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 enough.”
“Most kind of you. I’ll do that.” She was about to walk away when a sudden gust of wind caught one end of her shawl and blew it aside to expose her forearm. It was a mass of deep purple bruises, ugly mottled marks a few days old and starting to yellow at the edges. She gasped and quickly pulled the shawl over her arm again, then glanced at Thaddeus to see if he had noticed.
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
