Finally Pete said, “Are we supposed to say amen or something?”

“I don’t think it really matters,” said Ruth.

They unfolded their hands and started eating. And Ruth felt good inside, though she couldn’t describe why. Maybe it was the words they’d said over their food that had done it to her. She looked at the newspaper, there on the table.

“Pete,” she said. “I wanna go to a revival tonight.”

“Do what?” he said.

“Revival.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know, but I wanna go.”

Ninety-Five
Glory

The large sign by the road read Holy Ghost Revival in large red letters. The word Revival was written bigger than the other words and had dripped.

Cars were parking in the scalped field, forming a gulf of automobiles that blanketed the earth. The crowd was bigger than anything Coot had ever seen—and he’d seen giant audiences in his day. Once a crowd in Iola, Kansas, had been so big they had to tear down the tent because it wouldn’t hold them. This was much bigger. Much, much bigger.

In the center of the ocean of automobiles was a large pine structure the size of a baseball stadium. It was a tent made of wood.

J. Wilbur had explained that this was only a temporary arena to house the revival and stand against the weather. It had been built especially for this weekend, and it would be torn down when the revival services were finished. The wood would be donated and reused by the needy, the large columns would be recycled into telephone poles, and the crossbeams would be used for public buildings. The building itself was a marvel. The tall support beams inside were towers, and the rafters were made from hewn logs that must’ve required a crane to lift them.

Coot bent his neck backward staring at it. He whistled.

The vehicles in the parking lot kept multiplying. Men in overalls and crumpled hats crawled out of them, accompanied by poor-looking families. Women holding children. Kids, skinny and quiet, dressed in faded clothes. And there were wealthy families too, dressed in light colors. Migrant workers riding in the backs of large trucks. Foreigners speaking in another language, with tan skin and dark hair. Entire church buses filled with men in suits.

Everyone found seats on long wood benches beneath the pine canopy. Hats in hands, heads held low, faces drawn in reverence.

Revival.

A woman played the piano. A brass band took the stage and joined the woman. People stood from their benches and sang. Their voices were so loud Coot could feel the vibrations in his ribs. Even from outside the building.