Brighton Circuit had been a good choice for Lewis, both in terms of the number of new converts and the number of weddings, baptisms, and — less appealing — funerals he was called to. Fortunately, the settlements on this round had a high proportion of younger people, so marriages and baptisms formed the bulk of the work that brought him extra money. It sounded callous, even to his own ears. After all, his mission was to preach the Word, not to make a profit. Nevertheless, his £100 debt preyed heavily on his mind and the remuneration he received for presiding at special occasions was allowing him to slowly peck away at his monetary millstone. Even when, as was all too often, there was no cash to give him, he received eggs or cheese or joints of beef for his services. These he would carry to the nearest store where, in exchange, he could chivvy a coin or two from the storekeeper. Good sense dictated that he shouldn’t allow any of these opportunities to slip away. His return to Demorestville would have to wait.
The heavy rains continued into June, causing the creeks and small rivers to swell and flood and rendering the back roads even more boggy and unpleasant than usual. Lewis was finding it difficult to reach the more remote areas of his circuit, and once there, found few to preach to. The families who normally would have congregated in the nearest village for a meeting found it almost impossible to fight their way through the water and mud to get there. He would have been willing to travel from house to house to worship with them — he had done it before — but even he found many trails impassable.
It seemed to him an excellent opportunity to leave his meetings in the hands of the local preachers. He could use the time not only to carry out his investigations, but to check on his family in Bath as well. As long as he stayed on the better-maintained main thoroughfares, it should only take him a day or two.
Although it had only been a few weeks since he had seen her, it appeared to him that Martha had grown several inches and had lost that babyish look. Both she and her grandmother seemed happy and well, and although Betsy was walking with a slight limp — the result of an aggravation of her fever during the damp spring — her colour was good and there was no sign of the pinched look that marred her face when she was in great pain.
When he announced that he was on his way to Demorestville next, Betsy insisted that she and Martha join him. It would be a change of pace, a holiday, and a chance to meet with old friends.
“That’s one of the hardest things about this life,” she said. “You make friends, then you move, and it’s years before you get to see them again. I’m quite interested in seeing Minta Jessup’s baby, and I’ll never get a better chance than this.”
Lewis would have preferred to go alone. Taking his family meant he would have to take them back to Bath when the visit was over whereas if he were on his own, he could transact his business and continue westward, back to his circuit. Besides, he had intended to mull over his suspicions and formulate his approach on the way. On the other hand, Betsy’s insights could well be an asset, if she could manage to articulate them over Martha’s chatter. He would, however, have to borrow a horse. Three of them together on one horse was fine for a short ride, but Martha was too big and his horse too old to carry them many miles. He wondered if Betsy was well enough to ride that far, but he knew of no one from whom he could borrow a carriage or even a cart for more than a few hours.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “The only thing I’ll ask of you is that we stop once in a while. I know you. You’ll ride for hours just to say you made good time.”
He prevailed upon Luke to ask for a horse from the livery.
“He’s not much to look at, but I think he’ll get you there,” Luke said when he trotted out a swayback bay. “Mr. Trager says he’s sorry, but this is all he’s got at the moment. No charge for him, though.”
The horse looked steady enough, placid even, and if they didn’t push too fast it should carry them through.
As a result, good time was the one thing they didn’t make. Lewis’s horse was every bit as old as the bay, but it was used to long hours on the trail. The poor horse they had borrowed had difficulty maintaining even what Lewis thought was a sedate pace, and in spite of its lethargic appearance it was spooked by the presence of Martha, who squirmed in the saddle constantly and pulled at the reins on occasion. The bay disliked picking its way around the huge puddles in the road and sometimes rode straight through, splashing water and mud on Betsy and the little girl. To add to their discomfort, a cold drizzle sneaked down the back of their collars and soaked their cloaks.
They had to wait for the horse ferry at Green Point. It was on the Prince Edward side picking up a farmer with a wagon and took what seemed to Lewis an interminable time to come back across. Betsy, however, appreciated the chance to dismount and stretch her legs, and she and Martha spent the time looking for wildflowers and frogs along the shore and throwing stones into the water. They were both delighted by the ferry, measuring its progress as it churned toward them, and he chuckled at Martha’s delight when she realized that she was going to be given a ride on it. The bay was not nearly so happy, and Lewis had to tug and pull at its reins to get it to board at all.
The horse remained skittish as they rode on. They had just reached the stretch of road that wound along past the marsh to the north of Demorestville when one of the mangy brown dogs that were a feature of most farmyards came racing out to the road to warn them away from the property. As the animal nipped at the bay’s legs, Martha squealed and the horse reared, throwing both Martha and Betsy to the ground. One of the horse’s hooves connected squarely with the dog’s head, and it, too, was thrown into the air, to land in a huddle beside the humans.
Lewis leapt off his horse and ran first to the little girl, but she had fallen into a quite thick clump of grass, and in the way of youngsters, seemed unhurt, although she was caterwauling at the top of her lungs. Betsy had fallen near the same clump, but had landed heavily, and now she moaned as her already sore hip protested against this further insult. The dog, when Lewis checked, was quite dead.
Martha’s cries brought the farmer running. He cursed at the loss of his dog, but softened when he saw the child, and he became quite apologetic when he realized that the woman was injured, and that she was, moreover, a preacher’s wife.
“Dang dog never did have no sense,” he said. “Good for watching the place, but not much else.”
He offered Betsy a bed to rest on, but Lewis didn’t like the looks of the farmer, or the state of his dilapidated house. When he mentioned that their destination was Demorestville, and that they had friends with whom they could stay, the man looked relieved and offered to hitch up his wagon and take them to the village.
Lewis retrieved the wayward horse and tied both mounts to the back of the wagon, then attempted to make Betsy as comfortable as he could for the short drive. Every time the wagon hit a bump in the road, which was often, she involuntarily let out a little groan. To make matters worse, the drizzle turned into a downpour and, even though Lewis tried to shelter her with his cloak, she was soaked.
He hesitated for only a moment when the farmer asked him which house he should go to. He knew that the Varneys would gladly take them in, but that Mrs. Varney’s incessant gossiping would grate on the nerves in a very short period of time. He directed the farmer to take the wagon to the double house behind the smithy.
Minta looked surprised when she answered the knock at the door, but after hearing of their troubles, she quickly offered to take them in. Lewis had to admire her quiet authority as she helped him get Betsy down out of the wagon.
“Can you do something for me?” she asked Martha, who was trying to help but was mostly just getting in the way. “Could you go into the house and look after my little boy? You have to be very, very careful that he doesn’t get too near the stove. I’m trusting you, all right?” With that, Martha ran into the house, bursting with the importance of her task.
Lewis offered the farmer some money in return for his pains, but was relieved when the man declined.
“Oh, no. It was my beast that knocked you over,” he said. “And what with you being a preacher an’ all, I expect you could find some other use for it.”