"Choice. Pack up or have dinner?" He chose dinner and opened the refrigerator. "What should I have for dinner?" Not much choice. "Coors or Budweiser?" He chose a Bud.

The phone rang, and he chose not to answer it, but it kept ringing, so he changed his mind and picked it up. "Landry."

"Hello, Landry. This is Porter. Can you tell which one?"

Keith smiled and said, "Gail."

"No, Jeffrey. My shorts are tight."

"What's up?"

"Reminding you of the meeting at St. James tonight. Eight P.M."

"Can't make it, buddy."

"Sure you can."

"Sure I can, but I don't want to."

"Sure you do."

"No, I don't."

"Do you want the revolution to start without you?"

"That would be fine. Send me the minutes. I'm about to have dinner."

"Don't fuck with me, Keith. I have fifty calls to make."

"Look, Jeffrey, I'm... I've decided..."

"Hold on..." He covered the phone, but Keith could hear his muffled voice, then Jeffrey came back on and said, "Gail says she'll do whatever you want if you come, and anyway, you owe her for the great weed."

"Look... oh, all right..."

"Good. Do you want to say a few words?"

"Yes. Good-bye."

"At the meeting. Do you want to talk about your impressions of Spencerville after a twenty-year absence? Your hopes for the future?"

"Perhaps some other time. See you later." He hung up and said, "I'm still working on the past."

That night, Thursday evening, Keith drove out to St. James Church. The grass parking areas were filled with about fifty cars and pickup trucks, far more than he'd ever seen at St. James, except for Christmas and Easter.

He parked near the cemetery and walked toward the church. At the door, a few young men and women were handing out pamphlets. In the narthex, a group of people were welcoming the arrivals. Keith saw Gail and Jeffrey and tried to slip past them, but they spotted him and hurried over. Gail said, "So, what do I owe you?"

"A kiss will do."

She kissed him and said, "You're easy to please. I was willing to give more."

Jeffrey said, "Please, Gail, we're in church. I'm surprised the ceiling hasn't fallen in on us already."

"Surely," Keith remarked, "you don't believe in divine retribution."

"You just never know," Jeffrey answered.

Gail said, "There are over a hundred people here already. The pews are full, and so is the choir loft. I told you, people are fed up. They want a change."

Keith informed her, "No, Gail, they're here became things have changed. They want to turn back the clock, and that can't be done. You should make them understand that."

She nodded. "You're right. The three of us have rural roots, but we've forgotten how people here think. We have to change that thinking and change old attitudes."

Keith rolled his eyes. No wonder revolutionaries scared the hell out of everybody. He said, "No, they don't want their thinking or attitudes changed. They want their values and beliefs endorsed, and they want government and society to reflect their values and beliefs, not yours."

"Then they want to turn back the clock, and that can't be done."

"No, not literally, but you should paint a picture of the future that looks like the past, with brighter colors. Sort of like a Currier & Ives lithograph that's been cleaned up."

Gail smiled. "You're as manipulative as we are. Did you do this for a living?"

"Sort of... yeah, I worked in propaganda once... but I didn't like it."

"It sounds fascinating. You could use that stuff in your personal life and really make out."

"I wish." Keith changed the subject. "By the way, who's the pastor here who was crazy enough to let you use this place for seditious activities?"

Jeffrey replied, "Pastor Wilkes."

"Really? I thought he'd be retired or dead by now."

"Well," said Jeffrey, "he could be both. He's really old. But he was amenable to this. In fact, I had the impression he didn't particularly care for Chief Baxter."

"Is that so? I wouldn't think he'd know Cliff Baxter personally. The Baxters always went to St. John's in town where the important people go. This is just a farmers' church."

"Well, apparently he knows Baxter by reputation, and apparently he talks to the other clergy in town. I wish we had that kind of intelligence network. Anyway, what you're going to hear tonight is that Chief Baxter is a sinner and an adulterer."

"Doesn't make him a bad guy."

Gail laughed. "You're impossible. Go stand in the corner."

"Yes, ma'am." Keith went into the small church and found standing room behind the last pew. He saw that the church was indeed filled to capacity and also that screens had been set up to block the altar, so that the simple interior, which had no stained-glass windows, now more resembled a Quaker or Amish meeting hall than a Lutheran church.

The people around him and in the pews seemed to represent a cross section of Spencer County. There were men and women who, no matter how they dressed, Keith could identify as farm folk. In fact, he saw Martin and Sue Jenkins. There were also people from town, working people and professional people, and there were all age groups, from high school kids to the very elderly.

Keith remembered a time, before television and other electronic diversions had taken a firm hold, when meetings of one sort or another were deeply ingrained into rural life. His parents were always going to a club meeting, a church meeting, a civic meeting, or something of the sort. And there were sewing bees and quilting groups for the women, and political meetings and grange meetings for the men. Keith even had some early memories of gathering in people's parlors for piano playing, punch, and parlor games. But this way of life had passed, and, in truth, a good movie or football game and a six-pack was preferable to bad piano playing, parlor games, and punch. Yet there had been a time when rural people depended on themselves for entertainment. But more important, many of the great social movements in the nation, such as abolition and populism, had begun in small country churches. As he'd already noted, however, this was no longer an agrarian nation, and there were neither the numbers nor the will to affect national policy. So the hinterland turned in on itself, and feeling perhaps abandoned by and isolated from the urban centers of power, they were beginning to act and think for themselves — maybe with a little help from urban and academic refugees such as himself and the Porters.

He looked at the people still filing in and spotted Jenny, whom he hadn't seen or spoken to since Labor Day. She saw him, smiled, and gave him a big wave, but she was with a man, and they squeezed into a pew together.

Keith watched the crowd settling in. Undoubtedly, there were at least two spies — people who would report to Chief Baxter after the meeting. This was a given, and he was certain that Jeffrey and Gail, old revolutionaries, knew this even if the simple citizens of Spencerville had no inkling of it. Keith hoped that the Porters understood what they were involving these people in. The professional revolutionary, Keith reflected, came in two basic varieties — the romantic and the pragmatic. The romantic got themselves and people around them arrested and killed. The pragmatic, like the early Nazis and Bolsheviks, were total whores who did and said anything to stay alive and win. The Porters, despite their obvious longevity, had a romantic bent and had survived over the years only because American culture was still hospitable to revolutionaries, and because the government knew better than to create martyrs out of people who posed no threat of stirring a nation that was perpetually ready for bed.

Yet, on the local level, people could be awakened and could be called to action. Obviously, the entrenched establishment of the town and county had violated paragraph one of the social contract, which was and would always be, "Keep the citizens happy, or confused, or both."