Marigold trailed behind them dressed in a powder-blue dress she’d bought for four dollars in town. It was the most expensive thing she’d ever worn, and it had a matching hat. The young men led the women to the van and helped them step up into the back seat.

When Rachel stepped into the back, one of the young men said, “How are you ladies on this fine evening?” in a tone reminiscent of the first stage of puberty.

“We’re hot,” said Rachel. “It’s hot outside.” Rachel dug a cigarette from her handbag and said, “Anyone got a light?”

The young men almost came to a fistfight over who could get to their lighter first. The short man held his lighter toward Rachel with a shaky hand. Rachel grabbed his wrist to steady him.

“Thanks, doll,” said Rachel. Then she winked.

Marigold sat beside a teenage boy whose face turned red when she squeezed next to him. Helen sat beside a black woman who carried a baby on her lap. Rachel and Laughing Girl sat in the very back with a group of teenage boys in sport coats who all wore the looks of the recently deceased on their faces.

The ride was a long one, wrought with bumps and twists on one-lane dirt highways through the forest. Marigold had only ridden in vehicles a few times in her life. Just feeling the vibration of the motor beneath her was thrilling.

The sun was lowering behind the trees. The rural world was slowing down for the evening. They passed creek bridges, desolate farms, and places so far from town they had to mail-order sunshine. They drove past places Marigold had never seen before. And it occurred to her how little of the world she had experienced and how small her life was in such a big universe.

The van turned off the main road onto a dirt pathway. The vehicle followed two tracks through a scalped field toward a giant tent that stood atop a hill on the horizon. It was a bigger tent than Marigold thought it would be. It was already lit orange in the dim early evening.

When they neared the tent, she could see vehicles parked in haphazard clumps.

“What in the world?” said the young man who was driving. “What’s going on?”

“Beats me,” said the other holy roller. “Something’s not right.”

Marigold could see a crowd of people gathered outside the large tent, surrounding black-and-white squad cars. Lights were flashing, and people were huddled together.

“What in the name of . . . ?” the young driver said.

“What’s the sheriff doing here?” said the other.

The van rolled toward the crowd but was stopped by a man wearing a badge. Marigold craned her neck out the window to see. The man in the uniform rapped on the van’s window.

The driver rolled down the window and asked what was happening.