Chapter Six

The crusade tent was filled to capacity. Benches strained beneath the weight of the faithful who returned night after night. June waited for Reverend Inman to mount the platform and take his seat on the right before she slipped onto one end of a wooden bench toward the back.

Someone toward the front stood up and began the first verse of “Praise Him! Praise Him!” in a clear baritone, which was soon joined by the congregation. The richness of the worshipers’ efforts more than made up for the scarcity of musical talent.

By the end of the first chorus, most of the people were on their feet, lifting their voices toward heaven.

“Praise Him! Praise Him! Jesus, our blessed Redeemer!

For our sins He suffered, and bled and died.

He our Rock, our hope of eternal salvation,

Hail Him! Hail Him! Jesus the Crucified.”

Mixed emotions flooded June. Even though she had never attended a meeting with Eli, she felt his presence strongly. She missed him, though she’d known him so briefly. She couldn’t help feeling that the work would suffer.

“Love unbounded, wonderful, deep and strong.”

Eli had loved his work, and she’d caught a glimpse of how much he seemed to have loved people. She hoped to fill an infinitesimal part of the gap left by his untimely passing.

She opened her eyes as the voices blended sweetly into “I Must Tell Jesus,” a hymn that spoke directly to the heart.

“I must tell Jesus all of my trials

I cannot bear these burdens alone.”

Creases etched in careworn faces lifted toward heaven as each, in his or her own way, told Jesus a particular trial or burden. What a blessing it was to come together and know that no concern was ever too small for Jesus to care about. June found herself questioning why a godly man like Eli was allowed to die—She caught herself. Surely Eli would not want her to question. God was in control.

She drew a resigned breath and slowly released it. It would dishonor Eli if she, even for a moment, doubted that his life, as well as his death, could, and would, be used by God for the good he intended.

She joined with the chorus, “‘I must tell Jesus! I must tell Jesus!’”

As the words faded, the crowd fell silent. When the last rustle, the last foot scrape, had settled, only then did Reverend Inman approach the front of the narrow stage. June thought he looked tired tonight, drawn, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

His eyes scanned the crowd. Then he spoke. “I quote from Hosea 8:7. ‘For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind: it hath no stalk: the bud shall yield no meal: if so be it yield, the strangers shall swallow it up.’”

Rubbing his hand across his face, he continued softly, “It is we, the believers, the ones chosen by God to do his work, who must work for his Kingdom. We must build the vessel in which to rescue those who are lost in sin.”

June listened to the message, fully understanding why Eli had nearly idolized this dynamic man of God. His words, his reflections, his crisp, clear commands gleaned from the Word brought goose bumps to her arms. He brought heaven down to earth during the ensuing hour and a half.

“And I say unto you: The Lord’s work will be done! Will you be there?” Reverend Inman’s voice rose to a fever pitch. “Will you be the one to build the vessel? Will you be there to throw out the lifeline?” The crowd swelled to their feet, their voices lifted in praise.

“Throw out the lifeline!

Throw out the lifeline!

Someone is drifting away.”

“Will you close your eyes against the light? Will you harden your heart against the work? Or will you help build the tabernacle?” Reverend Inman’s voice swept the crowd, bringing men and women to their feet. They continued singing in unison while making their way to the altar. Collection baskets were passed around. People dug deep, tossing coins, some dollars, into the baskets. The Spirit of the Lord was moving, and his people responded with open hearts.

June recalled Eli’s glowing praise of Reverend Inman, how he was a visionary, able to see and do great things. He propelled God’s people to action. Workers extolled his goodness, his purity of heart. He was a man devoted to God, a man who worked unceasingly to bring hope to the lost and weary.

June dropped a coin into the passing basket, wishing she could contribute a king’s ransom. She’d heard of people who accused Christians of placing too much emphasis on money. Papa once explained that giving was necessary to a Christian’s spiritual wellness. God did not need a person’s money, but giving for the Kingdom was a way his child could become more Christlike and less self-centered. Papa contended that a person’s attitude toward giving reflected where his or her heart truly was.

Friday dawned cool and overcast. Pewter gray edged the horizon and promised more rain. As the day wore on, the gray deepened. During the afternoon, June prepared for her visit to the logging camps on the coming Sunday. Filled with the prospect of bringing the gospel to those who were hungry to hear it, she selected Scriptures and fashioned colorful paper chains with Bible verses written on them.

As time for the evening services drew near, the wind picked up. Fingers of lightning embroidered rolling clouds. By five o’clock the lamps were lit in order for people to find their way into the tent.

Hanging lamps oscillated crazily on wooden pegs as the wind battered the tent. Sides and top flapped like a great, angry canvas bird. June pulled her shawl closer as she threaded her way through the milling crowd.

“Good evening, Miss June.” Ben doffed his hat when he spotted her, bowing from the waist.

“Good evening, Ben. Looks like we’re in for a storm.”

Ben’s childlike features folded. “Ben don’t like storms.”

June reached to grasp his hand. His skin was cold and rough from hard work. “Are you frightened?”

Lifting his head, he smiled. “Ben’s not afraid. God loves Ben. Ben loves God. My Father tells Ben not to be afraid.”

Squeezing his hand, June wondered at his perfect innocence. “With God on our side, who can be against us?”

Ben nodded with childlike zeal. “No one against us when God is for us.”

He wandered around, checking each lantern to make certain it was secure in the rising wind. June busied herself with the offering baskets, placing them beneath the correct pews, out of the way but easy to locate by those taking the nightly contribution.

Half an hour before services, there wasn’t a seat left. June thought the threatening weather might keep some worshipers away, especially the older citizens and those with younger children, but the faithful didn’t let a little rain stop them.

The rumble of thunder accompanied voices lifted in song as Reverend Inman took his seat on the platform. Bright lightning flashes illuminated the tent, and the wind continued to rise, snapping canvas in time with the beat of the song. Ben and other workers prowled the outer aisles, keeping a close eye on the lanterns and the elongated canvas.

With impeccable timing, Reverend Inman stood up, and June felt the crowd’s energy surge. Resolute voices became even more forceful with musical praise.

How did Reverend Inman accomplish such a miraculous transformation? Eli and Papa were mighty workers for the Lord. But Reverend Inman . . . Reverend Inman hummed with charisma—literally compelling the worshiper to follow God, to respond.

Tonight the offering baskets were passed again and again. June spotted Parker sitting toward the back. He was accompanied tonight by Simon and two other loggers. The big loggers filled the wooden bench. Parker looked over to catch June’s eyes as the basket passed in front of him. She smiled, but his mouth tightened and accusation colored his features.

Disappointment swept over her. Parker had a powerful influence over his men. If he weren’t so stubborn, so thickheaded, he would support, not hinder, her work—Eli’s work—and more importantly, God’s work. Bitterness over Eli’s death still twisted Parker’s opinion of Reverend Inman. She had to concede that perhaps Reverend Inman was caught up in his dream—at times to the point of obsession—but it was still a worthy dream.

Jesus, she breathed, closing her eyes, touch Parker’s heart. Soften it toward your work. Allow him to see that Reverend Inman is only doing your will; his dream is to provide a place that will demonstrate the glorious splendor of God, a place like no other where people can worship God. Open Parker’s eyes so that Reverend Inman’s dream can be realized. Let him be a help instead of a hindrance.

“Well, well, God’s little emissary! You’re gettin’ to be a pest.” Anthony Riggings dropped a coin in June’s tin cup, and the teasing light left his eyes. “Wish it could be more, girlie.”

“God will stretch it, Anthony. Remember the two fish and five loaves of bread?”

“Thought it was two loaves of bread and five fish.”

“Nope,” she teased. “Two mackerel and five loaves of cracked wheat.” She grinned good-naturedly at the burly, redheaded logger. “Haven’t seen you in services all week!”

Anthony faked a bad cough. “Been laid up, I have.”

“You’ll be back soon?”

He coughed again, more convincingly this time. “Shore plan to try.”

June grinned, shaking her head as he wove down the street. She guessed she couldn’t expect money and a miracle.

Dumping the coins into a bag, she buttoned her cloak and hurried to the waiting buggy. She’d promised to go to the tabernacle site with Reverend Inman this afternoon.

Visiting the site had turned into a daily ritual for him. Reverend Inman seemed to draw sustenance from the rite, as if seeing the land it would occupy, visualizing the tabernacle again and again, kept the vision alive in his mind.

“I can see it,” Reverend Inman said, sweeping his hand parallel with the horizon as they stood at the site. “The auditorium will be there—so the morning sun will stream through the windows.”

June knew the planned structure by heart. Reverend Inman would go on and on about building plans. Wooden stakes surrounded the construction area. Reverend Inman had staked the site with such joy, such adoration, it was exhilarating to watch.

“Come spring, ground will be broken,” he promised. “We will build the tabernacle from lumber taken from these very woods so the people will feel a part of it all.” His eyes burned with fevered conviction. “I’ve patterned the tabernacle after a cathedral Katherine and I once saw in England—have I mentioned that? People will come by land and by sea to witness this glorious spectacle.” Arms spread wide, he obviously envisioned the wondrous sight.

“Across the front will be three sweeping gables: one over the double front door and one over each portal.

“Over the front door I see a rose-colored window, a circle, representing eternity. Flanking the window, two multifoil windows over double lancet windows. Stained glass, yes, beautiful stained glass. When the sun streams through the colored panes, the interior will be bathed in heaven’s light.

“Here—above the stained glass, I’ll build a cross erected between two towers.” He clasped a balled fist to his mouth, choked with emotion. “I wish—how I wish the towers could be marble, but the money—always the money.”

As he turned, his eyes reviewed the uneven ground. “I’ll place the altar here, seats for the clergy and choir in the chancel. The pulpit here.” His gaze centered on the area where the front wall would stand.

“When the doors are thrown open, the altar will be in full view, the choir loft behind. Behind the choir I picture a pristine white wall with a wooden cross. The grain of the wood will imitate bloodstains.”

June was momentarily disconcerted, frightened almost, by the reverend’s intensity. His eyes burned with fanatical zeal. Reverend Inman’s words became Eli’s, or was it the other way around? Eli had used the same grand description when he visualized the shrine. She thought it was his dream too, but was it possible Reverend Inman had imagined the tabernacle aloud so many times that the words had become ingrained in Eli’s mind?

When June left a short while later, she felt a sense of unease. Something troubled her. Something that remained, nagged, hung on the rest of the day.

After services that evening, June collected the baskets and took them into a small alcove behind the stage.

Reverend Inman swept into the small space as she finished, his features animated tonight.

“God moved among his people tonight!”

“Yes,” June murmured absently, stacking coins into one-dollar piles.

Reverend Inman peered over her shoulder. “The offering doesn’t look as generous as previous nights.”

“It’s most generous,” she assured him.

He frowned as his eye skimmed the piles of coins. “No, no, I’m sure it isn’t. Were all the baskets passed? If the offerings fall off, the tabernacle will suffer. We can’t allow that to happen. God’s people must be involved.” He started to pace the cramped space, speaking to no one in particular. “It’s imperative—the people must be a part of this great venture.”

He paused, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “I must enhance the commitment. I must be more adamant about the tabernacle’s significance.”

June glanced up. There was something about his demeanor. Gone was the charismatic, commanding figure who had spoken so eloquently from the pulpit earlier, a man who knelt and prayed with the sick and the hurting. A man who, with tears streaming down his cheeks, prayed with the sinner for redemption. Now he spoke as if the tabernacle were all consuming, as if nothing else mattered.

Reverend Inman ceased pacing. “Tomorrow night I will preach on the man who built bigger barns.” Digging his pocket watch out of his vest, he snapped it open and noted the time. “It’s late. Will you be all right here alone?”

“Of course—”

“When you’re finished, you will put the offering into the safe and lock it. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” She followed the same ritual every night. “Ben always helps me.”

“Good. Ben’s a good man. I’ll go over the ledgers in the morning.”

When Reverend Inman left, June sat for a moment, staring at the piles of coins covering the scarred wooden table. So much money—staggering amounts—and yet Reverend Inman was distraught with the shortfall. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. Was Reverend Inman beginning to lose perspective? She’d heard Papa talk about good men who lost sight of their intent and became caught up in their eagerness to achieve. She shook the troubling thought aside. She’d been in a strange mood all day. Why should she question Reverend Inman’s motives? She had been so sure God had sought Reverend Inman out to build the tabernacle. Eli had been sure.

Funds must be raised to further God’s Kingdom, and that was her purpose now. She’d never heard Reverend Inman purposely ply guilt in order to spur healthier offerings.

She finished counting the money, entered the final tally into the ledger, and put it and the money into the safe. She turned the lock.

She jumped when Ben unexpectedly poked his head through the tent opening. “Do you need Ben, Miss June?”

Hand over her heart, June met his expectant gaze. “No, I’ve taken care of the money, Ben. You can go home.”

Ben grinned. “Thank you.” His childlike eyes scanned her dress. “You look so pretty tonight. I like blue.”

Her cheeks grew hot at the compliment. “Thank you, Ben.”

“Mr. Parker was here tonight?”

“Yes, he was here.” She recalled the way Parker’s eyes had turned on her in silent accusation during the offering. Did he attend services to be her accuser, or did he attend in order to worship his heavenly Father?

Reverend Inman’s earlier mood clouded her mind as she slipped into her cloak. Parker clearly wanted no part of the tabernacle, yet he attended Reverend Inman’s services. Did he honestly feel the tabernacle was an obsession for Reverend Inman—that Reverend Inman, without knowing it, was consumed with the project?

Had he seen in Reverend Inman something she had barely glimpsed tonight?

She blew out the lamp and let herself out. Waving good night to Ben, she walked toward the complex.

Parker must be wrong about Reverend Inman. The reverend was a man of God. His people adored him, and he loved them back. He would never compromise God’s work to gratify his own desires.

Given enough time, she would prove Parker wrong—make him see that Reverend Inman’s dream was God’s plan.