Having seen a preacher lose a crowd before, normally Esme would have felt sorry for Brother Wilbur. It was difficult, however, because the stout, red-faced little man refused to accept defeat. On and on his sermon went. Screaming at the top of his lungs, one hour passed and then two. It was as if he was punishing the congregation for their inattention.
Esme squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and glanced over at the twins. Both sat with elbows on their knees, bored but bravely holding their chins in their hands.
She glanced over at Cleav. He carefully stifled a yawn by turning it into a little cough. Their eyes met and silently communicated their agreement that a week of fine sermoning had fizzled into a final fiasco.
Though the evening got later, the temperature seemed to grow hotter. Esme was handed a fan, a triangular piece of paper attached to a stick. One side read "Moreley Undertaking and Mortuary; Russellville, Tennessee." The other side had a Bible verse: "Whatsoever ye ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive." Esme began asking that the service would end. She didn't, however, believe that it ever would. So it didn't.
As if sensing Esme's annoyance, Cleav sneaked his hand into her lap to grasp her fingers. Esme looked up at him, but his gaze was focused straight ahead and his expression was one of rapt attention.
Slowly the softly callused pad of his thumb began making lazy circuitous rounds across her palm. The tender touch had a strange, sensual effect on Esme. As if the hot room had suddenly become chilled, she felt her nipples tighten and glanced down quickly to assure herself that no evidence of that effect was visible.
She tried to pull her hand away, but Cleav's stayed her. With a quick glance down into Esme's eyes, he gave her a knowing smile that flushed her cheeks as bright as berries.
He was teasing her! The reality was simply shocking. Right here in the middle of a sermon, he was doing this on purpose!
Esme couldn't quite stop the naughty grin that curved her lips. Slowly, surreptitiously, she crossed her legs in a very unladylike fashion and began to stealthily caress the back of his calf with the top of her new high-buttoned shoe.
Cleav looked at her again, his eyes wide with surprise at her attempt to turn the tables.
Esme immediately turned her attention to the preacher, seeming to hang on his every word as her husband squirmed somewhat uncomfortably beside her.
She should be ashamed of herself, she thought with a momentary flash of guilt. But the self-reprimand quickly faded.
Why ever would heaven give the evangelist such a boring sermon if they were expected to actually listen?
The Rhys' momentary diversion lightened the evening to some extent but could not eradicate the long, wearying evening completely. The increasingly loud sound of a quartet of snores from the "amen corner" was the only other diversion.
Esme spied Mrs. Tewksbury in the first row, nervously making an almost continuous survey of the crowd.
Pearly Beachum also seemed to have her eyes constantly scanning the rest of the congregation. Probably taking notes for tomorrow's gossip, Esme thought unkindly.
Eula Rhy was carefully examining the cloth on her second-best black silk gown.
The lantern to the left of the pulpit sputtered sporadically, threatening to give up the meager amount of light it was throwing on Brother Wilbur's insistent pacing back and forth.
It was nearing midnight when the exhausted, sweating, and genuinely petulant preacher finally called for the invitational hymn. "Just As I Am" had never sounded so good.
The old men in the "amen corner" came awake with the typical coughing and hacking of aged lungs. Esme almost giggled as she watched Pa, bleary-eyed, shake his head like a wet dog, trying to clear his brain.
As the congregation raised their voices in song, the preacher compelled any sinners present to come forward and "make themselves right with the Lord." Esme almost groaned. That type of invitation could last for hours if enough people felt led to make their way to the altar. Even non-sinners could be moved to come forward to confess troubles and ask for prayers and guidance. A good sermon could set dozens of repentant feet in motion.
With tonight's message, however, even the most pious among the crowd didn't budge.
The congregation, standing, was pitifully warbling out the third verse:
"Just as I am!Tho tossed about,
With many a conflict, many a doubt . . ."
when a stir startedin the back of the crowd.
Like everyone else, Esme turned. Could someone be coming forward? Esme couldn't imagine it after that sermon, but the Lord did work in mysterious ways.
Craning her head to peer around the dozens of others straining for a look, she finally saw the instigator of the excitement: Armon Hightower.
Her mouth dropping open in surprise, Esme heard a little huff of disbelief from Cleav.
With Sophrona Tewksbury at his right, Armon was making his way down the outside aisle to the front of the brush arbor. Speculative murmurs ran through the crowd.
