Free All for a Song by Allison Pittman Page B

Dorothy Lynn stood and offered her arm. As they exited, everybody around them was talking about the movie—its handsome star, unsettling plot. Young men nudged their girls, promising that they were some sort of secret prince too. The isolation she’d felt before the movie disappeared as she became part of a common conversation that lasted up the long aisle and through the plush lobby. The minute they stepped through the massive doors, however, any sense of camaraderie dissipated in the blast of warm summer night air.
    “The cars run until eleven,” Darlene said, “so we have some time. Want ice cream? Or maybe chow mein?”
    Dorothy Lynn groaned and grabbed her stomach. “Not a chance. The chocolate and licorice was enough for me.”
    Darlene pouted. “Fine. I should be getting home to Roy anyway.”
    “Does he make you swoon the way Valentino does?”
    Darlene patted her pregnant belly. “I’ll take Roy over Rudy any day.”
    Dorothy Lynn held her tongue, hoping her sister wouldn’t return the question. Not that her answer would be any different—it just seemed indecent to admit to such feelings without the benefit of marriage.
    When they once again passed by the New Grand Central Theater, shouts coming from the crowd inside piqued her curiosity.
    “Dar—let’s go inside.”
    “Are you kidding?” She let out a long, jaw-stretching yawn. “It’s late.”
    “It wasn’t too late for chow mein. C’mon, just for a minute?”
    Darlene looked up and down the street, almost furtively, as if any of the hundreds of people milling about would give their actions a passing thought. “All right. For a minute.”
    Though the lobby of the New Grand Central was humble in contrast to the luxurious Missouri, it had its own elegant charm. The minute they stepped inside, a dark-suited gentleman with a sweaty brow strode directly toward them, extending his hand. “Good evening, sisters. There’s still plenty of time to hear a blessing from the Lord.”
    Darlene clutched her purse closer, but Dorothy Lynn allowed her hand to be taken by his moist grip. “Shall we go on in?”
    He swept his arms in a wide, welcoming gesture. “Absolutely. And may God bless you.”
    Walking into the auditorium, it was immediately clear that this theater did not boast the Pike’s Peak air-conditioning of its cousin down the street. The air was thick and hot, not only because of the late summer’s night, but due to the hundreds of people packed into the seats. Although not all of them were actually in their seats. Here and there, clumps of people were standing, arms raised and waving like a line of laundry in a gale. Where the crowd watching the movie had comported itself in cool, reserved silence save for the calm, rippling applause, the people in here were worked up into some sort of frenzy.
    And at the front of it all, a vision Dorothy Lynn would never have imagined could exist.
    She was tall. Or at least she seemed tall—from their vantage point at the back of the theater, it was hard to tell. But somehow the woman on the stage looked like she would tower over anyone who crossed her path. Her hair, cut in a stylish bob, was a cap of pale gold atop the pure white column of her dress. And thoughDorothy Lynn knew nothing of the fabric, she felt sure the dress was sateen. No other word could possibly describe its milk-like shine.
    “That’s her,” Darlene said, as if pointing out the local disgrace.
    “What’s her name again?”
    “Aimee Semple McPherson. Sister Aimee, they call her.”
    “They, who?”
    “They, everybody. She’s in all the papers.”
    Sister Aimee stood behind the microphone. Arms outstretched, she shouted, “Are you ready?”
    A wave of noise erupted, following Sister Aimee as she strode from one side of the stage to the other. Dorothy Lynn felt a tug on her body with every step, coming to rest only when the woman was behind the microphone once more to repeat, “I’ll say it again. Are you ready?”
    An even