Hank’s hand on Del’s felt heavy, cold and soft from years
of having others do the hard work for him; hers was small and
rough from a lifetime spent doing hard work for others. Hank
took a finger and gently traced the raised veins on the back of
Del’s hand. She felt a tear hit her hand and looked to see tears
streaming from Hank’s eyes.
“You have hands like my mother’s,” he said. “Momma was
smart enough to teach school, but she scrubbed floors because
that was the only work she could get from white folks. She was
better read, more refined, generous and humble than all the
white folks in Richmond put together.” Though he looked in
Del’s direction, Hank’s eyes were not looking at her when he
spoke—he was back in Park Place.
“She educated us, me and my brothers, we didn’t have
fancy schools like Lance goes to here in Richmond. Shabby
wreck of a school but they taught us the best they could. My
Daddy was wise, smart as a whip, could quote from Shakespeare
and the Bible.” Hank laughed at that memory then turned
serious again. “He could figure a row of numbers in his head
and calculate the maximum crop yield without a single lick of
school-taught arithmetic. He didn’t need to know how much
money a man had to decide if he was someone worth knowing.
My parents understood character, do you know what I mean
Del? My Momma and Daddy were strong, smart, honest and
proud; and they raised me and my two brothers to be that way
too. Our little community was a family; people used common
sense, generosity and humility instead of taking on these pretend
social airs like the white folks here in Richmond.”
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Del understood without hearing the exact words, Mr.
Hank was passing. All this time and she had never suspected.
He was a Negro passing as white. She knew Miss Maggie and
Lance didn’t know. The thought of Miss Charlotte finding out
made her draw in a breath. She looked at Mr. Hank’s shoulders
slumped under the weight of a ton of deception. Her worries
about the others would keep, tonight Mr. Hank needed her.
“You go on ahead and talk to Del, Mr. Hank. You safe here
in Del’s kitchen. Just like it’s been for all these years, ain’t nothin’
gonna get served from this here table unless you want it to.”
(VII)
Hank talked for hours. By the time pale crimson streaks of
sunrise lit the kitchen, Hank had told Del things he had never
told another living soul—the story of his life in Park Place,
his escape to Richmond, meeting and marrying Maggie. How
sometimes he would drive through Negro neighborhoods just
to see colored families, young and old together. How when he
first got to Richmond he used to hope he would come across
someone from Park Place so he could get word to his family.
After he married Maggie he prayed for just the opposite but he
still wondered about his brothers all these years. Whether they
married and had children like he did. All of his past, present
and fears for the future rushed out of him like a torrent and
then trickled to a stream.
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When he was spent, Del said, “Mr. Hank, was there some-
thin’ that made this burden heavier than it had been for all
this time?”
“My boy,” Hank said. “Lance turns eighteen this year. He’s
about to start his own life.” Hank paused for a few seconds
thinking of the young man at the gala. “It’s been gnawing at
me good Del; the shame and guilt for I what did to my family.
The pride I feel when I think back on who they were and how
they raised me, the values I got, the way they loved me, Del,
the same way I love my son, the way other families love their
sons. I didn’t touch that man but everyone thinks I did and
whether he died or not they were comin’ for me. I had to leave
my family to stay alive. I left my brothers and I ran. I kept
running ‘cause I was so damn tired of only havin’ as much as a
white man said I could. In Park Place, that’s the way it would
always be. I wanted more—I didn’t even know what that real y
meant until I got here—far enough away to realize I could stop
runnin’ forever. I know I’m gonna pay for my lies one day and
before that judgment comes I want my son to know who his
Daddy really is. I want him to carry the pride of the people he
came from. Right now he’s just got me and his mother and—”
Hank swallowed hard, “Charlotte. We’re all the kin he has. I
thank God for you, Del, because you taught him some of the
things my family would have taught him.”
Hank did not say, “Del, you’re like family,” though he’d felt
a kinship toward her all these years. He’d heard enough white
families claim the Negroes they employed were “family” while
they worked them like they owned them—even passed them
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from one generation to the next like they were property. Hank
respected Del too much to patronize her that way. “I know
you have your own family, Del. But havin’ you here, helping
to raise Lance was like blessing him with my heritage. Havin’
him know something of what I came from. You did that, Del.
You did that for both me and my boy.”
“I’m grateful to be that comfort, Mr. Hank. Nothin’ you
told me tonight is gonna change how I feel about what’s between
us, but you needs to think on what you want to tell of who you
are and where you’re from to your wife and son. What would
come of them if folks here in Richmond knew who you really
was? I needs you to think on that. Young Lance don’t know
how to be anything other than what he thinks he is and that’s
white. Don’t matter what you look like, only matters what
folks believe. We all make judgments about who you be and
how you be based on things that don’t hardly matter—the
color of skin, the kink of hair, whether you big or little, old or
young, rich or poor, who your kin is. We all know that with
the Lord, nothin’ matters more‘n the kindness of heart. But
with man—well now, that’s different.”
“I’m so tired of trying to be someone else,” Hank said. “I
created this burden and now it’s mine and too heavy to carry.”
“Helps when someone else has a piece of it,” Del said. “Even
though neither of us can tell of it, I might could help with it now and then, Mr. Hank,” Del reached over and smoothed the hair
on Hank’s bowed head. She knew it was out of place for who
they were to each other, but she also knew it was appropriate
for this grieving man. Hank put his hand on Del’s and held it
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Donna Drew Sawyer
for a while. When he looked up at her, she said, “You a good
father to Lance and a fine husband to Miss Maggie; and you
a saint when Miss Charlotte tries you. You made a fine life for
them and for you
rself. You got to make sure this here secret
don’t take all that from you without givin’ somethin’ back. I
think the boy’s got to know, when he’s wantin’ to marry, make
a family,” Del continued. “You gon’ hafta tell him. Might have
made it easier on you if Miss Maggie had known and could
have helped you all these years, then you two together could
tell the boy. I ain’t judgin’, Mr. Hank. Folks do things for dif-
ferent reasons and ain’t none of us fit to judge the other. But
there’s gonna be misery in the tellin’ of your true story, so you
gotta be good and sure about how you tell it and when. I’m just
speakin’ the hard truth here. But one thing I do know, Miss
Maggie and Lance love you, Mr. Hank.”
Hank got up from the table and stood in the doorway
looking at the sunrise, his back to Del, he sighed and shook
his head. He knew Del was right, he should have told Maggie
that night in the rose arbor when he asked her to run away
with him. He remembered the night Lance was born and the
panic of not knowing whether the baby would reveal his secret
and shatter the façade of his comfortable life as a man he was
never supposed to be.
The rain had stopped and Hank looked out at the spotless
serenity of the day’s first light. He could not fathom how or
when he could tell the two people he loved the most that he
had lied to them all these years.
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“I’m so tired Del; my mind, body and soul are so tired.
I know I have to fix this but when and how, I don’t know…”
Hank’s voice trailed off. He was quiet for several minutes then
he turned and looked at Del sitting at the kitchen table; he
reached out and gently rested his hand her shoulder.
“Thank you for—” he said, but there was no need to finish
the sentence. He knew he did not have to ask her to keep his
secret. Del patted his hand and nodded her head in response
to the pact they had just made.
“Guess I’d better get cleaned up and go collect my wife.
Time to meet Maggie’s wrath and Charlotte’s judgement,”
Hank said, walking to the door that opened to the back stairs.
“Mr. Hank,” Del said, as Hank put his foot on the first
step, “white, colored or whatever—I think you’s a mighty fine
man. One of the best I’ve even known.”
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• 8 •
Richmond, Virginia—March 1931
(I)
Hank grabbed his wife’s shoulder and pulled
her to him.
“Do you love me, Maggie?”
“I love you more than you could know,” she only had tonight
to tell him.
“Should have trusted you,” he gasped. “Should have told
you. I waited ‘cause I never wanted you to regret choosing me.”
“I never have,” Maggie assured him, while her mind tried
to process this nightmare. It happened in an instant. Hank
started across the street, then turned back to say something
to James Stephens. The car hit him head on. James rushed
him to the hospital, but by the time Maggie and Charlotte
arrived the doctors told them Hank’s internal injuries were
too extensive—there was nothing they could do to save him.
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Hank was conscious and in pain but he begged the doctors
not to sedate him.
“Get the boy, Maggie. I got some truth to tell ‘for the
Lord steps in.”
“I’m not leaving you, Hank. I’m staying right here. James
went to find Lance. He’ll be here soon, don’t you worry.”
“Go Maggie, please! Get our son—we don’t have much
time. Please!”
Maggie rushed past her mother sitting outside Hank’s
hospital room.
•
As soon as her daughter disappeared down the hospital
corridor Charlotte went into Hank’s hospital room to confront
her dying son-in-law.
“Hank, did you make a will? What happens to your busi-
ness when you die? Did you leave it all to Margaret? Is there
enough money to take care of us?”
Hank opened his eyes to see Charlotte hovering over his
bed. He looked past her, noticing the rich amber hues of early
evening and how they softened the antiseptic white of the
hospital room. My last sunset, Hank thought. He knew nothing would soften Charlotte’s calculating concerns, not the beauty
of this sunset or that he would not live to see another sunrise.
As always, Charlotte demanded that he attend to her needs. He was so tired of this woman; she would not be the last person
he saw before dying.
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Donna Drew Sawyer
“Can there be enough for you, Charlotte?” he asked. “Never
thought so, no matter what I did, I could never measure up to
your standards. Now, don’t have to. Get out, Charlotte, I don’t
want you here. I just want my family.”
Before Charlotte could open her mouth to sear him with a
vicious retort, Lance and Maggie rushed in. Charlotte backed
away from Hank’s bed and out of his view.
“I’m here, Daddy,” Lance said, approaching his father’s
bedside. He winced when he saw how mangled and swollen
Hank was. His mother had tried to prepare him. Lance wanted
to believe his father would survive; now he knew he wouldn’t.
“Help me sit up, son; I need to look in your eyes.”
“Hank, no,” Maggie said. “The doctor wants you to lie stil .
We can see you just fine, just lie still.”
Hank took a few shallow breaths. “Maggie, come closer.
I need to see you.” She stroked his hand but his pain was so
intense he could not feel her hand on his.
“I thought I would be with you longer, ‘til you was a full
grown man. I know you’re not a boy, Lance, but you’re just
eighteen. I remember when I was eighteen; I just wanted you
to have a few more years, couldn’t bring myself to tell you, but
I have to now. The Lord’s gonna take me, I can feel his hand
on me, and I’m not goin’ ‘til you know. .” Hank spoke barely
above a whisper. Maggie and Lance leaned in to hear him,
excluding Charlotte from their conversation.
“Hank, sweetheart, Lance knows you love him. Rest sweet-
heart, don’t struggle. “We know, we know,” Maggie said, tears
streaming down her cheeks.
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“Nobody knows,” Hank moaned, paining the three of
them. It took him a few moments to gather the strength to
continue.
“I came to Richmond runnin’ scared; they said I killed
a man. I didn’t, I couldn’t, but they’d have hung me anyway.
I had to leave, left my brothers, all the family I had, I was a
danger to them,” Hank sobbed.
Maggie looked at her son. Hank was a fugitive? He had
family. He’d told her that his parents were dead; that he was
the only child of only children. Twenty years of marriage and
he had kept these secrets from her?
“I don’t understand,” Maggi
e said, but Hank kept his eyes
on his son.
“Will you find them for me, Lance? We were all each other
had and I left them. Richard Jr. — the oldest—and Lance, I
named you for, my middle brother. Find your uncles, tell ‘em
I’m sorry for all the pain I caused. It will be safe now, with
me gone. I want you to share what we got, tell them I’m sorry.
Will you do that for me, son?”
“I’ll do whatever you want, Daddy,” Lance said.
“Promise me, Lance that you’ll take care of your Momma.
Promise you’ll do that,” Hank pleaded. “Take care of your
Momma and find my family. You promise me, son.”
“I promise, Daddy. Momma will be fine and I’ll find your
brothers. Don’t worry, I’l find them,” Lance stroked his father’s
head; Hank closed his eyes.
After a few moments, he looked at his wife. “I asked God to
make it so he’d be born lookin’ like his momma, so he wouldn’t
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have to struggle like I had to, before I came here. Everybody
thought…,” Hank’s voice trailed off and he closed his eyes again.
“Thought what, Daddy?” Lance asked, looking for life in his
father’s face. “Don’t you die on me Daddy, don’t you leave me!”
When Hank opened his eyes, he looked at Lance, his
eyes were fierce, his voice stronger. “I don’t hate what I am. I
hate how I was treated because of what I am. Shouldn’t be that way, Lance. I kept my secret ‘cause what folks didn’t know
made my life smooth out like silk. That’s what James told me
once—he was right. I wanted that smooth as silk life and to
get it, I needed to be white. That was the only way to make
you my wife, Maggie, and to give our son the same good life.
I just didn’t realize it would cost so damn much.” Hanks tears
overflowed again.
“Hank,” Maggie said, “What are you saying? That you’re
real y a…” Maggie looked to her mother to help process Hank’s
incomprehensible words. Charlotte had both hands over her
mouth trying to suppress the wail that was forcing its way up
her throat; but it escaped as a scream that seemed to reverberate
throughout the entire hospital. Charlotte’s outburst brought the
nurses running to Hank’s room, arriving in time to witness
the final minutes of Hank Whitaker’s life.
Oblivious to Charlotte’s outburst and the audience it drew,
Hank continued.
“We share the same blood. What’s in me is in you. Be
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