“I figure not, with the way you’re always smoking them cigarettes and going to sideshows.”
Val stubs out her cigarette and lights another. “I reckon people whoworkcan do whatever they please with their money, Gracelynn.”
I clench my jaw and turn back to the stove to keep my words locked tight within my mouth. According to Aunt Val, the cooking and cleaning I do ain’t real work. She’s always hated me. I can’t reason why she agreed to take me in when my daddy died, other than to have a live-in maid and cook. Lord knows there’s never been a shred of fondness between us.
Just as I’ve finished making coffee, the pan of grits boils over. I curse under my breath, pull the pan off the range, and set it down hard on the table. Caro fills her bowl, then adds three whole spoonfuls of butter, one after the other. I smack her hand. “What did I just say? You need to stop eatin’ so much. Once that butter’s gone, we may not be able to get more.”
“You’re meaner than a snake this morning, Gracelynn.”
Aunt Val snickers, like we’re putting on a vaudeville for her benefit. She blows a slow stream of smoke straight into Caro’s face, sending her into a coughing spell. Caro’s face goes red as summer poppies.
“Can’t you put that ciggie out until after breakfast? Or go smoke outside?” I glare at Aunt Val over my shoulder and open the window over the kitchen sink. A rush of fresh air sweeps into the room. “You’re throwing Caro into fits.”
“She’s fine.”
“You all right, Caro?”
Caro nods, still wheezing, but with the fresh air, her face soon returns to its normal pink. I pat her on the back and start smoothing her hair with my fingers. Caro’s only ten. It ain’t her fault her mama never taught her to be respectful to me or anyone else. “I’ll get you some horehound next time I go to the mercantile. It helps your cough.” I braid her hair, finish the plaits off with kitchen twine, and kiss the top of her head. “Now, after you’re finished with breakfast, wash your face to get the sleep out of your eyes before you go. And don’t forget to wash behind your ears.”
“Yes’m,” Caro says.
I ignore the poisoned look Val shoots my way and pour two cups of coffee—one bitter and black and the other sweetened with sugar—and go out to the screened-in porch where Granny always sleeps, even in the dead of winter, with nothing more than a pile of quilts and a bed pig for warmth. She claims the cold makes her tough.
“You get ’em all fed, Gracelynn?” Granny takes the tin cup I offer her, her hand sun-spotted and wrinkled like the pleats in a fancy lady’s dress.
“Yes’m. Caro has the patience of a hungry cat.” I sit across from Granny and blow on my coffee to cool it. “There’s a new revivalist in town. First service is tonight.”
“Revivalist, you say?” Granny lifts a brow. “Another one of them hucksters, I reckon.”
“Yep. Josiah Bellflower, he’s called. Calvina says she’s bringing her mama to his service. I figure I better go—see what he can do.”
“Them yarb doctors are full-up with parlor tricks. I ain’t worried about losing business. You remember that one that came through two summers ago? He had pig innards in the bucket behind his altar. Claimed he was drawing the sickness out of people, but he’d just put them innards in his hand before he prayed over people. Why—” Shepinches her nose, a sharp grimace of pain shooting across her face. “Oh, Lord ...”
I scoot forward and take the cup out of her trembling hand before it spills. “What is it?”
“No ...” Granny whimpers. She starts shaking all over. Her blue eyes go wide and fix on something I can’t see.
A shiver of panic slices through me. I’ve been with Granny when she’s had visions before, but this one seems worse than the others. A look of sheer terror is stitched across her face as she speaks strange words I can’t understand. A slow trickle of blood runs from her nostril.
“Granny!” I squeeze her shoulder. “Come on, now. That’s enough.”
After a breathless moment, she shakes her head as if to clear it, her eyes suddenly locking on mine. She wipes the blood trailing from her nose with the back of her hand. “You’re not to set one blessed foot in that revival tent tonight, Gracelynn. You hear me?”
“Why? What’s wrong? What did you see?”
Granny grasps my wrist, viselike. “Listen to me, girl. There’s a certain kind of evil in this world that seeks our kind. And I don’t mean to lose you to it.”
The revival tent sits in Hosea Ray’s alfalfa pasture, lit up yellow against the night. It floats in the darkness like something in a fever dream—out of place and unnatural. A crowd of folks huddle around the entrance, jawin’ and smoking. A cow lifts her head from her slumber beneath a sweetgum tree and moos at the intrusion.
She ain’t the only one who’s less than pleased by Bellflower’s arrival.
I’m defying Granny by being here. It don’t feel right, but my curiosity’s too strong to deny. I snuck out while she was napping, a sprig of rosemary tucked behind my ear and a handful of dried sage in mypocket. Simple wards, just in case she was right and there’s more to Bellflower’s tent revival than a few hymns and an altar call.
I push through the crowd and duck beneath the open oilcloth flap. The tent is packed with people. Their excited talk hums fierce as a nest of mad wasps. The heat from outdoors is only made worse by the kerosene lanterns set along the walls. Sweat rolls down my temple and drips onto my dress.
May came in hot as August this year, and she ain’t showing no signs of letting up.
Aunt Val’s in the front row, batting the sultry air with a paper fan, all eager to get her first glimpse of the famed Josiah Bellflower.
