Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Janet Kellough
felt the bile rise in his throat as he glimpsed the face of his son-in-law, the man he was convinced was responsible for his daughter’s death.
He moved toward the figure as fast as he dared in the darkness, but by the time he reached the corner of the mill, the man had disappeared. He searched in vain, his anger growing. He wanted his say … he wanted to tell Renwell that he knew he had killed Sarah, and that he would do everything in his power to bring him to account, but he was denied the opportunity. The man had vanished into the anonymity of the night.
Lewis trudged back to the carpenter’s house, the stars now forgotten.
The next morning, Lewis approached his host and asked after the man, hoping he sounded casual.
“Oh, that fellow?” said the carpenter, making it clear what he thought of laziness. “Came here a few weeks ago as a hired hand for old man Scott. Not much good. Drinks too much.”
IV
It was Saturday night by the time Lewis returned home again, and he was there just long enough to get a dry pair of socks and cut a little firewood, which the boys had neglected to do again. Betsy was feeling better, and insisted she was well enough to pack Martha up and bring her along to his regular preaching in Demorestville.
“If I don’t make an appearance soon, they’ll start thinking you have no wife at all,” she said. “Then you’ll be at the mercy of all the old widows and spinsters, and we can’t have that.”
This mild banter convinced him that she was indeed feeling better, and under normal circumstances he would have welcomed her company, but he worried about what they would find in Demorestville, for Varney had warned him that trouble was brewing.
The service was to take place in the plain chapel that Demorest had built. The building had always been shared by several denominations, but because of the church union engineered by Egerton Ryerson, the Wesleyans maintained that they now represented the only Methodist Church in Canada, and that all properties and arrangements had been transferred to them. A number of Methodist Episcopals, himself included, had repudiated this union and continued in the old ways. They saw no reason why they shouldn’t carry on using the buildings they had always worshipped in, and in some cases built with their own hands.
Lewis understood Ryerson’s reasons for promoting the uneasy alliance. It was a calculated move to counteract the ill will of Bishop Strachan and the Family Compact. The Methodist Episcopals had sprung up as an offshoot of the Methodist Church in the United States. From the earliest days of settlement in Upper Canada, its itinerant ministers had roamed the colony, preaching wherever they could find someone to listen. Eventually there were enough of them to form a separate Canadian Church, but this independence was not fully recognized by the ruling elite. Anglican to a man, and alarmed at the popularity of the Methodists, they used the Church’s origins as an excuse for continuous harassment.
“American” was the charge usually levelled, with the implication that its adherents were somehow treasonous by virtue of their church membership alone. Lewis privately thought that the Methodist habit of speaking out against Anglican privilege was the main source of the problem, and that “too worldly and political” was a label to be worn with pride.
The newly arrived Wesleyan Methodists, on the other hand, operated under a British-based authority, and were therefore more acceptable and probably more controllable as far as the government was concerned. But as a recently introduced denomination in Upper Canada, they had far fewer converts. So, the two churches had joined: the one in the hopes of gaining legitimacy; the other to expand its congregation. For the Episcopals, this came at the cost of adopting Wesleyan strictures and — to Lewis’s mind the chief objection — without consulting the body of Methodist Episcopal members.
Now there were constant squabbles between the two groups, a situation Lewis found tiresome and undignified. Sometimes he wondered if he was being unnecessarily stubborn. Perhaps he should give in and support the union, help put an end to the controversy, but something in him resisted. He had been ordained in the old M.E. Church, and leaving it felt too much like an act of disloyalty.
His stomach was in a knot as they rode up the Broadway toward the church, for he could see two distinct clusters of people flanking the wooden walkway that led to the front door. He stopped at the gate.
“You’re not wanted here, Preacher,” one of the men on the right side of the walkway said, stepping forward and flushing a little as he spoke.
“On the contrary,” Lewis replied. “I see a great want of the Word in this yard today.”
Several of the people sniggered at this, but the man who had spoken turned redder. He did not like being shown up.
“This is a Wesleyan church,” the man said. “We don’t need your ignorance here.”
“But there’s ignorance everywhere,” Lewis said mildly. “Ignorance of the Lord. Why, if there were no ignorance, we wouldn’t need preachers at all, now would we? I must say, I’m looking forward to the day I can retire.”
There were outright guffaws on both sides of the yard now, and Lewis knew that if the confrontation remained a war of words, he would win easily. But he could see the man clenching his fists and, fearing a brawl, was considering the best way to get Betsy and Martha away from the fracas when Mr. Varney stepped forward.
“You’re the ignorant one, Joe Martin. You know perfectly well that Mr. Demorest intended this house of worship to be used by anyone who needed it. The Presbyterians and the Methodists have shared it amicably for years. Why is there a problem now?”
“The problem is with these illiterate saddlebag preachers,” Martin said, pointing at Lewis. “Why, everyone knows they just memorize their sermons and deliver them up whole, they’re too uneducated to make their own.”
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Martin? Would you like to debate me?” Lewis was on sure ground now, steering the man to dialogue rather than devilment.
The man glared at him.
“We could do it in English, if you like,” Lewis continued. “But perhaps it would be more entertaining if we did it in Latin.”
There was a roar now from the crowd, and Lewis judged it was time to allow the man a reasonable retreat.
“But not today,” he said. “Today I would simply like to share the Word of the Lord with these good folks who have come along to hear me, and I will do it plainly. We’ll leave Latin and Greek to educated men like ourselves.”
“That’s right, Joe Martin. We came to hear this man today.”
To Lewis’s surprise, it was the small, pale woman he had seen with the chestnut-haired girl who stepped forward to say this, brushing aside the companions who tried to stop her. He was grateful for her support, but he didn’t need it. He was in control now. He turned to Martin. “That’s right. This is my day. You can speak to them tomorrow, if you like. And you can do it in any language you choose.”
The man muttered something that Lewis didn’t quite catch, but it didn’t matter. He turned on his heel and left, and the congregation filed good-naturedly into the church. Some of those who had stood on the Wesleyan side of the yard went in with them.
He took his time getting Betsy and Martha down from the saddle. Let the buzzing go on a little longer, he thought. Let them repeat the exchange a few times among themselves, so they can report it to their friends and neighbours later. When he did begin to preach, they would listen all the more attentively.
He waited until Betsy had Martha settled on the front bench before he strode down the aisle and took his place in front of the plain wooden pulpit at the end. He didn’t need this, particularly. Some preachers would rest their notes on it, but he never spoke from notes, instead relying on his memory, which, thank the Lord, was excellent.
As he spoke, one part of his mind took a mental inventory of the congregation. There were a number of older couples, probably long-time adherents, and