LITMIR.BIZ

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to this, Mother.” Varney chuckled as he went on:

      “The captain and his gallant crew, Whose names I wot not all, From Schlosser cut the steamboat out, And sent her o’er the Fall. Oh then the Yankees stormed outright, And spoke of reparation. A mighty flame then rose through this Tobacco-chewing nation.”

      “Hee, hee, hee,” Varney wheezed. “Tobacco-chewing nation, that’s a good one, isn’t it now?”

      “Well, that will put paid to all Mackenzie’s nonsense,” Mrs. Varney said. “Fancy the Americans helping such a rogue.”

      Lewis declined to comment on the affair and discounted the Varneys’ statements. Now that the rebellion had failed, everyone claimed to be an ardent supporter of the status quo, and there was nary a person around who would own up to being a Reformer.

      “Britain is sending a new man out to investigate what’s going on. They say he’ll hang everybody,” Simms reported.

      “Serves them right,” Mrs. Varney said.

      Lewis waited patiently during a protracted discussion of just what the new governor might or might not do, and whether or not the Americans really meant to invade Canada again, until it appeared that Simms’s news was exhausted. When it seemed that nothing further could be added to the rumour mill, he gently turned the conversation back to matters of the church.

      The Varneys, their tongues loosened by temporal gossip, happily filled him in regarding the spiritual state of the neighbourhood, detailing who could be counted on to support him and ease him into a new place. Mrs. Varney was quick to regale him with the personal details of everyone they discussed. He was beginning to realize that she was that most reprehensible of creatures, the village gossip, but decided that for the moment the failing could be useful. The people she described seemed to be solid, respectable citizens, and she spoke of an encouraging group of young people who regularly attended meetings.

      He wanted to ask her about the girl with the chestnut hair —to inquire as to who she was, and whether or not she was a Methodist. But then he realized how unseemly his questions would sound. A man of forty asking after a young girl like that might be taken the wrong way.

      “We are fortunate to have two artists in our ranks,” Mrs. Varney informed him. “The Caddick brothers. One of them paints miniatures and will do a portrait for you in a minute. The other is more interested in scenery. Both of them can write the entire Lord’s Prayer on the head of a pin. It’s most amazing.”

      Lewis’s mind had been drifting and he had only been half-listening to the prattle, but with mention of the pins, he started, nearly spilling his tea. He had seen just such a pin once before — nestled in the folds of his dead daughter’s bodice! At the time he had wondered at the novelty of it, but with so much else to contend with, he never expected to discover where it had come from.

      “The Caddicks really are gaining a reputation, thanks in part to Mr. Simms here,” Mrs. Varney continued.

      Simms nodded. “Aye, it’s astounding how well those little pins sell. Occasionally the Caddicks sell one of their paintings in town, but it’s those pins the people in the backcountry like.”

      Lewis was told that the older Caddick brother, Benjamin, peddled these artistic wares along the front, in the settled areas. But in an attempt to broaden the market, the brothers had apparently commissioned Simms to take some of their stock as well. The younger boy, Willett, went out occasionally, but according to Varney he hadn’t the personality of his brother and more often stayed at home to work in their father’s tannery.

      “Old man Caddick is quite put out at all their nonsense,” Mrs. Varney said. “He’d much prefer it if they just stayed at home and helped him with the business. But you know young men. If there’s an excuse to go gallivanting, they’ll seize it and off they’ll go. I must say, they’re quite nice young men and seem quite steady in spite of all the painting. I expect you’ll see them at meetings. They come quite often. You’ll find that around here the young people seem to like the Methodist meetings best.”

      As soon as his wife paused for a breath, Mr. Varney jumped in. “Aye, there are good Methodist families here you can rely on. There are a lot of newcomers in the area, as well. Of course, one can never be sure how they lean, but I would expect a few of them to swing our way. They may still call the place Sodom, but we’re doing our best to change that.”

      At that moment, the shop door opened, and two older women came in, shortly followed by a younger woman with a small boy in tow. Separate class meetings were held for women and men, with the women’s most often held during the day, and the men’s in the evenings, after their day’s labour was done. Simms rose and nodded to Lewis. “Good to see you, sir. I’ll get out of your way now.”

      “Will you be coming to the men’s meeting tonight?” Lewis asked.

      Simms smiled. “Sorry, Preacher. I’m heading north from here.”

      Mrs. Varney disappeared into what Lewis assumed was the kitchen to get extra chairs as more women arrived. They all settled down with expectant looks.

      “We’re so pleased to have a minister from the Methodist Episcopals again,” one of them said. “The Wesleyans never made us feel welcome.”

      The women all seemed quite sincere in their beliefs and joined in the spirit of the gathering enthusiastically. Lewis made an effort to speak to each of them individually, although he was certain that it would take him some time to remember all their names.

      Afterward, he took his supper with the Varneys, and the welcome he received at the afternoon meeting was repeated at the evening one. In spite of the strange beginning to his visit, he was well satisfied with his reception in the village of Demorestville, and looked forward to returning.

      The Varneys offered him a bed for the night, but he declined. His plan had him scheduled for another meeting in the morning and he was anxious to meet his contact on the Big Island, which lay across a marshy stretch to the north. Besides, he found Mrs. Varney’s gossipy tongue quite wearisome.

      As he rode out of the village, he noticed that some wag had installed a sign at the bottom of the hill pointing to a lane that led along the millpond. Gommorah Road the sign said. He made a mental note to check whether or not they had spelled it correctly.

       II

      It took Lewis a week to cover the northern part of his circuit, and when he returned home, Betsy was low again. He had hoped that the move might help her — a different place, a milder climate. But she had found the disruption of moving their household effects exhausting. She had kept going as long as she could, with all the washing of crockery and packing and unpacking of goods to do, but when he returned, she was once again lying on the kitchen bed, the makings of an evening meal only half-prepared on the table. The stove was nearly out and the child crying. He got the fire going and set the kettle on, then settled young Martha down with a crust of bread.

      “I brought some chamomile,” he said. “Can I make you some tea?” Chamomile was one of the few things that gave Betsy any relief. That and the laudanum that was far too expensive to use unless the need was dire.

      “Fever,” was what the doctor said, and it was true enough that fever had felled her. But Lewis knew that far more was weighing on his wife. Sarah’s death had dragged them both down. You would have thought that they would be used to losing children by now — they had lost so many.

      But the others had been so young when fever, or accident, or just plain difficulty in living had taken them away — Sarah had survived where all his other daughters had perished. She had been a young woman with a daughter of her own. God could choose to take you at any time, he knew that full well, but it was the manner of Sarah’s death that had so disrupted them — lying there on her bed with those strange marks on her neck, the swell of another babe rounding the cloth that covered her.

      Sarah had been a sweet seventeen-year-old with a laughing, teasing manner that made the most sombre of people brighten. She had always made friends easily — something that was

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