Lottie takes Mother’s other arm, and the pressure fills my mouth and finds a voice. I lick my lips and start out slowly and self-consciously. Mother normally leads the singing and leaves me breathless in her wake. Now it's my turn to lead the dance . . .

“This little light of mine”—the simple words are a whisper on the wind—“I’m going to let it shine. This little light of mine . . .”

“I’m going to let it shine.” Lottie Diamond, who mouths the words to hymns in chapel and refuses to answer the preacher’s call-and-response, joins the song in a high, sweet voice. “This little light of mine. I’m going to let it shine.”

Bosman’s daughter smiles to hear the music, and her happiness brings Mother back to me. She squeezes my hand and lends her voice to the chorus, “Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Everywhere I go, I’m going to let it shine. Everywhere I go, I’m going to let it shine . . .”

We link arms, the three of us, and walk the length of the main street with easygoing steps. I sense Bosman watching us from the front porch of the Hebron General Store, and I glance over my shoulder. He stands with his hands on his hips, a powerful man powerless to drown out our song or stop the music from rising over the mountain and into the valleys and the hidden, lonely places of the heart. A man left behind.

The road leads us away, and our voices rise, clear and certain. We sing to heal Lottie’s mother’s fractured heart. We sing for Darnell, gone so soon, and his father left behind. Our song flies over the fields and into the sky.

We sing the light into being.

Acknowledgments

When the Ground Is Hard has deep roots in my family history. Adele and Lottie’s story is my mother’s story and my aunties’ story. It is also my story. I gave the book its title to honor and show respect to all the women worldwide who give life to my mother’s favorite African proverb, “When the ground is hard, the women dance.”

Thank you and lots of love to my children, Elijah and Sisana, for understanding that Mummy sometimes has to talk to the people in her head at dinner instead of them. Thank you also to my husband, Mark, my first reader extraordinaire, and the only man brave enough to tell me when I’m wrong. I love you. (Yes, I know, babe . . . I still owe you a trip to Fiji.)

Thank you also to my agent, Catherine Drayton from Inkwell Management, who stuck with me through difficult times and provided me with great insight. I’m so grateful you have my back.

Lastly, thank you to my editor, Stacey Barney of Putnam Books, who believed in the book at every stage and asked me all the right questions to help me make it better.