Last in a Long Line of Rebels by Lisa Lewis Tyre Read Free Book Online Page B

singing “How Great Thou Art,” but by the time I found it in the hymnal, they were on to another one. After a few more hymns and a prayer, we sat down.
    The pastor wasn’t what I’d expected. Most of the preachers I’d seen on TV wore suits and had slicked-back hair. Pastor Brian was wearing jeans, and his hair was over his collar.
    â€œWelcome. Today we’re celebrating Homecoming, and my first full year as your pastor. I’m glad that y’all decided to keep me.” The congregation chuckled softly, and he began again. “I’ve asked some of our youth and high-school students to participate today during various parts of the service. We always ask children, starting from when they’re little, ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Then as they get older, it’s ‘where are you going to college?’ and ‘what’s your major?’ and ‘what are you going to do after graduation?’ It’s like we’re telling them that life actually starts sometime later. But I don’t believe that’s true. God can use them now, just as they are, and I want us to remember that as we continue to grow as a church body.”
    He told everyone to open their Bibles, and I leaned back against the pew, half listening. I’d never really thought much about God or that he had a particular purpose for me in mind. If anything, I’d pictured God as a giant fuddy-duddy who spent every waking moment figuring out how to keep people out of heaven. But the pastor actually made God seem kind of cool.
    Afterward, everyone poured out onto the front lawn. The tables were now covered with fried chicken, ham, deviled eggs, potato salad, coleslaw, and Tommy Winton’s mother’s prize-winning apple pies.
    Benzer and Franklin raced to the front of the line.
    â€œY’all better hurry,” Benzer yelled. “The deviled eggs will be gone by the time you get up here.”
    We piled our plates so high they threatened to tumble over, and looked for a place to sit. Franklin’s sister, Tracy, and a bunch of high-school students were taking up two entire picnic tables, while Aunt Sophie was chatting fast and furiously with a group of women near the drinks.
    I spotted Mrs. Hall sitting alone on a quilt. I nudged Franklin with my elbow. “Mrs. Hall seemed to know a lot about my house,” I whispered. “Maybe she can tell us about a battle or something.”
    â€œY’all coming to sit with me?” Mrs. Hall asked, smiling. “I have plenty of room on my quilt.”
    We sat down, making a circle and placing our plates in the middle.
    â€œYou look a bit more chipper today than you did last night, Louise,” Mrs. Hall said. “Things just look better in the daylight, I always say.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” I took a sip of cola. “I was thinking about what you said about my house. We were wondering if something happened there, like a battle maybe?”
    â€œBattles? No, not that I’m aware of,” Mrs. Hall said. “General Zollicoffer only passed through town. He didn’t actually engage the enemy until Kentucky.”
    Franklin dropped his chicken bone on his plate. “Felix Zollicoffer, our town’s namesake? We stayed in a house in Nashville once that was a hospital during the Civil War.” He sat up straighter. “Maybe General Zollicoffer stayed at Lou’s house?”
    â€œOh, I doubt that,” Mrs. Hall answered. “He died early on, one of the first Confederate generals killed, they say, when his nearsightedness caused him to ride into a group of Union soldiers by mistake.”
    â€œAnd we’re named after him? That figures,” Patty said.
    Mrs. Hall laughed. “I guess we could have been called Dibrell. That’s the other general who fought nearby. Although I’m certain he wouldn’t have stayed at Lou’s, under the