Free All for a Song by Allison Pittman

comment in affection.
    “School never was a strength.”
    “When’s the last time he telephoned?”
    Darlene thought. “Almost a year. Before we knew Pa was as sick as he was.”
    “And there’s no way to contact him, I guess.” She handed the postcard back to Darlene, who snapped it away.
    “No. But as soon as I got this, I sent a letter to general delivery telling him about the wedding. And the baby. Who knows?”
    “What about Pa? You didn’t tell him?”
    “Bad news is better in person.”
    An explosion of light caught Dorothy Lynn’s eye, and she looked up to see red, yellow, and orange rays bursting from a neon star. The words New Grand Central shone in green above a set of double doors. She was making her way to join the people pouring into them when Darlene stopped her.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Isn’t this the theater?”
    “Oh, that’s the old one. We have a new one that just opened up last year.” She pointed down the street to the corner, where a sign big enough to dwarf the Grand Central’s spelled Missouri in enormous, white-lit, descending block letters.
    “So what’s happening in here?”
    The sisters stepped back to read the marquee above the door.
    “Who’s Sister Aimee?”
    Darlene wrinkled her nose. “Oh, her. Aimee Semple McPherson. She’s a preacher.”
    “ She’s a preacher?” The very idea lodged in Dorothy Lynn’s mind like a foot in an ill-fitting shoe.
    “Roy thinks she’s insane, but I’ve never given her much thought at all. She came through town a few years ago, driving a car with a sign about Jesus coming soon. Striking the fear of God in people.”
    “Really?” The first notes of a familiar hymn, performed by what sounded like a full orchestra, drifted through the open door. “Can we go in and listen?”
    Darlene grabbed her arm and compelled her toward the looming Missouri. “Not when we’re half a block away from Rudolph Valentino.” Her voice dropped to something warm and throaty. “Come, my sister. The Young Rajah awaits.”
    Giggling like girls, they locked arms and made their way down the street, indulging in breathless banter about the dreamy eyes of the movie’s star. They stopped briefly at a street vendor’s cart and purchased two chocolate bars and a small sack of licorice pieces, which Darlene stashed in her purse.
    Once they reached the doors of the Missouri Theater, Dorothy Lynn was grateful for her sister’s insistence. Not only did she have the opportunity to see the face of Rudolph Valentino displayed on a poster large enough to dominate the massive doorway, she also felt a blast of cold air the minute she walked inside.
    “Oh my,” she said, wishing she could go outside and walk in again.
    “They call it Pike’s Peak,” Darlene said, handing over the stub of a ticket. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
    “It’s like nothin’ I’ve ever seen—or felt—before.”
    Her feet were sinking into the carpet like it was a soft, lush mud. Massive columns held up a rounded ceiling; gaping fireplaces sat cool and dark and empty in the recesses. Tall trees and leafy green plants grew under an artist’s sky while young couples canoodled on round red velvet sofas.
    Dorothy Lynn was sure her eyes were about as round as walnuts as she tried to take it all in.
    “Just wait,” Darlene said.
    Another set of massive double doors, and what was left of Dorothy Lynn’s breath was stolen by the icy fingers of refrigerated air.
    A sea of seats.
    True, she’d never actually seen a sea, but no other word would do. Thousands of them, one rolling row after another flowing down a gentle slope. The seats toward the front were dotted with people; their soft murmuring underscored the strains of the tuning orchestra. From here they seemed a world away, and before she knew it, so did Darlene. Dorothy Lynn concentrated on walking downhill in heels, ignoring for the time being the lush surroundings, focusing on her sister’s rounded figure under the swaying