On the Head of a Pin. Janet Kellough
claim to know anything at all. I merely offered the opinion that Latin or Greek would be more entertaining. And it would have been, too, I expect.”
“That’s a mighty fine line you’re walking there, Thaddeus. The way you’re twisting words around, you’re beginning to sound like an Anglican.”
“Oh.” He knew she was right, and that he had deliberately uttered a misleading statement. “Yes, dear, perhaps you’re right.”
“You know I am. Sometimes you’re too clever for your own good.”
“Wait a moment, Betsy. I’ve just thought of some Greek words. Alpha, for one — and Omega.” He kicked his horse into a fast trot that bounced them up and down, making it harder for her to answer. But just as he was looking back to laugh at her, he caught a glimpse of a female form slipping around the side of a barn that stood at the edge of the road. Her cap had fallen down her back, revealing a mass of chestnut hair.
“That’s odd,” he said, as he slowed the horse.
“What’s odd?”
“I think that was the sister-in-law of the small woman you sat with at the service.”
“The pregnant woman who helped with Martha, you mean? Minta?”
Lewis looked at his wife, astounded. “Now how do you know she’s pregnant?”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Thaddeus. After all the children I’ve had, do you think I can’t tell? She’s expecting all right, and it’s making her sickly.”
He shrugged. “Oh, well. None of it matters, I guess, except that Minta gave me to understand that her sister-in-law was ill at home.”
He craned his head around, but he couldn’t see whether there was anyone else there or not.
V
The following week there was a camp meeting called at Gatrey’s farm in Adolphustown, just across the Bay of Quinte, with William Case as the featured speaker. Lewis had not been invited to preach. He was not a member of church union, and therefore could not officially take part in the events of the day. Besides, a great deal of the allure of this sort of meeting was that people got to hear someone different. As a rule, these camp meetings made Lewis a little uneasy anyway. He had never been sure whether they actually accomplished anything or not. It was all too easy for people to get caught up in the frenzy of the moment and profess to something they didn’t genuinely feel. Sometimes, he suspected, the young men came forward and fell on their knees simply to impress the young women present.
Betsy laughed, as she always did, when Lewis grumpily presented this last part of his argument. “It’s hard enough to bring people to the Lord without questioning their motives,” she said. “Just rejoice that they’re sincere at the moment and work hard to make it stick.”
The meeting was to be held in one of Gatrey’s back fields. There was no building large enough to accommodate the number of people who were expected, and even if there were, they would probably not be allowed to use it. Camp meetings were a specialty of the Episcopal Methodists, and sat uneasily with the more sedate British Church. They instead preferred the protracted meeting, held inside over a number of days. It took less trouble to stage, and offered less opportunity for trouble-makers to disrupt the proceedings. It also helped establish their ownership of the buildings being used. The Wesleyans may have frowned at the Episcopals’ exuberant approach to saving souls, but camp meetings were popular and resulted in many conversions, so they had decided that this one would be allowed to proceed.
It was a scene familiar to Lewis: a platform with a roof set up over it at one end of the field under the shade of hickory trees that had been left along the fence line; the penitent’s bench in front; the entire area enclosed by a stout fence with a gate at the far end. The rest of the pasture was littered with slabs of wood that would serve as benches. Some of the older attendees brought chairs, but not many. It was, after all, an enterprise of the soul. Comforts of the body were something that was not supposed to be considered. Farther back in the field the tents were going up. The meeting could well last several days, and families were taking the opportunity to stake their claims on patches of pasture that would accommodate their housekeeping needs.
The Varneys were there, setting up their campfire, and Lewis nodded to them as he passed. Beside the Varneys were two fine-looking young men — the Caddick brothers he presumed — who looked to have brought samples of their wares and were doing a brisk business selling miniatures and small landscape scenes. The most popular and least expensive items seemed to be the little dressmaking pins with the Lord’s Prayer painted on the head.
The taller of the two, Benjamin, had a small magnifying glass, which he handed to Lewis so that he could inspect the handiwork. “I have to carry one with me,” he confided, laughing. “Otherwise people are suspicious that there’s not really anything there.”
Lewis held the glass over the pin and could just make out the minute script. I’m getting old, he thought. Even magnified I can barely see it.
“Very nice,” he said, and handed it back to the boy. He didn’t know what else to say about a prayer he couldn’t even see.
“Wouldn’t you like to buy one? Maybe for the Missus?” Benjamin asked.
“That’s all right,” he said. “We both already know the prayer by heart.”
“A miniature portrait then, perhaps?” said the other brother, whose name Lewis later remembered was Willet. “I can do one in a few minutes. We even have lockets to put them in.”
“No, thank you.” He was a little rankled that the sales were going on so blatantly at what was supposed to be a religious meeting, but then many other people were making good coin selling pocket-size bibles, and there were any number who had shown up with food and water for sale, among them the peddler, Isaac Simms. Some enterprising women had set up huge vats and were preparing stews and soups for sale to those who were too busy praying, or too idle to feed their own families.
Just then, Minta Jessup and her sister-in-law Rachel strolled up to admire the lockets, a group of young men following along behind them — admiring Rachel, Lewis figured. He tipped his hat to them in greeting.
“It’s the preacher from Demorestville! Good day to you, sir. I thought we might meet again.”
“I’m pleased it’s under such pleasant circumstances.”
Minta smiled too, but he thought she looked pale and even more tired than when he had last seen her. “Are you preaching today, Mr. Lewis?”
“No, not today. It’s Mr. Case’s meeting today.”
“Now I’m disappointed,” Rachel said. “Minta told me how much she enjoyed your sermon, both the one in the church and the one in the yard. I was looking forward to hearing you.” He could see the twinkle in her grey eyes. “If you expect to convert me to a Methodist, you’re going to have to let me hear you preach, you know. Otherwise, I may go off with the Presbyterians, or even the Anglicans.”
“Now you’ve given me a real challenge. I must make a note to myself that I need to preach to Rachel Jessup, otherwise she may wander into false creeds.”
They had been walking as they talked, but now Minta objected. “I need to sit for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
Rachel was immediately solicitous. “Of course, I’m sorry. Here’s a vacant piece of log in the shade.” She helped her down, and fussed about her for a moment.
Lewis was about to go on his way and leave the two women, when Minta said, “I’m fine, really. There’s no reason for you to sit around. Go on with Mr. Lewis and see what there is to see.”
Rachel hesitated for a moment. “All right, but I won’t be long, and then I’ll come back and keep you company.”
“Minta’s expecting her first child,” she confided when they were out of earshot. “She’s sick most of the