The flyer was printed on yellow paper with black lettering. It was plain and to the point. A thick cross with a nail sticking diagonally in the center took up three fourths of the page, and a crown was in each corner. Reverend Stephen Fisher and his credentials were advertised beneath the cross, ending with bold lettering: HUNGRY FOR GOD? TIRED OF SIN? COME TO GLORIOUS LIFE PENTECOSTAL AUGUST 3rd – 16th. MOUNTAINTOP EXPERIENCE GUARANTEED!
Mother was still practicing every day, but she had to change times to accommodate the horde of cleaners. Pearl Ellis had divided the women into groups of three, and every morning they arrived to clean the already spotless church. They’d be finished by noon, and Mother would leave the house to practice at one. She’d had to learn all the songs in the hymnbook first because she’d be playing every night for two weeks and twice on Sundays, and Grandma Lizzie had learned that Reverend Fisher had a habit of simply turning to the organist in the middle of a sermon, flipping to a page, and saying, “Church, let’s sing!”
Mother was putting everything she had into learning how to play every song perfectly.
The weeks leading up to the revival were tense. Grandma Lizzie was at our house all the time—I guess she’d forgotten about Raise your kids. I went with Mother to the church for the next few sessions, but the fright I’d received earlier had made me wary, so Grandma and I changed places. She went with Mother to practice while I stayed at home and watched the boys. I still don’t know which was the worse deal. Rush was everywhere, and Jarrell clung to me. Rush was one tough kid, but he was allergic to bee stings and would deliberately kick off his socks and shoes and run through the back yard filled with clover. I chased after him, either dragging Jarrell by the arm or trying to run with his body wrapped around one leg. The day I dragged them both home from the dog shelter, a lean-to slapped together behind the police department where strays were kept, I decided never to have kids. I was ten years old and exhausted. When Mother got home from organ practice, she looked the same.
Grandma didn’t. While Mother sat at the kitchen table looking like a limp mop, she buzzed around the kitchen, fixing supper and criticizing Mother’s playing.
“You’ve got the wrong stop down, Carmen.” Grandma had sat in on the sessions with the Kinzey music man. “Lorraine, get the milk from the refrigerator. There’s a whine in Dwelling in Beulah Land that would make a dog howl. Try lifting up the long stop. Jarrell, do you want macaroni and cheese?”
That’s how it went until the day before Stephen Fisher arrived. Mother didn’t practice at church that day but stayed in bed. I did too, so exhausted I didn’t worry about being slain in the spirit, something the older girls whispered about. What would happen if you were laid out on the floor unconscious? Lena had put all sorts of suggestions in their heads. I didn’t need the hand of God to be slain in the spirit. I could fall down by myself.
Mother was nervous the first night. She used too much talcum powder and snapped so much gum it was unreal. I think she had half a pack in her mouth, which Grandma told her to spit in the trash before we left, and she did. The sanctuary was packed. The Reverend Stephen Fisher turned out to be a tall man with blue black hair, piercing black eyes, and an air of authority. He wore an expensive suit and smelled of expensive aftershave, not the Old Spice the men in our church wore on Sundays. I got a close look at him before the service because, since Mother was the organist, our family was introduced to him especially. Mom lowered her eyes and offered her hand. Grandma Lizzie looked as proud as a peacock. Jarrell cried and clung close to the only leg available (mine), and Rush, for once in his life, looked awed and stuck out his hand.
I don’t remember what he preached about that first night. I do remember there were many runs to the altar. And Grandma was right. The men from Davis County did wear muddy boots, even galoshes. That’s the only time I ever saw Grandma pick up a fan, and she used it to cover her face. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.
