ruthlessly polite.”
“And what about, ‘Do I know your people?’ That was the
first thing your mother asked me,” Hank recalled.
“That’s the first thing she asks everyone,” Maggie said,
“Everyone here is obsessed with your family’s history and her-
itage. Nothing is more important than the family you come
from. I think it’s silly, if anyone shouldn’t care who you are or
where you’re from it should be my mother. She lost all of her
family when she was very young. Her parents died in a fire when
she was a little girl. She was sent to live with a great aunt or
something. I think the old woman mistreated her.”
“I’m sorry,” Hank said, understanding Charlotte a lit-
tle better.
“Don’t be,” Maggie said, “she has everything she could
ever want now and she’s still not happy. Some people just
aren’t, don’t you think?” When he didn’t answer, Maggie
moved closer to Hank and turned his face to hers, “There’s
a sadness about you too, not mean like my mother, just sad.
I saw it in your eyes that first night out here on the porch.
What are you sad about, Hank Whitaker? I want you to be
happy. I want to make you happy,” she whispered then kissed
him. She pulled back to look at his face, his eyes were open
to watch their first kiss.
24
Provenance: A Novel
He laced his long fingers into her hair and pulled her to
him, kissing her fervently and deeply like a man quenching a
long thirst. “You make happy, Maggie,” Hank said smiling,
his lips still on hers. “You make my sadness go away.” From
that moment on, they belonged to each other.
(II)
Just before Labor Day, while Charlotte was at one of her
Woman’s League meetings, Walton, tired of sitting alone in the
parlor, wandered out on to the porch to join Maggie and Hank.
“Hey, Daddy,” Maggie said affectionately.
“Thought I’d join you young people. It’s cooler out here
than in that stuffy parlor. Felt like the walls were closing in
on me.” Walton turned his attention to Hank,
“So Maggie tells me you’re from south of here – a farm
boy she says.”
“I came to Richmond after my parents died. With just me
and a couple of field hands there was no way I could scratch a
living out of the land they left me. This country boy thought
he’d make a go of it here in the city,” Hank said, now practiced
at lying about his past.
“I shouldn’t tell you this but since you’ve taken an interest
in my little Maggie, I looked into your holdings at the bank.
You’ve started to become one of the bank’s better customers
young man,” Walton said as he walked to the edge of the porch
and spit over the railing into the gardenias, then settled into a
wicker chair across from the young couple. Hank tried not to
25
Donna Drew Sawyer
wince. He could not imagine what kind of hell his late mother
would have raised if his father or brothers had spewed anything
off the front porch into her flower beds.
“So you’re workin’ for that Atkinson woman now, the one
that owns the Richmond Hotel.”
“Yes sir. The biggest hotel in town and my best client,”
Hank said proudly.
Walton rubbed his belly thoughtfully then said,
“Women shouldn’t be runnin’ a business like that. You
know she let coloreds work for her.”
“I don’t see how that’s a problem, sir. When I made my
way to Richmond from the farm, her construction site was
the first work I could get. I worked ‘long side colored men
doing the excavation for the hotel. They’s good workers, Mr.
Bennett. Wouldn’t mind havin’ that kind of industriousness
on my crews,” Hank said.
“Wouldn’t have ‘em Hank, that kind of race mixin’ can put
you out of business here in Richmond, I guarantee. Races have
no business mixing, down on the farm may be necessary but
in the city, that’s nothin’ but trouble – for you and for them.
Wouldn’t have them around,” Walton repeated, “not even if
they was shinin’ the shit off my shoes,” he added.
Hank wasn’t inured to the things white men said about
Negroes, he had just learned not to react to them. If you knew
the race mixin’ I’m doin’ right here on your porch, Hank thought as he put his arm on the back of the swing behind Maggie’s
shoulders.
26
Provenance: A Novel
“Keep making the right moves, Hank, and you let me
know if there’s anything I can do for you, ya hear? City ways
ain’t country ways so if ya don’t know, just ask. If you gonna be
sparkin’ with my daughter, I wanna be sure you got resources,”
he winked at Maggie who snuggled closer to Hank.
Walton yawned and stretched, took a sip from the glass of
bourbon he’d been nursing all evening.
“You and Maggie keep my offer to help from Mrs. Bennett’s
ears, ya hear now?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Maggie said, smiling up at Hank.
“Thank you, sir, for your encouragement,” Hank said
looking at Maggie. If they were to move their relationship
past the front porch they would need Walton to deal with
Charlotte Bennett.
The fans on the porch’s aurora blue ceiling strained against
the humid warmth of the early September night, offering not
even a hint of a breeze. Walton leaned over the porch railing and
knocked the remnants of his pipe tobacco into the gardenias,
then pulled a crumpled white handkerchief from his pocket
and mopped the perspiration dripping from his forehead,
“Seem to have a touch of indigestion,” he said to no one
in particular then leaned back in his rocker, rubbing his chest.
Walton closed his eyes unable to resist the soporific effect of
the night air. Maggie and Hank eyed each other waiting for
Walton’s first snore. Maggie stifled a laugh, as she watched
her father nod, nearly wake, nod again and finally, settle into
a steady snooze. Still snuggled against Hank, she waited a few
27
Donna Drew Sawyer
minutes then slid off the porch swing and beckoned Hank to
follow her.
They retreated to the shadows of the side porch shielded
from the street and Walton’s view, though it was improbable
that he would awaken anytime soon. At first, they went there
for a quiet place to talk, then to kiss. As the summer got hotter
so did their hunger for each other.
That night Maggie had purposely worn an off-the-shoulder
dress. As she backed up against the clapboards and into the
side porch’s shadows, she pulled the shoulders of her dress
down to reveal her breasts to Hank. She pulled him against
her, pressing herself into him.
Hank pulled back to look at the luminous glory of
Maggie’s body.
“Oh my God,” he said, surprised by Maggie’s boldness and
by the sight he’d so longed to see. He kiss
ed her, his mouth
then traveled the length of her neck to her shoulder and then
to the fullness of her breasts where he buried his face. Maggie
held her breath, cradled his head, stroking his soft hair. She
exhaled as she pulled his hips toward her so she could feel him
hard against her. The thought of making love to Hank one day
could no longer satisfy her. She would be nineteen in a few
months and she wanted to be married to the man she chose,
not someone her mother decided was more appropriate.
Charlotte had started inviting young men she deemed
worthy over for dinner, desperate to provide Maggie with a
more suitable alternative than “the janitor,” as she referred to
Hank. Her mother was too pushy and Hank was too much
28
Provenance: A Novel
of a gentleman; Maggie decided to take the matter into her
own hands.
“Hank,” she breathed into his ear, “I need you. Stay with
me, make love to me tonight.”
Hank pul ed back to look at Maggie. Over the weeks their
passion had been increasingly aggressive. He had not yet fig-
ured out how they would deal with what was becoming more
difficult to deal with, but what she was asking was impossible.
“I’ll take you round back, to the rose arbor. You wait for
me there. Momma will be back within the hour. As soon as
Momma and Daddy go to bed I’ll come back to be with you.
Wait for me under the arbor.” Maggie did not wait for him
to respond to her plan. She pulled her dress back into place,
took the reluctant Hank’s hand and led him deep into the back
garden of the house, into the shelter of the arbor thick with a
fragrant curtain of rose and honeysuckle. Before Hank could
protest Maggie kissed him and was gone, dashing across the
garden and up onto the porch just in time to hear Walton stir
as his wife walked up the stairs to the front porch.
“Margaret! Where are you? Walton, wake up, you’re sup-
posed to be keeping an eye on things!” Charlotte said. Maggie
slipped silently in the back door of the house, ran through the
kitchen and up the back stairs. Losing her dress as she reached
her room, she grabbed her robe, pulled it on and called down
from the balcony over the front porch as she heard her mother
continue to berate her father.
“Momma, I’m up here. Hank left a while ago. I didn’t want
to wake Daddy, he was sleeping so soundly.”
29
Donna Drew Sawyer
“Walton, let’s go,” Charlotte snapped, dragging her husband
through the front door and slamming it behind them. Maggie
went to the hal and watched her parents ascend the stairs—her
mother leading, her father in tow. “Boy’s got a good head for
money,” he was saying to Charlotte, his voice lethargic.
“That’s a waste seeing as he doesn’t have any,” Charlotte said.
“You’d be surprised Charlotte, he’s on his way,” Walton
assured her. “You mark my words. Maggie could do a lot worse
than Hank Whitaker, I tell you, a lot worse.”
“Don’t you go putting ideas in my daughter’s head Walton
Bennett, I’ve got other plans and not a single one includes that
Hank Whitaker.”
“What about my plans Momma?” Maggie asked embold-
ened by her father’s support and the knowledge that Hank
waited for her just a few yards away. Charlotte stopped in the
hallway and looked at her daughter,
“You don’t have any plans except the ones I make for you.
You will have the life I’ve planned for you and when you even-
tually see through that Hank Whitaker, as shallow as he is,
then you will thank me young lady.”
“Daddy likes him!” Maggie blurted out. Charlotte looked
at her daughter as if she had lost her mind.
“Do you think for one second that I care one whit about
you or your father’s opinion on this matter?” Charlotte asked
as if Walton were not standing next to her. Maggie looked to
her father; he made no effort to defend himself or his daugh-
ter. Charlotte walked to the master bedroom at the opposite
end of the long hall from Maggie’s room. “Go to bed Maggie,
30
Provenance: A Novel
it’s late. I’ll brush your hair in the morning. Walton, time for
bed,” she ordered, holding the door to the master suite open
for him to follow.
There would be no further discussion, Charlotte had spoken.
Walton did as he was told, daring to stop for a moment to kiss
his only child good night.
Maggie remained in the hall until she saw the light go out
in their bedroom.
How does he stand it? She wondered. Daddy can’t even breathe without Momma’s permission. She’s smothered him—he has no
wil , no opinion and no wants—except what she wants. It’s too
late for you, Daddy, Maggie thought knowing her future was
waiting for her on the other side of the Palladian window that
overlooked the garden. But it is not too late for me; Momma will never suffocate me.
(III)
Hank could not see the house through the thick vines
and the Bennetts could not see him – only Maggie knew
he was here. The full moon cast shadows through the trellis
above him falling across the earth under his feet making
it look like he was in a cage. What if Maggie didn’t come
back? Here he was, a black man hiding on a white man’s
property waiting to have the man’s daughter. He was an
intruder in a white man’s world— he could be hanged for
less than this, he almost had been. Why did he ever think he
could pass? He’d heard about other blacks passing as white
31
Donna Drew Sawyer
but he’d never met anyone like him and if he had, would
he have known it? Why did he pretend to be the very thing
that tried to annihilate him? Why did he fall in love with
Maggie, someone who would hate him if she really knew
who he was? Why hadn’t he ever had this kind of feeling for
a Negro woman – someone like his mother? Hank couldn’t
breathe, he wanted to run but he wasn’t sure his legs would
carry him back to the street let alone to his life as a black
man. Sweating profusely, Hank crouched in the darkest
shadow of the small structure. His mind went back to the
night he ran; all he wanted then, and now, was to be was
back with his family in Park Place, not hiding from another
white man. But he couldn’t run again, I have no place to go, he thought remembering the old man’s prediction, “That
boy’s gonna swing.” It was just one hundred miles between
Richmond and his homeplace but in the last three years he
had put a world between himself and Park Place. He could
never return, his family would be accused of hiding him and
that would be fatal for all of them. He was trapped; his only
salvation was Maggie.
“Hank,” Maggie whispered, “Hank, are you here?” He
waited for a minute, to be certain she was alone,
“Over here,” he whispered as
he stood up. In a second, she
was on him, kissing him, groping him. She wore only a robe,
which she had opened to put his hands on her body.
Hank grabbed Maggie’s wrists and held her off, “I can’t
do this. I can’t do this, here.” His heart was pounding so loud
32
Provenance: A Novel
it was hard to hear her speak or himself think. “I want you
Maggie, I want you so bad but I, I…”
“You can have me, Hank. I’m all yours.”
“Not like this, not in the dirt, like animals.”
“I want you, I need you,” Maggie said, not understanding
Hank’s hesitation after all the nights they had left each other
longing. She needed tonight to be different.
“Not like this,” Hank said. Maggie pulled back from him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re better than this,” Hank said. Maggie began to
whimper, humiliated by Hank’s rejection.
Hank had not known he was going to leave Park Place the
night he ran. He did not know he would change who and what
he was until he had done it. Tonight he did not know he was
going to ask Maggie to be his wife. He had thought about it
often enough and always dismissed the idea because he could
not marry just Maggie; he had to marry her mother, her father,
Richmond and her race. He would have to turn his back on
everything and everyone in his past; he would have to become
the white man he now pretended to be, forever.
Maggie began to cry harder, Hank grabbed her and pul ed
her to him. Suddenly, none of that reasoning mattered. He
would make his life with the woman he loved, damn the rest.
“Ssh, ssh,” he said, stroking her hair to soothe her, no lon-
ger afraid of what they both wanted. “We are better than this,”
Hank said softly. “I love you, be my wife in the proper way. Be
my wife,” Hank said. “Do you want to?”
33
Donna Drew Sawyer
“I want to. I want to but,” Maggie said stifling her sobs,
“what about Momma?” Charlotte would never allow them to
marry and Walton was powerless.
“I’m not asking your Momma,” Hank said, “I’m asking you,
Maggie. Be my wife. Marry me and I will love you proper for
the rest of my life.”
(IV)
The next morning Charlotte, in her dressing gown, sat at the
table on the screen porch waiting for Frances to serve breakfast.
She hoped Walton would sleep in a little longer so she could
Provenance_InteriorDraft_07.indd Page 3