Ruth couldn't forget what she'd witnessed yesterday, the man with a message. She hadn't been to church for so long, she'd almost forgotten what it looked like inside, but she was there now, having a feeling that was where such a man would be.

The church was a little white-washed building with a simple steeple pointing toward heaven. The inside was just as simple: pews and an altar with a wooden cross. There were probably a hundred churches that looked just like it, yet it was the church she'd attended with her parents for a short time and that made it stand out to her with fond memories.

An unexplainable longing to enter filled her, but she knew she wasn't welcome. Instead, she stooped down by one of the windows just out of sight, listening to the captivating man from yesterday.

His voice was so passionate when he spoke, there was almost a wild edge to it like a person might have imagined John the Baptist to be. Certainly, he was a voice crying out in the wilderness.

"I sense evil here today, demonic forces. There is a darkness spreading across our land even as it expands westward. And I clasp my hands together in prayer and supplication to drive that darkness back. We need to awaken from our slumber and drive it back with the light of truth."

He was doing what folks called a revival, an exciting turning back to God among the people who knew about God but had let the spark of faith die if they ever had one to begin with.

"Hell is the destination for every man and woman born, and it's the only just end for sinners such as we, but praise God, He has made a way out through the means of sacrifice. Our Lord is merciful!"

There was weeping from some of the women, some of the men, too. She felt her own eyes pricking with tears. Why must there be a sacrifice? Why did she have to be that sacrifice?

"You can't pull yourself from the flames. You need a mediator. I need a mediator. Or there is no hope!"

They broke out into song.

"There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign,
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain."

Oh, it sounded heavenly. She wanted to live without the constant pain that filled her soul. If she could just have a tiny corner of heaven, she'd be the happiest person in the world. It had to be enough to help other people there.

She felt a large pair of hands belonging to a man clasp her shoulders, and she let out a gasp of horror, sure she'd been caught by the revivalist, but it was only Bartholomew.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Listening. He's such a powerful, wonderful speaker." His gaze seemed to darken while she tried to return her breathing and pulse to a normal rate. She supposed she should have told him where she was going, but she wasn't used to having anyone caring about her comings and goings unless they needed her for a funeral. "You scared the wits out of me."

"You've done that yourself giving into their plan for you," he said, gesturing towards the people inside the church.

Her temper rose up. "So now you're calling me stupid? I chose to be a sin-eater. I was hungry, and I wanted a purpose for my life. No one else made that decision for me."

"Didn't they when they refused to help a girl by feeding her, by caring for her?"

"They weren't far from absolute poverty themselves. They had to look after themselves and their own first. It's the way things are."

"I know. And that's why I'm not a Christian. Christian charity demanded them to share what they had. To adopt you into their family even."

She took a page out of his book and walked into the woods away from him. Not to mention, she didn't want anyone in the church hearing them argue.

But he wasn't done. He chased after her and continued the argument. "They sit in that church every Sunday, hearing the Christian message, keeping you an outcast, who in their mind is not worthy to even sit in the house of the Lord. And they go on practicing their superstition that makes the whole Bible null and void if it were true. Is there a single person in there living out the life Jesus of Nazareth told them to?"

She didn't trust herself to answer. She couldn't remember ever being so angry at another person.

He answered for her. "No, and until I find just one Christian with a heart willing to help anyone who needs it regardless of what they look like or whether it makes things uncomfortable for them, I refuse to believe it's true that love like that exists."

She forgot her anger her in shock and came to a standstill. Was he saying he wasn't even sure he believed in God? Would God even let such a person's sins be eaten? "Oh, Bartholomew."

"I don't want your pity," he said, his frown-lines out.

"What do you want?" she asked though she already knew.

"You."