Flatwoods - Part 2

So, there they stood-Dad, Mother, four-year old Norma Lea, two-year old Olgia V. and, the little tow-headed W. C., Jr. With only a fifty-cent piece, a flat-top guitar, a couple of suitcases, three little children and no transportation, what, do you suppose, was the subject of their conversation that moment? It couldn't have been much, but, Mother, seeing the hurt and distress furrowing his brow, seized the opportunity to challenge Dad. "I'll back you down by going to the bus station and seeing how far that fifty-cents will take us, and there starting a revival!" Grasping for the straw so wisely offered, he responded, "You won't back me down!" Then, off to the bus depot they trudged, Dad with the two suitcases, Mother with little W.C. in one arm, the guitar case in hand, and two little girls following.

With an intent gaze upon the only bit of earthly security now held in his open palm, Dad asked the agent, "How far can we go for this fifty-cent piece?" With a humorous grin, the agent answered, "Oh, it'll put you off somewhere in the middle of the woods." Undaunted, Dad again asked what was the nearest settlement they might reach. To this, the agent responded, "Well, maybe to Flatwoods." Then, Flatwoods it would be!

Arriving at the small town and stepping down from the bus, their attention was immediately drawn to a long building that stood across the road from the general store. From its dimensions it could have once been a church, but was most likely an abandoned dance hall. Under the blazing sun, the little parade headed for the general store-Dad leading with the suitcases, Mother with little W. C. in one arm, guitar case clutched in the other hand, and the little girls following close behind.

The lady proprietor was standing behind the counter as they entered the store. By the slight smile and twinkle in her eyes, she must have been amused at the sight. She courteously answered Dad's query as to whether there were any Pentecostals in the area, "Yes, I believe Mrs. DuBoise is a Christian." Then, pointing out the window toward a distant patch of trees shimmering in the heat, she told them how to reach Mrs. DuBoise's home. A hot day it was, without a cloud in the sky, as they started out on foot. Again, Dad leading the way with suitcases, Mother with little W. C., Jr. in one arm, guitar case in hand, and two little girls following. The deep, hot sand, was laden with burrs that clung to their clothing, painfully irritating their every step. But on they trudged, finally arriving at Mrs. DuBoise's home.