Thaddeus looked at her questioningly.
“I’m a foolish and vain woman,” she said with a laugh. “Our old cow kicked when I was milking her yesterday. I hoped the wrap would cover it enough that no one would see.”
The bruise didn’t look anything like a hoofmark, though, and it was in an odd place to have been reached by the kick of a twitchy cow. Thaddeus was appalled. He had seen odd bruises on women too many times before. It was always a difficult issue to deal with.
Choosing his words carefully, he said, “There are things that can be done about cows that kick. If you need help with it, you have only to ask.”
“Thank you,” she said, reddening a little. “I’m sure it will be fine. Good luck in the debate.”
She moved quickly away, her daughter in tow. Thaddeus watched her as she walked toward the hay wagon, the slight hitch in her gait more noticeable on the rough ground. By this time, the crowd realized that their entertainment had been moved and everyone was jostling to find the best places to stand or sit, bunching toward the front and spilling along the fenceline. Mrs. Howell was quickly lost in the mob of people milling about.
Thaddeus resumed his course for the hall. As a matter of courtesy, he supposed he should consult with the Baptist preacher about the change in arrangements, although he had no intention of doing anything differently should the man object.
There was a crowd of people in the building, as well, jammed together onto the benches and standing up against the walls, fanning themselves furiously against the clammy heat that had built up as a result of so many bodies in such a small space. The Baptist was standing at the far end of the room, where there was a raised section of floor. He drew himself up as he saw Thaddeus coming toward him.
“Good day, sir,” he said, civilly enough. “I’m Phineas Brown, by the way.” He was sweating heavily.
“Good day. We have quite an audience,” Thaddeus replied. “More than will ever fit in here, I’m afraid. I think we should move the whole thing outside.”
He almost expected instant disagreement with this plan, but Brown nodded his head. “Yes, of course,” he said. “I’m pleased so many will hear the truth.”
Thaddeus let the statement slide by. This was not the place to make his arguments.
“I thought we’d set ourselves up under the big tree. We’ve commandeered a wagon to serve as a platform, so everyone can see. My assistant will lead the prayer and a hymn and then you can speak.”
A small frown. This man would like to have spoken last, Thaddeus knew, but after all, it was essentially a Methodist meeting and Brown was present only as an invited speaker. He could scarcely quibble about the order of service.
“If you’re in agreement, then I suggest we wait another five minutes or so before we begin. I’ll see you outside.”
Thaddeus waited by the oak tree until Brown finally joined him, then they climbed up onto the bed of the wagon where James Small was already standing. The crowd hushed and settled as soon as they saw the preachers. Thaddeus spotted Mrs. Howell off to the right of him, near the fence. She was standing with four other women who had managed to group themselves slightly apart from the rest of the assembly, as if there were an invisible line across which no one dared step. There was no sign of her husband.
Thaddeus didn’t know why he was so distracted by Mrs. Howell’s presence. He tried to shake all thoughts of her out of his mind. He needed to focus on the task at hand.
Small cleared his throat and waited for a moment until he was sure all conversation had died down. “Welcome to today’s meeting,” he began, when he had gained everyone’s attention. “It is exceedingly pleasant to see so many of you here today. Mr. Lewis and I decided that it would be appropriate to hold the service here in the yard, as otherwise not all of you could be accommodated.”
There was a murmur of approval at this, and as Thaddeus scanned the front rows he recognized several ministers who had apparently deserted their own services to attend this one. He smiled to himself a little. He stood every chance of luring away their flocks if he was on his game today.
Again, his eye caught the flash of blue to his right. He wrested his attention away, and tried to focus on Small’s opening exhortation and prayer, but as he joined in the hymn that followed, his eyes wandered back to the fence again. He could not afford this. He looked for Martha instead, and found her over at the other side of the wagon, where she was sitting with one of the Small boys and two young men whom he didn’t recognize. He would keep his eyes fixed on her until it was time for him to speak.
After the closing notes of the hymn had echoed across the yard, the crowd settled themselves with a great air of expectation. Brown stood to one side as Small outlined the parameters of the day’s discussion.
“We are afforded a great opportunity today at this gathering,” Small said. “Although this meeting was originally called by the Methodist Episcopal Church of the Province of Canada in order to bring its congregants together in worship, it has been agreed that the Reverend Phineas Brown of the Baptist Church be allowed to address you concerning a matter that weighs heavily on his mind.”
Thaddeus allowed himself a small twitch of amusement. Weighs heavily on his mind. What a clever way Small had put it. There might be hope for the young preacher yet.
“Mr. Brown has been invited today with the permission and full agreement of the Reverend Thaddeus Lewis of the Methodist Episcopals,” Small went on.
There was scattered applause from the crowd.
“The subject of today’s discussion is Baptism. This rite is a central part of both our creeds, but there is some dispute as to the form it should take.”
“Put them in the middle of the yard and let them duke it out.” The voice floated over the yard. Everyone laughed. Although it was a disruption, Thaddeus was glad to see that it was a good-natured crowd. He knew that Brown had marshalled his troops in the same way that Thaddeus had, each hoping to lure away the other’s followers. There was always a danger of fisticuffs at these things if tempers were running high.
“First,” Small said, “we’ll hear from Mr. Brown.”
Brown stepped forward to scattered applause. “The Baptist Church practises the rite of Baptism,” he began. “We do not, however, content ourselves with a half-hearted sprinkling.” He spat out the last word, as the insult it was intended to be. “We believe that only full immersion baptism will admit you to the Kingdom of God. We believe that this is what God intends, and that it says so clearly in the Bible. The Bible, which is the Book of Books, and which I love with all my heart.” He held the book he was carrying aloft for the crowd to see. “When you open this Bible,” he said, “you will note that it says ‘The King James Version.’”
The congregation could note nothing of the sort, Thaddeus knew, since the print was far too small to make out from more than a foot or so away. It didn’t matter, he figured, since a great number of them could barely read anyway.
“Version,” Brown repeated, and then he paused to let the ramifications of the word sink in. “This means that King James gathered together a group of scholars and directed them to translate the texts from the original Latin and Greek. Unfortunately, they did not do it correctly.”
There was a murmur through the crowd.
“There are three reasons for this mistranslation.” The man waved the open Bible in the air. “First of all, King James directed the translation. He gave the outlines of translation to those to whom the work was assigned. He was the king. They would dare not go contrary to his order even if they were disposed to do so. And after all, everyone knows that King James was a sprinkler.”
A