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Show page 110 looked out over the vacant lot strewn with sawdust, at twelve sputtering lanterns he had stuck up on poles to outline the meeting area, at planks laid across nail kegs for those who didn't bring chairs, and at the eighty most fervent, Godfearing people to be found anywhere, all Sanctified, chanters and handclappers, users of the guitar and the tambourine. Then he raised his eyes to the evening stars, a signal for Mary Saint Marie to stop playing and singing. "I'm coming to it now. Our lease on this lot has expired," he continued, his voice milder now, almost apologetic. "We have to move our meetings from this lot. But in truth and in vision I see us in a church." He paused and pointed behind the group. "We have opposition now." A police car approached, its headlights bathing the group. The car eased between two lantern poles and stopped near Campbell. Police Chief John Lattimore and two husky deputies stepped out, Lattimore rawbony in a gray wrinkled suit, wearing his perennial off-white straxv hat, the deputies dressed like stormtroopers. "Evening, Reverend," Lattimore said, hat in hand, nodding to the group. He approached Campbell, leaving the deputies standing beside the car. "Just passing by. Wondering how you coming on relocating." He faced the worshipers obsequiously. "It's a shame to have to move this worship. Years now this lot's been vacant." He looked out into the darkness. "Sparsely settled. Nobody cared. But it's been bought up for a housing project. Aluminum mill coming to town, bringing all |