“Thank you, thank you,” Pratt shouted. He introduced his wife. He hugged his children. He looked toward each side of the stage. “Where is he?” he asked. “Where is he?”

Representative Wynn Gravitt bounced on the stage, pulling his wife along. “Ladies, gentlemen,” Pratt said in a booming voice, “the next Vice President of the United States, Representative Wynn Gravitt!”

The crowd kept on cheering. Gravitt waved; his wife looked terrified. Pratt threw an arm around Gravitt, and the audience shouted, “Pratt and Gravitt!” Pratt again tried to calm his supporters. The band stopped. The cheering tapered off.

“My fellow Americans,” he spoke slowly, overemphasizing each syllable. The crowd roared. “My fellow Americans,” he repeated. Another roar.

“Boy, I sure do love the sound of those three words. My fellow Americans, we did it. We did it. For us, our families, our children … and for Him.”

Another swelling of noise. The network cut to two white-haired women hugging each other, crying with joy.

“We have triumphed, with His help, support, and love. And we will take this nation back. Back to traditional values of right and wrong. Faith and love. Family and responsibility. We will restore the moral foundation of a nation that has been blessed from above. We will revive the spirit of America. We will protect and take to our breasts the most innocent among us. We will make sure our children live and thrive in a culture free of dangerous and malicious content. We will take our government back and limit its ability to interfere with our families and our right to prayer. We will have church and neighborhood charity instead of bureaucratic government programs, low taxes and freedom instead of regulations that smother business. We will live in one nation under God.”

The crowd shouted its approval. The band struck up another Pratt hit. Above the dome, fireworks exploded. Red and green tracers descended from the sky. The camera zoomed in on Pratt. Tears were in his eyes. Supporters in the audience were dancing.

“Some show,” Dunne said.

“Crackers,” Timmons sneered.

The fireworks ended. The band finished. “There, there,” Pratt said. He was again trying to quiet the crowd.

“There, there, my friends. This is a time for thanks. For all of us, a time of thanks. First and foremost”—the crowd began cheering—“and you know who is at the top of our list, let me thank God.”

The audience clapped and yelled. The network showed a young, cleancut man on his knees praying.

“He’s first on a long list.”

He didn’t say “Jesus.”

Addis remembered the news report about a confidential memo sent by Gravitt’s chief political consultant to Pratt. Don’t use the “J-word,” it had advised. Polls showed people were more comfortable with “God.”