Cathy checked the cars to see who was already there as she parked and walked up to the plain little church.   "Frank's Creek United Methodist Church" read the neatly lettered sign standing by the walkway.
      There was no narthex in the plain little clapboard church. She came through the doors directly into the sanctuary and walked up the aisle between the pews, her steps echoing slightly on the bare wood floor. The other 6 members of the choir were already there, as was the pastor's wife, who was the pianist. They were a small group of mighty voices. Homer sang bass, Aunt Cathy and Mr. Collins sang the tenor, Alma Mae and Edith were strong altos, young Susan Ramey had a lovely soprano voice, and Virgie Dobbins sang with her. Virgie's voice had a tendency to get screechy when it got really high, but they were careful with their song selections and choice of key, so that wasn't usually too much of an issue. Anyway, there were a number of strong voices in the congregation to join with the little choir for everything but the anthem. Aunt Cathy was usually bored and sometimes irritated by the 'hellanddamnation' sermons of Pastor Tidquist, but hearing all those voices raised together in song on Sunday morning made those sermons worth sitting through. Maybe she wouldn't have felt so irritated if the good Pastor were not one of her best 'shine customers—but Aunt Cathy was one to live and let live, and always she had come to church for the singing and the ritual and the comfort it brought. It didn't hurt a thing to pray with other people. She didn't know if she believed in God or not, even after 83 years of pondering the question—but she definitely knew the power of prayer and of voices raised together in praise or supplication. She'd never been able to get Cassie to understand. Cassie had come once and once only. After that she said wild horses couldn't drag her back.