For the next two weeks, thanks to the Reverend Stephen Fisher, our world turned upside down. We were on his schedule. My mother and grandmother did everything he said and in return were squired around on his arm. Some people were jealous of the attention he gave our family, and Pearl Ellis voiced it, but looking back, I think the majority thought a man so incorruptible yet with a heart full of mercy was just being kind to a widow with three kids. At that time, Pentecostals had a thing about male guidance, and I suppose Mother looked like a lost ship.

            If Mother’s energy had been directed toward learning the organ, now all her energy was fixed on him. Or maybe his attention was fixed on her. Hard to say because I didn’t know much about women or men. All I knew was this: Reverend Fisher was constantly dropping by, or she was at the church or parsonage planning hymns. When he was at our house, the boys would sit on his lap, Jarrell the longest, but I wouldn’t go near him. He quit trying to draw me out when he pulled one of my braids and I cringed. Later, I sat beside the phone table and heard myself discussed. He told Mother that he’d seen this happen when a young girl lost her father. Afterwards, they’d get shy around men, but it was a phase I’d outgrow. He knew because he counseled girls like me.

            Grandma Lizzie treated him like he was an answer to prayer.

            When Reverend Fisher wasn’t at our house or Mother with him, our talk centered around him. Look at the changes he’s brought to our town! To our church! Bob Watkins, Rodney Watkins, Shelby Myers, Margaret Nast and Phil – all backsliders brought back to the Lord! And those people from Davis! I don’t know their names, but they’re about to split the pews! Pearl makes a list. Maybe I should, too, but I hate to ape her. Besides, I’ll never see them again. Yes, indeed, life’s a miracle again!

            Every night we had to be at that damned revival. Or at least I did. The boys were worn out with church, and Mrs. Sanders offered to step over and watch them at our house. She said she knew she was saved and reviving was too hard on her heart. Which didn’t make sense to me, but no one questioned her offer. Mother was glad to have someone other than the nursery workers because Rush was throwing blocks at other kids’ heads.

            I couldn’t wait until the last night. I marked the days off on the calendar as I’d once counted the days until Christmas. By the second week, Fisher’s sermons ran mostly on emotion because everyone had run out of sins. Besides the sermons and my mother’s music, the biggest excitement during that week occurred because of Lena Ellis. She’d lumbered up at the end of the last hymn and started babbling something to Fisher. He looked surprised, then disgusted, and motioned for two of the ushers.

            “Take her to my office,” he said, in a loud whisper. “See that she stays there.”

            Mother had gotten into the habit of staying after the service—because she needed time alone with Reverend Fisher to plan the next night’s hymns, she said. With the boys not going, I was walking home alone. But the night crazy Lena rushed up, Mother walked home with me. I was so happy I didn’t even suspect this was the last peaceful night of my childhood. She was peaceful, too, with none of the otherworldly excitement about her. I was glad to see that look gone.

            Finally, the last night of the revival. It was a whirl of voice and sound with no interruption. Reverend Fisher preached with a raw excitement; Mother’s excitement matched his. While Reverend Fisher roared from the pulpit, she poured herself in the keys. Only a stone could sit still on this night of nights!

            I sat perfectly still.