“Look, Ma, isn’t it a nice room for sewing?” Bess was saying as Hanna went into the kitchen.

Hanna wasn’t sure why she had offered to make tea, but as she filled the kettle, she remembered yet another axiom of Mama’s. “For the person who is sour, do something sweet.” Even if she couldn’t achieve the generosity of spirit practiced by Mama, she could tell herself that she was making tea as a courtesy to Bess.

These days more people were drinking coffee, but Hanna remained steadfast in her loyalty to tea, both green and black. Green tea had been Mama’s favorite. As a little girl, Hanna had loved watching the tight dried leaf buds unfurl in hot water, like tiny fists opening; she loved it still. She liked black tea, too, brewed up strong and brown and gentled with sugar, sometimes with milk when there was milk to be had. In Los Angeles, Mama’s Chinese friends drank only green tea, while Miss Lorna always made the other kind. Hanna had often wondered why everyone didn’t drink both.

It would be black tea for Mrs. Harris, of course. After a moment’s hesitation, Hanna added to the tray a plate with a few of the cookies she had baked for the opening. She carried the tray into the workroom, then invited Bess and her mother to join her.

“How nice!” Bess exclaimed. She and her mother sat in the two available chairs. Hanna poured for them, then went to fetch a third chair. I’ll not stand in a corner and wait on them as if I’m a servant. I’ll sit down with them, and if she doesn’t like it, she can get up and leave.

The window on the north side of the building let in full daylight without blazing sun. The workroom was a bright and colorful place, made even more cheerful by Bess’s chatter.

“Everything you need is to hand,” Bess said. “You hardly have to walk more than a step or two.” She took a bite of a molasses cookie.

Mrs. Harris smiled at her daughter. She sipped her tea and looked around the room. “I must say, it is all very nice,” she said. “Bess, is it one of your duties to clean in here?”

Bess looked taken aback. “No, Ma,” she said. “I clear up the scraps and such, but I’m being paid to sew.”

Immediately, dread began growing in Hanna’s heart, for she already knew what Mrs. Harris was about to say.

“I’m delighted to find the place so clean and pleasant,” Mrs. Harris said.

“Thank you,” Hanna said. Her hands were suddenly sweaty as thoughts raced through her head. I should say something. Quick, say it now—don’t think any longer.

She opened her mouth and forced out the words. “You sound as if you’re surprised, ma’am.”