Provenance_InteriorDraft_07.indd

by Sawyer, Donna Drew

  of tail to me,” Ed walked over and grabbed Emma’s behind,

  “That’s all you ever were.”

  Emma pulled his hand off of her.

  “I go and do the right thing; marry your sorry ass and then

  you go and get all virginal on me. My brother tells me that

  happens to some women after they have a kid, but Ed knows

  how to fix that. A taste of this,” he said grabbing himself,

  “and you won’t wanna go nowhere.” He tore at her clothes,

  she pushed him away. He slapped, then punched her. Emma

  stumbled to the floor.

  “Ed, don’t do this. Please, just let us go.”

  “Sure, you can go,” he sneered, “But we’re gonna have one

  last fuck for old times’ sake. You can get out of this marriage

  the same way you got in.”

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  Emma crawled toward the hall trying to get up and away.

  If I can make it to Philmore’s room I’ll lock us in until he calms down. Ed grabbed Emma’s ankle and pulled her back into the middle of the living room. He punched her in the face, threw

  her on her back, and pinned her to the floor, sitting on her.

  With one hand he held her hands over her head and with the

  other he unfastened his pants. Emma was no match for Ed’s

  six-foot, two hundred pound frame. He tore at her clothes until

  he reached her underwear. Ripping her panties off he forced

  himself into her, tearing at her until she screamed.

  “That’s what I want to hear,” he laughed. “A little

  appreciation.”

  Neither of them noticed Philmore come into the living

  room. When Ed looked up, Philmore had taken Ed’s gun off

  of the sideboard. Ed jumped up, attempting to pull his pants

  up while he tried to speak calmly to Philmore. “Give me the

  gun, son.”

  Philmore raised the gun, pointing it at Ed.

  “You’re hurting Mummy,” the boy said. He pulled the

  trigger putting a bul et in Ed’s chest, “Bang, bang, you’re dead.”

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  • 23 •

  March 1970

  (I)

  “Mommy.”“Junior? What time is it? What’s the mat-

  ter, are you alright?” Mina was barely awake

  and her husband Charlie, who slept like the dead, hadn’t even

  stirred when the phone rang in the middle of the night.

  “Mom, Miss Emma, she’s been arrested, for murder.”

  Mina sat straight up in bed, she was wide awake now.

  “My Emma?”

  “I came in for my shift and I saw her in the holding cell

  down here at the precinct. They say she killed her husband,

  that she confessed. She’s beat up pretty bad too.”

  “I’m on my way. Tell her your Daddy and me—we’re on

  our way,” Mina said as she tried to rouse Charlie. “Where’s

  her boy, where’s Philmore?”

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  “The police left him with a neighbor.”

  “Well at least he didn’t see his mother in jail. Tell Emma

  we’re on our way.”

  “I told her I was gonna call you. She told me to make you

  promise that you wouldn’t call Mr. Withers.”

  “Well, son, that’s a promise I ain’t gonna be able to make.

  I don’t know who else to call.”

  (II)

  Arthur Goldman, the lawyer Lance Withers sent to the

  police station, sat with Emma in the interrogation room.

  “Emma, you need to tell them what really happened.”

  “Where’s my son?” Emma asked.

  “Your friend, Mina, went to get him. He’s going to stay

  with her until we get this sorted out. Is that okay?”

  “That’s good. He loves Mina and Charlie.”

  “You’re lucky Detective Jones is so respected on the force.

  He talked them out of sending the boy to protective services.”

  “That’s good. He’s with Mina and Charlie, they’re family.”

  “Emma, tell me what happened.”

  “I told the police a hundred times. He grabbed me, slapped

  me around. I grabbed the gun and shot him. That’s how it

  happened.”

  “The neighbor’s statement says it’s not. She heard you

  screaming and when she went to your door, it was open and

  your husband was assaulting you on the floor. She said he stood

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  up to talk to the boy and then she heard the gun go off. You

  were still curled up on the floor.”

  Emma looked away from the lawyer.

  “Yes, Emma, there was a witness. We know the boy shot

  his father. The ballistics report will confirm it.”

  “I don’t care what anyone says. I told the police what hap-

  pened. I did it. They are not going to take my boy.”

  “Emma, your son was protecting his mother. He’s three

  and a half years old. No one is going to take your son. Just give

  the police a truthful statement of what happened so we can

  get you out of here.”

  “I can’t go home.”

  “You don’t have to, Mr. Withers is here, he’s waiting outside

  in the car. I won’t let him come in. The press is here. If they

  see him it will be a mad house.”

  “Tell him to go away. This is none of his business. I told

  Mina and Charlie not to call him.”

  “They didn’t listen. He wants to take you to 580 Park to

  recover. Is that okay?”

  “I’ve got to go get my son.”

  “He’s fine, remember? He’s with Mina and Charlie, you

  said they’re family. You don’t want him to see you like this,

  do you, Emma?” Her eye was nearly swollen closed, her face

  bruised and her clothes were stained with Ed’s blood.

  “When can I see my boy?”

  “In few days. Mina will bring him to the house. In the

  meantime you can rest and heal while the press finds someone

  else to pick on.”

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  “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “We won’t let the boy see you until you’re healed.”

  “No, Mr. Withers. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

  “We can go out the back and I’ll take you in my car. There’s

  a doctor waiting at his house. He’ll take care of you and I’ll ask

  Mr. Withers to wait until you’re ready to see him. Is that okay?”

  Emma nodded “I just want to go home,” she said through

  her tears. “Tell him thank you for letting me go home.”

  “Now, Emma, tell me what really happened?”

  (III)

  Lance watched Emma sitting in the garden wrapped in

  a shawl on the first day that promised spring. Her eyes were

  closed, her face tilted toward the sun. She still had a small

  bandage and some bruising from her ordeal a week ago but to

  him she looked as beautiful as ever. She’d asked to speak with

  him before Mina brought Philmore to her.

  “How are you feeling?” Lance asked as he approached

  her. She looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun, she

  smiled and patted the bench for him to sit down next to her.

  Looking straight ahead she said, “This is not how I wanted to

  come back here.”

  “I know. I’m just glad you wanted to co
me back. Will

  you stay?”

  “I can’t,” she said immediately. “But I want you to know

  how grateful I am for all of your help, for letting me stay here

  long enough to recover. But now I have to put my life back

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  together. My son doesn’t remember the shooting but one day

  he wil . We’re both going to need help to deal with this. Hiding

  here will just delay the inevitable.”

  “What are you going to do now, Emma? Where are you

  going to go? You can’t go back to your old life. I’m not sug-

  gesting you hide here. Just stay here, start new.”

  “I can’t stay here, with you.”

  “I know that,” Lance said, wishing it weren’t true. “Come

  back to your position here. We’ve got an opening coming up.

  You were the best Major Domo this place ever had,” he said

  brightening.

  Emma looked over at Lance and smiled. “So Mina tells

  me.” They sat side by side in silence for a few minutes.

  “We aren’t, we can’t ever be who we once were,” she said.

  “My son is my life now, my whole life. He is more important

  to me than anyone or anything.”

  “I understand.”

  Emma, looking out over the garden, nodded just as the

  limo pul ed into the grounds. As the gate closed behind the car,

  Emma jumped up and ran toward it. When the car stopped,

  she pulled the door open, Philmore bounded out and Emma

  scooped him up in her arms,

  “Mummy, where were you? I missed you.”

  Mina got out of the car and walked toward the house

  meeting Lance Withers.

  “Thank you,” he said, “I never thanked you for calling me

  that night.”

  “Thank you for taking the call,” Mina said.

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  “I talked to her about taking her old job again.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She didn’t say yes, but she didn’t say no.”

  “Well, then there’s hope,” Mina said. The two of them

  watched the mother and child reunion for a few seconds.

  “He looks just like Emma,” Lance said. “He’s big for three.”

  “He turns four in August. You should go meet him,”

  Mina said.

  “I don’t want to interfere.”

  “I don’t think she’ll mind,” Mina said.

  Lance walked toward Emma and Philmore for an awk-

  ward introduction to the child the woman he loved had with

  another man. If I hadn’t been such a fool this could have been my every day, Lance thought.

  “Philmore George, say hello to Mr. Withers,” Emma said.

  “Hello, young man,” Lance said, tentatively touching the

  boy’s soft locks.

  “This is my son,” Emma said, wrapping her arm protectively

  around the boy. Lance got down on one knee, face-to-face

  with the boy.

  “Hi.”

  “Hel o,” the boy responded, “My name is Philmore, what’s

  your name?”

  “My name is Lance.”

  “Mr. Withers,” Emma corrected.

  “Mr. Withers,” Lance echoed. “I’m pleased to meet you,

  Philmore.” He saw the best of Emma and only Emma in his

  little face. There was no trace of Ed McKenna, at least from

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  what he could remember the one time he’d seen the man and

  from the pictures that had been in the newspapers.

  “What do you say?” Emma prompted Philmore.

  “Pleased to meet you too,” the boy said, then buried his

  face in his mother’s skirts.

  She’s not my wife and he is not my son, Lance thought, but they’re here and that may just have to be enough. He would shelter them just like he had when Emma first came to 580 Park

  Avenue. If he’d had the courage he could have changed his

  future and hers. He had one brief chance to be free from all

  of his family’s lies and deception and he hadn’t taken it; he

  probably never would.

  Lance took the child’s small hand in his. “Welcome to my

  house, Philmore,” he said. He looked up at Emma and said,

  “Welcome home.”

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  Epilogue

  Richmond, Virginia—September 1970

  Lance Henry Withers sat on the small bench

  inside the fenced Whitaker family plot in Evergreen

  Cemetery where his father and mother were buried

  side by side. He was surprised to find that Del was also

  buried in the same family plot. Her gravestone said she

  died September 9, 1931, just a few months after the family

  left Richmond. That’s why my letter to her was returned, he thought. She never knew I read my father’s journals and that

  I understand why he did what he did. He had wanted her to

  know he was working on forgiving and in that letter he

  had finally told Del how much she meant to him. I never

  got to tell her how much I loved her, he thought but hoped

  somehow she knew. He quickly wiped away the tear that

  formed in the corner of his eye.

  He would never know that Del asked to be interred with the

  note he’d left for her tucked in the pocket of her burial dress.

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  “Miss Holder bought this here plot for Mr. Whitaker’s

  family,” the old caretaker told Lance. “I was just a grave digger

  when they buried Mr. Whitaker. That white woman who put

  him in the ground said she didn’t care if they never found the

  grave again. But Miss Holder made it right, paid for the plot,

  the double headstone too—for him and his wife, everything.

  Like she knew someone would want to find him one day. Did

  you know the family?” the man asked.

  “We’re related but I haven’t been to Richmond in a long

  time,” Lance said.

  “Heard the couple had a son but I ain’t never seen him.

  He musta been the one wanted to extend the plot for more

  graves and set up the perpetual care fund,” the caretaker said.

  “Picked out a family headstone and everything.” He pulled out

  the paperwork he brought with him to help Lance locate the

  graves. “No, no, I’m mistaken. Letter here says Mrs. C. Bennett

  bought the additional grave space. Haven’t heard a word about

  the additional family members but that perpetual care fund she

  set up keeps it real nice back here. If I remember correctly,” he

  said, scratching his beard, “it was a Mrs. Bennett buried Mr.

  Whitaker without a stone. Woman that cold is hard to forget.

  Musta had a change of heart, never can tell about folks,” he

  said, shaking his head.

  “May I see the letter?” Lance asked.

  “I don’t see no harm in it, just make sure you bring it back

  with you to the office. Well, I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll be in

  the office if you need anything,” the old man said, disappearing

  back down the path toward the office.

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  Lance looked at the history buried in this plot and thought.

  We were the Whitakers. The secrets, lies and deception end with me.

  Our provenance is complete. He looked down at the letter the care
taker had given him. It was Charlotte’s distinctive cursive

  alright, he would know it anywhere.

  “Charlotte, you continue to surprise, even from the grave,”

  Lance said shaking his head. She never said anything to him

  about wanting to be buried here. Is that why she final y told him

  she’d buried Maman here with Daddy? Who were the other

  grave sites for? He read further down the letter the caretaker

  left with him.

  I’m including a check for the cost of adding two more

  grave sites and eventual y headstones to the Whitaker

  family plot. One for my grandson and the other

  for his son.

  Lance stared at the letter, it was written in August, 1966.

  What was Charlotte thinking? She knew I had no children.

  The End

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  Author's Note &

  Acknowledgements

  A writer never works alone.

  I took life lessons from many people in creating this

  book — some of their stories were profound, others

  mundane — yet they were all valuable contributions to

  this writer and her story. The primary characters in

  Provenance all come from my imagination. Many of the secondary characters were real people in history whom I

  called upon to play fictional roles in my characters' lives

  — including Josephine Baker, Eugene Bullard, Walter

  Chrysler, Belle da Costa Greene, Peggy Guggenheim

  and, Nelson and Abby Aldrich Rockefeller. Many

  of the places in Richmond, New York, Paris and Italy

  are also real — though my characters' visits to

  them are imagined. To help readers learn more about the

  rich and important roles these people and places play in

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  Donna Drew Sawyer

  history, I share a list of the resources I used in writing

  Provenance on my website, DonnaDrewSawyer.com

  Thank you to all of the real people that have helped me learn the craft to write this story. A very special thank you

  to my Six Great Books writing group: Janet Hall Werner, Kelly Hand, Kristin Battista-Frazee, David Bonck and

  especially Molly Mahoney Matthews, who read Provenance

  more times than anyone. I am grateful for The Writers

  Center in Bethesda, Maryland where I met my writing

  group as well as my writing teacher and developmental

  editor and champion, Barbara Esstman — thank you for

  your honest advice. Thank you to my first readers:

  Melinda Cayzedo, Janice Carter and Mandy Campbell

  Moore — you helped me turn mere words into a book.

  I must also thank my family, for within their hearts and