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Florence raised her voice in the only song she could remember that her mother used to sing：
‘It’s me； it’s me； it’s me； oh； Lord； Standing in the need of prayer。’
Gabriel turned to stare at her； in astonished triumph that his sister should at last behumbled。 She did not look at him。 Her thoughts were all on God。 After a moment； the congregationand the piano joined her：
‘Not my father； not my motherBut it’s me； oh； Lord。’
She knew that Gabriel rejoiced； not that her humility might lead her to grace； but only thatsome private anguish had brought her low： her songs revealed that she was suffering； and this herbrother was glad to see。 This had always been his spirit。 Nothing had ever changed it； nothing everwould。 For a moment her pride stood up； the resolution that had brought her to this place to…nightfaltered； and she felt that if Gabriel was the Lord’s anointed； she would rather die and endure Hellfor all eternity than bow before His altar。 But she strangled her pride； rising to stand with them inthe holy space before the altar； and still singing：
‘Standing in the need of prayer。’
Kneeling as she had not knelt for many years； and in this pany before the altar； shegained again from the song the meaning it had held for her mother； and gained a new meaning forherself。 As a child； the song had made her see a woman； dressed in black； standing in infinite mistsalone； waiting for the form of the Son of God to lead her through the white fire。 This woman nowreturned to her； more desolate； it was herself； not knowing where to put her foot； she waitedtrembling； for the mists to be parted that she might walk in peace。 That long road； her life； whichshe had followed for sixty groaning years； had led her at last to her mother’s starting…place； thealtar of the Lord。 For her feet stood on the edge of that river which her mother； rejoicing； hadcrossed over。 And would the Lord now reach out His hand to Florence and heal and save？ But；going down before the scarlet cloth at the foot of the golden cross； it came to her that she hadforgotten how to pray。
Her mother has taught her that the way to pray was to forget everything and everyone butJesus； to pour out of the heart； like water from a bucket； all evil thoughts； all thoughts of self； allmalice for one’s enemies； to e boldly； and yet more humbly than the little child； before theGiver of all good things。 Yet； in Florence’s heart to…night hatred and bitterness weighed likegranite； pride refused to abdicate from the throne it had held so long。 Neither love nor humility hadled her to the altar； but only fear。 And God did not hear the prayers of the fearful； for the hearts ofthe fearful held no belief。 Such prayers could rise no higher that the lips that uttered them。
Around her she heard the saints’ voices； a steady； charged murmur； with now and again thename of Jesus rising above； sometimes like the swift rising of a bird into the air of a sunny day； sometimes like the slow rising of the mist from swamp ground。 Was this the way to pray？ In thechurch that she had joined when she first came North one knelt before the altar once only； in thebeginning； to ask for forgiveness of sins； and this acplished； one was baptized and became aChristian； to kneel no more thereafter。 Even if the Lord should lay some great burden on one’sback—as He has done； but never so heavy a burden as this she carried now—one prayed in silence。
It was indecent； the practice of mon niggers to cry aloud at the foot of the altar； tears streamingfor all the world to see。 She had never done it； not even as a girl down home in the church they hadgone to in those days。 Now perhaps it was too late； and the Lord would suffer her to die in thedarkness in which she had lived so long。
In the olden days God had healed His children。 He had caused the blind to see； the lame towalk； and He had raised dead men from the grave。 But Florence remembered one phrase； whichnow she muttered against the knuckles that bruised her lips： ‘Lord； help my unbelief。’
For the message had e to Florence that had e to Hezekiah： Set thine house in order；for thou shalt die and not live。 Many nights ago； as she turned on her bed； this message came toher。 For many days and nights the message was repeated； there had been time； then； to turn to God。
But she had thought to evade him； seeking among the women she knew for remedies； and then；because the pain increased； she had sought doctors； and when the doctors did no good she hadclimbed stairs all over town to rooms where incense burned and where men or women in trafficwith the devil gave her white powders； or herbs to make tea； and cast spells upon her to take thesickness away。 The burning in her bowels did not cease—that burning which； eating inward； tookthe flesh visibly from her bones and caused her to vomit up her food。 Then one night she founddeath standing in the room。 Blacker than night； and gigantic； he filled one corner of her narrowroom； watching her with eyes like the eyes of a serpent when his head is lifted to strike。 Then shescreamed and called on God； turning on the light。 And death departed； but she knew he would beback。 Every night would bring him a little closer to her bed。
And after death’s first silent vigil her life came to her bedside to curse her with manyvoices。 Her mother； in rotting rags filling the room with the stink of the grave； stood over her tocurse the daughter who had denied her on her deathbed。 Gabriel came； from all his times and ages；to curse the sister who had held him to scorn and mocked his ministry。 Deborah； black； her body asshapeless and hard as iron； looked on with veiled； triumphant eyes； cursing the Florence who hadmocked her in her pain and barrenness。 Frank came； even he； with that same smile； the same tilt ofhis head。 Of them all she would have begged forgiveness； had they e with ears to hear。 Butthey came like many trumpets； even if they had e to hear and not to testify it was not they whocould forgive her； but only God。
The piano had stopped。 All around her now were only the voices of the saints。
‘Dear Father’—it was her mother praying—‘we e before You on our knees this evening to askYou to watch over us and hold back the hand of the destroying angel。 Lord； sprinkle the doorpostof this house with the blood of the Lamb to keep all the wicked men away； Lord； we praying forevery mother’s son and daughter everywhere in the world but we want You to take special care of this girl here to…night； Lord； and don’t let no evil e nigh her。 We know you’s able to do it；Lord； in Jesus’ name； Amen。’
This was the first prayer Florence heard； the only prayer she was ever to hear in which hermother demanded the protection of God more passionately for her daughter than she demanded itfor her son。 It was night； the windows were shut tightly with the shades drawn； and the great tablewas pushed against the door。 The kerosene lamps burned low and made great shadows on thenewspaper…covered wall。 Her mother； dressed in the long； shapeless； colorless dress that she boreevery day but Sunday； when she wore white； and with her head tied up in a scarlet cloth； knelt inthe center of the room； her hands hanging loosely folded before her； her black face lifted； her eyesshut。 The weak； unsteady light placed shadows under her mouth and in the sockets of her eyes；making the face impersonal with majesty； like the face of a prophetess； or like a mask。 Silencefilled the room after her ‘Amen；’ and in the silence they heard； far up the road； the sound of ahorse’s hoofs。 No one moved。 Gabriel； from his corner near the stove； looked up and watched hismother。
‘I ain’t afraid；’ said Gabriel。
His mother turned； one hand raised。 ‘You hush； now！’
Trouble had taken place in town to…day。 Their neighbor Deborah； who was sixteen； threeyears older than Florence； had been taken away into the fields the night before by many white men；where they did things to her to make her cry and bleed。 To…day； Deborah’s father had gone to oneof the white men’s house； and said that he would kill him and all the other white men he couldfind。 They had beaten him and left him for dead。 Now； everyone had shut the