Several heads turned toward Thaddeus to ascertain whether or not this was true. He shrugged. There was no disputing the fact that he knew no classical languages.
“I, however,” the man said, “thank the Good Lord that I have the knowledge to read the original Greek and Latin for myself, and I can tell you that this Bible, this Protestant Bible, has been translated wrongly.”
A gasp went up. This was heresy.
“I challenge you to meet with me and I will prove to you that immersion is the direct and only mode of baptism established by Our Lord Jesus Christ.”
At this point Thaddeus responded. “That’s a very interesting proposition,” he said. “I would be delighted to meet with you in debate. But I suggest that our meeting should not take place in some corner somewhere, but rather in full view. With witnesses.”
The crowd murmured their approval of this plan.
“I will be at the hall in Cold Springs this coming Sunday, and I would be more than willing to give you a place on my platform; provided, of course,” here Thaddeus fixed the man with a stern stare, “you can give proof to your claims. Do I understand you correctly? You are saying that you will prove that Our Lord intended baptism to be a rite of full immersion?”
The man hesitated a little in the face of this direct challenge. “I will try to prove it,” he said.
Thaddeus grinned. “Oh yes, sir, you can try all you like. I look forward to it. Next Sunday. At the Cold Springs meeting.”
The crowd gave a collective gasp and then erupted in cheers. This was so much more than they had bargained for, a battle of preachers with themselves the referees. The Baptist minister looked a little crestfallen. He had no doubt hoped that a debate would take place on the spot, but Thaddeus had far too much experience to fall into the trap. If he engaged in argument at this point, it would appear that he had lost control of the meeting. Besides, news of a lively debate would spread through the neighbourhood and perhaps draw far more people.
He ended the meeting with a prayer, as planned. Having failed to stir any trouble, the Baptist minister wandered off at the end of it.
The rest of the crowd pushed forward to speak to Thaddeus, to shake his hand, some of them just to reach out and touch him. Knowing how important this personal contact was, he tried to take the time to speak to each one. And when they had all drunk their fill of him, he looked for Mrs. Gordon and the woman in the flowered dress, but they were nowhere to be seen.
II
Martha Renwell was delighted when her grandfather wrote and asked if she could come to Cobourg to keep house for him. He’d taken an appointment on the Hope Circuit, he said, but had an assistant and so would not be absent for any long stretches of time. The letter went on:
As it happens, my assistant’s family lives next door, and will be on hand should any emergency arise while I’m away. Mrs. Small has agreed to see to the heavy laundry, and Mr. Small will keep the kitchen supplied with kindling, so even though it’s rather a large house, Martha wouldn’t be obliged to do anything that she doesn’t already do at the hotel. If you could spare her, it would be a great help to me, as I believe I have already amply demonstrated that I’m hopeless at housekeeping.
Her father was dubious about the proposal.
“You’re only fifteen,” he said. “And you’d be on your own while he’s off down the road somewhere. Are you sure you want to do this?”
She was sure. For one thing, she missed her grandfather. She had lived with Thaddeus and Betsy from the time she was a baby. For most of her childhood, Thaddeus had been close by — he had not preached after her grandmother grew so sick — and Martha was used to taking her problems to him, to discussing the things that puzzled her and the subjects that she wanted to know more about. It was only after Betsy died that Thaddeus had returned to his old life of riding circuits for the Methodist Episcopal Church, and even then she sensed that he had gone reluctantly. He had promised her once, when she was very little, that he would never be far away, and when he left for Yonge Street he had assured her that it was a temporary posting. But then he had accepted this new appointment. She had been profoundly disappointed when she heard about his decision, but now it appeared that he hadn’t forgotten her after all.
It wasn’t that she was unhappy in Wellington. She loved her father and adored her stepmother, but now that she was finished with school, she was finding her days long and not a little boring. There was the constant round of cooking and cleaning and changing of linens attendant on the keeping of a hotel, of course, and she tried to make herself as useful as she could. But under her stepmother Sophie’s hand, the Temperance House Hotel was superbly organized. Every day Martha would complete her assigned tasks in short order and then start looking for ways to keep herself busy.
She spent hours walking the shore of Lake Ontario, picking her way over the rough stones and marvelling at the things that washed up on them: driftwood; pieces of ship’s tackle and lengths of rope; broken crockery; occasionally an apple or an orange, rotting and sodden from its time in the water. When the weather was too inclement for her to spend time outside, she would read. Newspapers were stacked up in the parlour for the convenience of the hotel guests, and she would go through these from front to back. Occasionally, one of the guests would leave behind a book. Martha would read it before her father had a chance to mail it back to its owner. Sometimes there was no forwarding address for the person whose book they thought it was, and these relics she kept, to reread when there was nothing else.
She envied the boys she had shared a classroom with. Most of them hadn’t even completed the basic education offered at the village school, but left at eleven or twelve or thirteen, some of them to help their fathers farm, but others because they found employment at the mill or on one of the ships that carried goods and passengers back and forth along the lake. She understood that these occupations were not open to her. They required physical strength and a fortitude that she was told she didn’t have, although she felt herself to be nearly as strong as any of the boys, and just as ready for a challenge.
Some of the girls left early, too, either because they were needed at home or to work as hired help on one of the local farms until they were old enough to get married and have families of their own. It seemed that women were destined to cook and sew and clean, even if they did it as a business and not just on behalf of their own families — Sophie in the kitchen at the hotel; Meribeth Scully, the seamstress at the dry goods store; Mrs. Crawford, who ran a boarding house near the harbour.
Martha wanted something more. She just didn’t know what it might be. But of one thing she was sure: she stood a far better chance of finding it if she went with Thaddeus than if she stayed home. It wouldn’t quite be the same kind of adventure as sailing on a ship or working at a mill — it would be more cooking and cleaning when you got right down to it — but the unexpected seemed to happen to her grandfather wherever he went, and if Martha lived with him she could be a part of whatever thrilling circumstance came his way.
Thaddeus was in a fine mood as he trotted his horse home toward Cobourg, elated not only by the success of the camp meeting and anticipation of the forthcoming debate, but by the unfamiliar wad of extra money in his pocket. As soon as the meeting ended — “one of the most successful in recent memory,” as everyone agreed — he and Small worked their way through their regular schedule of appointments, not only to further introduce Thaddeus to the Methodist meetings, but to let everyone know that the coming Sunday’s service would offer something special. “You would do well to come,” Thaddeus told them with a sly smile. “It should be most entertaining.”
They all seemed to agree. The news of his confrontation with the Baptist minister had travelled ahead of him, and there were numerous requests for extra meetings, as well as a wedding and two funerals for people who, as far as he knew, had not been members of the Methodist Episcopal Church during their lifetimes
. But the families wanted the best for their loved ones, and were willing to pay for it. And pay for it they did, in a motley collection of currency. The Province of Canada was making efforts to standardize its money, but the legislation had yet to be decreed. In the meantime, everyone was anxious to get rid of any currency that might not be accepted after the law passed. An easy way to dispose of it was to throw it into the collection plate. Thaddeus wasn’t particularly worried by the number of American coins and Halifax shillings he had been given. There were plenty of Canadian changemaker banknotes, as well, and, in spite of what the government wanted, he fully expected that foreign currency would continue to circulate the way it always had.
He was in a mood to celebrate, just a little. The collection money went, of course, to the church’s central conference, but any extras — the fees for baptisms and weddings and funerals — was his. Or rather, in the case of the wedding, Martha’s, he supposed. Traditionally, wedding fees had always been handed to the minister’s wife to use as she saw fit. He saw no reason why Martha, as his housekeeper, wouldn’t qualify for the same consideration. He had no need of anything for himself, but there was enough extra money in his pocket that he decided to request a luxury. A chicken dinner. Roast chicken with floury dumplings like Sophie made on special occasions at the hotel. He’d ask Martha about it when she arrived that afternoon.
When Martha stepped from the steamer to the dock, Thaddeus realized that she had grown at least an inch since he’d last seen her, and that she had put her hair up in an arrangement that made her look far older than fifteen.
She was a pretty enough girl, who looked remarkably like her mother had at the same age, but it was the way she carried herself, he realized, that turned young men’s heads and drew old men’s smiles as they walked down the pier toward town. She was so assured. He hoped that he wasn’t about to be faced with a stream of would-be beaus to chase off the doorstep, but as they walked through town arm in arm, he realized that Martha gave none of the gawkers any encouragement. This was a relief, since the problem of male admirers hadn’t occurred to him when he’d asked her to come.
While they waited for her trunk to arrive, he gave her a tour of the house. She immediately made some practical suggestions to streamline her tasks, pointing out, for example, that the kitchen table should be moved over by the window.
“It’s smack dab in the path between the stove and the pantry,” she said. “You have to walk around it all the time. Besides, the sunlight will pour in through that window in the morning. Breakfast will be more cheerful if we’re sitting there.”
She wrinkled her nose at the heavy, dusty curtains in the parlour.
“I’m not sure I can do anything about those,” Thaddeus said. “The manse is furnished by the congregation.”
“Well, at the very least I can take them outside and give them a good airing,” she said, and then moved two stuffed chairs to the other side of the room.
Martha found the manse furnishings old-fashioned and fusty, but she was so delighted to be with her grandfather again that she resolved to make whatever domestic improvements she could and stay mum about any remaining shortcomings. In the meantime, she was determined to earn her keep and look after his every comfort.
“Of course I can make dumplings,” she said when Thaddeus brought it up to her over supper. “Chicken and dumplings it is. And shortcake for dessert, if you like, if I can find something nice to go with it. Is there a good market here?”
“We’ll find out tomorrow. I need to go to the bank, anyway. Then if you want to stock the larder, I can help carry the packages.” He reached into his pocket and counted out a handful of coins, then shoved them across the table to her. “This is yours, by the way.”
“Mine? You mean for housekeeping?” She was taken aback by what a small pile it was. She would have to be very careful indeed to stretch this over a whole week. Maybe a chicken dinner wasn’t possible after all.
“No. I’ll give you the housekeeping money after I go to the bank. This is yours, personally. It’s from a wedding. Wedding money goes to the preacher’s wife, except in this case it goes to the preacher’s granddaughter.”
She was astonished. “Mine? Mine for whatever I want?”
“Yours for whatever you want,” he said.
And suddenly the pile of coins that had seemed so small a moment before became riches beyond belief. Martha had never had any money of her own, other than a few pennies given to her here and there for candy or ribbons. She scarcely knew what she could buy. She would take some time to think about it, she decided. It would be foolish to spend it just for the sake of spending it, when there might be something she truly wanted later. In the meantime, she could revel in the fact that she had it at all.
The next morning, after breakfast, Thaddeus fetched down his coat and gave it a thorough brushing, then carefully wiped the mud from his boots. He looked at Martha a little sheepishly. “I don’t want anyone to wonder what such a pretty girl is doing with such a seedy old coot,” he said.
She laughed. “Oh go on, you’re so handsome, everyone will think you’re my beau, of course.”
The sun shone down brightly as they walked into the heart of the bustling town. Cobourg’s prosperity had grown from the long wharves that formed a safe harbour for the ships and schooners that sailed across and along Lake Ontario, carrying passengers and freight of all descriptions, from the wheat that grew on the upland plains to timber drawn from the back country, as well as the output from the woollen mills and the town’s small manufactories. Tradespeople of all descriptions had found a good living in Cobourg, and an astounding collection of businesses maintained shopfronts on King Street, the main thoroughfare of the town. There were several grocers and provisioners, dry goods stores and tailors, and even a bookseller who offered a large selection of reading materials, both books and periodicals as well as stationery supplies.
But the temperament of Cobourg was really set by Victoria College. Founded by the Wesleyans as an unofficial seminary, the college’s activities spilled over into the town, and its debates, lectures, and celebrations were enthusiastically attended by local residents. The streets were often full of the young men from the college, who enlivened the otherwise 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 o
f 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.”
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