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She heard the door open behind her The aroarlic wafted her way

Daddy cahting up a cigarette, he sat down on the swing beside her She smelled the sweetness of wine on his breath They were supposed to be conserving everything, but Daddy refused to give up on his wine or his hooch He said drinking was the only thing keeping him sane He loved to drop a slippery, sweet slice of preserved peach into his after-supper wine

Loreda leaned into hilided forward and back “You’re quiet, Loreda That ain’t like irl”

The farm transitioned around the, bringing up their precious water, chickens scratching, hogs rooting in the dirt

“This drought,” Loreda said, pronouncing the dreaded word like everyone did around here Drouth She fell silent, choosing her words with care “It’s killing the land”

“Yep” He finished the cigarette, stubbed it out into the pot full of dead flowers beside him

Loreda pulled the flyer out of her pocket, unfolded it with care

California Land of milk and honey

“Mrs Buslik says there’s jobs in California Money lying in the streets Stella said her uncle sent a postcard saying there’s jobs in Oregon”

“I doubt there’sin the streets, Loreda This Depression is worse in the cities Last I read, over thirteen million folks were out of jobs You’ve seen the tramps that ride the trains There’s a Hooverville in Oklaho in apple carts Co of cold on park benches”

“They aren’t dying of cold in California You could get a job Maybe work on the railroad”

Daddy sighed, and in that exhalation of his breath, she knehat he was thinking That was how in tune she ith him “My parents—and your mom—will never leave this land”

“But—”

“It’ll rain,” Daddy said, but there was so sorrowful about the way he said it, almost as if he didn’t want rain to save them

“Do you have to be a farmer?”