Holy Ghost Girl by Donna M. Johnson Read Free Book Online

only Pam got to sit on the console. Mama told me to be quiet about it. I said it was only right that Gary and I should have a turn too.
    Mama cut her eyes at me. “Donna Marie, I’m warning you.”
    I couldn’t stop myself. I reminded Mama and Betty Ann and Brother Terrell that Pam and Randall had sat on the console during our last trip, that it was in fact my turn, and that I had never gotten to sit on the console even once. Brother Terrell slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop. “Pamela, get off now and let Donna sit up here.”
    Pam slid into the backseat with Mama and Gary, and I climbed onto the narrow console. I had to sit straight up and my back hurt after about five minutes. I looked over my shoulder at Pam. She nestled against the door and smirked. I shifted from side to side and tried to get comfortable. I couldn’t lean forward and I couldn’t lean back. I couldn’t do anything except sit straight up. After a few miles I offered to trade places with Pam but she said no, she was comfortable, and that I could just ride up there for the rest of the trip.
    We uttered a collective sigh of relief as we drove through Atlanta to the community that would be our home for the duration of the revival. The house was located in an area of town that had elements of both city and country life. There were cracked sidewalks, a corner store, and yards that turned into small pastures with an occasional barn or lean-to. Brother Terrell eased the car along the curb, ducking his head slightly and squinting to see the house numbers. Betty Ann looked down at the address she had scratched on an envelope.
    “David, this has to be it.”
    I peered through the car window at the house, white with red shutters. Nice, much nicer than the last place we stayed. Two squares of brown grass lay on each side of the concrete walk that led to the front door. A metal roof extended from the house and covered a porch just wide enough for the glider that occupied one end. A swing. Okay, sort of a swing. A tree hugged the edge of the porch, small, too small for a tree house. We rolled past the house and turned into the dirt driveway that widened into a large rectangle of dirt side yard and extended beyond the house to the ramshackle barn. Brother Terrell jerked the car into park and fished in his pocket for the key his advance man had mailed a week earlier.
    We stepped stiff-legged from the car and headed for the side door of the house. Each adult carried two suitcases, all the clothes we owned. The door opened into a large kitchen with a little table pushed against the wall. The five boxes we had packed with pots, pans, plates, towels, sheets, and quilts sat on the table and the floor, delivered earlier that morning by one of the tent families. Betty Ann went to the sink and turned a handle. Rusty orange water poured out of the faucet. After a minute she turned to us and said, “No hauling water from the windmill this time. And if you wait a minute, it turns clear and gets warm.”
    Mama flicked a light switch on the wall. She and Betty Ann stared at the ceiling, as if to marvel at the result. It wasn’t that we had never experienced modern conveniences; we just never knew when to expect them. We followed Brother Terrell through the kitchen, dining room, little square living room with a couch that folded into a bed, and into the hallway. Three bedrooms opened onto the hall: one for Brother Terrell and Betty Ann; one for Brother Cotton and his wife, Laverne; and one for me, Pam, Randall, and Gary to share. Mama would sleep on the sofa. I pushed through a fourth door. An indoor toilet. I started toward it, but Pam cut in front of me and settled on the seat. She kicked her sturdy tanned legs and beamed a guileless smile, her daddy’s smile, dimples denying any wrongdoing.
    We unpacked the boxes, placed our plates on the shelves and our flatware into the drawer. We took our clothes from the suitcases, shook out the wrinkles, placed them