On the Head of a Pin (8 page)

“Does your brother have something against me?” he asked.

Rachel laughed. “No, he just thinks this is all a waste of time. Seth does nothing but work.” Her brow wrinkled up as a thought struck her. “Oh, I know why he doesn't like us coming here. It's the collection money he begrudges.”

She ran down the steps, waved at the crowd of young men, and set sedately off down the street with her family, leaving them with no option but to disperse.

“That's quite the crowd of admirers,” Betsy remarked, after the boys had all finally left, shuffling and grumbling.

“Yes,” Lewis agreed. “It wouldn't surprise me if she were to marry one of them soon, but I don't know which one. Probably one of the Caddick boys.”

Betsy snorted. “Oh, she's made her choice, don't worry. She's not ready to let anyone know it yet, that's all.”

“
Really?
” Unwilling to betray a confidence, he managed to put surprise into his voice. “So which one, do you figure?” He knew that Betsy was far more adept at reading female subtleties and that she probably already knew which one. But before she could answer, he realized that Morgan Spicer had hung back and obviously wanted to talk to him. He didn't like the boy, and it bothered him because he had no reason for it, other than his rather unfortunate appearance. A physiognomist would claim that the close-set eyes indicated stealth, and that his small, low forehead was a sign of mental deficiency, but Lewis rejected these sorts of arguments. People look the way they look because God made them that way, and no matter what the outer mien might signify, salvation was available to all. It wasn't the appearance he had decided, but the manner. Spicer seemed insincere, somehow, yet his words were good enough. There are too many mysteries today, Lewis thought. Too many things I don't understand. Perhaps it would all be revealed to him in the fullness of time.

He drew Spicer back inside to talk. He wanted, it seemed, to put in an application to be received on trial as an itinerant preacher.

“But it was only a few weeks ago that you joined us,” Lewis said. “Don't you think this is all a little hasty?”

“I am convinced of the true way,” Spicer returned. “I received such a blinding insight into the glory of the Lord that it has changed my life. I realize now how empty my life has been, and I want to take God's great message to anyone who will listen. I am absolutely convinced that the Lord is calling me to go and do His work.”

Lewis was not. He had been present at the great con
–
version and had seen Spicer's eyes slide toward Rachel as he cried out to the Lord. He was resigned to accepting at more or less face value anyone's repentance; after all, there was really nothing else he could do. Those who weren't entirely sincere would certainly backslide, but at least they might have a few days or a few weeks when they would reform their sinful ways. But it was one thing for a mere member to dissemble; it was something else for one appointed to help lead the flock. Still, he could not in all good conscience discourage anyone from trying to do the Lord's work.

In order to be received on trial, Spicer must apply first to the Presiding Elder. He outlined the mechanics of the application and warned Spicer that he must make his case before the board.

“You need to be able to give very precise definitions of all the cardinal doctrines of the church and to prove them by quoting the pertinent passages in the Scriptures,” he advised.

“So, I need to memorize the Bible, is that what you're saying?”

“No,” said Lewis. “You need to know it and understand it. And not only must you know your Bible, you must have at your fingertips information concerning your experience and education.”

The boy looked a little disturbed at this. “What does it matter what books I've read, or what education I've had? All I want to do is to preach to the people. Why do I have to know anything but the Bible?”

“Because we are constantly accused of being ignorant, illiterate saddlebag preachers, that's why. It's hard to counter an accusation that's true, you know. Have you had much schooling?”

There were many in the colony, especially in the backcountry, who had never received any formal education, either because none was available, or because they were badly needed for work at home. One of the things Lewis always encouraged was the turning of Sunday schools into informal classrooms, where the little ones would be given at least the rudiments of reading and writing. It was the old schoolmaster coming out in him he supposed, but he viewed it as an opportunity to acquaint the children with the ABCs and simple sums along with their Bible verses.

“I went to class for a couple of years,” Spicer mumbled, his face reddening.

“How well can you read?”

“I can read the Bible just fine.”

“But do you understand what you read?” He could tell by the look on Spicer's face that reading was probably a difficult and painful task for him. At this point he stood no more chance of being accepted than Martha would.

“Honestly, Morgan, you would do better to improve your skills a little before you make your application, otherwise you're not likely to be accepted. I'm not trying to discourage you. I'm just telling you what I believe to be fact. If you're truly sincere about this, you'll do what's necessary to achieve some qualification for it.”

“They'll take me anyway,” he said. “You'll see. They'll take me anyway. The Methodist Episcopals don't have that many preachers anymore that they can afford to be so choosy.”

As he strode away, Lewis reflected that the words were all too true, but he hoped it wouldn't make any difference.

VIII

D
uring that month-long ride around his circuit, Lewis found one disturbing constant: It didn't matter where he went, village or single cabin, he found a profoundly agitated and anxious people.

It was in the more far-flung areas and with the poorer families that he found the most doubt and depression. These were the places where Mackenzie's ranting had found fertile ground. Solid farmers and the hard-working poor, who knew all too well what was wrong with Upper Canada, for it was they who shouldered most of the hardship of a stagnant economy and a corrupt government. The settler who frantically cleared the requisite acreage in order to gain clear ownership of his land, only to be defeated by the bureaucracy of gaining legal title; the farmer who must give over too many of his working days in order to service the roads that ran past the vacant lots reserved for the Anglican Church; the tradesman who desired to expand his business, but was unable to find anyone to loan him the money to do so. These people were never the beneficiaries of patronage nor did they receive the lucrative government appointments that went to those of the right class or opinion. They were denied the thousands of acres in land grants that went to those with the right family connections. And now the man who had spoken up for them was gone, with a price on his head and his supporters destroyed.

Everyone was frightened by the talk of war, and many were convinced that the pirate Johnston was waiting around every tree, ready to jump out and slaughter them all, or that American troops were massed at the border lacking only the signal to invade. Even more disturbing was the suspicion that had been sown amongst friends and neighbours. Astounding arrests had been made, as the most unlikely people were scooped up and thrown in jail. Most still languished there, waiting for trial, for charges, for proof. If these men were rebels — and they must be, for why else would the government have arrested them? — then anyone could be a traitor: the man next door, the family down the road. The lad who came to help with harvest could be an American Hunter spy; the old gentleman who tipped his hat to you in the street could be a pirate; the farm wife you bought your eggs from could be carrying important information to an invading army.

He made a special effort to visit the most isolated families. They were invariably anxious for the latest news. Were the Americans at the border? How many rebels would be hanged and how many transported to Van Diemen's Land or Botany Bay? Was life going to be harder than ever from now on?

Everywhere he went, he noted that the Caddick brothers had been singularly successful with the marketing of their wares. In some of the more substantial homes, he saw several of Benjamin's portraits hanging proudly above mantelpieces as well as a couple of Willet's oils. But it was the little pins with the Lord's Prayer on them that were the most popular in the houses of the poor. The Caddicks had done well to consign them to Isaac Simms, for even in the rudest of cabins, the women would have them safely stowed away in little boxes or carefully wrapped in pieces of ribbon. They would be proudly brought out for Lewis to see, and the women would proclaim their admiration of the tiny writing.

“But can you read the prayer?” he would ask. “It's so small.”

“Oh, it doesn't matter,” one woman replied. “I can't read, and even if I could, I'd never be able to see anything that size. It's just a comfort knowing it's there, and whenever I get a little blue, I take it out and hold it for a bit. It's a wondrous thing.” She hesitated for a moment. “It makes me feel as though God is looking after me, somehow.”

When Lewis returned home after completing another full round of his circuit, he discovered that Betsy had been taken with her ague again and had spent the majority of her time over the last few days lying on the kitchen bed. She told him she had tried from time to time to get up to attend to her household, but he could tell by the sorry state of the kitchen that she had not been able to do much. Lewis took the boys to task for neglecting their chores, and while the two younger ones, Moses and Luke, had the decency to look contrite, the oldest, Will, looked astonished.

“I'm out working and I bring most of the money home,” he said. “Why should I have to do all this, as well?”

Lewis privately felt that Will had a point. At sixteen he had finished his schooling and found employment with a local carpenter. At the end of each week he handed the bulk of his wages straight to his mother. The younger boys picked up odd jobs here and there after school and helped with the harvest in the fall, but Lewis insisted that they continue to attend classes regularly, which they both grumbled about.

“We're the biggest boys there,” they said. “Nobody else goes to school this long.”

They were right — few Upper Canadian children attended the local schools much past the age of twelve or so. They learned how to read a little and how to figure simple sums, had a few basic facts pounded into their heads, and then were sent off into the world to earn their living. Only the children of the wealthy had access to the higher halls of learning.

Lewis found this general level of ignorance unacceptable, and was determined that his children would rise above it. But this meant that between work and school they had little enough time for chores, and it wasn't surprising that they often neglected them when their mother wasn't well enough to issue not-so-gentle reminders.

He set Moses and Luke to work in the backyard splitting wood, but when he returned to the kitchen he discovered that Martha had found the ashcan and was happily spreading its contents across the floor. He grabbed the child and a damp cloth and was attempting to remove the worst of the sooty mess when there was a knock at the door. It was a wonder he heard the rapping at all as Martha was vigorously protesting the application of the wet rag against her face. However, her screeching subsided as soon as he stopped wiping, and he tucked her under his arm while he answered the door.

Lewis knew something was wrong as soon as he saw that it was Griffith Varney. He seldom saw Varney outside of Demorestville. It was such a bustling town that its inhabitants could find nearly everything they needed along the Broadway, and most of its families were inter-related, so that not even social calls lured them away. The only time they really had to travel was when they had some judicial issue to settle. Hallowell Bridge, now called Picton, had been incorporated and designated the district seat where the courts met. It was unlikely that Varney had made the journey for anything other than a serious matter.

“Mr. Varney, it's a pleasure to see you, but what brings you here?”

His suspicion was confirmed. “I hoped I'd find you home. There's been trouble in the village again.” He nodded at Betsy, who was making half-hearted attempts to tidy her hair in honour of the unexpected company.

“What sort of trouble?”

“Over the church again. As you know, I held the class meeting on Tuesday. There was no sign of anything amiss when we went in, but while we were in prayer, the room suddenly started filling up with smoke.”

Lewis sighed. He knew what was coming.

“Them vicious Wesleyans climbed up onto the roof and stopped up the chimney!”

It was the sort of prank that was becoming all too common when the different denominations attempted to share premises. Lewis had heard of locks being changed in the middle of the night, then changed back again the next; of one rival group linking arms and surrounding a church, so that another group couldn't get in. It was all just too petty for words.

Varney's face was serious, though. “I know what you're going to say, Mr. Lewis — that it was nothing but a small crowd of trouble-makers, and we should ignore it, but this time it got out of hand. Before I knew it, some of our men had rushed outside and removed the ladder so the vandals couldn't get down. They jumped off the roof, and one man broke his leg. After that, it was bedlam, the men all lit into one another, and as well as the broken leg there are quite a number of broken heads.”

Lewis deposited Martha on the floor and sat down. This was serious — people had been injured and someone would be called to account for it.

“That's not the worst, though,” Varney went on. “While all this fracas was going on in the dooryard, nobody was paying any mind to the chimney. It was still stopped up, and the smouldering made it catch fire. Before anyone's attention could be got, it had burned a big hole in the back part of the roof. That church won't be used by anyone for a while.”