It was still very early when they left Cobourg, but the sun wasn’t far up in the sky before its effects were felt, and the women removed their shawls and wraps. As Thaddeus trotted alongside the lumbering hay wagon, he reflected that his choice of Cold Springs as the site for the debate had been a wise one. Their route was far west of the route the railway was taking and they were unlikely to experience any delays from the construction. Not that anyone would be working on a Sunday, of course, but any of the roads in the vicinity of the railway were rough and chewed up from the constant heavy traffic. They would still hit a number of bumpy sections on the way to Cold Springs, but the weather had been so hot and dry that the road had compacted into a surface as hard as granite. They should make good time.
They did, and not just because of the reasonable condition of the road. At each steep incline, the Small boys jumped out of the wagon and pushed, relieving Mr. Small’s rather sad old mare of the necessity of hauling the full load. Martha and Mrs. Small cheered them on each time, and Thaddeus had to admit that it certainly sped up the entire process, and probably kept the horse from keeling over.
Between these heroic and rather comical episodes, Thaddeus reflected on the coming debate. He needed to make a good showing in order to keep people’s enthusiasm at a high pitch, but he found that he was not particularly worried by this challenge. In fact, he felt energized by it. He had no need for special preparation. He already knew which verses he would cite to refute whatever the Baptist might say, and his logic skills were well honed after the spiralling and spirited discussions that had taken place at Dr. Christie’s dinner table over the past two years. And after the dry struggle on Yonge Street, he welcomed the opportunity to address a receptive audience. Only once or twice during the ride did he caution himself against the sin of pride. Even though the Lord had blessed him with an excellent memory and a commanding voice, and he was only using it to further His cause, he should try not to be too confident. The Baptist might have some unanticipated argument to throw in his direction, and he would need to be sharp-witted in order to recognize and counter it, lest it trip up his argument.
As they drew closer to Cold Springs, they began to encounter streams of people — some riding, some in carts, some on foot — joining the main road from the byways and side roads they passed. They stared when they saw Thaddeus and whispered to one another.
“You’re famous, Grandpa,” Martha called from her perch in the wagon.
“Go on,” he said. “They know I’m a preacher, but they’re only guessing that I’m one of the speakers today. And I expect they’re not even sure which one.”
He was pleased, though. His efforts to publicize the debate had obviously drawn good numbers. Now the rest would be up to him.
When they reached Cold Springs, Mr. Small had trouble finding a place to leave the wagon. There were carts and buggies everywhere, and a large crowd of people milling about in the yard. The hall was a small building, capable of holding perhaps forty or fifty people, if they all stood and didn’t mind a close proximity with their neighbours. It would be completely inadequate for the numbers of people who had turned up.
James Small climbed down from the wagon and looked around the yard, then pointed speculatively to a huge tree near the fence line of the property. The towering oak cast a welcome shade over a large part of the yard.
“What do you think about setting up over there?” he said. “We’ll never get everyone into the hall.”
“I think there will be a riot if we don’t,” Thaddeus replied. It was a good suggestion. The small building would be uncomfortably hot, even if they were able to cram everyone into it. “I wonder if your father could move his wagon over there? It would make a pretty good speaking platform.”
“I don’t know where else he can put it anyway,” Small replied.
Thaddeus left his assistant to organize the wagon while he moved through the crowd, letting everyone know about the change of plans. He spotted Leland Gordon helping his ancient mother down the rough path, and went over to welcome them. The old woman beamed when she saw Thaddeus.
“Looking forward to today,” she said. “There’s nothing like a good preacher fight.”
“I can only hope it remains a war of words.”
“I’ve seen the fists come out on occasion,” she said. “I seem to recall that it was most entertaining.” She toddled off, cackling a little as she went.
“We’re going to move into the yard,” he said to Gordon. “Under the tree over there. You might want to steer your mother to a good spot.”
“Thanks,” Gordon said. “She’ll never forgive me if I don’t find her a seat in the front row.”
“You’d better get moving then. She’s left you behind.”
Thaddeus joined Small and his brothers, who were chivvying people out of the way so that Mr. Small could drive the hay wagon to the edge of the yard.
“It’s a good thing we all came, then, isn’t it?” Mr. Small called. “My wagon will make you a grand platform.”
Thaddeus waved, and just as he was turning to walk down the path to the hall, he saw the Howell woman walk through the gate, a girl of twelve or so walking sullenly a few steps behind her. Again, it was the blue dress that caught his attention — that, and the fact that, although it was by now quite hot, Mrs. Howell had wrapped a shawl firmly around herself.
“Good day,” he said, walking over to her.
She smiled at him.
She had the most pleasant face, Thaddeus thought. The smile started on her lips but quickly reached her eyes. They sparkled with it, and curved upward to form nearly perfect almonds. It made him feel as though he was the one person in the entire world she had been hoping to meet at that exact moment. He felt a little weak in the dazzle of it.
He found himself utterly speechless for a moment, then managed to recover and tip his hat. “Thank you so much for coming. You may want to make your way over to the tree. We’re moving the service into the yard. There are far too many people for inside.”
She looked around. “I suspect that would be wise. You seem to have drawn quite a crowd. No one wants to miss the debate.” Her voice was deep, and she had a decidedly English accent. Thaddeus found the low timbre extremely pleasing to his ear.
“I can only hope that it reaches a satisfactory conclusion,” he said.
“For which one of you?”
Thaddeus grinned. “Why, for myself, of course!” and he was rewarded when she laughed, a sound that was every bit as charming as her voice. “I’m Thaddeus Lewis, by the way. Representing the sprinklers.”
“Yes, I know. I heard you at the camp meeting. I’m Mrs. George Howell. And this is my daughter, Miss Caroline Howell.”
“How do you do, Miss Howell?” he said.
Thaddeus could see that the girl was at that awkward age when children suddenly grow too quickly. Her wrists stuck out a little too far from her sleeves and her skirt had become too short, falling only a few inches below her knees. She ignored his greeting and slid a half-step behind her mother, so that he could no longer see her face.
Mrs. Howell appeared not to notice her daughter’s rudeness. “My husband is looking for somewhere to leave our cart. He may have had to go quite a long way down the road.”
“We have a few minutes before we’re due to start. I’m sure he’ll be here in time.” Thaddeus hesitated. He wanted to continue this conversation, but could think of no topic that would be natural. Finally he said, “We’re going to set up a pulpit of sorts under the tree. Why don’t you go and find a good place to sit? He’ll find you easily