June 2, 1844, Sunday.

Sunday dawned bright and clear, and was appreciated, loudly, by roosters, cows, and singing birds. Jim fed animals and picked up a cup of coffee each and a few biscuits for himself and his guest, George Hayes. After this breakfast, George went off home, and Jim washed up and changed into a clean shirt.

Outside, he waved to Mrs McNab, who was climbing into a wagon with Billy and his brother and sisters for the drive to the Presbyterian church. The Gallaghers were in their wagon, too: like Mr Dougherty, they were Catholics, and off to the service in a makeshift chapel up the road. Jim turned in the other direction and walked the few steps eastward to Brookville's most permanent-looking structure: the courthouse. The Baptists were holding their service upstairs in the courtroom. With an entertaining service, the Baptists tended to attract most of the unaffiliated in town.

The room was middling full when Jim got there. Nobody was 'dressed up' much, because frankly the Baptists didn't attract the kind of people who had anything to dress up with. Mostly the ladies wore their best cotton frocks, while the men wore their cleanest shirts, although some even wore buckskins. Hats were doffed, and people sat respectfully and respectably on the benches, chatting quietly until the song leader stood up.

'Welcome, brothers and sisters,' he began. Our first song is 'When I Can Read My Title Clear', to the tune of 'Pisgah'. I'll line it out for you.'

'Lining out' a hymn was the custom in places like Brookville, where no one owned a hymnbook of any kind. The song leader would recite the words to the hymns, two lines at a time. Then the congregation would sing them – a capella, of course, in the style of Sacred Harp singing.

When I can read my title clear to mansions in the skies,
I'll bid farewell to every fear, and wipe my weeping eyes.

Jim sang along with the others. He liked this song, with its optimism and longing for a better world.

May I but safely reach my home, my God, my heaven, my all!

One of the Baptist deacons made some announcements: the ladies were having a quilting bee next Friday, Asa Corbett was having a barn raising next weekend, and the Planning Committee needed to meet after service to talk about the annual church picnic. Then they prepared to 'take up the offering'.

'Mrs Johnston will bring us some special music,' announced the deacon. Jim looked around and saw Hannibal and Cherry in the congregation. He waved surreptitiously. Mrs Johnston, their mother, came up and took her place on a stool, preparing to play her musical saw, which was listened to attentively as the deacons passed around the collection basket. Jim put in a penny from his tips the night before.

'Sorry it's not more,' he mentally told the Lord, 'but I've got to save what I can for when I leave next spring. I'll be on my own then.' He felt somehow that the Lord understood: he'd been a journeyman carpenter once.

Mrs Johnston played a beautiful rendition of 'Wayfaring Stranger'. Jim sang along in his head.

I'm just a poor, wayfaring stranger, a-wandering through this world below,

But there's no sickness, toil, nor danger in that bright world to which I go.

Then Brother Simpkins got up to preach the sermon. He had a lot to say, of course – he went on for most of an hour, until the children got restless and the adults started worrying about things they had to do at home, like make sure the cow wasn't eating the wrong kinds of weeds, but Jim thought some of it was interesting, anyway. A lot of the words were too big for him to understand, and the preacher had a strong northern Irish brogue. But Jim understood music, and there was music in a sermon – at least, in one preached during the Second Great Awakening.

He that winneth souls is wise. – Prov. xi., 30.


The missionary cause is older than the material universe. It was celebrated by Job – the oldest poet on the pages of time.


Jehovah challenges Job to answer Him a few questions on the institutions of the universe. "Gird up now thy loins," said He; "and I will demand of thee a few responses. Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding. Who has fixt the measure thereof? Or who has stretched the line upon it? What are the foundations thereof? Who has laid the corner-stone thereof when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? Who shut up the sea with doors when it burst forth issuing from the womb of eternity – when I made a cloud its garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band? I appointed its limits, saying, Thus far shalt thou come, but no farther; and here shall the pride of thy waves be stayed.


"Has the rain a father? Who has begotten the drops of the dew? Who was the mother of the ice? And the hoar-frost of heaven, who has begotten it? Can mortal man bind the bands of the Seven Stars, or loose the cords of Orion? Can he bring forth and commission the twelve signs of the Zodiac, or bind Arcturus with his seven sons?


"Knowest thou, oh man, the missionaries of the starry heavens? Canst thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may cover thee? Canst thou command the lightnings, so that they may say to thee, Here we are? Who can number the clouds in wisdom? Or who can pour out the bottles of heaven upon the thirsty fields¹?"

It was unfortunate that the benches in the courthouse had no backs. It really was.

After about half an hour of this, when the preacher was going on about 'The gorgeous city, garnish'd like a bride…', which Jim took to be a symbol for the heavenly Jerusalem, although the 'garnish' part confused him, it was at about this point that old Josiah Ferguson, who was sitting next to him on the bench, succumbed to the soporific power of rhetoric. His eyes closed, his head sank down, and the rest of him would have followed to the floor, had not Jim noticed in time and grabbed his arm, before he imitated Sisera in the Bible and 'he bowed, he fell, he lay down.' Jim hated to wake Josiah, who he knew was a hard-working man, but elderly, so he allowed Josiah's head to settle on his shoulder while he continued to pay attention to Brother Simpkins, as if to soak up enough preaching for two.

Alas, in a few minutes, Josiah started to snore, and Jim was obliged to poke him in the ribs to stop the noise from creating a scandal.

Josiah woke with a start. 'Eh? What? Is it time to milk the cows?'

Brother Simpkins glared at them, and several people sniggered. Jim's ears grew red, and he could hear Hannibal on the opposite bench trying to suppress a guffaw.

Eventually, even sermons come to an end, and they all stood up and sang the Doxology.

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Jim walked Josiah partway home, until he met one of his grandsons coming the other way. The grandson had a fishing pole, so Jim figured religion hadn't 'taken' with the younger Ferguson set, at least not yet. Making his own way home to chores and dinner, Jim reflected on the service.

'Judgin' from the hymn choices, people are really interested in heaven. That makes sense: they're all pioneers, more or less. Heaven sounds like a welcomin' place for settlers. If I was that preacher, I'd talk more about heaven and less about…er, whatever it was he was talkin' about. Seems to me he was havin' a very complicated argument with somebody who wasn't there. Why not talk to us?'

He also resolved to ask Hannibal if he knew what the word 'zodiac' meant.

Dmitri Gheorgheni