The Red Rose Box Read Free

his place, another kind, tender soul.
    Elijah and Gramma went inside and I knew that he was in Mama’s pots because she ran him out of the kitchen. He came back outside and sat down on the porch step.
    That’s when I told him, “We’s goin to Los Angeles and you gonna have to carry us to New Orleans in your truck.”
    He paused, the way folks do before they ask a question they’re not sure they should be asking, and said, “What was in the box?”
    We were just about to tell him when we saw Miss Lutherine and Sister Goodnight walking up the dusty path to our front door, arm in arm.
    Sister Goodnight was yellow, plump, pretty. The postman said her real name was Roberta but everyone called her Sister. She wore store-bought clothes, leather shoes, silk stockings with seams, gloves most days, a straw hat in the summertime. She was from New Orleans, where she used to work with some of the other high tones, Creoles, and pretty brown girls, spending time with sailors who had money to spend. Gramma said that was how Sister Goodnight came to have the finest colored house in Sulphur, Louisiana. Gramma called Sister Goodnight a harlot.
    I didn’t know what a harlot was but one day after school when no one was around, I had asked my teacher, Mrs. Redcotton. She had looked at me in a funny way and replied, “It’s not a nice thing to say about a lady.”
    Elijah always said that Sister Goodnight was still a pretty woman whether it was true or not.
    Miss Lutherine was blue black with a wide behind. She was too tall with bowed legs that made her look like she rode horses. Her nose was wide, her eyes big, her fingers too long. Elijah said God must have been on his day off the day Miss Lutherine came to be.
    Miss Lutherine smiled. The sun found her and her gold tooth gleamed. She said, “Happy birthday, Leah Jean Hopper,” and she and Sister Goodnight kissed me on the cheek. Feather kisses.
    Elijah went into the house to get a chair for Sister Goodnight and I heard Gramma ask, “Why you always dotin on that ole dried-up harlot?”
    Ruth must have heard too because she asked Miss Lutherine, “Whatsa harlot?”
    Miss Lutherine sneezed and the porch shook.
    Sister Goodnight wasn’t ashamed. She sat down when Elijah brought her the chair and she asked him for a shot of gin. Sister Goodnight knew that Mama didn’t keep the devil’s brew in her cupboards but she smiled at Elijah and sucked her teeth. Elijah smiled back and went to fetch her a glass of lemonade.
    Ruth left the swing and told Sister Goodnight, “You gonna havta let us use your travlin bags cuz we bout to go to Los Angeles, near Hollywood, for the Fourth of July.”
    Sister Goodnight replied, “You little lyin skunk.”
    I spoke up. “Ruth ain’t no lyin skunk. I am proud to say that we’s goin to Los Angeles to see our aunt Olivia.”
    Sister Goodnight took a sip of lemonade, looked into the setting sun, and said, “Olivia used to dance half naked at the Cotton Club.”
    Miss Lutherine sneezed again.
    I looked straight into Sister Goodnight’s hazel eyes and said, “Least she wasn’t no harlot.”
    Silence came over us like the smell of chitlins cooking.
    Ruth waited for about ten minutes and quietly asked her if we could still use her traveling bags and Sister Goodnight, after letting my words roll off her back, said yes.

    We ate supper quietly, the way hungry people do.
    â€œYou sure know how to clean a chicken bone, Leah Jean,” Miss Lutherine said.
    I whispered, “I was hungry cuz I didn’t have no lunch,” and excused myself from the table. Ruth excused herself and we waited near the open kitchen window while they talked. The hot, heavy, humid air covered us.
    â€œI wish Daddy was here,” I whispered to Ruth.
    â€œMe too,” Ruth replied.
    I knew that if Daddy were here, everyone around that table would be laughing and