Lottie and I push through the gawkers, and I see her. Mother stands in the swirling dust in a too-short daisy-print dress and white lace-up boots with stacked high heels. A dozen gold bracelets circle her wrists, and her lips are painted ruby red. Mother breaks every rule of our godly society with insulting ease. She could, with one swing of her hips, open the gates of hell and drag us all down into the fiery pit with her. She is irresistible, dangerous, fabulous.

I shut my eyes, squeeze tight, and then reopen them. No mistake. Mother is dazzling and real, and right in front of me.

“Mummy . . .”

“Adele . . .” She holds out her arms, and the gold bracelets chime on her wrists.

Mum . . . My heart beats out the word, and I run to her in front of a dozen witnesses who will call me crybaby for the rest of the term. Who cares what they say? Father called and Mother is here, and I burrow into her shoulder.

“My baby,” she croons into my hair. “My baby girl.”

“You came.” I soak in the sound of her voice and the scent of tea-rose lotion on her skin. “You came all this way, and the Golden Sun Awards aren’t for six weeks.”

“Adele, I wanted to see you before then.”

“And Rian?”

“With Mrs. Button. He’ll be fat as a hippo by the time I get back. You know how she loves to cook.” Mother turns to face our spellbound audience, which stares and gapes at the beautiful creature who’s dropped into Keziah as if by magic. Lottie keeps her distance, self-conscious in her faded school uniform and worn shoes. Compared to Mother, we are all shabby.

“And this must be your friend, Lottie,” Mother says.

“Yes.” I motion Lottie closer. “This is Lottie Diamond. We share Dead Lorraine’s room, and we just finished reading Jane Eyre, the book that Father brought me from Johannesburg.”

Mother reaches out and touches Lottie’s shoulder with an easy familiarity that makes the boys groan with envy. She claims Lottie as her own and anoints us both with an air of mystery and glamour. Delia and the others pretend they are indifferent to Mother’s bombshell appearance, but they cannot look away. They are mesmerized.

The dust and isolation of Keziah disappear. Lottie and I belong to Mother, a worldly creature who lives in the city and wears white lace-up boots and fiery lipstick.

“All aboard.” The ticket seller leans out of the bus and calls in a booming voice, “Next stop, Howard’s Halt. Howard’s Halt, next stop.”

He’s putting on a show for Mother. Nobody stops at Howard’s Halt unless they were born there or have a sick relative to visit.

“I have a few things to buy. Is Old Man Lander’s store in Howard’s Halt still open?” Mother wonders aloud. “It had a strange name, I remember.”