On the Head of a Pin (28 page)

Lewis had heard nothing of Will and Nabby since they had given up the farm in Marysburgh and moved west. They had sent no message, and he had no idea where they were or how they were prospering. He wasn't sure that he would have written to them even if he had. His last conversation with Will still festered in his mind, and the fact that he was still struggling with the boy's debt was a constant source of irritation.

It turned out that they had written, not to Lewis, but to Moses.

“It's a struggle for them,” Moses reported, “but Will says it's good farmland out there and the price of wheat is starting to rise. He figures I should go there, too. You can still get land real cheap and I could share in with him until I get my own place underway.”

“You shared in once before and it didn't work,” Lewis said sourly. “What makes you think this will be any different?”

Moses shrugged. “I don't intend to stay with them for any great length of time. I've got a little money saved and if the land is as good as Will says it is, I'll get my own farm as soon as I can. I can put up with Nabby until then.”

“So, you're determined to go?”

“Yes, I think so. If I stay here I'll only ever work for somebody else. There's a lot more opportunity to make something of myself in a place that's not so crowded.”

Lewis nodded. It was clear that the boy had made up his mind and would probably go whether he gave his approval or not, but he appreciated the fact that Moses wanted to discuss it with him first. Just for a moment he had a glimpse of himself as his sons must see him: a father who was seldom home but was given to strong pronouncements when he was; a man who had embraced what amounted to a life of poverty in order to grapple with something that was elusive and intangible; a husband who had sacrificed the comfort of his wife and family to take a stand on principle. He blew into their lives after weeks of absence and blew back out again like a winter wind, leaving them once more to stop up the gaps on their own. Moses had paid a price for his father's convictions — they all had. The boy could have been forgiven had he simply set off westward without a by-your-leave, but he hadn't. There was none of the defiance he had seen in Will. Moses wanted Lewis to understand his reasoning and give his blessing.

He cleared his throat. “What can I do to help you?” He knew there wouldn't be much; this boy had always been the most independent of his sons, and his own ability to be of much assistance was severely limited.

He could see the relief in Moses's face, and gratitude that his father was putting up no argument. “There are a couple of things. First of all, I don't intend to go alone. I've talked it over with Nancy and we'd like to do this together.”

Nancy was the girl he had been courting for the last two years. Lewis had been surprised that they hadn't married long since, but Moses seldom rushed into anything without giving it a great deal of thought.

Homesteading was a hard task for a man by himself, but it sounded like the girl was willing to do it with him, and that would increase his chances of making it a success.

“We'd kind of like you to do the wedding.”

Lewis was delighted to agree.

“So, what's the second thing?”

“We'd like to take Luke with us. It's the same here for him as for me; he'll always be working for someone else if he stays. He could help us out at first, and then if he likes farming well enough he could branch off on his own and we'd help him.”

Lewis wasn't sure how he felt about this, or what Betsy would say. Luke was their youngest, and if he went with Moses he would be in a faraway place where they would almost never get to see him. In fact, all of their children would be far away, and it would be unlikely they would have much contact beyond a letter or two now and then. It would be hard for their mother, not seeing them or their babies. But then they had Martha to brighten their old age, he supposed. And there was no question that it would be better for Luke.

“What does Luke say?”

“He wants to go. He was excited as soon as I mentioned it. He just didn't know what you would think, and I won't take him unless you agree to it.” Bless this boy, Lewis thought, for letting me know I'm not such a terrible father after all.

He had been unsure about what Luke would want to do anyway, and the more he thought about Moses's proposal, the more it had to recommend it. Luke would be going off on his own sooner or later — better with his brother than alone. He would find some way to make Betsy see this.

“So,” he said, “when do you want to have this wedding?”

V

I
n the middle of all the proposals and propositions, Lewis had completely lost track of where Simms might be. Everywhere he went, he inquired whether or not anyone had seen the peddler, but no one had.

“I wish he'd come around, all right,” said one woman in the northern part of his circuit. “The bottom of my big black pot has burnt right through, and I like his better than the ones the store has.”

No one had remarked him for a month or more, and Lewis wondered uneasily what he was doing and where he was doing it. He found his answer with, of all people, Morgan Spicer, who continued to ride the settlements, spreading his version of the Word.

He had seen little of Spicer, either. The boy had developed an almost magical ability to dodge the regular itinerants. He knew that sooner or later his ministrations would be called into question, but if he could avoid a confrontation, he could delay the day of reckoning. That was Lewis's theory anyway, for he never seemed able to catch up with the self-appointed preacher. He had always just been there, or was expected at any moment, but seldom did they occupy the same place and time.

He was just leaving a most satisfactory meeting in Percy's Mills where there had been many new faces present, and several who had embraced the faith with fervour. He had christened three babies and for once had been paid in cash. He was not an avaricious man — he would never have gone preaching if that was the case — but he reflected that there was something very reassuring about having a few coins to jangle in one's pocket. It was a beautiful, bright spring day, with the warm sun reflecting off the shiny green of the newly leafed trees that lined the road, and the sense of new life pushing up through the moist, fertile soil was nearly palpable. There was a smell of promise in the breeze and for a time he forgot about his nagging worries and simply let himself enjoy it, lulled by sunshine and the steady clip-clop of his horse's hooves.

He had just rounded a pronounced bend in the road when he came face to face with another horseman. It was Spicer.

“Mr. Lewis,” Spicer greeted him. He was always cordial when they met, as if Lewis somehow didn't qualify as an authority and any challenges to Spicer's right to preach could be safely ignored.

“I've wanted to talk to you, Morgan,” Lewis said. “You know you can't keep doing this.”

Spicer turned red in the face and was about to protest when Lewis went on. “Don't worry. You know I won't turn in a complaint. I don't think that would serve any purpose at all. But you're not qualified, you're not appointed, and you shouldn't be preaching. I'd like to try to help change that.”

The statement took Spicer by surprise. He had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly as he tried to absorb this information.

“What I'm suggesting is that you ride with me,” Lewis said. “I could use an assistant, and along the way I'll try to teach you how to read and steer you toward what you need to know and understand in order to successfully apply for an appointment of your own.”

If it hadn't been so sad, he might have laughed at the look on Spicer's face. It was clear that few offers of help had ever come his way, and he obviously wasn't sure how to respond to it.

“I know you haven't had much schooling,” Lewis continued, “and that's a handicap. But I was a schoolteacher for a time, and I expect you'd be quick enough to learn. What do you say?”

“Why?”

It sounded rude the way it came out, but Lewis understood what he was asking. Why him? Why now? Why bother with it at all?

“Life is a struggle, Morgan. It's been a struggle for you. It's a constant struggle for me. We all have to strive to keep to the way and the truth, and all too often we fall by the side of the road in spite of our best intentions.

I have done you a disservice by not recognizing the sincerity of your zeal, and for that I apologize. Please, set my conscience to rest by letting me help you.”

“All right,” he said, and Lewis privately made a note to work on Spicer's eloquence as well as his literacy.

The serenity had quite skittered away from the afternoon and there was a strained silence as they rode along, but Lewis reflected that, at the very least, he had stopped Spicer from spreading his garbled version of the gospel. Whether he could ever get him educated enough to be appointed was anyone's guess, but Lewis would make good on his offer to try. And in the meantime, at least Spicer would have the benefit of acquiring some experience and Lewis would have an extra hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To Hilton” Lewis replied. I haven't attended them in some time and I want to see how they're getting on.”

“Oh, I just came from a class meeting there. They're doing fine.” He realized, suddenly who he was talking to. “That is … as far as I could tell.”

Lewis let the moment pass. There was no point in extending a hand only to employ it immediately in a sharp slap. “Well, maybe we'll just drop by anyway. There will be a men's meeting tonight.”

The silence descended again, and Lewis cast about for some topic of conversation that would set his new assistant at ease. He had never minded his solitary travels, enjoyed them in fact, but if he was going to have a companion he would prefer one that didn't sit glowering and sullen beside him. He seized on the first neutral topic that crossed his mind.

“So tell me, Morgan, have you been running across many of those little pins that the Caddick brothers make? They seem to be everywhere I go.”

“Yes, they certainly are popular. Isaac Simms was telling me this morning that he's nearly run out of them, but the Caddicks have refused to make any more.”

“This morning?” Lewis was suddenly at full alert. “Where was this?”

“In Brighton. He said he was just passing through on his way east.”

“Did he happen to mention exactly where he was going?”

“He said he was heading to Prince Edward, as he had business in Picton.”

They had been travelling due south, toward the front, but now Lewis abruptly set his horse on a small path that he knew cut eastward through the woods toward the Carrying Place, where the neck of the peninsula met the mainland — the only place nearby that a man with a cart could cross into Prince Edward.

“Where are you going?” Spicer said as he followed. “I thought we were going to Hilton?”

“I need to find Isaac Simms. I'd lost track of him and it's very important that I intercept him. I'll explain when we find him.”

They pushed their horses as fast as they dared on the narrow track, Spicer's sorry nag scrambling to keep up. Had it been full summer, they would have had difficulty getting through, but the sumac and dogwood had not yet had time to crowd the way and they maintained a steady pace. It was not nearly fast enough for Lewis and the time it took seemed to stretch into hours, his impatience chafing at him as they rode.

At last they came within sight of the small settlement that had grown up around the Carrying Place. An ancient Indian portage route had become a road that crossed the narrow neck of land. It was a nuisance for mariners, as it blocked access from the Bay of Quinte to the western end of Lake Ontario, but it did prevent the isthmus from being cut off entirely from land travellers. There was talk of a canal here, with a bridge over it, but like other projects of its kind it remained a thing of the future, to be undertaken when times were better.

They stopped at the inn, both to rest and water their horses and to ask if anyone had seen the peddler. Several had. He had visited the small general store, and had apparently been upset with the shopkeeper because he had no need of any of Simms's wares.

“He was in a right state, he was,” the man said. “I don't think I've ever seen Simms like that. Usually he's a good-natured fellow and happy to share the news, but this time he was downright surly.”

“Do you happen to know if he carried on toward Picton?” Lewis asked.

There was an old man warming himself by the stove, and now he spoke up. “No, he went the other way, toward Trenton. I know, for he nearly rode me down.”

Lewis puzzled over this information as they rode toward the growing town of Trenton. Why would he have told Spicer he was going to Prince Edward, and then abruptly turn another way? Had he been intending to go there all along, and what he had said to Spicer was misdirection? If so, then Lewis would need to be doubly careful, for it would mean that Simms was deliberately covering his tracks. There may have been another reason for this decision though. He knew that the peddler had been increasingly unhappy with his reception in the settlements along the front, and perhaps, after having no luck at the Carrying Place, he had merely decided to go elsewhere, beyond Trenton and north to one of the lesser-populated areas. And then another thought struck him. He had once told Lewis that his mother and sisters lived in Belleville. Was Simms on his way there? But if they went there and he hadn't been seen, they would have wasted a great deal of time, unless the family could shed some light on where he had gone.

As they rode on they reached the corner where the Carrying Place Road intersected with the Concession Line. They could keep going straight and head north, or turn to the right and follow the well-travelled route through Sidney to Belleville.