All for a Song by Allison Pittman

bigger response this time, which hardly seemed possible. This time half the audience jumped to their feet. Some fell into the arms of others, weeping; others shouted and whooped in what must have been spiritual approval. Men tossed their hats into the air. At least three women fainted.
    Something in Dorothy Lynn’s core was dying to respond, even if she wasn’t sure exactly what she was ready for.
    “We need to tell them!” Sister Aimee paced all around the microphone, stopping only to speak. “From the highest mountaintop to the deepest valley! And in the depths of our lost cities.”
    She spoke with an unfamiliar accent and in a cadence Dorothy Lynn had never heard coming from a woman. Simultaneously thin and strong—like a wire.
    “Jesus!”
    One word, one name, and the wire pulled tight. The crowd echoed, “Jesus! Jesus!” Dorothy Lynn’s throat filled with thesound, Jesus! But there at the back, standing at the elbow of her disapproving sister, she dared not even give in to a whisper.
    “Are you ready for Jesus?”
    A single shout splintered into a thousand voices, and Sister Aimee grew taller.
    “Are you ready for Jesus?”
    Oh, how they were ready.
    “Are you ready to meet your Savior? Are you ready to be his bride?”
    “Come on,” Darlene said, grabbing her arm. “Our father would kill us twice if he saw us in here.”
    Had she not been compelled by her sister’s strong grip, nothing would have moved Dorothy Lynn from that spot—unless it was to join those people who had spilled into the aisle, making a slow, steady pilgrimage to the stage.
    Walking back into the lobby did nothing to break the spell. Her mind echoed with the question.
    Are you ready?
    There was some measure of relief in escaping the heat of the crowd, and Darlene moved astonishingly fast for a woman in her condition, both of which made Dorothy Lynn breathless, her mind transfixed on the echoes coming from behind the door. She trusted her body to follow her sister’s steps and was startled when she found herself stopping short, her nose plowing into Darlene’s soft shoulder.
    She looked up to see what had brought a halt to their hasty escape and immediately understood.
    The man looked like he belonged in the other theater—not in the audience watching the movie, but on the screen. He was only half a head taller than the sisters, with a slim body that perfectly fit its wrinkle-free linen suit. His dark hair rippled ina single slick wave, and his dark eyes sparkled like jet beads in firelight.
    “Ladies.” His hands were clasped behind his back, making not one move to hinder them, yet neither sister attempted to take a step around him. “I trust all is well?” His voice had a certain hoarseness to it, as if he’d spent the first part of the day shouting into a windstorm.
    “No, it’s not.” Darlene positioned herself between Dorothy Lynn and the man, a measure of protection the younger sister somewhat resented.
    “I know it can be an overwhelming thing,” he said, opening his arms in a wide, comforting gesture, “when you think you are hearing the very voice of God—”
    “We didn’t hear the voice of God,” Darlene said, dismissive and bossy.
    He smiled. Dorothy Lynn had never seen teeth so even and white.
    “You came in here for a reason. Seeking something, aren’t you?”
    “No,” Darlene said. “Just a mild curiosity. Come on, Dot.” She reinforced her grip and trotted them past, and whether it was poor maneuvering on her part or deliberate on his, Dorothy Lynn’s bare arm brushed the sleeve of his suit, and she turned her head to find him staring right at her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “My sister’s condition. She’s real tired.”
    He put his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Don’t be afraid to listen to your own heart, sister. We’ll be here tomorrow night.”

They stood in a valley surrounded by mountains of fabric under the direction of Mrs. Lorick, the proprietress