Wishful Seeing (2 page)

“We have stew,” Mr. Gordon said. “Would you have a bowl?”

Thaddeus accepted gratefully, and leaned against the Gordons' wagon while he ate his late dinner.

“This is a grand turnout for the meeting,” Old Mrs. Gordon said. “Mind you, it's been so hot I expect everyone jumped at the chance to camp out; but still, you must be pleased.”

“I am. It's a grand occasion to meet you all. And, as you say, it's perfect weather for an outdoor meeting.”

“Is it the comet, do you think, that's causing the heat? Some say it's an omen.”

A strange ball of light had first appeared in the evening sky at the beginning of the month, near the southern part of the Great Bear, its long brilliant tail trailing behind it. Its appearance had caused a great deal of speculation and not a little alarm.

“No, from what I've read it's a perfectly natural occurrence,” Thaddeus said. “Soon it will travel on to another part of the heavens and then we won't be able to see it so easily. I doubt it's a harbinger of evil times to come, but no one seems to know if it affects the weather or not. I suppose it's possible.”

“It would be nice if it gave us a mild winter,” the old woman said. “My rheumatism would thank it.”

Just then, the woman in the familiar dress caught Thaddeus's eye again. He watched as the couple walked past the Gordons' camp, in the direction of the entrance gate.

“Who is that?” Thaddeus asked, hoping that the Gordons could supply him with a few more details about the pair. “I heard someone call him ‘the Major.'”

Now that he could see the woman more closely, his impression was confirmed that, although the pattern of her dress was similar to Betsy's, the material was of a far finer quality, and had been fashioned into a skirt with several flounces — more stylish, he supposed, than the plain dress his wife had made.

“The Major and his wife?” Mrs. Gordon said. “I must say, I'm surprised to see them here. Not their sort of thing at all.”

“What is he major of, exactly?” Thaddeus asked. The man's coat was well cut and of a good-quality broadcloth, but he was in ordinary street clothes, not a uniform that would denote a commission in any of the British regiments stationed in Canada.

Gordon laughed. “Oh, I don't know that George Howell is really a major of anything. That's just what everyone calls him. He was in the British Army years ago, or so he says, and came out here to settle in the thirties. He has a farm south of us, but he doesn't seem to farm it, hard work being beneath him and all. I rent a couple of his fields for wheat.”

“Now, now, it takes all kinds. There's no call to be uncharitable,” Old Mrs. Gordon chided.

Thaddeus knew the type. A large number of English settlers had immigrated to the district in the 1820s and '30s. Cobourg itself, and much of the land around Rice Lake, was full of them. The English farmers who had come from small holdings in the old country made a great success of their Canadian farms, but some of the settlers had been half-pay officers unable to live in England on the pensions they were awarded in the wake of the Peninsular War. These former military officers were unsuited to pioneering, and many of them fled to the haven of government appointments and favours. Those left behind on their bush farms seemed to have survived on little more than boxes from home and loans from their neighbours, all the while sniffing at the “Yankeefied manners” that flavoured Upper Canada.

Leland Gordon was unchastened by his mother's words. “I've nothing against Ellen Howell,” he said. “She's pleasant enough, and neighbourly, but the Major seems to think we should all be tugging our forelocks when he passes by. It's a good thing he's seldom home. I can ignore him on the few occasions when he is around.”

“I feel sorry for her,” Mrs. Gordon said. “The English seem to want to stick to themselves, but with the Major gone so much, she seldom sees anybody.”

Thaddeus was curious. “If the Major doesn't farm, what does he do? Something in the government?”

Gordon shrugged. “No, some sort of business, he claims, although I've never heard what exactly. He seems to travel in some pretty high circles — well, high for around here, at any rate. Mayor Perry is a friend, apparently. D'Arcy Boulton. He prefers to associate with people like that — or with other Englishmen who used to be somebody.”

Thaddeus knew the names. D'Arcy Boulton was a lawyer who had settled in Cobourg and built a large house, a mansion, really, that was called “The Lawn.” You couldn't spend much time in the area without hearing about D'Arcy Boulton.
I wonder what the Howells are doing here?
he thought.

A British officer who hobnobbed with the mayor of Cobourg and the Boultons was most likely to be an Anglican, and Thaddeus knew there were not many of those present. Almost every other denomination had been drawn to the campground, whether out of a genuine interest or the promise of a fine entertainment, but the movers and shakers of business and government usually disdained Methodist affairs. Especially Methodist Episcopal ones. It didn't matter one way or the other why the Howells had come, he supposed, but he had to admit he was curious.

He had just handed his bowl back to Mrs. Gordon when a commotion erupted at the gate. Three wagons arrived at once and were jockeying to gain entrance to the grounds. One of the horses balked and stood stubbornly at the gate, blocking the way of the other two, who were growing restless at the delay. As Thaddeus hurried toward them, one of them reared and whinnied.

Thaddeus grabbed the halter of the first horse. “Come on, girl, come on,” he said softly, and then slowly led her through the gateposts and into the field.

“Thank you,” said the man who was at the reins. “She's an ornery beast. I couldn't get her to budge.”

“Sometimes they just need a little coaxing. Where are you from?”

“Bailieboro. We heard about the meeting and decided to come along.” The man's brow furrowed and he looked a little worried. “We're not Methodists, though, we're Presbyterians. I hope you don't mind that we're here. Everyone seemed very excited about the meeting and we don't get much edification where we are.”

Thaddeus beamed at the man. “You don't have to be a member of our church to come to any of our meetings. We're very happy to share the Word with anyone who cares to hear.” He was delighted. Bailieboro was a long way away, but news of the meeting had obviously reached beyond the Hope Circuit. Bishop Smith was right. There was a lot of support in this district.

People continued to pour into the farmer's field for the rest of the day. Thaddeus was particularly pleased to hear that a number of the Wesleyan Methodists from nearby Alderville had chosen to attend, not only many of the Indians who attended the school there, but their teachers as well. Besides the Wesleyans, there were apparently contingents of Baptists and Lutherans, along with the usual groups of backsliders and nothingarians who had come along merely for the outing.

Well, Thaddeus thought, now that they're here, I'll give them a preaching they won't forget.

Over the course of the second day, droves of people came up to the platform and fell to their knees. After a hurried consultation amongst all of the speakers, it was decided that the circumstances called for extra prayer meetings. As a senior preacher, and one of the most popular speakers, Thaddeus was asked to lead these.

He chose a corner of the field well away from the distractions of the main platform. As news of the informal meeting spread through the campground, he was gratified to see a number of people streaming toward him. One young man, who had spread a blanket out and sat on the ground directly in front of Thaddeus, spoke up: “Could you talk to us about Baptism, sir?”

Those sitting around him nodded in agreement. Many of the camp meeting converts were apparently anxious on this account, having never encountered an opportunity to formalize their membership in any church. Thaddeus agreed, but delayed the start of the meeting until it appeared that everyone who was interested had found a place to sit where they could easily hear him. To his surprise, the woman with the flowered dress slipped to a place beside the Gordons. What was her name? Howell. Ellen Howell, that was it. There was no sign of her silk-hatted husband.

Thaddeus stood up a little straighter, and quietly cleared his throat once or twice while he waited for the crowd to settle. He was showing off a little, he knew he was, but he wasn't entirely sure why he was so anxious to make a good impression.

Just as he was about to begin speaking, he became aware of a stir at the back of the crowd. A late arrival, a small man with grizzled hair and a Bible under his arm, jostled others as he stepped closer to the front.

There were a few mutters of complaint, but Thaddeus ignored them, instead inviting everyone to join him in singing “Come, Let Us to the Lord Our God,” feeding the lines to those who didn't know the hymn and counting on the Methodists to carry the tune.

As the last notes died away, he began to speak.

“The Gospel of Matthew tells us,
Jesus came and spake unto them, saying ‘All power is given to me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost'
.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Thaddeus could see the man with the Bible attempting to gain the front row, to the annoyance of the people he was pushing out of the way. This sometimes happened when someone was seized by the Holy Spirit and was moved to come forward and confess for all to hear. But generally not so early in the meeting, and this man didn't have the usual rapturous appearance of the suddenly saved. He just looked determined to get closer.

Thaddeus ignored him and continued. “And the Gospel of John confirms the direction:
Jesus said ‘Verily, verily I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the Kingdom of God. Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the Kingdom of God.'
”

“Born again of water!” The man's voice floated over the crowd, and Thaddeus suddenly knew who he was and what he was trying to do. He was a disrupter — someone who had come along to do nothing more than disrupt the Methodist meeting with some other creed's point of view. And since he had been speaking specifically about the rite of baptism, Thaddeus knew that this man must come from one of the denominations that supported full immersion.

“Shush!”
one woman shouted in the man's direction, but a murmur rippled through the rest of the worshippers. This was entertainment that they had not anticipated, and they were eager to hear how Thaddeus would respond.

He decided to meet the challenge head on, and instead of continuing with the words that Jesus spoke to his apostles, went instead to a verse from Numbers.“
But the man that shall be unclean and shall not purify himself, that soul shall be cut off from among the congregation, because he hath defiled the sanctuary of the Lord. The water of separation hath not been sprinkled upon him. He is unclean.
”

“You must read your Bible more carefully,” the man shouted. “Pay special attention to the passages concerning John the Baptist.”

“I would be happy to,” Thaddeus said, and continued with the verses concerning the baptism of Christ. “The water is symbolic of the new life that God grants us as we join the church community,” he explained to the rapt faces in front of him. “It is representative of your covenant with God.”

The gathered crowd appeared content with this, but the Baptist (for he must surely be a Baptist) took no part in the singing and praying that followed.

Just as the meeting was ending, the man stepped forward a pace or two and spoke again. He hoisted the Bible he was carrying into the air so all could see, and then he laid it next to his heart. “I love this book above all books,” he said, “and I esteem it above all others. It is the Book of Books. My good friend here,” the man went on, “relies upon the King James version of this Book of Books, as I am convinced that he knows nothing of Greek or Latin.”

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.