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tripping in front of them.”
    “Mama’s still pretty,” I say. “Mr. Leonard swore he’d leave his wife for her.”
    “Mr. Leonard? Who’s he?”
    “Mrs. Leonard’s husband,” I explain. “A family we worked for.”
    “I see,” Uncle Vernon says. “And how did that turn out?”
    “Mrs. Leonard fired Mama.”
    “Now that doesn’t seem fair.”
    “It wasn’t. Especially since Mama was the third housekeeper Mr. Leonard proposed to,” I say.
    Uncle Vernon laughs. “Sounds like Mrs. Leonard should have fired Mr. Leonard.”
    “You said it,” I say. “Good help is hard to find.”

11
Ladies Who Lunch
    Forget hair tonic and encyclopedias. The Diaper Gang’s on to something with their diaper-rash formula.
    A lady with a screaming baby appeared at the crack of dawn on the front porch.
    “Is Beans home?” she asked me in an anxious voice.
    “Beans!” I hollered. “You got a customer!” Beans came to the door.
    “It’s Nathaniel’s bungy. It’s just terrible. I’ve tried everything. I don’t know what else to do,” the mother said, looking like she was going to burst into tears at any second. “Can I please have some of the diaper-rash formula?”
    Beans went back inside and returned with a bagof the formula. “But you gotta let his bungy air out first before you put it on,” he advised.
    “Bless you, Beans,” the woman said.
    A few days later, the same woman comes back. This time she’s smiling, and so is the baby.
    “I don’t know how to thank you, Beans,” she says. “The formula cleared it up right away.”
    “Always does.”
    “Here,” she says, giving him a handful of tickets. “I bought one for all of you. There’s a Shirley Temple picture playing.”
    After she leaves, I turn to Beans.
    “You ought to patent that formula,” I say. “You’d be the Rockefeller of diaper rash.”
    “I know,” he says.
    We’re walking out the front door to go to the matinee when Aunt Minnie calls to us from where she’s ironing in the parlor.
    “I’m sorry,” she says, wiping a hand on her forehead. “But one of you kids is going to have to go over to Nana Philly’s and give her lunch. I’ve just got too much laundry to do today.”
    “Not me,” Beans says quickly.
    “Me neither!” says Kermit.
    “No way, no how, Ma!” Buddy says.
    Aunt Minnie looks up at the ceiling as if she’s praying for patience. She’s going to be praying a long time at this rate.
    “I’ll do it,” I say. Nana Philly can’t be any worse than Shirley Temple.
    Aunt Minnie gives me a long look. “Thank you, Turtle,” she says. She sounds surprised. “You’re a good girl.”
    “Course I am,” I say. “You’re just used to rotten boys.”
    “Why, Turtle!” Miss Bea says with a confused smile when she opens the door. “How lovely to see you! But I was expecting your aunt.”
    “Aunt Minnie’s got laundry. I’ll give Nana Philly her lunch,” I say.
    “Aren’t you a dear,” she says. “Well, whatever you make her, just be sure it’s soft.” She lowers her voice a notch. “Her teeth aren’t very good.”
    “All right,” I say.
    “I won’t be long,” she says, walking down the steps. “You’re so sweet to do this!”
    But I’m not sweet—I’m curious. It’s not every day you find out you have a grandmother you didn’t even know was alive. And despite what everyonesays about Nana Philly being terrible, I’ve been wanting to see if she’ll be different with me. After all, I’m a girl. Maybe she just hates boys. Wouldn’t blame her if she did.
    I walk into the house with fresh eyes. This is where Mama grew up. A thousand questions flash through my mind: Which bedroom did she sleep in? Did she run up and down the hallway? Did she sit at the piano? I hope not. That stool doesn’t look too sturdy.
    Nana Philly is sitting in the rocking chair in her bedroom reading a new magazine. She’s dressed the same way as when I first saw her.
    “I don’t know if you remember me, but