Tilly POV
I went back quickly to scrubbing the dirty floor, but scrubbing was—
I mean, there was fun... like talking to Boy. And then there was trying to get dirt off the floor. And there was me, failing miserably at it so much one would think I hadn't done this a day in my life, unlike Cora-James's testimony.
I had been scrubbing for what felt like an eternity when the door rattled again. My knees were raw. My hands were blistered. The water in the bucket was black and cold.
I didn't stop, even though I wanted to.
Somewhere along the way I started humming a song to myself. It sounded familiar. It was a children's rhyme. My mother must have sung it to me at some point.
It was good to know she wasn't totally a bad mother. Maybe Boy was right. Maybe she really did make a mistake. But again, maybe not. I was still Cora-James's slave.
