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Fulmer started holding his stomach, Daddy knew it was time to bring the service to a close. He looked over at Mrs. Huckstep, and speaking in a kind of hymn-talk, said something like, “Remember, we all need to cling to that old rugged cross, so then one day, one glorious day, we, too, can exchange it for our heavenly crown.” This was her cue to start playing softly in the background as Daddy made one final pitch for salvation.
    Any other darn day, I would have kept on playing hangman. But for some reason, which I'll never understand, I put down my pencil and listened to the words of that hymn I had sung so many times before:
    In the old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see;
For 'twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died
To pardon and sanctify me.
    Pardon
me
? Sanctify
me
? Catherine Grace Cline? I mean, I hadn't really been all that nice to Jesus since my mama died. And I certainly hadn't given much thought as to how Jesus was feeling about me. But I guessed if He could love Catherine Grace even after all the mean, hateful things I'd been thinking, well, maybe He was more omnipotent than I had given Him credit for.
    All of a sudden, tears started welling up in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. I didn't feel particularly sad, yet I couldn't stop crying. It was more like an urging, an urging in my heart, just like Daddy said it would be. Next thing I knew I was walking down the aisle toward my daddy, dragging Martha Ann along with me.
    Lolly followed right behind us both, I guess not wanting to be left in the pew by herself. She said she wasn't sure if her mama and daddy were going to approve of her committing herself to the Lord, especially if that was going to mean taking time away from her household chores.
    “You precious girls are the beloved children of the Lord,” Daddy said as he pulled us, even Lolly, into his arms.
    Daddy announced to the congregation that we would be baptized in two weeks, the first baptisms of the salvation season. An “Amen” chorus swept through the room, and then he encouraged all the remaining sinners to come and join us in our walk with the Lord. I felt like he was holding us up in front of everybody like some kind of fish bait, luring the others into the net. Then he said this was truly one of the happiest days in his life. Poor Martha Ann and Lolly, I thought to myself, they have gone and given themselves to the Lord without even knowing it.
    Baptism Sundays were all-day events that were as social as they were ceremonial. Immediately following the church service, everybody piled into cars laden with blankets and casseroles and drove the thirty-something miles over to Nottely Lake. The blue-haired ladies all rode together, safely following at least one mile behind the rest of the caravan, our very own Caravan for Christ, as Daddy liked to call it. Brother Fulmer always volunteered to leave church a little early so he could claim a green, grassy spot by the water and most likely a hot corn dog and French fries at the Dairy Queen along the way. It was kind of amazing that for as many corn dogs as Brother Fulmer must have sneaked behind his wife's back, his stomach was always flat as a board.
    After Brother Fulmer, Ida Belle was always the next to arrive, and she would jump out of the front seat of her station wagon already dressed in her dingy, old apron that she must have tied onto her body on the ride over, one hand working the apron strings while the other was holding onto the steering wheel. She would start barking orders at the men, telling them to set up the folding tables and portable grills. “We got to get those burgers and hot dogs going for the chil'ren,” she'd say, all the time directing the women to cover the picnic tables with red-checked cloths and citronella candles.
    She even brought a box of empty mason jars and told the kids to pick some wildflowers so she could place an arrangement on each table. Mrs. Gulbenk had taught her years