ery. She pleaded for her mother but Charlotte, thinking she
had a month before the baby was born, had not yet returned
from Europe.
Hank paced outside the bedroom door waiting for news,
for the baby’s wail, for anything to let him know what was
happening. Del came out a couple of times early on to let
him know that women’s work was still being done. When
he heard nothing for what seemed like hours, Hank became
even more anxious. Finally, he heard the baby cry, then
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silence. Was Maggie all right, was the baby healthy? Was
the baby—colored?
Hank panicked. He banged on the bedroom door.
“Is everything alright in there?” he shouted. It took several
minutes but Del finally opened the door and in her arms was
a perfect, pink baby boy.
“Look what perfection God and the two of you done
made,” Del said, rocking Hank’s newborn son. “You wanna
hold him, Daddy?”
Hank’s eyes welled up as he looked at his son,
“I’m afraid I’ll break him.”
“More likely he’ll break you,” Del said. “Boys be a handful,
I should know, raised five brothers. Go on, Mr. Hank, take
your son to see his Momma.”
“I can see Maggie?” Hank asked, taking the baby in
his arms.
Dr. Bridges met him at the door, “Just for a minute, the
little mother had a rough time of it but she’ll be fine. The next
one will be easier on her. You two decide on a name for the
birth certificate and then you let her rest, she’s plumb worn out.”
Hank took careful steps into the bedroom holding his
son. He sat in the chair Del had placed next to Maggie’s bed.
“Look what we did,” Hank whispered, when she opened her
eyes. “He’s beautiful, Maggie, just like his mother. What are
we gonna name our son? What’s his name, Maggie?”
Maggie opened her eyes and looked at Hank holding their
child. This was the moment she’d waited months for yet she
felt none of the joy she imagined at the birth of their child.
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Donna Drew Sawyer
“I’m so tired, Hank,” she said, “I just want to sleep.”
“The doctor needs his name,” Hank said, disappointed by
her lack of enthusiasm.
“You name him Hank. You pick the name, that’ll be alright
with me.”
“How does Lance Henry Whitaker sound?” Hank said
looking at the baby. He looked back at Maggie but she had
already closed her eyes to sleep. Del moved in and took the
baby from Hank.
“She’s gonna need to nurse him, so you go on and deal with
the doctor. Lance Henry and I will stay here with the little
mother. Go on now, we right as rain here.”
Hank named his son Lance for his favorite brother, but
told Maggie he chose the name because Lance sounded regal.
He remembered his oldest brother telling him how he hated
being a man called, Junior. To save his son from similar fate,
he gave the baby his given name, Henry, as a middle name.
With his family intact, his secret safe and Del in charge, that
night Hank slept like his newborn son.
(II)
Two weeks after Lance was born, Hank met Charlotte’s
train from New York with the news that Maggie had given
birth. Her guilt that she had been away for the delivery turned
to joy that a male child was born into the family. Her joy
became rage when she learned the baby did not have the Bennett
family name.
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“The Bennett name has been synonymous with Richmond
since there was a Richmond. How dare you dishonor our fam-
ily’s tradition?” Charlotte berated Hank.
“Naming my son is in no way a slight to Mr. Bennett’s
family,” Hank said. “The boy will do just fine with his given
name, Charlotte. Won’t be any doubt who his family is. His
name won’t make us love him anymore or any less.”
“But the Bennett name means something in this town. We
are changing it,” Charlotte decreed, “to Bennett. I suppose he
can keep Henry if you like. Bennett Henry Whitaker; that
will be his name.”
Hank gripped the steering wheel of the new Packard he
bought to celebrate his son’s birth, trying hard not to run it off
the road and Charlotte with it. His response to her was through
gritted teeth, “My son’s name is Lance Henry Whitaker,
Charlotte. His name will remain Lance Henry Whitaker until
the day he dies and there is nothing you can or wil do about it.”
Charlotte was used to Hank being solicitous so his ire
shocked her into silence—temporarily. Neither of them spoke
during the remainder of the ride to the house. Charlotte’s
maid, Frances, cowered in the back seat of the car hoping
the smoldering silence would not erupt into flames. From the
time Hank appeared in Charlotte’s life it had been obvious to
Frances and everyone else that these two people had the same
potential as a match and a gallon drum of gasoline.
Hank parked the car and walked around to open the pas-
senger door for Charlotte. She refused his hand when he tried
to help her out of the car. Looking past him she said, “Hank,
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Donna Drew Sawyer
take Frances and my bags to my house. Carry my bags up to
my bedroom so that Frances can start unpacking.”
She took a few steps toward the house then turned back
to address Hank again.
“And we shall see about the baby’s name.”
(III)
Maggie was lying on the chaise lounge in her bedroom.
As soon as she saw Charlotte, she burst into tears.
“Momma where were you? I needed you. Del and Dr.
Bridges were here but it wasn’t the same. I needed you!”
Charlotte swept in and cradled her daughter like she was the
infant, not the mother of one.
“Where’s Hank?” Maggie whispered.
“He took Frances and the bags to my house.”
“Good, I need to tell you something. Something I can only
tell you, Momma.”
Charlotte, concerned, pul ed back and looked at her daugh-
ter’s tear stained face. “What is it my little girl? Did Hank do
something? Is there something wrong with the baby?”
Maggie buried her face in her mother’s neck, “No, no,
Hank’s been wonderful and the baby, he’s healthy. He’s beauti-
ful, but Momma,” Maggie murmured, “the birth, the delivery,
it was horrible.”
Charlotte laughed with relief, “Oh that. I remember. Soon
you’ll forget it all, I promise.”
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Provenance: A Novel
“I won’t,” Maggie said. “I love my baby. But now that I
have given Hank a son, I don’t need any more children. I don’t
ever want to do that again. Momma, tell me how to keep from ever getting pregnant again.”
Just then, Del knocked on the door. “Miss Maggie, little
Lance here heard he had a visitor.”
“Give me my grandson,�
�� Charlotte demanded. Del had
long ago steeled herself against the rude behavior of people
like Charlotte Bennett. Without a word, she brought the baby
to Charlotte and placed him in her arms. Charlotte opened
the blanket and looked at his ten pink toes, his rounded belly,
his tiny hands, hazel eyes and mop of sandy hair. Maggie was
right; he was an exquisite baby by any measure.
“You are a wonder,” she whispered. “The child of my child.”
The three women gazed at Lance, who broke the silence with
a wail for his mother’s breast. Charlotte placed her grandson
in her daughter’s arms and helped Maggie position him so he
could suckle.
“This is so bovine,” she said, looking to her mother for a
solution. “He wakes me up all hours of the night, I can’t get
any rest and,” she said, shifting the baby as he tried to stay
connected to her breast, “it hurts.”
“He’s a good feeder,” Del said proudly. “Thriving like a big
boy.” Maggie’s distaste for this primary role of motherhood was
obvious and both Charlotte and Del feared the baby would
sense it.
Charlotte turned to Del and without asking Maggie’s per-
mission said, “We are going to need a wet nurse.”
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Donna Drew Sawyer
(IV)
“Woman don’t want to do nothin’ that the Mama’s ‘spose
to do,” Del said as she helped her sister Charlene hang out the
wash on her Sunday off. “If she could have hired someone to
birth him I suspect she would have. She loves that baby boy,
no doubt, but Lordy, she don’t want none of the dirty work.
‘That’s what I have you and Mammy for,’ she tells me soundin’
as sweet as syrup. That’s what she calls Claudia, the wet nurse.
Mammy, like we livin’ in plantation time.”
“You know how some of these white women can be,”
Charlene said. “And some of these high yella Negro women
too. Think theys too good for women’s work.”
“Don’t you be talking ‘bout your sisters in skin like that
Charlene. Most folks here in Jackson Ward just livin’ and lovin’
the life they worked hard for,” Del said.
“I suppose, though some of these women ‘round here are
light, bright and damn near white enough to pass easy. But to
their credit, they don’t,” Charlene said. “Could go up north,
live like whites but then they’d have to leave their kin, every-
thing they know. I wouldn’t never leave home. Besides, I like
bein’ colored.”
Del peered at her sister over the white sheet she was hang-
ing on the clothesline. She jiggled it and mouthed “K-K-K” to
remind her that being colored in the south could be downright
dangerous. Charlene picked a clothespin out of the basket and
threw it at Del.
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Provenance: A Novel
“You right. Charlene, crazy Klansmen aside, we make a
pretty good life for ourselves,” Del said, “but you know full
well whites got it better on most fronts.”
Charlene shrugged, picked up another piece of laundry
and continued with her work.
“I think all that privilege disconnects you from what’s
important in life,” Del continued. “Mrs. Bennett, Miss Maggie’s
momma, always talkin’ ‘bout obligation to folks she hardly
knows and that probably don’t care one whit ‘bout her. She’s
gettin’ Miss Maggie all caught up in this League and social
club business, that takes time away from that precious little boy
and Mr. Hank. I’d be fearful of taking a day off if it wasn’t for
Mr. Hank. Now he’s a Daddy who loves his baby boy. After
Claudia fed him one time last week, Mr. Hank, comin’ in after
a hard day’s work, wants to hold his son and takes to burpin’
him like he know what he doin’. Tells Claudia to go on down
and rest a spell knowing she’ll be up all night ‘cause that little
one feeds every couple hours or so. I go up to the nursery to
spell him when she tells me Mr. Hank is up there all alone.
By the time I get there, he done changed the baby’s diaper all
by his lonesome.”
“Say what? A man like him wipin’ a baby’s bottom?”
“And Charlene, he did a good job too. Cleaned that boy
up as good as you or I would.”
“Oh my Lord. I hope that woman knows what she’s got over
there. A provider, a gentleman and he can manage a youngin’.
Can he cook?” Charlene asked, and both women laughed.
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Donna Drew Sawyer
“I don’t know about that but he sure can eat! Somewhere
in his history there was a colored woman cookin’ cause Mr.
Hank loves him some of Del’s down home cookin’. I believe he
could eat a pot of greens with neck bones and pan of candied
sweets by his lonesome. Miss Maggie and Mrs. Bennett don’t
go in for that cookin’ but Mr. Hank, ‘thank you Del and pass
the corn pudding!’ I’m glad I’m the only one in that house can
rattle pots and pans otherwise I suspect he could give me a run
for my job,” Del laughed.
54
• 5 •
Richmond, Virginia—Summer 1918
“Momma!” five-year-old Lance shouted
as he ran down the hall to Maggie’s study
with Del in chase. Bursting into the room he
rushed to his mother, nearly scattering the Women’s League
invitations she and Charlotte were addressing for the civic
group’s annual gala.
“Del won’t give me no cookies!”
“Any cookies,” Charlotte said without looking up
from her work.
“Not ‘till you finish your dinner,” Del said, arriving at the
door on Lance’s heels. “Del told you, finish your plate and then
we’ll have a cookie, not the other way ‘round.”
“Lance, you know the rules. Del is correct – dinner
then dessert,” Maggie said, putting her hand on Lance’s
shoulders to keep him at arm’s length. The last thing she
needed was to have him put his sticky fingers on or scatter
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Donna Drew Sawyer
the carefully arranged stacks of hand-addressed invitations
she was working on.
“But you can change the rules, Grandmamma said so. She
said Del doesn’t make the rules. You make the rules and Del
follows them.” Lance looked to his mother and then Charlotte
for confirmation. Maggie arched an eyebrow and looked across
the table at her mother who continued with her work. With a
finger, Maggie lifted her son’s chin to look into his eyes.
“That was talk for grownup ears not little boy ears. You go
with Del now, and you do what she tells you – that’s Momma’s
rule. When Momma is done with her work I’ll come see you.
Right now you go and eat your dinner.”
“You’re always busy with your work,” Lance pouted.
“Momma has very important work to do for the League.
They really need my help and you have Del to help you.”
“The ‘Leek’ is your little boy, and I’m Del’s?”
“No Lance— ” Maggie started.
“Come to Grandmamma,” Charlotte said, taking charge.
She took the boy’s tiny hands in one of hers as she removed
the lace hankie she kept tucked in her sleeve. Wetting it with
her tongue, she gently rubbed the boy’s cheek and wiped his
hands, sticky with the remnants of his dinner, while giving
Del a disapproving look.
“You are our only little boy, there is no one but you.”
Charlotte said putting her arms around the squirming boy.
Lance was growing fast—he had his father’s sandy coloring and
was slim and perpetual y in motion which made him seem like
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Provenance: A Novel
he was all legs and elbows. “It’s just that your Momma is a very
important lady here in Richmond; she has so many people to
help, very important people. You have to be a big boy and share
her. Even Grandmamma has to help your Momma, see?” she
said, pointing to the invitations she was addressing. “You’ll see
your Momma when she’s done,” Charlotte said, kissing Lance’s
cheek, then turning the boy around and gently pushing him
toward Del who was waiting at the door.
“No I won’t. You and Momma have the ‘Leek,’ ” Lance
said as he ran to Del and raised his arms.
She lifted him into her warm embrace and Lance whispered
in her ear just loud enough for his mother to hear, “You can be
my momma, Del. But I’ma keep my Daddy.”
“Sorry for the disturbance, ladies. We’re goin’ back to the
kitchen to finish the young man’s dinner,” Del said, disappearing
down the hall with Lance’s face buried in the crook of her neck.
Maggie started to get up to follow them, but Charlotte
held her in her seat.
“You should have told him he could have a cookie or what-
ever he wanted. Let him assert himself with the help or they
will never respect him,” Charlotte said, not caring if Del was
still within earshot.
“Since when do five-year-olds need respect?” Maggie asked.
“All they need are breakfast, lunch and dinner on a regular
schedule and to be bathed and put to bed at the appointed
hour. However, what I need from you, Mrs. Bennett, is to let
me run my house in my way.”
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Donna Drew Sawyer
“Listen to me, Margaret. Negroes take orders from whites—
Lance must learn that. He should know as early as possible that
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