Wishful Seeing. Janet Kellough
staid demeanour of Cobourg with their lively pursuits. Martha found the bustle very different from the sleepy village atmosphere she was used to.
“How many people live in Cobourg?” she asked as they walked along.
“Oh, I should think maybe five thousand,” Thaddeus said. “But I’m not sure how many of them are students.”
Even so early in the morning, they encountered a few groups of boys who were running errands in town. As they walked by Axtell’s Bookstore, three young men spilled out in front of them onto the plank sidewalk. Thaddeus and Martha had to step aside into the street to avoid them. Rather than apologize, they stopped in the middle of the walk and looked Martha up and down in a very insolent way as she walked by. She responded with a stony indifference. Thaddeus scowled at them.
“You could sour milk with a look like that,” Martha remarked.
“They were very rude. They were staring at you.”
“Let them stare, I don’t care.” And then she squeezed his arm. “Don’t worry. If they get too bold, I’ll let them have it.”
They reached a rather imposing building with a small sign that announced the premises of the Northumberland and Durham Savings Bank.
“I won’t be long here,” Thaddeus said. “I just need to send off the collection money.”
She waited just inside the door, a little intimidated by the solemnity of the interior, although she supposed that a bank needed to impart a dignified atmosphere in order to reassure its clients. It was very quiet. She could hear the low murmur of voices and the scratching of pens, an occasional footstep and the ticking of a clock, but none of the sounds from the street outside seemed to penetrate into this sanctum of finance. The quiet was suddenly disturbed by her grandfather’s slightly raised voice.
“What do you mean they’re no good?”
She took a few steps forward. Even so, she couldn’t quite make out the clerk’s reply.
“I’m not sure what good that will do,” Thaddeus said. “This money came from my congregation. I can hardly go through the collection box and reject what they’ve offered. It would be as good as calling them thieves.”
Another almost inaudible response from the bank clerk, and then Thaddeus strode toward her, obviously exasperated.
Martha waited until they were outside before she asked what the problem was.
“Three of the banknotes were counterfeit,” he said. “The bank wouldn’t honour them. The clerk said there’s quite a lot of bad money around. Somebody’s been shoving. The constables know all about it, apparently, but there isn’t much anyone can do unless they catch someone in the act.”
“It was the notes? The Canadian notes that were no good?” Martha asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s just that sometimes we’d get bad money at the hotel, but usually it would be American coins. You really had to watch the nickels.”
“Oh well, I’m not out too much. They weren’t big notes, just changemakers. The clerk showed me what was wrong with them, but honestly, I can’t stand and peer at the money people give. And what am I supposed to do if it’s no good? Hand it back and demand better?”
“No, I suppose not,” Martha said.
“Still, maybe we’d better forget about chicken for this week anyway. I don’t want to leave you short.”
“We can use the money you gave me, if you like. I don’t need anything right now.”
Thaddeus shook his head. “No. That’s yours. To get what you want. That’s the rule. It always was.” He smiled. “But thank you.”
They went to the farmer’s market, where the stalls were heaped with late summer produce — potatoes, carrots, pears, a few early apples, and in several of the stalls, baskets of blueberries.
“Can you make a pie?” Thaddeus asked.
Martha looked at him with mock scorn. “Of course I can make a pie. Mine is almost as good as Sophie’s.”
“A blueberry pie would go a long way toward making up for the lack of chicken.”
“Then blueberry pie was just put on the menu.”
Together they sifted through the baskets until they had a pound of the most succulent-looking berries.
Thaddeus fished in his pocket and handed over a note in payment.
The farmer looked at it closely before he took it. “Sorry to be so suspicious,” he said, “but there’s been some odd money float through in the last little while. You can’t be too careful.”
“So I’ve discovered,” Thaddeus said.
“That’s what you need to do,” Martha pointed out. “Have a look at it first.”
The farmer tucked the note in his pocket and made change with coins. “No offence, sir.”
“None taken. I quite understand.”
They moved from stall to stall. Martha added potatoes, beans, and half a dozen plums to their basket. She was looking over some beets when raised voices at the next stall caught her attention.
“I won’t accept this,” a man with a long grey beard said to the woman who was tending the stall. “This is bad money. I should know, I work at a bank.”
The woman was red-faced. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know there was anything wrong with it.”
“A likely story,” the man huffed, and when the woman offered him coins instead, he grabbed them and stuffed them in his pocket. “Should call a constable,” he muttered as he marched away.
Thaddeus walked over to the stall. “We ended up with some forged notes as well,” he said. “The bank says there’s a lot of it around.”
“Just what we need when nobody knows what’s happening with our money anyway,” the woman said, and then she looked at Thaddeus a little more closely. “You’re the preacher! From the camp meeting. The one who’s going head to head with the Baptist tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Thaddeus said. “Will we see you there?”
Martha could see that he was pleased.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the woman said. “I’m leaving the market early today just to make sure I get home in plenty of time to get gussied up before we head for Cold Springs. I’m looking forward to it. The whole neighbourhood’s going, you know — even the ones who aren’t Methodist or Baptist.”
“You never know,” Thaddeus said, “maybe they will be by the time the meeting is over.”
This was met with a deep chuckle. “Well, now I know who I’m putting my money on.”
The exchange seemed to put Thaddeus in a good mood for the rest of the day, helped not a little, Martha hoped, by the success of her blueberry pie.
III
The next day dawned warm and fair, a promising forecast for a full attendance at the Great Baptism Debate, as Thaddeus had come to think of it. The entire Small family, not unexpectedly, was eager to attend the meeting, even though it was a six-mile drive to the hall at Cold Springs.
“I know James is only assisting,” Mr. Small said, “but we’d all like to hear him. I’ll hitch up the wagon so we can take all of us. Do you think young Martha would like to come along as well?”
Thaddeus appreciated the offer. He knew Martha would love to “come along,” as Mr. Small put it, but better yet, the Smalls could also bring her home again, leaving Thaddeus free to travel west after the meeting.
When