Free Resurrection by Linda Lael Miller Page A

only to have Gil step up close and take it from her.
    “Will you sit with me, Miss Emmeline?” he asked.
    Emmeline’s heart was pounding, and her breathing, though silent, was too fast and too shallow. “I don’t reckon I can stop you,” she answered coolly, “without making a scene.”
    His laughter was a sweet, unexpected sound, wholly familiar, and just hearing it made her soul resonate and brought tears to her eyes. She offered her first, and last, prayer of the day in the silence of her spirit— Whatever happens, or doesn’t happen, thank You for sparing him.
    After Emmeline had set her jar of jellied fruit and crock of fried chicken in the cold creek with dozens of other jars and crocks, Gil put the basket inside a small, ramshackle shed, along with the rest.
    They found seats on the long benches inside Brother Joy’s main tent, near the back. Folks had been arriving since daybreak in order to get a good view of the platform, and the places up front had been taken for hours. A baby cried lustily on the far side, and a farmer’s wife fainted, probably from a combination of heat and excitement. The invisible energy of anticipation swirled in the worshipers’ midst, like Pentecostal fire just waiting to burst forth.
    Emmeline, despite a long and settled relationship with the Lord, found herself shifting on the bench, partly because she was eager for the festivities to begin and partly because Gil Hartwell was sitting so close. She tried not to think of the wayhis thigh and upper arm pressed against hers, but it was a losing battle.
    Finally, when the tent was packed and the tension was palpable, Brother Joy’s personal choir trooped in, mounting the platform steps and solemnly taking their places in front of a portable pulpit. If their robes were a bit shabby and their hymnals dog-eared, nobody minded. They began to sing, accompanied by a wheezing organ balanced on a wheeled cart, and slowly, awkwardly, earnestly, Brother Joy’s borrowed congregation joined in.
    Somewhere during that first song, Gil took Emmeline’s hand in his, and she didn’t pull away. His touch made her too excited to trust her singing, so she simply listened.
    Brother Joy, a large, strikingly handsome man in a frayed suit, delayed his appearance, like the showman he was, until his audience had been roused to a fever pitch, then took the pulpit. Not only was he an orator to be reckoned with, but he was fascinating to watch, now weeping without restraint for the sins of the world, now calling down the wrath of heaven, now pacing the platform, talking of fire and brimstone in a low but thunderous voice. His skin glistened with sweat, and his energy was boundless.
    One hour passed and then another. During that time, Brother Joy preached almost without ceasing. Now and then he paused to douse himself, as if to drown the very fires of hell, with a ladleful of cold water from a bucket on one corner of the platform. The people of Plentiful were spellbound the whole while; some of them even toppled off their benches and onto the sawdust floor, overcome by a combination of the heat and the power of Brother Joy’s preaching.
    Emmeline barely blinked, even though she, like most everyone else in that tent, had heard every word before and knew every Bible passage by heart. It was Brother Joy’s delivery that captivated her, and if anybody on earth couldhave talked her into getting saved again, Emmeline supposed he’d have been the one.
    After a full three hours of preaching, Brother Joy showed no signs of tiring, but he took pity on his congregation—several of whom had already been carried out of the tent, revived, and brought back in again—and sent everyone out to “feast upon the loaves and fishes and ponder the word of the Lord.”
    Lacking loaves and fishes, the faithful spread blankets by the stream and ate ham sandwiches, fried chicken, and baked beans, along with cakes and pies of every kind. Women nursed babies in the shade of the