“Not a scratch,” said Lois. “And the tea — it’s very good. Did you bring it with you from back East?”
“Yes. I can find nothing like it out here. It’s a special English blend that my family has been drinking for years.” Millicent took a sip of tea, the steam rising up from the cup and half-clouding her eyeglasses. “Where are you from, dear?”
“Booker and I come from Arkansas. He says he’s got folks in the state that go back to the original Arkansas Traveler. I guess you can say me and Booker and the kids, we’s the Arkansas Travelers now.”
Millicent picked up a serving plate upon which she’d placed several diminutive slices of shortcake. She held it out to Lois.
“Thankee,” said Lois, taking the slice resting on the top.
“Lois, my dear, how long have you and your family been here in California?”
“Not long at all,” replied Lois, shielding her mouth with her hand as she spoke, since there was masticated shortcake in there. “I reckon it’s been about two weeks.”
“And do you like it here? Do you think you’ll put down roots?”
“It’s awfully purdy. All them orchards and vineyards. I ain’t never seen a place as purdy as Californy. But it all depends on where Booker can find work.”
Millicent patted Lois’s dormant hand. “I’m sure everything will work out for you, dear. You didn’t think you’d be attending a tea party today, now did you?”
“No, ma’am, I didn’t.” Both women took a sip of tea.
“More tea?”
Lois peered into her teacup. It was half drained.
“A splash perhaps — warm it up a little?”
Lois smiled. “That would be right nice.”
As Millicent poured, she said, “Clarence and I have traveled quite a bit. We’ve been to Arkansas. The mountains are lovely there. Everything so green.”
“We lived in the southern part of the state,” said Lois. “It’s purdy flat. We had us a cotton farm.”
“Did you lose your farm, dear? I’m hearing that some of our farmers these days are losing their farms from all that wind and dust. You can’t grow cotton or anything else, I’d imagine, in fields of dust.” She smiled, then sighed contentedly. “Of course, there’s no dust out here. Smell how clean the air is. You just toss a seed over your back, and voilà! An orange tree sprouts up just as easy as you please. Have you ever had a California orange, dear?”
Lois shook her head.
“Juiciest, tastiest orange there is.” Millicent licked her lips and closed her eyes. “I wish I had orange slices to put out today, but they aren’t quite in season yet. Have you ever smelled an orange blossom, Lois?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t reckon I ever have.”
“Most luscious scent in the world. How many children do you have?”
“I got the two boys, Oren and Les. They’s six and eight. And then a little girl, Viola. She’s five.”
Millicent bent slightly forward in her seat, intrigued. “Is she that new little girl I’ve seen running around — the spittin’ image of Miss Shirley Temple?”
“Some folks say Viola looks a little like Shirley Temple, though I cain’t quite see a hard resemblance.”
“If that’s the little girl I’m thinking of, she’s just as cute as a button. You and your husband ought to be very proud. And while you’re here in California, you should try to get her seen by one of the studios.”
“Studios?”
“Movie studios. I’m sure that’s what Miss Shirley Temple’s mother and father did — just marched her right up to the gate of Twentieth Century Fox and said, ‘Well, here we are. Open up that gate, if you please!’”
Millicent chuckled. Lois laughed along with her. “I’ll talk to Booker about it. Be nice not to have to worry about money for a change.”
Millicent’s expression suddenly turned solemn. “Has the Depression been hard on you and your family, child?”
Lois nodded. “We don’t need much to get along, but it’s a real trial tryin’ to get along with nothin’.”
“Poor dear.” Millicent patted her guest’s hand again.
“Well, I best be gettin’ along now,” said Lois. “Booker’ll wonder what’s happened to me if I’m not around when he gets back.” She stood up and reached out to shake Millicent’s hand. “It was very nice. It was the nicest tea party I ever been to.”
“I’m glad you liked it. We should do it again.” Millicent poked her cloth napkin at the corners of her mouth.
“I’d like that, but I don’t think we’re gonna be here much longer. If Booker comes back and says there ain’t no work in these parts, we’ll have to be movin’ on to someplace else.”
Millicent nodded. “Lots of places need good pickers these days, I understand.”
“Booker’s got to get work soon or I don’t know what we’ll do.”
“You wait right here. I want to give you something.”
A moment passed. In Millicent’s absence, Lois quickly snatched up three of the remaining rectangles of shortcake and slipped them into the pocket of her dress. It was a floral print dress, dirty and frayed. She was ashamed of it and at first didn’t want to accept her hostess’s invitation on account of not having anything better to wear. But she’d given her hair a good combing and had taken a water bucket and scrub-rag to her soiled face and arms and legs, and made herself halfway presentable, given the circumstances, and Millicent had welcomed Lois to her tea table without even batting an eye over her appearance.
“I want you to have this,” said Millicent on her return. “It’s my lucky half dollar.”
“Oh no, Miss Millicent. I cain’t possibly take your lucky coin.” Millicent opened Lois’s right hand and placed the fifty-cent piece on her palm. Then she closed Lois’s fingers around it. There was dirt beneath all the nails. Lois’s fingers were thin and withered like those of an old woman.
“Goodbye, Lois, and good luck.”
Once outside, Lois opened her hand to look at the coin. It was a 1920 “Walking Liberty” and it glistened in the bright, afternoon sunlight. A moment later, Lois felt a hand upon her shoulder. “I been lookin’ for you,” a man said. “You weren’t around the tent. Who’s lookin’ after the children?”
Lois turned to peer up into the face of her husband Booker. It was ruddy from the sun. He had been out with three other migrant men driving through the valley looking for work, and had returned without prospects.
“Mrs. Jordan, from the tent next to ours — she said she’d keep an eye on ’em ’long with her own young ’uns.”
“Where’d you get that half dollar?”
Lois tossed her head in the direction of the structure behind her. Its sides were constructed of sheets of rusty, corrugated iron and strips of tattered roofing paper. The “roof” itself was made of old canvas, as if cannibalized from a tent that had been ripped apart and put to slightly less transient use. For a door there was a hanging gunny-sack. Likewise, there was a paneless window next to the door, curtained by flour sacks. In front of the makeshift house were two crates (for “night sittin’”). Between them was an improvised flowerbox containing field flowers. The tiny shack looked as if someone — in all likelihood, Millicent — had tried her best to make of it something tidy and pleasant. There was even a welcome mat of sorts made from automobile floor carpeting.
“What are you doin’ takin’ money from folks just as bad off as we are?” asked Booker, pocketing the coin that had been offered to him by his wife.