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he can fulfill a request from a Negro but that it is just that, a
request. He does not take orders.”
“He is five years old, Momma, and Del is doing a fine job
with him.”
“And with you,” Charlotte said. “She runs this house and
everyone and everything in it. She’s got Hank wrapped around
her little finger. All she has to do is feed him some of that col-
ored sharecropper food and the man is happy. All the household
help reports to Del. That is not the way it is supposed to be,
Margaret.”
“Everything Del does, she does for me. Negroes are grateful
for the opportunity to work for us, why would we be afraid—”
“I’m not afraid,” Charlotte said, cutting Maggie off. “I’m
just wary, that’s all.”
“Of what?” Maggie asked. “Why are you so suspicious of
Del? Did something happen between the two of you?”
“Nothing happened, I just don’t make it a habit of being
in the company of colored people,” Charlotte said, returning
to her work. “Let’s finish here, we need to get these in the
mail today. We don’t want the right people to fill their social
schedules before they commit to the gala.”
The two women worked in silence for a few more minutes
then Charlotte abruptly got up from the table and went to the
window. Standing with her back to her daughter, she smoothed
her hair then her hand drifted to the strands of opera length
pearls that always adorned her graceful neck.
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Provenance: A Novel
“You don’t know what it is like to be disrespected,” she
said. “It does not matter who does it— white, Negro, man,
woman—it cuts the same, deep wound, and it’s impossible to
heal.” Maggie was not interested in a lecture on respect from
her mother. No one in Richmond would dare disrespect her;
she was Margaret Bennett Whitaker, the only child of the
late financier, Walton Wainwright Bennett III. Her mother
had groomed her since birth to take her place in Richmond
society. She’d fought her at first, but as Maggie matured and
her husband’s business grew to be more and more successful,
Maggie realized the advantages of being in the right social
circle— one of which was never worrying about being respected.
“Keep your guard up at all times, Margaret.” Charlotte
turned to face her daughter who had already stopped listening
to the wisdom she was trying to share.
“Margaret!” Charlotte snapped, walking over and slam-
ming her fist down on the table, upsetting the careful y stacked
invitations. “If you hear nothing else, hear this. Never expect
anyone to have your best interests at heart. You’d best learn that
lesson now or it will break you later. Trust no one, Margaret—
not your husband, not your son, not even me.”
59
• 6 •
Richmond, Virginia—Spring 1928
(I)
Lance was already waiting when his father came
down the back stairs into the kitchen.
“We have to leave now, Daddy. Momma will
be down here before you know it and then we’ll never get
out of here.”
“Oh no, come hell or high water, we’re goin’ fishin’. Your
mother’s got those League ladies here today and you know how
I feel about being anywhere near the—what did you used to
call them? The Leek.”
“That’s your wife you’re talking about. They’re not as bad
as you make them out to be, Daddy,” Lance said, thinking of
the young girls his age to whom he’d been introduced by their
mothers in the League.
“No, they’re worse, your Momma’s the one exception.”
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Provenance: A Novel
“What about Grandmamma?” Lance asked.
“As I said, your Momma’s the one exception,” Hank said,
making them both laugh. He pulled the picnic basket Del
had packed for them across the table. “Let’s see what all’s
in here,” he said as he opened the basket and called out the
menu for their day trip to the James River, “fried chicken,
ham sandwiches, deviled eggs, a jar of tomatoes and cukes, a
bag of brown sugar pecans and some of Del’s chocolate iced
golden layer cake.”
“Damn! Gonna be some good eatin’ today!” Lance said,
as Del came into the kitchen.
“Watch your language, young man,” Del said. She was
dressed in the formal uniform she wore when Miss Maggie
was expecting guests. The long sleeve black dress and white lace
bib apron made her look more subservient than her preferred
short-sleeved grey cotton dress and flowery apron with the deep
pockets. She might have looked different, but she was stil Del.
“Yes ‘em,” Lance said obediently.
Del noticed Hank digging through the picnic basket.
“Mr. Hank, please! Don’t you go poking around in there
for it gone and you two don’t have no lunch.”
“Just a taste, Del. We need something to get us going
this morning.”
“You think I didn’t know that?” Del asked as she closed
the basket and moved it next to the back door. She walked
over to the oven and took out a metal lunch pail with warm
sausage biscuits wrapped in a gingham cloth. “I think these’ll
get y‘all started off right. Now the two of you scat or you’ll be
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Donna Drew Sawyer
helpin’ with the fixins for all those fine ladies about to descend
on your house.”
“We’re gone!” Hank said, grabbing the biscuits and the
picnic basket. Lance took a thermos of hot coffee and a burlap
bag containing several bottles of Coca-Cola from the kitchen’s
long wooden table.
“Be sure to put the bag in the stream to chill the sodas as
soon as you get settled,” Del said affectionately rubbing his
back. Lance had stopped letting her hug and kiss him years
ago, but she still loved feeling the warmth of him.
“Bye, Del,” they said in unison as they headed down the
back porch steps to the garage.
“Don’t forget to anchor the bag good to the riverbank and
don’t you ‘all bring me home nothin’ scrawny. A fried fish dinner
depends on you!” Dell called after them. Father and son, she thought as she watched them from behind — one the spittin’
image of the other. This year Lance had his growth spurt and
now looked just like his Daddy—tall and sandy-haired hand-
some— but there was no doubt that he had his mama in him
too. Lance liked the finer life like Miss Maggie did; Del felt
him pul ing away from her the way the youngins’ do when they
come to understand there’s a difference between coloreds and
whites. She knew with Lance grown, things would change for
her in this house. She’d have to set her mind to what was next,
but for now, there were still a few things she could teach the
boy—though some things were the purview of his Daddy, and
fortunately, Mr. Hank was always there for his boy.
62<
br />
Provenance: A Novel
Lance was turning fifteen this year and was already being
recruited for dances and cotillions. The mamas of the young
ladies in the West End had already identified Lance Henry
Whitaker as a prospect for their daughters. While cleaning the
parlor a few months back she’d heard a bit of a conversation
Mr. Hank and Lance were havin’ out on the porch.
“You wanna treat women with respect, son. I know you got
urges but we’re not animals, we can control them. You don’t
want to have relations with a woman you don’t plan to marry.”
Del moved her dusting to another room to give them some
privacy. Hope he’s got enough of his Daddy in him to keep his wits and other parts about him, Del thought. If Miss Maggie and Miss Charlotte had their way he’d be courtin’, matched and married in no time. Thank God for Mr. Hank. He’ll help the boy manage all
them airs and such his mama and grandmamma put on.
“Speakin’ of puttin’ on, I’d best get lunch for the ladies
ready,” Del said as she thought about the menu she’d prepared
for the Women’s League Lunch—the same as what she sent
with Mr. Hank and Lance on their fishin’ trip—except served
up on Miss Maggie’s fine china. The League ladies might
point their pinkies in the air for tea but whenever they came
to Miss Maggie’s for their meetings they always requested
Del’s fried chicken.
“They be peelin’ off them white gloves and eatin’ with their
fingers— not a one of ‘em too uppity when faced with a plate
of Del’s fried chicken,” she chuckled and got to work.
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Donna Drew Sawyer
(II)
“Lance! Looks like you landed a big one!” Hank said, jump-
ing up to watch his son wrangle a big mouth bass to shore. They
watched the fish flail on the bank of the river.
“Reminds me of you, Daddy.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re a big fish in Richmond,” the boy said proudly.
“Oh, I thought you meant hooked and flailing, that’s more
what I feel like these days.”
“Why would you feel like that?”
“Just sometimes life gets ahead of you, that’s all.”
“I don’t understand,” Lance said.
“I never had a plan, Lance. Life just, kinda, happened to
me. Like this fish, you get hooked and next thing you know
you’re flailing around someplace you never expected to be.”
“Are you talking about life or business?”
“I guess both. I hadn’t known your Momma but a few
months. We loved each other so we ran off and got married.
Charlotte wasn’t too happy about that.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Same thing with the business. I just saw the opportunity
and started Colonial Enterprises. It was just a property services
business before then—but me and Mr. Stephens saw the oppor-
tunity and bought some tobacco warehouses. Next thing I know,
we’re making more money than I knew was possible. That was
almost twenty years ago, before I met your Momma, before you
was born. I never imagined that little janitor business I started,
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Provenance: A Novel
Whitaker Property Services, would grow into what Colonial
Enterprises is today. We went from cleanin’ and fixing other
people’s property to buying and managing industrial buildings
and warehouses down on Tobacco Row. No plan, I’d just see
an opportunity and take it.” Hank rubbed his forehead as if he
couldn’t believe how well things had worked out.
“You were lucky,” Lance said, studying his father.
“I guess, so far, but things are changing. I feel like the
business is less about the work and more about what folks want
from me, the man. I’m not like your Momma, I don’t take to
the public life. Not comfortable with people tryin’ to get next
to me now that I have something they think they want. Was a
time the people smiling in my face wouldn’t have let me shine
the shit off their shoes,” Hank said, remembering what his
future father-in-law once told him.
“You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished. You
came from nothin’—”
“Don’t say that, Lance. I came from good people.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you never talk about
your family. I know everything about the Bennetts but all I
know about you is that you’re the only child of only children
and that your parents died before I was born.”
Hank looked down at the dying fish who had all but given
up his struggle except for a few desperate thrashes of his tail.
He was just like this fish – he was completely hooked and out
of his natural environment. After all these years he was still
thrashing around like a fish out of water.
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Donna Drew Sawyer
“Not much more to tel . Where I grew up, everyone, every-
thing’s gone,” Hank said, hoping he was wrong and that his
brothers were thriving. It had been nearly two decades since
he ran. He often wondered what would have happened if the
sheriff hadn’t died. Mr. Connors, the man who had given
him the ride out of Park Place, confirmed the sheriff’s death
when he ran into the old man a few weeks after arriving in
Richmond. Connors had been back in Llewellyn on business
and a new sheriff had just been sworn in. Hank knew then he
could never go back.
Hank’s fishing line was still in the river. He felt a tug on
the pole.
“Looks like you hooked something too, Daddy!” Lance said.
“Here son,” Hank said handing him the pole. “You reel him
in.” Lance turned his attention back to the river while Hank
picked up the big fish from the ground and put him in the pail
of river water with the rest of their catch. When he looked up
he saw that the fish on Lance’s line had gotten away. The boy
turned to his father, shrugged, baited the hook again and then
waded back into the river.
Maybe Lance wil get away too, Hank thought hoping his
son would escape the consequences of the racial dilemma he
had created for both of them. Maybe he’ll never have to know
his Daddy’s secrets.
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Provenance: A Novel
(III)
“I’m not interested in working at the bank this summer. I’m
going to work with Daddy.” Lance said, sitting on the porch
with his mother and grandmother.
“You and your father have discussed this?” Maggie was
surprised that Hank had not mentioned anything to her.
“No,” Lance said, “but if that’s what I’m going to do after
college I might as well start getting some experience. Daddy
said it’s best to have a plan and that’s my plan – to run Colonial
Enterprises one day.”
“So you want to be a janitor like your father. You’re already
dressing for the position,” Charlotte interjected. She had already
made him aware of her displeasure with his bare feet, open
collar and rolled up shirt sleeves.
“Stop calling my father that,” Lance barked at Charlotte.
“Who do you think you’re talking to, Lance Henry
Whitaker? You’re not talking to Del,” Charlotte said.
“I don’t have to talk to Del like that. She loves and respects
my father,” Lance protested.
“Oh, please. Del loves your father’s money.”
“And so do you,” Lance shot back, knowing that his father
had just given Charlotte a car and driving lessons—making
her one of the few women on the West End who drove an
automobile.
Charlotte stood up from her rocker and started toward
Lance who was sitting on the other side of the screen porch.
“You are not too old to—”
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Donna Drew Sawyer
Maggie grabbed her mother’s arm and pulled her back
into her seat.
“Momma, this is not about you or Del. It is about Lance’s
future. Lance, stop antagonizing your grandmother,” Maggie
said, trying to get their discussion back on track. “Your
grandmother has her heart set on you following my father’s
professional path. You come from a long line of bankers, Lance.
It’s a respectable profession for an educated young man.”
“Momma, I agreed I’d go to college, as you asked, but I
am an entrepreneur like my father.”
“A what?” Charlotte asked.
“An entrepreneur. It’s French. It means you own and man-
age your own business. That’s what I am going to do—with
my father.”
“You’re going to do what with your father?” Hank asked,
as he stepped onto the porch with his newspaper.
“I want to be like you, an entrepreneur. I’m not going to
be a banker. What about making Colonial Enterprises a father
and son operation? Can’t you see us working together? I can
start learning the business this summer,” Lance said.
Hank smiled, looked at Maggie and then over at Charlotte.
“So you’re interested in janitorial work?” he said, wink-
ing at Lance.
“Yes I am, sir,” his son said.
“What do you think, Maggie? Think I should find a place
for this young man?”
“Momma arranged for him to clerk at the bank this summer.”
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Provenance: A Novel
“How do you feel about that, Lance?” Hank asked knowing
Charlotte had acted without consulting anyone.
“I have my heart set on being a janitor, Mr. Whitaker, sir.
This summer is just as good a time as any to start realizing my