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"Good," she said. Then she beckoned me closer. "Dawn;" she said, her voice barely audible. I drew as close to the tent as I could. She was squeezing my hand as firmly as she was able to. "You must never think badly of us. We love you. Always remember that."

"Why should I think badly of you, Momma?" She closed her eyes.

"Momma?"

"I'm afraid your five minutes are up, and the doctor was very explicit about that," the intensive care nurse said.

I looked back at Momma. She had her eyes closed tightly, and her face looked more flushed than before.

"Momma!" I cried under my breath. I looked at Daddy. Tears were flowing freely down his face now, and he was staring at me so hard, I felt terrible for him.

We obeyed the nurse and started away. As soon as we left the intensive care unit, I turned to Daddy.

"Why did Momma say that, Daddy? What did she mean by 'you must never think badly of us'?"

"Part of her fever, I guess," he said. "She's a bit delirious. Let's go home," he said, and we went to fetch Jimmy and little Fern.

When we got home, we didn't have time to worry about Momma, although she was on our minds. We were too busy getting ready for the concert and trying to find a baby-sitter for Fern.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't bear the thought of making my singing debut without Momma present. Yet I'd promised her I would do my best, and I wasn't going to let her down.

I didn't have time to take a shower or shampoo my hair. Instead I brushed my hair a hundred times, giving it a soft, silky sheen, adding a blue ribbon for a nice dash of color.

At least I didn't have to worry about what I should wear. One of the good things about being in the school band and chorus was that we got to wear uniforms when we performed. The school uniform consisted of a white and black wool sweater and black skirt. After I put it on, I stood up and straightened my skirt. Then I stood back and gazed at myself, imagining myself standing there before all those fine people. I knew I had developed a young girl's figure and I filled out the school sweater better than most girls my age. For the first time I thought my fair skin, blond hair, and blue eyes were attractive. Was it terrible to suddenly become infatuated with yourself? I wondered. Would this bring me bad luck? I was afraid, but I couldn't help it. The girl in the mirror smiled with satisfaction.

Daddy came in then and told me that Mrs. Jackson, an old lady who lived down the hall from us, would be willing to watch Fern tonight. He also told me that he had given the hospital Mrs. Jackson's number in case we needed to be reached. After telling me that, Daddy took a step back, giving me a long admiring look.

"You look real beautiful, honey," Daddy said. "Real grown-up."

"Thank you, Daddy."

He held something in his hand.

"Before we left the hospital, your momma asked me to give you these to wear tonight, since it's such a special occasion."

He held out the precious string of pearls.

"Oh, Daddy," I said, nearly breathless. "I can't; I shouldn't. That's our insurance policy."

"No, no, Sally Jean said you must wear them," he insisted and put them on me. I looked down at the pearls gleaming soft and white and perfect and then gazed at myself in the mirror.

"They'll bring you luck," Daddy said and kissed me on the cheek. We heard a knock on the front door.

"It's Philip," Jimmy called from the other room. Daddy stepped back, his face suddenly serious again.

Philip was dressed in a blue suit and matching tie and looked very handsome.

"Hi," he said. "Boy, you look great."

"Thank you. So do you. Philip," I said. "This is my father."

"Oh, yes, I know. I've seen you around the school, sir," Philip said. "Waved to you once in a while."

"Yes," Daddy said, his eyes growing smaller and smaller.

"How's Mrs. Longchamp?" Philip asked. "Jimmy just told me that you had to take her to the hospital earlier."

"She's very sick, but we're hopeful," Daddy said. He looked from him to me, his face so somber.