Lila

and the drapes. And she’d put the poker deck and the checkerboard in that damned credenza, and anything else that could help the time pass. Not that they could have seen the spots on the cards, dark as it was. In a day or two they’d start saying they were better, and could they open a window a crack. Just the darkness made some of them cry. Then when she had turned on some lights and opened a window or two and they had put the place to rights, she would open the credenza and pass out the things she had put in it, the darning egg and the harmonica, and they’d be happy to have them back, as if she had done them a kindness. That credenza was the shape of a coffin, with little legs on it, and flowers of lighter-colored wood on the front of it, some of them peeling off, some of them gone, just the glue left. It was always locked. Any one of the girls could have figured a way to break into it, but they never did. One time Mrs. found some letters that belonged to the girl they called Sal and locked them up, for safekeeping, she said. That girl was begging for them until finally she just gave up, and that was when Mrs. got around to letting her have them back for a while. Lila had hidden her knife in a gap between boards in a closet floor. There were boxes stacked in that corner and the knife was underneath them, so she thought it was safe. Mrs. had nothing that mattered to take from her, nothing of hers to lock away.

Lila was called Rosie because no one else was Rosie, and the pink dress fit her well enough. Sal and Tilly showed her how to tie her hair up in rags so it would curl. They rinsed it with henna first. Mrs. charged her a quarter for the henna and five dollars for a pair of pink high-heeled shoes that were half worn out but she’d never find any cheaper. She could pay a couple dollars a week for the dress. Buying it would put her too far in debt, but she could rent it. So she was seven and a quarter dollars behind already, sitting there with her hair in rags and them about to punch holes in her ears with a darning needle. Then there was room and board, but that could wait till she’d made her start, Mrs. said. Once you’re bringing in some regulars. Lila was just listening to all this, trying not to do the arithmetic. She should have walked out right then, but the other girls stayed there and put up with it, the damn credenza and the ugly gentlemen and all of it. After a while she was one of the older girls, and when a young one came to her all upset, she would say just what they all said, Don’t you come crying to me and What did you expect when you come here? Then Lila would be patting the girl’s hands or putting her hair in pin curls just to quiet her down. When they weren’t working or fighting they were usually setting each other’s hair.

That one day Mrs. asked her, “Do you have any little treasures you want to keep safe? Anything you want to give me?”

And Lila said, “I got a knife. That’s the only thing. I been wanting to give you my knife.” The words were just there, and she said them, and she meant them, too.

“Bring it to me. Let me keep it for you, dear. We don’t want a knife lying around the house.”

So Lila went to the closet and found it still hidden there and took it and handed it over, amazed as she did it, thinking, This is it. I’m here now. This is the life I’m going to have. Mrs. just looked at it lying there in her hand like it was an ugly thing, so Lila said, “Somebody killed my father with it.” And then, because she didn’t want to lie to the woman, she said, “He might’ve been my father.” Mrs. smiled a little. She said, “I see.” And Lila watched her lock it away. Well, she’s got me now. And what sense did that make. But she felt that way, and it gave her a kind of ease.

Standing right there by the credenza, with the key still in her hand, Mrs. looked Lila over like she’d never seen her before and said, “You ain’t a pretty girl, but you might try smiling, Rosie.”

“Yes, ma’am. Yes, I will.” Talking to her like that, calling her ma’am. It was a thing Lila blushed to remember, how much she was giving that woman. Doll’s knife. But why shouldn’t she stop being Lila Dahl and take another made-up name and let herself be glad there was someone telling her what to do every minute, no matter if she hated it. She could smile if she had to. People smile. When she was trying on that pink dress, Mrs. had the girl Lucy come in and pick up the dress she’d been wearing and her shoes and leave her an old flannel nightgown. Lucy said, “I guess you won’t be going nowheres now.” Lila blushed to remember how hurt she was that Mrs. thought she might run off. She’d thought, Now I gave her my knife, she’s got it locked up, the one thing in the world I had that was mine. And she was glad that she’d given it up, that Mrs. didn’t have to find it and take it from her the way she did that girl’s letters. Lila had tried to think of anything else she could give her. As soon as she started earning a little money. My