulnerable as any other man in this world. And so Oliver Warbucks turned humbly now to President Roosevelt. “Mr. President, er, Franklin,” he said quietly, “I need your help.”

“Of course, Oliver,” said President Roosevelt with a warm kindness in his voice. “Whatever I can do for you, I'll do.”

A
ll nigh
t long, Annie lay awake in her canopy bed. This is the last night I'll spend in this house, she thought sadly, staring up at the ceiling. From time to time, she dozed fitfully for a minute or two, drifting into happy dreams in which she and Mr. Warbucks were sailing to Europe on a blue ocean liner or riding together on a roller coaster at a seaside amusement park. But then she abruptly woke up to remember that she wasn't going to be Mr. Warbucks's daughter, after all, and that in the morning she'd be on her way to New Jersey with Mr. and Mrs. Mudge. Her father and mother. “For gosh sakes,” Annie said to herself, “stop feelin' so darned sorry for yourself. That pig farm in New Jersey will probably be just as nice as right here. And once I get to know them, I'll bet that Mr. and Mrs. Mudge turn out to be real wonderful folks. Think of all that good fresh air. And pigs. Anyway, the sun'll come out tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar.”

Shortly before dawn, a light snow began to fall on New York, and Annie got up to stand at the window and watch the snow swirling down Fifth Avenue in the light of the streetlamps. She gazed forlornly at the falling snow just as she had from the window at the orphanage in the early hours of the beginning of 1933. But now her father and mother were actually soon coming for her. How strange that this thought, of all thoughts, should make her so unhappy. At last, a gray dawn arrived, and Annie put on her red dress and packed the Louis Vuitton suitcase that Mr. Warbucks had bought for her. Then she put on the pale-pink wool coat and hat from Bergdorf's, picked up her suitcase, and trudged downstairs to the living room. She sat on her suitcase next to the darkened Christmas tree and waited alone in the vast, shadowy room for Mr. and Mrs. Mudge to come for her. She looked around at all the gifts under the tree. I guess I won't be getting any of them, she thought. Or maybe just one doll to take along to New Jersey.

The lights went on in the living room, and Annie turned to see Mr. Warbucks and Miss Farrell standing in the archway, still dressed as they had been the night before at the party.

“Merry Christmas, Annie,” said Mr. Warbucks.

“Merry Christmas, Annie,” said Miss Farrell.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Warbucks, Miss Farrell,” chirped Annie brightly, trying to smile and sound cheerful.

“You're up early, Annie,” said Mr. Warbucks.

“Yes, sir,” replied Annie. “Because, you see, my folks are comin' for me, of course, so I thought I'd just wait for 'em here. I guess they'll be takin' me out to the country.” She looked pleadingly up at Mr. Warbucks. “Will you come and see me sometime?” she asked.

“Yes, I'll see you, Annie,” said Mr. Warbucks solemnly.

“You're up early, too,” said Annie.

“We've been up all night, dear,” said Mr. Warbucks. “And we've had quite a night of it. F.B.I. men coming and going. I've been on the phone more than a dozen times with Mr. Hoover, the director of the F.B.I. And I've had a great deal of help from President Roosevelt. Annie, did you know that he's here?”

“President Roosevelt? Really?” asked Annie, popping excitedly up from her suitcase.

“Really,” said Mr. Warbucks. “Annie, I've got something very difficult to tell you, and the president is going to help me tell it to you.” Mr. Warbucks stepped over to the archway and called, “Mr. President, could you come in now, please?” and President Roosevelt appeared now in his wheelchair.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. President Roosevelt,” said Annie.

“Merry Christmas, Annie,” said the president. “It's good to see you again.”

“It's good to see you, too, sir,” said Annie.

Both Mr. Warbucks and Miss Farrell looked anguished, and for once Mr. Warbucks seemed unable to speak. “Franklin, could you please tell her for me?” he asked the president in a hoarse whisper.

“Annie,” said the president, beckoning to her to come close to him and clasping her hand, “early this morning, F.B.I. director Hoover telephoned us with some very sad news. Through the evidence provided in your note, his chief agent, Eliot Ness, succeeded late last night in discovering the identity of your parents.”

“Yes, we already know that,” Annie said. “Mr. and Mrs. Mudge.”

“No, dear, they aren't your parents,” said Mr. Warbucks. “Your parents were David and Margaret Bennett.”

“David and Margaret Bennett!” cried Annie. “Where are they?”

“Annie . . .” began Mr. Warbucks, but he was unable to continue.

“Annie,” said President Roosevelt quietly, “your mother and father passed away. A long time ago.”

“You mean . . . they're dead?” Annie asked.

“Yes, dear, they're dead,” said Mr. Warbucks.

“So, I'm an orphan, after all, like the other kids,” Annie said. Brokenhearted, fighting back tears, Annie walked to the window and stood silently staring out on the falling snow. Her dream of finding her father and mother would never come true. Her parents were gone.

• • •

Agent Ness of the F.B.I. had observed that Annie's note was written on a special kind of heavyweight drawing paper that was used mainly by artists. And after days of investigation, he'd discovered that that particular kind of paper was sold in New York at an artists' supply store only three blocks from the orphanage where Annie had been left. Rudolph T. Termohlen, the longtime proprietor of the store, had remembered that, years ago, a young painter named David Bennett had bought a large quantity of that type of paper from him. And, digging into his old sales records, Termohlen had found Bennett's address—329 East 7th Street. The address turned out to be that of a boardinghouse run by an aged Irish widow named Rose Riley. Mrs. Riley remembered Mr. Bennett and his young wife very well indeed. “So sad, so very, very sad,” she told Agent Ness when he came to her door only early last evening. “Both of them so young, and to die of influenza in that terrible, terrible epidemic of 1922.” Yes, Mrs. Riley recalled, the Bennetts had had a baby daughter. But not long before they passed away, soon after Mrs. Bennett had fallen ill, the baby had suddenly no longer been with them. “I figured they had sent her to live with grandparents or somebody,” explained Mrs. Riley. She remembered that there was a boxful of the Bennetts' unclaimed belongings stored down in her cellar. In the box, Agent Ness had found a photograph album, Margaret Bennett's diary, and, among other documents, Annie's birth certificate. From the diary, he had quickly pieced together the Bennetts' story. They'd come to New York from Iowa in early 1921 so that they could study art at Cooper Union. They were young—he was twenty-five and she was twenty-three. Impoverished, struggling artists who were alone in the world, with no families back in Iowa. So when Margaret Bennett had become ill, her husband, desperately afraid that their baby might also catch influenza, had left Annie at the orphanage, intending to come back to get her as soon as his wife was well. But Margaret Bennett had died on January 13, 1922, and two weeks later, having caught the disease from his wife, David Bennett had also died. And he'd apparently become delirious with fever before he'd had a chance to tell anyone about Annie. The Bennetts were bright and talented artists, and from snapshots in the photograph album, Agent Ness could see that they'd been a handsome couple—he was tall and square-jawed, with a mop of unruly red hair, and she was a pretty, sweet-faced blonde. And, as a number of entries in Margaret Bennett's diary showed, she and her husband loved Annie very much. Thus, the mystery was sadly solved of why Annie's parents had never come back for her.

• • •

For a long time, Annie stood silently at the window while Mr. Warbucks, Miss Farrell, and President Roosevelt just as silently watched her. “Are you all right, Annie?” Miss Farrell asked at last, gently.

Annie turned to them. “Yes,” she said. “Because, you see, I guess I always knew, deep down, that my folks were dead. Because I knew they loved me. And so they would have come for me if . . . if they weren't dead.” While standing at the window, Annie had made up her mind that she wasn't going to dwell on the sorrows of her past. Not even for a day. From this moment on, she told herself, I'm going to forget all that's gone by and just try to live my life as happily as I can.

Mr. Warbucks walked toward Annie, stopped, and then held out his arms to her. Tears glistened in his eyes. “I love you, Annie Bennett,” he said. Annie ran to him and threw herself into his arms. “And I love you, too.” For a moment, they stood in the middle of the room with their arms about each other, and then Annie, as tough-spirited as ever, stepped back and loudly demanded to know, “Now, who the heck are Ralph and Shirley Mudge?”

Mr. Warbucks, Miss Farrell, and President Roosevelt burst out laughing. “Thatta girl!” cried Mr. Warbucks. “Who the heck are Ralph and Shirley Mudge?”

“The birth certificate could easily enough have been forged,” Miss Farrell pointed out. “But the odd thing is, they knew about the locket.”

“The locket—that's your key,” said President Roosevelt.

“But nobody knew about the locket except us,” said Mr. Warbucks, puzzled. “And the F.B.I., of course.”

“And Miss Hannigan,” remembered Annie.

Mr. Warbucks and Miss Farrell, a comes-the-dawn look in their eyes, exchanged knowing nods. “
And
Miss Hannigan!” they chorused.

“
And
Miss Hannigan!” cried President Roosevelt.

Drake presented himself in the archway leading from the front foyer. “Miss Hannigan, sir,” he announced, “and the children from the orphanage, here for the Christmas party.” And into the room now marched Miss Hannigan at the head of her ragamuffin band of orphans. The orphans, wide-eyed with delight upon seeing the Christmas tree, the gifts, and Annie, rushed up to their old pal as they shouted, “Annie, Annie, Annie!” The first of the orphans to reach Annie was little Molly, who threw herself into Annie's arms and gave her a great big Christmas hug. And then the orphans ran to look at the gifts under the tree. “Help yourselves, children,” said Miss Farrell, switching on the Christmas-tree lights, “they're all for you.”

“Hooray!” shouted the orphans.

“Gee, Annie, what a great place this is,” said Kate as she picked out a pair of ice skates for herself from under the tree.

“Aw, ugh, who'd want to live in a dump like this?” said Pepper, choosing a red bicycle for herself.

“Yeah, dump,” agreed Duffy, getting onto a hobbyhorse.

“Look, kids, there's about a dozen dolls for each of us!” shouted July.

“Oh, my goodness!” shrieked Tessie.

Meanwhile, Mr. Warbucks was being nothing if not polite to Miss Hannigan, even though he knew how cruel she'd been to Annie, and even though he also now strongly suspected that she was involved with the couple calling themselves Ralph and Shirley Mudge. “Ah, Miss Hannigan,” said Mr. Warbucks, shaking her hand, “I'm delighted to meet you. I've heard so much about you.”

“Same here,” replied Miss Hannigan. “And I'd know you anywhere. You're
the
Oliver Warbucks, right?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Warbucks. “Now, let me introduce you to everyone. You already know my secretary, Miss Farrell, of course, and this is Drake, my butler, and that man over there is the president of the United States.”

“Yes, of course, I'm very delighted . . .” Miss Hannigan started to say, but then her jaw dropped open and her eyes glazed over in utter disbelief. “Oh, my God, President Roosevelt,” she stammered, collapsing into a chair. “I'm in the same room with the president of America.”

Drake came hurrying from the front door with an envelope. “Mr. Warbucks,” he whispered urgently, “this has just come from the F.B.I.”

“Good,” said Mr. Warbucks, tearing open the envelope and taking out a memorandum from J. Edgar Hoover. “In Washington files,” the memorandum read, “have turned up dossiers on a pair of swindlers who frequently identify themselves to their victims as Ralph and Shirley Mudge. From a study of our photographic files by Mudge victims, we have now positively identified the pair as Daniel Francis ‘Rooster' Hannigan and Muriel Jane Gumper, alias Lily St. Regis, both of whom are wanted for federal crimes of fraud. If they return this morning, please instruct my agents stationed in your house to take them immediately into custody.”

Mr. Warbucks smiled as he handed the memorandum to Miss Farrell. “Of course, now I remember that it was the man who did an imitation of a rooster in the front hallway of the orphanage who said ‘Oops, pardon me, blondie,'” whispered Miss Farrell. “Who else but Rooster Hannigan?”

“Leapin' lizards!” cried Annie when Miss Farrell showed her the memorandum. “Who woulda guessed it?”

Once again, Drake appeared in the archway. “Sir, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Mudge,” he intoned, stepping aside to usher in Rooster and Lily in their disguises as the Mudges.

“Good morning,” Rooster croaked cheerfully. “Merry Christmas, one and all!”

“Merry Christmas!” everyone replied.

“Ah, there she is, Shirley, our little girl,” said Rooster in a syrupy voice, pointing at Annie.

“Your little girl,” repeated Mr. Warbucks with a smile.

“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Annie chirped.

“Well, we don't want to be no bother to nobody, on Christmas and all,” Rooster said obsequiously. “We've just come to pick up Annie, her things, and, oh, yeah, the check.”

“Ah, yes, of course, the check,” said Mr. Warbucks with a wink at Annie. “I wouldn't want you to forget your check.” Mr. Warbucks took the check from his pocket and held it out to Rooster. “Here it is, Mr. Mudge. Fifty thousand dollars. Certified.”

Rooster quickly grabbed the check and began to tuck it away into his wallet. This time he wasn't going to let it get away from him. “Certified, huh?” asked Rooster, barely glancing at the check. “Pay to the order of Ralph Mudge.”