“How do you know this?”

“My mother got work at the farm next door as a migrant laborer picking avocados last week. She heard an old couple who’s retiring from there talking about it.”

Zodwa takes a minute to process the information. As much as she wants to believe Thembeka, it just doesn’t make any sense. Why would Leleti take Zodwa’s baby and give it to strangers?

As though reading her mind, Thembeka asks, “Did Leleti know those women?”

Zodwa’s about to protest that her mother would never give her baby to white people, never in a million years, when she suddenly remembers something.

Who was that you were with now?

Someone I used to work for very long ago when we were both just girls. The good Lord brought us together then and still He works His wonders today.

You were hugging her. I thought you said all white people were demons.

Not that one. That one is God’s child.

Zodwa blinks a few times. Why didn’t she think of that woman before? “Will you take me there? To the farm?”

To Zodwa’s relief, Thembeka nods.

“Tomorrow? We’ll go tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Still, something is bothering Zodwa and it takes her a moment to realize what it is. “Why are you helping me at all?” Zodwa asks. “After everything that happened? You never believed me about Mongezi, so what has changed?”

Thembeka looks away and then her eyes flit back to meet Zodwa’s. “I found the letter. The one you wrote to me.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Delilah

24 June 1995

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

Does he feel warm to you?” Ruth had her palm against Mandla’s forehead, her face scrunched up in concern.

I checked. “No, which is a miracle considering how many layers you have on the child.”

“We have to be careful. He’s so much more susceptible to things than we are.”

“Things like heatstroke?” I pulled two layers off the child.

“So he doesn’t feel warm to you. Does he feel clammy?”

“Ruth!”

I wished she would stop fussing over Mandla so much. The latest blood tests showed that his CD4 count was as good as could be expected and that his viral load hadn’t gone up. The encouraging prognosis should have reassured her. Instead, rather than allowing herself to enjoy it, it just made her more fretful, as though letting her guard down was inviting catastrophe.

Ruth was clearly tempted to put the layers back on Mandla but, seeing my frown, decided against it. Between the two of us, we’d finally managed to get Mandla to sleep in his own crib, though the sleep-training regime I put into place was often undermined by Ruth, who went running to pick him up every time he so much as squeaked.