keep her words inside, and said, âBout a man, a winkin man, a smooth man with a smooth voice and a smooth walk like a snake. Rita was lookin after his half-blind mama and I suppose she started longin for him, but when he met Olivia ... one look was all they needed. Him and Olivia went north on the train, never looked back. Two sisters in love with the same smooth man. Not a bad man, just a ladiesâ man. Kinda man donât bâlong to no one for too long. Got Olivia to New York, took her to Paris, where he left her. Olivia and Rita ainât spoke since. Rita been bitter. Spose she never forgot the smooth man. Boon was his name, part Creole, part not. Some men make a life outta stealin hearts.... Olivia said she dun her a favor. Said she wasnât gonna say she was sorry for doin someone a favor. Spose I could understand that. Twelve years ... took Olivia twelve years to say those words Rita been waitin on. âIâm sorry.â Twelve years is a long time.â She pulled back the curtains and the room filled with light.
Ruth and I didnât say anything.
We went outside and got the washtub and washboard, filled the tub with water and borax, and washed Miss Lillyâs clothes like we always did on Saturdays. We rinsed the clothes, hung them to dry, and smiled at each other.
We knew that no man like Boon would ever come between us.
Time blew by and dried the clothes. The day was lazy, hot, sticky summertime and the willows moved with the wind.
âWhy cainât Miss Lilly do her own work?â Ruth asked as she walked through the maze of hanging clothes.
âCuz she got enuf money to pay someone else to do it,â I replied.
âI thought it was cuz sheâs afraid the white might wash off,â Ruth said with the devilâs grin.
I said, âWhite donât wash off, black neither.â
Ruth laughed.
We had just finished folding the clothes that had been warmed by the sun when Mama and Elijah returned, their arms full. We followed them inside. Mama had bought more dress-making material than I had ever seen in our house and ten new pair of underpants, five for Ruth, five for me.
Mama said, âThrow away all them raggity drawers.â She told us we would have to wash our underpants every evening and gave us each a bar of Ivory soap.
Then she gave us each a pair of brand-new black patent leather shoes. She said she bought them big so our feet would have room to grow and stuffed cotton in the toes so they wouldnât slip off our feet. We put them under our bed so we could look at them morning and evening, just to make certain we werenât dreaming.
Then Mama reminded us, âMiss Lilly gonna be spectin her clothes bâfore sundown. Yâall run along.â
We replied, one after the other, like two talking birds, âYes maâam ... Yes maâam,â and made our way barefoot over the dirt path that always helped us find Miss Lillyâs back door.
Every morning, from Monday to Friday, Mama worked for Miss Lilly. She ironed her clothes, waxed her furniture, shined her silver, and made her supper.
âHow old Miss Lilly is?â Ruth asked, letting her side of the clothes basket nearly touch the ground.
âOld as dirt, Gramma says.â
âWhy she gotta big house and no childrens?â
âI dunno,â I told her. âGod gives childrens to some, not to others. God knows why, we donât.â
I looked up at the darkening sky. A star fell into the dusky blue and staked its claim.
We walked up Miss Lillyâs seven steps quietly, like ghosts, and put the clothes basket down. I knocked three times and waited. Miss Lilly opened the door. Her thin gray hair was held in place by a black hair net. She was wearing a blue-and-white checked dress, gold earrings, pink lipstick, and all of her real teeth. She counted the sheets and pillowcases and said, âNow, let me see where I put my change purse.â She left the