down with fever, as were her two sisters. She had another brother as well, but he had moved to try his luck on the Huron Tract far to the west. He couldn’t be expected to travel so far, not even to bury his sister, nor would he have arrived in time.
The lack of family members was made up for in part by the crowd of young men. Both Caddick brothers were there, and for once they were not attempting to sell pins or portraits. They both looked shaken, Willet in particular. Another young man, the Quaker boy who had been at the church, attended as well, but he stood away from the others, off to the side, emphasizing the fact that he was an outsider, not conversant with the Methodist ritual of death. To Lewis’s surprise, Isaac Simms was also there, but he loitered by his wagon just outside the graveyard gate.
Not so Morgan Spicer, who rushed forward to stand by the Varneys and looked as though he was perfectly willing to complete the service should Lewis falter in any way.
Lewis had thought long about what he would say, and in the end decided that he could find no comfort better than the verse in I Corinthians:
But someone will ask, “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?” Fool! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. And as for what you sow, you do not sow the body that is to be, but a bare seed, perhaps of wheat or of some other grain. But God gives it a body as he has chosen, and to each kind of seed its own body.
So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonour, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body.
“Amen,” Spicer intoned loudly.
For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?
Another loud “Amen” from Spicer. Lewis found the interjections most annoying.
The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labour is not in vain.
“Would anyone like to say a few words?” Lewis asked at the end of the reading. He didn’t expect anyone to say anything — it was a mere formality on his part — so he was astounded when Spicer cleared his throat.
“This is a sad occasion for the Jessup family, but a happy one for Rachel,” Spicer said. “She has gone to the Glory of the Lord and will be waiting for us all when our times come.” He continued:
For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord for ever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.
Seth’s brow darkened and he muttered something that might have been “Fool,” but might equally well have been a heavy sigh.
After the coffin was lowered into the grave, and the symbolic clods of earth thrown down on top, Lewis led them in a hymn. His choice was not one that was particularly appropriate to the occasion, but it had been the one that Rachel had liked so well when she heard it at the camp meeting. It had the added advantage of being one that nearly everyone knew:
“All people that on earth do dwell
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice.”
At the end of the service the young men looked confused and finally just wandered away, leaving Seth alone with his head bowed.
As the Constable had indicated, Dr. Gordon believed there was enough question about Rachel’s death to justify an inquest. A group of citizens was selected by the sheriff to judge the case. It was hardly necessary; word had gone round the village that the coroner was unsure of the cause of death, and in spite of the somewhat strange characteristics of the way she was found, people quickly concluded that it was just another of those unexplained miseries with which God chose to punish them all.
There were not many at the inquest. The case was not particularly sensational and there was just not enough interest in it to attract anyone besides the layabouts and the chronically curious, but Lewis adjusted his round in order to be there.
Dr. Gordon presented the facts clearly enough: that the girl had been alone, that she had been fully clothed and was lying in her bed, the strange marks on her neck. But he didn’t mention the book or the little pin that marked the page.
Lewis was almost certain that it had been Morgan Spicer who had given her the Book of Proverbs, but since it had not been introduced as evidence, there had not been any point in mentioning it. He wasn’t sure himself that it had any bearing on the case. Had Spicer been successful in giving it to her on the day of the camp meeting, or had he gone to her house at some later time? But no, Lewis thought, he had been determined to find her that day, and she had been such a centre of attention he would have had no difficulty in the finding. Besides, what was the harm in giving a girl a present? The other boys had given her presents, too. It was only because it had been found at the time of her death that it seemed in any way relevant.
“And in your opinion, Dr. Gordon,” the justice of the peace asked when the doctor had outlined his findings, “what was the cause of death?”
“Impossible to determine definitively,” the doctor replied. “But I can only conclude that she expired from some sort of fit. There are no other explanations that I can offer.”
Lewis wanted to protest, to stand up and ask about the marks on her neck, to suggest that someone, somehow had had a hand in the death, but he knew if he did so that he would merely be put out of the courtroom. It was what had happened to him at Sarah’s inquest.
The jury ruled “death by natural causes.” It was the easiest thing to do, since there was no bringing her back anyway, no clear indication of any culprit’s hand, no speculation as to who might have wanted her dead or for what reason. Besides, everyone had more important things to worry about.
XI
Lewis’s next scheduled visit to Demorestville again coincided with Isaac Simms’s round and, as usual, the peddler was full of news. For weeks there had been rumours that an American force had crossed the border, or was about to, or had plans to. According to Simms, and he had newspaper accounts to back him up, a small group had in fact mounted a raid down near Niagara somewhere, abetted no doubt by William Lyon Mackenzie, who had somehow got himself off Navy Island and was living in Rochester, New York, just across the lake. The raiders were a motley bunch, consisting of Upper Canadian rebels who had escaped across the border and self-proclaimed American “patriots” who were determined to get rid of the British in British North America.
One of the newspaper articles had quoted Governor Arthur: “There are on the American frontier thousands of these lawless characters,” he thundered, “these atrocious banditti, they are the scum of the population.”
It appeared that the invading band was led by a certain James Morreau. No one was sure who exactly he was. Some said he was an Irishman, others that he was from Pennsylvania. One thing was clear: he had successfully
