Page 78 of Brimstone Hollow

“Come on, Will,” I say, guiding him by the shoulder through the back door and into the kitchen area, where Thelma is busy pouring cherry Kool-Aid into a hundred little paper cups.

“Sure is exciting,” Thelma says. “I haven’t seen the church this full since the seventies.”

“They all came because they believe Ezra rose from the grave?” I ask her.

“That’s right,” she says, pouring another cup.

I take a step closer to her and whisper, “Thelma, what doyoubelieve?”

Thelma glances around me to where Will had been standing, but he’s disappeared into the sanctuary. When she’s sure he’s gone, she leans forward and says in a low voice, “Honestly, honey, more than once I had to go banging on Brother Ezra’s door to wake him up on Sunday morning. The man couldn’t hardly rise for church, so you’ll excuse me for thinking he’d struggle to push through a solid pine coffin and six feet of dirt after being felled by a snake.”

“So why are you here?”

She raises her white eyebrows at me, her eyes twinkling through her glasses, and says, “Becausesomebody’sgot to pass the collection plate and I know poor Will won’t even think of it. We still need a new furnaceanda new roof and if all these people want to chip in while they sing Brother Ezra’s praises, I’m not gonna be the one to stop ’em.”

I start to ask her about Ezra King’s tent revival circuit again, but before I can, there’s a commotion in the church. Someone has shouted something. The guitar and piano music have stopped and the singing, too, gradually dies away. Thelma and I both rush to the door and look through it into the sanctuary. There, everyone is turned to face the entrance.

Standing in the open doorway, on the other side of the church, is Crystal, the young waitress from the Dairy who’d skipped her shift the night I arrived. And, I remind myself, the murdered Dean Griffon’s girlfriend. Theevening light streams in around her and turns her blond hair to a shimmering golden halo.

“What did you say?” someone asks.

I skirt around the stage to stand next to the front row of pews and watch as Crystal walks down the aisle, almost silently, in sandaled feet. She wears a white cotton dress, and when she gets to the front of the church, she stops. She looks for all the world like a young bride. Except her tanned skin is washed out and her face is drawn. Dark circles underscore her brilliant green eyes, which are shining with tears and uncertainty.

“He came to me,” she says, her voice high and clear, full of emotion.

A murmur spreads through the gathered crowd.

She looks around, blinking. Tears slip down her cheeks.

“Brother Ezra will return,” she says. “He appeared to me in a vision and told me that he has not yet ascended. That he will return and minister to his disciples…”

Excitement ripples outward from her like a thunderclap. The whispers turn to murmurs and then to full-voiced words of praise and so, so many questions.

“He will appear at dawn,” Crystal says, as loud as she can seem to manage. Tears stream down her face.

“Where?” someone shouts, hopeful.

“Hallelujah!”

“Where will he appear?”

Crystal seems to hear none of it. Her eyes are fixed on the wooden cross that hangs above the pulpit. Beside her, Will waves his hands for silence. Miraculously, it works.

“Tomorrow,” Crystal says. “Brother Ezra will return and minister to his flock at dawn tomorrow. He will appear at the summit of Galilee Hill.”

The congregation erupts into a storm of noise, and then suddenly floods into the aisle, hands out, as if they want to touch her, behold this divine messenger up close. Her eyes widen as she turns and seems to see them for the first time.

“Crystal,” I say. “Over here, come on.”

Her eyes fix on me and she rushes toward me as I gesture for her to come away from the crowd. She steps away from the altar and Will takes her place. He says something about how the congregation has been blessed and how miraculous it is that Brother Ezra should return and I don’t listen to any of it because Crystal bounds away from the sanctuary with me, through the door and into the kitchen, where Thelma is still standing.

I shut the door behind us, let out a breath of relief that no one has tried to follow us in here, and then find Crystal leaning against the wall, sobbing.

“Are you okay, honey?” Thelma asks.

Crystal nods but she’s shivering.

“Here,” Thelma says. “Drink some of this. Get some sugar into your system.”