with late summer produce — potatoes, carrots, pears, a few early apples, and in several of the stalls, baskets of blueberries.
“Can you make a pie?” Thaddeus asked.
Martha looked at him with mock scorn. “Of course I can make a pie. Mine is almost as good as Sophie’s.”
“A blueberry pie would go a long way toward making up for the lack of chicken.”
“Then blueberry pie was just put on the menu.”
Together they sifted through the baskets until they had a pound of the most succulent-looking berries.
Thaddeus fished in his pocket and handed over a note in payment.
The farmer looked at it closely before he took it. “Sorry to be so suspicious,” he said, “but there’s been some odd money float through in the last little while. You can’t be too careful.”
“So I’ve discovered,” Thaddeus said.
“That’s what you need to do,” Martha pointed out. “Have a look at it first.”
The farmer tucked the note in his pocket and made change with coins. “No offence, sir.”
“None taken. I quite understand.”
They moved from stall to stall. Martha added potatoes, beans, and half a dozen plums to their basket. She was looking over some beets when raised voices at the next stall caught her attention.
“I won’t accept this,” a man with a long grey beard said to the woman who was tending the stall. “This is bad money. I should know, I work at a bank.”
The woman was red-faced. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know there was anything wrong with it.”
“A likely story,” the man huffed, and when the woman offered him coins instead, he grabbed them and stuffed them in his pocket. “Should call a constable,” he muttered as he marched away.
Thaddeus walked over to the stall. “We ended up with some forged notes as well,” he said. “The bank says there’s a lot of it around.”
“Just what we need when nobody knows what’s happening with our money anyway,” the woman said, and then she looked at Thaddeus a little more closely. “You’re the preacher! From the camp meeting. The one who’s going head to head with the Baptist tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Thaddeus said. “Will we see you there?”
Martha could see that he was pleased.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the woman said. “I’m leaving the market early today just to make sure I get home in plenty of time to get gussied up before we head for Cold Springs. I’m looking forward to it. The whole neighbourhood’s going, you know — even the ones who aren’t Methodist or Baptist.”
“You never know,” Thaddeus said, “maybe they will be by the time the meeting is over.”
This was met with a deep chuckle. “Well, now I know who I’m putting my money on.”
The exchange seemed to put Thaddeus in a good mood for the rest of the day, helped not a little, Martha hoped, by the success of her blueberry pie.
III
The next day dawned warm and fair, a promising forecast for a full attendance at the Great Baptism Debate, as Thaddeus had come to think of it. The entire Small family, not unexpectedly, was eager to attend the meeting, even though it was a six-mile drive to the hall at Cold Springs.
“I know James is only assisting,” Mr. Small said, “but we’d all like to hear him. I’ll hitch up the wagon so we can take all of us. Do you think young Martha would like to come along as well?”
Thaddeus appreciated the offer. He knew Martha would love to “come along,” as Mr. Small put it, but better yet, the Smalls could also bring her home again, leaving Thaddeus free to travel west after the meeting.
When Mr. Small pulled the wagon up in front of the manse, Thaddeus was surprised to see that James had tethered his horse to the back of the wagon, and when he had handed Martha in, he clambered up to claim a place beside her on one of the hay bales Mr. Small had laid out for seats. Thaddeus could see that Martha was less than pleased with this arrangement. She kept inching away from Small, and initiating conversation with one or another of his brothers.
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
