Miss Dreamsville and the Lost Heiress of Collier County (28 page)

Bunny jumped angrily to her feet. “I was not a stripper! I was a
fan dancer
!”

“Sit down, please,” the judge scolded. Bunny complied.

“Well, the record shows you were a stripper, or exotic dancer,” Darryl's lawyer replied, looking remarkably unfazed by the outburst.

“Fan dancer!” she hollered.

“Silence in the court!” the judge bellowed.

Mr. Yonce waited a beat, then said pleadingly, “Your honor, this is character assassination. My client is not on trial here. The only thing that matters is ownership of the land.
She owns it.
What she may have done in her past has no relevance.”

“But it does have relevance, your honor!” Darryl's attorney said. “This woman has a history. She is not an upstanding citizen. With all due respect, I believe we need to examine this issue.”

Judge Prentiss took a long sip of water, then set the glass down a little too hard right next to the microphone. “Let me think about this, boys,” he said. He then removed his glasses, spit on the lenses, and used the long sleeve of his robe to clean them.

Suddenly, Jackie raised her hand and began waving it like a schoolgirl. “Your honor, may I say something?” she asked. Before he could answer she had leapt to her feet.

He squinted at her. “And you are . . . ?”

“Mrs. Jacqueline Hart,” she said.

“And you wish to speak because . . . ?”

“I wish to be a character witness for Miss McIntyre.”

The judge peered at Jackie. “Aren't you Miss Dreamsville? The lady who had that radio show?”

“Yes, your honor,” Jackie said sweetly.

“Well, I have no objection. Since Mr. Norwood's attorney has led us down this path, I will hear what you have to say. Come up here and speak from the witness stand, though. And keep it short.”

Jackie sashayed to the chair adjacent to the judge's bench. “Shouldn't I swear on a Bible?” she asked.

The judge nodded. A deputy sauntered over, held the Bible, and made Jackie repeat the oath: “I do solemnly swear . . .” Jackie was in her glory. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd been waiting her whole life for a chance to testify in a court of law. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bailey White and I glanced at each other, and I noticed Mr. Yonce biting his lip.

“I would just like to say that I think it is entirely unfair for this man here”—she pointed theatrically at Darryl's lawyer—“to attack Miss McIntyre and attempt to embarrass her. Since the beginning of time, women such as Miss McIntyre have been used and abused, and treated with scorn. She has had a difficult life, was cast out by her parents in her youth, and treated with utter disregard by unscrupulous men. It is unconscionable, in a civilized society, to make her pay again and again—”

Darryl's attorney coughed conspicuously and rolled his eyes. Jackie noticed and took a different tack.

“
Excuse me,
but don't most of us here—probably all of us—consider ourselves to be Christians?” she cried out. “Miss McIntyre
has made mistakes, but haven't we all? Who among us dares to cast the first stone? I thought we weren't supposed to judge others! And what about forgiveness? Miss McIntyre left that life of temptation and wickedness. She is an honorable person. She raised a son, who is an upstanding citizen . . .” Jackie's voice trailed off and she dabbed real tears from her eyes.

Mrs. Bailey White and I were openmouthed. For a moment our Jackie sounded like a born-and-bred Southern lady. “Why, Mrs. Hart, I am greatly moved,” the judge said. “Where is this son? I would like to hear from him, if he is present.”

A voice from the far back of the room called out, “I'm here!” The crowd rumbled with anticipation. Robbie-Lee, carrying a suitcase, made his way to the front. I was so happy to see him I almost cried.

“Silence in the court!” the judge bellowed. He used the gavel three times to emphasize his point.

Robbie-Lee looked just the same except maybe a little thinner. He'd always been a good-looking guy and a swell dresser. As he took Jackie's place on the witness stand and was sworn in, he seemed out of breath. The judge coaxed him to speak.

“Well,” Robbie-Lee said, “she has always been a
wonderful
mother. I could not ask for a better mom. She took such good care of me. I'll never forget the time I had the chicken pox and she—”

“All right, I think we get the picture,” the judge said.

“Sir, I would just like to add that I don't think it's at all nice that these highfalutin lawyers”—he gestured at Darryl's attorney—“are saying such evil things about my dear mama.”

At his emotional pronouncement, hankies were removed from purses and vest pockets throughout the courtroom, most
conspicuously along the left front row. Jackie, who had returned to her seat next to me; Mrs. Bailey White, on my other side; myself, and even Bunny, were crying loudly.

“And there's something else I would like to say, your honor,” Robbie-Lee said. “I recall as a child visiting my mother's parents, who died a long time ago. And they had a family Bible—I surely wish we knew where it is now—but it had the names of people written into it, each time somebody was born. My mama pointed out her name—Bunny Ann McIntyre—to me, and we wrote my name just below it. And while I don't know what happened to that Bible, I swear that this is the truth.”

Robbie-Lee stepped down and headed for an empty seat on our row, pausing to kiss his mama on the cheek.

Mr. Yonce looked a little shell-shocked by the unexpected testimony of Jackie and Robbie-Lee, but Darryl's lawyer saw an opportunity. “Your honor,” he said, “this is a pretty scene but I believe we are getting off track here! These sorts of theatrics do not help us get to the truth. Especially coming from Mrs. Hart, who is a notorious local personality, a newspaper columnist, and previously, the host of a scandalous radio show.”

The judge grabbed his gavel and slammed it twice. “Good heavens, man, can't you see that Miss Dreamsville, er, Mrs. Hart is in
mourning clothes
?” he scolded. “Have we reached that time and place where we have abandoned all decency? Were you not raised better than this?”

“Thank you, your honor,” Jackie said, standing briefly. “Sir, you are a true gentleman.”

The judge blushed. Mr. Yonce looked so lost he reminded me of a fish that had leapt out of water and found itself belly-up on dry land. Our poor young lawyer had completely lost control of his case.

“Is there anyone else who would like to speak?” the judge asked finally.

A laborer named Jim Beam, just like the liquor, spoke about the need for jobs. “We need this project,” he declared. “How am I supposed to feed my family?”

Then one of the brothers from Gun Rack Village—Billy, I think—also chose to speak, directing his question to Mr. Beam. “Does your need for a job mean you've got to destroy what we have?” he asked. “It may not seem like much to you but it's our entire way of life.”

I was waiting for someone to bring up Seminole Joe but before that could happen, the proceedings came to an end. “I've heard enough,” the judge said. “I've had as much botheration as I can stand. There's no need to go further. The rightful owner is Miss Bunny Ann McIntyre. All other arguments are moot.”

He brought down the gavel and left the courtroom. If he hurried, he'd be back to his favorite fishing spot by midday.

A
nd so Bunny Ann McIntyre had won fair and square. She was now the official heir to the river. In fact, she was the largest heiress in Collier County.

Dora was thrilled, naturally. Jackie Hart rushed off to write a special column for the newspaper. Robbie-Lee was relieved and more than a little surprised that his mother had turned out to be wealthy—well, land-rich, at least. Billy and Marco had raced off in their pickup to share the news.

Before the sun reached its highest point, word had spread sure and steady like a smoldering swamp fire in dry season.

The last to hear the good news were the Negroes who would have lost their settlement. Among them there was said to be as much shock as joy, because there had been justice. They weren't used to it.

No one, of course, should have been happier than Bunny. She had insisted on walking back to her fishing shack alone. Everyone else, including her son, had gone off to celebrate.

“Oh, don't get me wrong,” she told Peggy Sue, who was
snuggled in her nest and upon hearing Bunny's familiar voice, opened one eye. “I'm tickled to death that I won. But now there's one more job I have to do, and Lord knows I don't feel like doing it.”

Bunny sat down on the edge of the dock and let her feet dangle over the side. She'd already taken off the strange shoes she'd borrowed for court. “What do you think I should do, Peggy Sue?” she continued. “I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

The fact was that one secret remained: the one she feared most.

“How am I going to tell her?” Bunny said, and the night heron responded with a peculiar squeak. “Oh, am I annoying you? I beg your pardon!” Bunny added, and laughed. “But seriously, Peggy Sue, the look on her face is going to be awful. And who can blame her? How would you like to find out your real mother was an exotic dancer turned alligator hunter?”

For years, she'd watched from a distance without her having a clue.
Dora
. Bunny liked the name they had chosen for her.

But when Bunny realized Dora was in the same book club as Robbie-Lee, she nearly passed out from fear that Dora would figure it out, or he would. The thought of the two of them, half sister and brother, sitting side by side talking about books was so painful it seemed like the devil was laughing in her face.

Then Dora went to Mississippi, and Bunny got really scared. She didn't believe Dora had any idea she was adopted, but she might figure it out if she started poking around there. And sure enough, Bunny overheard the book club ladies—Jackie, Plain Jane, and Mrs. Bailey White—talking downstairs when she stayed overnight at the old gal's house before they went to court. They were discussing Dora, how she had learned she was adopted but was dealing with it pretty well. Seems she'd found
out a few months earlier so she'd had some time to get used to the idea.

But Dora still didn't know who her mother was. And likely never would.

Bunny knew in her heart that Dora deserved to hear the truth, even if she might be disappointed. She had gotten to know Dora, which made it mighty hard to keep up the lie. Dora was, also, a rightful heir to Bunny's land. She and Robbie-Lee would share it someday.

She was so desperate to save the river that she'd gambled by asking Dora for help. She knew when she sent that telegram that she might be starting something that would be hard to stop. Fact is, the State of Florida did not take her baby girl when she was fifteen and had run off to Tampa. The truth was there was a nurse, a sweet gal from Mississippi, who told Bunny that she knew she couldn't have children. The nurse's name was Callie and she was staying in Tampa, just for a while, because she needed a job and it was the only place she could find work. Her husband—she said they'd been married about a year—was from Collier County, and she would join him as soon as she could get a job there.

Bunny had a feeling there was more to this story but since she was so young and had a world of troubles of her own, she didn't ask. Then one night when Bunny couldn't sleep, the young nurse told her how she'd left her man at the altar and run off with someone else. Up and left her fiancé, her parents, her whole life, and had no regrets. The same day she was supposed to marry one fella, she married the other. She and her new man drove straight from Mississippi to Alabama and finally, just after crossing the Florida state line, got married that night in the parlor of a Methodist preacher's parsonage in some small town Bunny had never heard of.

To Bunny this was an impressive tale. Unlike Bunny, the young nurse named Callie knew what she wanted in life. She had stood up for herself. Plus, she was a trained nurse. She was educated. When Bunny found out that Callie couldn't have a child but really wanted one, she knew at that moment that she was meant to give her baby girl to Callie. It hurt less to give the baby to someone she chose. Besides, the nurse's husband was from Collier County and that's where they were going to live. Bunny felt like a part of her would stay with the baby by having her grow up where she did. Although, of course, in a better home.

When Bunny had Robbie-Lee seven years later at the same hospital in Tampa, something told her it was time to go home to Collier County. She wanted to be near Dora. She wanted to watch her grow up.

And so Bunny Ann McIntyre picked her new name—Dolores Simpson—not just because she saw it in a magazine left on a southbound bus to Naples but because Dolores sounded, to her, a lot like Dora. Just another little secret, a way to keep her close without anyone knowing.

“Peggy Sue,” she called over to her avian friend, “wish me luck.”

•  •  •

SHE DECIDED TO TELL ROBBIE-LEE
first. That was only fair. The next morning she walked to Mrs. Bailey White's house. People were coming and going, and she began to despair of having a moment alone with her son. Finally, she asked him to help pack up the belongings she'd left when she'd spent the night before going to court. It was a lovely little room on the second floor, and Bunny knew she would miss it. They were taking a break;
he was sitting in a chair that was too small for him and she was perched on the side of the bed. He was talking about how he needed to go back to New York, that he wasn't on official leave from his job.

Now was the time.

“Dora Witherspoon is your sister,” she blurted out. They were the most powerful and difficult words she'd ever said aloud, and to her they seemed to take over the room like a swarm of furious bees. The sting of those words mocked her and hung in the air until she noticed something odd. Robbie-Lee was strangely calm.