This night Ruby took a chair at the back of the gathering, and listened to the congregation raise their voice in praise, heard the music soar to the heavens. She did not have the courage to join in, but just being this close to the Preacher filled her with a happiness she had never known.
The next day the caravan moved on. Ruby cried for days. She walked six miles to the small library every Saturday looking for news in out-of-town papers. Once she was rewarded with a notice that the Preacher and his Holy Thunder Caravan would be stopping in nearby Brandonville.
Ruby went to work taking in washing, sweeping out stalls, anything she could to make money. In the end she saved eleven dollars, enough for a round trip on the Greyhound.
This time the Preacher spoke about the evils of the flesh. When he called those who had not been saved by the Word to come forward, Ruby found herself on her feet, hands raised in testimony.
When the Preacher finally came to her he touched her forehead. The feeling began in her toes, a sensation of warmth and serenity she had never before experienced. The world soon became a bright white light and there was no doubt — no doubt at all — that it was the Spirit rising within her.
The next thing Ruby knew she was lying on a cot behind the tent, a cold cloth on her forehead. The woman sitting next to her was big and jolly. She wore old grease-stained overalls and smelled of hand-rolled cigarettes and orange candy.
‘Am I in heaven?’ Ruby asked.
The woman laughed. ‘No, little darling, you’re still in West Virginia. It’s been called a lot of things, but heaven sure as hell ain’t one of them.’
Ruby knew that evangelists were travelers, just as she knew that there had always been wanderlust in her own shoes.
That night she went home, did her chores. At dawn she took her school dress and her good dress, her few other possessions, and left.
She never went home again.
When Ruby returned to the campgrounds, the tent was dark. She entered, saw a solitary figure standing at the pulpit. It was himself. Ruby would always remember how the Preacher looked — tall and regal and divinely sent — silhouetted against the cream-colored canvas of the tent in the moonlight.
The Preacher saw her and smiled. Ruby felt as if she might faint again, but she put her hand on the edge of a chair, and after a few moments she felt fine. The Preacher came around, pulled out a chair, and welcomed her.
And thus Mary Elizabeth Longstreet became a member of the Holy Thunder Caravan.
Ruby spent that summer traveling with the caravan, roaming across southern Ohio and northern West Virginia, to towns like Grand Run, Friendly, Sistersville, and Paden City. The Preacher liked to move along the banks of the Ohio River which, in the summer months, made it convenient to baptize folks.
At first there were just seven people in the entourage. You wouldn’t think by just looking at the tent and the hundred or so chairs that there was so much work involved in planning, moving, setting up, taking down, packing.
Ruby was not a big girl, but she was much stronger than she appeared. Many times she matched the two older boys who helped out.
At each stop the Preacher would set them up at a small motel or a campsite, then go into the town to spread the word. When possible he would get himself interviewed on the local radio station. He could always get the Holy Thunder Caravan mentioned on the religious pages of the local newspapers for free, but it wasn’t until he took a small ad in the entertainment section that the bigger crowds began to show up.
Some nights the Preacher would summon Ruby to his room. There he would sit in front of the mirror while Ruby brushed his beautiful golden hair. One of the few things Ruby carried that was of any value was her grandmother’s hairbrush. The brush had a gold-tone stamped metal handle, along with a base inset bearing a hand-embroidered floral petit point sample. Night after night Ruby would brush the Preacher’s hair — never fewer than one hundred strokes — while he regaled her with stories from the Good Book.
Over the next few months, while she toured with the caravan, Ruby spent much of her time with the twins, Abigail and Peter. The twins, who had been taken in by the Preacher when their parents were killed in an automobile accident near Elkins, were just toddlers at the time, and had been touched by the Lord in a way that made them special.
On many nights, when the tent had been struck and packed away, when the chairs and booths had been loaded into the truck, and the caravan was ready to depart at dawn light, Ruby would read to Abigail and Peter.
Their favorite story was from 1 Samuel, 17, the story of David and Goliath.
When Ruby was thirteen, her womanhood bursting, everything changed.
One evening, on a hot July night, just outside Moundsville, the Preacher took her hand and said, ‘Come with me, child.’
They went to his RV, a grand place where Ruby had never been. Inside were soft golden sofas, a television, and the ceiling was painted with a bright blue sky.
At the back of the main part of the RV, hanging from a hook, was a pink dress, store-bought and beautiful. The preacher told her it was hers, and that she should put it on.
They had supper, just the two of them, at a fold-down dining table. Ruby was so nervous she had to remind herself to chew her food. She had wine for the first time in her life.
When they were finished, and Ruby had cleared the plates, they sat across from each other on the sofas.
‘You know, the Lord has very big plans for you, Mary Elizabeth.’
‘He does?’
The Preacher waited a few moments, as was his way, then rose. This night he wore black, right down to his tie. He moved like a cat across the small space. He sat on the sofa next to her, took her hand in his. This close, she could see the small flecks of gold in his eyes. She felt light-headed at his nearness.
‘There will come a time — not for many years, God willing — when I will no longer be able to bring the Word to the people,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ Ruby managed. She fidgeted on her cushion, the store-bought dress a little too tight.
The Preacher smiled, and Ruby felt her knees begin to knock. She did her best to stop them.
‘Although I am young now, it will not always be so.’
She knew what he meant, but she could not imagine him any other way than he was at that moment. ‘Let us drink the Lord’s bounty,’ he said, handing her a crystal goblet. He took his own, and they touched the rims together, making a sound not unlike the pealing of a bell on a great, shining chapel on a hill.
She lifted the glass to her lips and drank. At first she found this new wine to be bitter, but the more she had, the less bitter it became.
The Preacher read to her from the Scriptures well into the night, and as he did they continued to drink the bitter wine.
*
In the dream that was not a dream, the Preacher stood at the foot of the bed. He was now dressed in red, and wore a Roman collar.
‘Mary,’ he said softly.
In the dream that was not a dream Ruby was naked. She felt the humid night breeze through the window. She could smell the honeysuckle and summer hyacinth.
In the dream that was not a dream the Preacher entered her. The pain was terrible, and in the dimness of the bedroom she saw his eyes, felt the heat of his breath, and for a moment she looked inside him, and there saw deep and terrible chasms of fire.
Ruby awoke in her own sleeping bag, inside one of the trucks. She sat up, her head hurting and spinning, her body aching, a wicked thirst inside her. She frantically tried to find her new dress.
It was gone.
The next stop was near a small town in southwestern Ohio called Hannibal. They set up the tent in a field overlooking a lake. It was late summer and the mosquitoes were out in full force. The Preacher sent two boys into town to tack up the flyers.