Читать книгу Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Janet Kellough - Страница 10

The Wesleyans had been about their wicked work again, or so Lewis was informed the next time he rode into Demorestville. This was according to the Varneys, who were quite upset by it.

“They’re telling everyone that Methodist Episcopals are American spies,” Mrs. Varney told him. “They’re saying that joining the Methodist Episcopal Church is an act of disloyalty and will be viewed as treason by the government.”

“It nearly always has been viewed as the next thing to treason by the government,” Lewis returned mildly. “They’d have us all Anglicans, you know that. The Wesleyans would have us all Wesleyans. The only ones who seem able to leave us alone are the Quakers. Just ignore the talk. It will settle down as soon as somebody catches Bill Johnston.”

The notorious pirate had been marauding up and down the St. Lawrence River again, and in that opportunistic way that all rogues have, seemed to have thrown his lot in with the bands of American Patriots who were determined to invade Canada and relieve its inhabitants of the yoke of British tyranny, whether they wanted relief or not. No one who lived along the shore of the St. Lawrence River felt entirely safe, but Johnston had a particular vindictiveness for anything British, and had masterminded what appeared to be retaliation for their sending The Caroline plummeting over Niagara Falls.

The British ship Sir Robert Peel had been peacefully moored at Well’s Island when twenty-five of Johnston’s men, dressed as Indians, boarded it in the middle of the night. Armed to the teeth, they had forced the passengers into a small cabin on the shore, then sailed the ship off to loot it at their leisure.

Newspaper reports varied in the amount of booty Johnston took from the Peel. The rumour mill added and subtracted and embellished, but one thing was clear: the pirate had made off with the payroll intended for British troops in Canada, as well as a large quantity of the passengers’ valuables found aboard.

“They say he took a hundred thousand pounds,” Mrs. Varney reported anxiously.

“Nay, there’s never that much money in the whole world,” Varney said. “A hundred thousand American dollars, maybe.”

“We’re all going to be murdered in our beds.” She sighed.

“He’s a thief and a brigand, but I’ve never heard him described as a murderer,” Lewis pointed out.

Mrs. Varney looked at him in wonderment. “Now, there’s a Christian attitude for you,” she said. “My goodness, you have charity even for a pirate.”

“It’s not charity — it’s fact,” Lewis said. “I just don’t like all these wild rumours. The facts are the facts.”

In any event, it appeared that the pirates had set the Peel on fire and left, and according to the newspapers, Johnston had taken to wearing the ship’s flag as a sash. True to form, he had the temerity to confirm these reports with a proclamation that was reprinted widely. In it he claimed to be a commander-in-chief in something called “the patriot service of Upper Canada” and took full responsibility for the attack on the Sir Robert Peel.

His words both reassured Americans and threw down the gauntlet at Britain’s feet:

My headquarters were an island in the St. Lawrence River without the jurisdiction of the United States, at a place named by me Fort Wallace. I am well acquainted with the boundary line, and know which of the islands do and which do not belong to the United States, and in the selected I wished to be positive and not locate within the jurisdiction of the United States, and had reference to the decision of the commissioners under the sixth article of the treaty of Ghent, done at Utica in the state of New York, 13th of June, 1822, I know the number of islands and by that decision, it was British territory.

I yet hold possession of that station, and we also occupy a station some 20 or more miles from the boundary of the United States, in what was His Majesty’s dominions until occupied by us. I act under orders. The object of my movements is the independence of the Canadas. I am not at war with the commerce or property of the citizens of the United States.

No one was quite sure whose orders, exactly, he was acting on. The nations on both sides of the border offered huge rewards for his capture, but Lewis wasn’t convinced that anyone would ever claim them: those who knew where the pirate was hiding out were probably in cahoots with him; those who didn’t were too frightened to offer any information at all. Besides, he figured it would only be a matter of time before both governments started squabbling over which had the jurisdiction to indict him, whether they actually had him in custody or not.

In spite of Varney’s reports that the Wesleyans were slandering him, to Lewis’s relief there had been no repeat of the churchyard incident in Demorestville. He did note, however, that there seemed to be fewer people at the service. Whether this was because he had been neglecting his duties or because they feared retaliation from the Wesleyans, he didn’t know. He stayed to take both the men’s and the women’s class meetings after the service. It was time he spent some of his energies on consolidating his congregation.

Rachel was with Minta at the women’s class meeting. Minta’s condition was evident now, even to Lewis, but she looked a little less pale than she had. Rachel sat circumspectly enough and appeared to be paying rapt attention to his words, but her presence drew a crowd of young men who loitered around the front of the church and kept peering in the windows to see if the meeting was over. As soon as the last hymn was sung, and the women rose to leave, these young men crowded in, nearly knocking Minta over in the process, every one of them offering to walk the ladies home. Rachel smiled back at them, but appeared to favour no particular one.

Willet Caddick had painted her a little picture of wildflowers in a field and his brother Benjamin frowned as he handed it to her. He had nothing but his pins with the prayer on them. Morgan Spicer was there as well, but had brought no offering, nor had a sad-eyed boy who wore the plain Quaker dress.

Lewis passed a few words with the rest of the women, but as he was about to gather up Betsy and little Martha, who had for once behaved herself, Rachel broke away from the crowd around her and approached Lewis.

“A moment, sir?”

“Of course.”

The young men scowled at him for waylaying their prize, but they at least had the decency to realize that their presence was not welcome at a private conversation and made their way out the door. Minta and Betsy each took a hand and swung Martha as they took her outside. Only Morgan Spicer stayed behind, but even he wandered over to a window and stood with his hands in his pockets.

“I know you’re expecting me to join your congregation,” Rachel said in a low voice. “I must admit that I’m very attracted by the lovely singing …” Lewis nodded. He never discouraged honesty in a prospective convert and if it was the music that had drawn her, so be it. The rest would follow. “I know I must settle soon, but I haven’t quite decided where to do it yet.”

Lewis was suddenly not at all sure that she was talking about a church. She might well be referring to the crowd of young men, any of whom would be happy to wed her, he was sure.

“I just feel that I need to be absolutely certain in my mind. Do you think the Lord will be upset if I take a little while to decide?”

“Not at all,” Lewis said. “I think He welcomes a reasoned belief. Just remember, though, that there is many a slip between cup and lip. Don’t delay too long, Rachel, for we never know what comes on the morrow.”

Lewis felt for all the world as if he was speaking to his daughter again. They had had this same conversation many a time. Sarah had heard his words near the end and he was sure that she had felt the presence of the Lord. Just in time as it turned out.

“I’ll bear your words in mind,” Rachel said. “I believe I’ll have an answer for you in a month or so.” Her cheeks dimpled in a smile. “I may even have a request for your services then,” she said, confirming his suspicions that she was close to deciding on her marital state as well as a choice of church. “In the meantime, Minta is waiting for me.”

Her brother Seth was waiting outside with Minta, and again he glared at Lewis.

“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 conversion 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.