V
In the middle of all the proposals and propositions, Lewis had completely lost track of where Simms might be. Everywhere he went, he inquired whether or not anyone had seen the peddler, but no one had.
“I wish he’d come around, all right,” said one woman in the northern part of his circuit. “The bottom of my big black pot has burnt right through, and I like his better than the ones the store has.”
No one had remarked him for a month or more, and Lewis wondered uneasily what he was doing and where he was doing it. He found his answer with, of all people, Morgan Spicer, who continued to ride the settlements, spreading his version of the Word.
He had seen little of Spicer, either. The boy had developed an almost magical ability to dodge the regular itinerants. He knew that sooner or later his ministrations would be called into question, but if he could avoid a confrontation, he could delay the day of reckoning. That was Lewis’s theory anyway, for he never seemed able to catch up with the self-appointed preacher. He had always just been there, or was expected at any moment, but seldom did they occupy the same place and time.
He was just leaving a most satisfactory meeting in Percy’s Mills where there had been many new faces present, and several who had embraced the faith with fervour. He had christened three babies and for once had been paid in cash. He was not an avaricious man — he would never have gone preaching if that was the case — but he reflected that there was something very reassuring about having a few coins to jangle in one’s pocket. It was a beautiful, bright spring day, with the warm sun reflecting off the shiny green of the newly leafed trees that lined the road, and the sense of new life pushing up through the moist, fertile soil was nearly palpable. There was a smell of promise in the breeze and for a time he forgot about his nagging worries and simply let himself enjoy it, lulled by sunshine and the steady clip-clop of his horse’s hooves.
He had just rounded a pronounced bend in the road when he came face to face with another horseman. It was Spicer.
“Mr. Lewis,” Spicer greeted him. He was always cordial when they met, as if Lewis somehow didn’t qualify as an authority and any challenges to Spicer’s right to preach could be safely ignored.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you, Morgan,” Lewis said. “You know you can’t keep doing this.”
Spicer turned red in the face and was about to protest when Lewis went on. “Don’t worry. You know I won’t turn in a complaint. I don’t think that would serve any purpose at all. But you’re not qualified, you’re not appointed, and you shouldn’t be preaching. I’d like to try to help change that.”
The statement took Spicer by surprise. He had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly as he tried to absorb this information.
“What I’m suggesting is that you ride with me,” Lewis said. “I could use an assistant, and along the way I’ll try to teach you how to read and steer you toward what you need to know and understand in order to successfully apply for an appointment of your own.”
If it hadn’t been so sad, he might have laughed at the look on Spicer’s face. It was clear that few offers of help had ever come his way, and he obviously wasn’t sure how to respond to it.
“I know you haven’t had much schooling,” Lewis continued, “and that’s a handicap. But I was a schoolteacher for a time, and I expect you’d be quick enough to learn. What do you say?”
“Why?”
It sounded rude the way it came out, but Lewis understood what he was asking. Why him? Why now? Why bother with it at all?
“Life is a struggle, Morgan. It’s been a struggle for you. It’s a constant struggle for me. We all have to strive to keep to the way and the truth, and all too often we fall by the side of the road in spite of our best intentions. I have done you a disservice by not recognizing the sincerity of your zeal, and for that I apologize. Please, set my conscience to rest by letting me help you.”
“All right,” he said, and Lewis privately made a note to work on Spicer’s eloquence as well as his literacy.
The serenity had quite skittered away from the afternoon and there was a strained silence as they rode along, but Lewis reflected that, at the very least, he had stopped Spicer from spreading his garbled version of the gospel. Whether he could ever get him educated enough to be appointed was anyone’s guess, but Lewis would make good on his offer to try. And in the meantime, at least Spicer would have the benefit of acquiring some experience and Lewis would have an extra hand.
“Where are we going?”
“To Hilton” Lewis replied. I haven’t attended them in some time and I want to see how they’re getting on.”
“Oh, I just came from a class meeting there. They’re doing fine.” He realized, suddenly who he was talking to. “That is … as far as I could tell.”
Lewis let the moment pass. There was no point in extending a hand only to employ it immediately in a sharp slap. “Well, maybe we’ll just drop by anyway. There will be a men’s meeting tonight.”
The silence descended again, and Lewis cast about for some topic of conversation that would set his new assistant at ease. He had never minded his solitary travels, enjoyed them in fact, but if he was going to have a companion he would prefer one that didn’t sit glowering and sullen beside him. He seized on the first neutral topic that crossed his mind.
“So tell me, Morgan, have you been running across many of those little pins that the Caddick brothers make? They seem to be everywhere I go.”
“Yes, they certainly are popular. Isaac Simms was telling me this morning that he’s nearly run out of them, but the Caddicks have refused to make any more.”
“This morning?” Lewis was suddenly at full alert. “Where was this?”
“In Brighton. He said he was just passing through on his way east.”
“Did he happen to mention exactly where he was going?”
“He said he was heading to Prince Edward, as he had business in Picton.”
They had been travelling due south, toward the front, but now Lewis abruptly set his horse on a small path that he knew cut eastward through the woods toward the Carrying Place, where the neck of the peninsula met the mainland — the only place nearby that a man with a cart could cross into Prince Edward.
“Where are you going?” Spicer said as he followed. “I thought we were going to Hilton?”
“I need to find Isaac Simms. I’d lost track of him and it’s very important that I intercept him. I’ll explain when we find him.”
They pushed their horses as fast as they dared on the narrow track, Spicer’s sorry nag scrambling to keep up. Had it been full summer, they would have had difficulty getting through, but the sumac and dogwood had not yet had time to crowd the way and they maintained a steady pace. It was not nearly fast enough for Lewis and the time it took seemed to stretch into hours, his impatience chafing at him as they rode.
At last they came within sight of the small settlement that had grown up around the Carrying Place. An ancient Indian portage route had become a road that crossed the narrow neck
