Hilda Effania was ecstatic. All her girls were home. Cypress was back from studying dance in New York. Sassafrass had made that terrible bus trip from New England. As much as they’d changed she still recognized them as her children. Spinning in the kitchen, while her girls did whatever they were going to do, was her most precious time.

From her corner view, she could see everyone. Sassafrass was still eating & still heavy hipped. If the white folks’ food was so awful, you sure couldn’t tell it. On the other hand, Cypress was too thin round her waist. It was as if she was rejecting the body the Lord gave her. There is nothing can be done with a colored behind. Hilda knew Cypress was so determined to be a ballet dancer she’d starve, but never lose that backside. Indigo was making every effort to be in on the big girls’ talk. Hilda spun her fleece. Later, they’d all help her dye, warp, & weave. They always did.

“Sassafrass, it’s ‘those’ white folks, not ‘them.’ Cypress, your sister’s name is Sassafrass, not ‘S.’ ”

In the midst of an arabesque penché Cypress retorted, “So tell me something I don’t know.”

Hilda Effania took a deep breath, sighed quite loudly. These northern ways would haveta be quieted. “I’m sorry, Cypress, I don’t think I heard what you said.” Cypress returned to first position, bras en répos.

“Aw, Mama, that’s a turn of phrase. You know, some slang.”

“Sounded like a fresh somebody to me,” Hilda said, without loosing the gait of her spinning.

“Vocabulary is simply a way of knowing & letting others know your intentions. That’s what Madame says.” Cypress executed a croisé devant, balanced, smiled.

“& does Madame encourage you to insult your mother?” Hilda went on. Sassafrass was looking very bored, though Cypress kept trying to impress them with her new skills: rond de jambe en l’air; gargouillade; cabriole, brisé. Repeating the words, with each movement.

“Cypress, do you speak English anymore? Or has everyone in New York learned French in deference to the ballet?” Indigo laughed. Hilda smiled inside. Cypress relaxed her body & looked more like herself to Hilda.

“Mama, would you explain to my sister from the woods that I was trying to offer her some culture.”

“She’s right there. You can tell her.”

“Cypress, I am going to a school where culture is never mentioned, per se, because all those white folks up there is ‘culture,’ or so they’d like us to believe.” Sassafrass leaned back in her chair. Cypress was right. What she was doing was so pretty. Cypress was in her own way offering a gift.

“Cypress, could you show me some of that? I mean, how you do that? Those WASPs don’t look like you when they do it. You make it look so easy.”