Free Bon Marche by Chet Hagan Page B

Catholicism was not an answer for them, so they split within the Anglican church. Again in the most simple terms, the conservative members, primarily the Tories who opposed the war against the Crown, remained Anglicans. Dissenters, those who were opposed to the tax-supported church, and mainly those who supported the war, became Presbyterians.”
    He gestured toward the building. “That’s a Presbyterian church. So abhorrent is the idea of a state church—especially among these Virginia planters, it seems—that the ministers find it impossible to speak on anything that even remotely mirrors the real world: politics, the war, taxes, commerce. Even the Bible. So thay take the safe road. Metaphysics is safe because no one understands it—including, I’m inclined to believe, the ministers themselves.”
    Charles shook his head. “I don’t know—I just expected something more … well, religious. ”
    â€œIt will come,” MacCallum said matter-of-factly. “It’s just that the church is in transition right now. Like you, I think the transition is rather bland. Spiritually unrewarding.”
    IV
    T HERE was no move among the worshipers to leave the church grounds. Men and women gathered in clusters, and once more there was no talk of religious matters. Charles and Andrew made their way to a group surrounding Marshall Statler and John Lee, the Reverend Mr. Smith now among them. The subject under discussion was cockfighting, with Mr. Smith being lavish in his praise of a bird he had bred.
    â€œPowerful across the breast,” he was telling the others, “and with a most aggressive spirit.”
    â€œTested, Lawrence?” Lee asked him.
    â€œOnly in hand, John.” He smiled. “Kept in restraint with difficulty. He’s a red, similar to that good one I had two years ago.”
    Lee nodded knowingly. “You’ll have to bring him around some day, Parson. That is, if you’re prepared to back your bird with a wager.”
    â€œIt’ll be done, John. Be assured of that.”
    Dewey turned away from the conversation, revolted by it. Cockfighting was a favorite diversion on French warships, and he had always hated it: the torn flesh, the lacerated eyes, the ignoble death. He remembered the glee exhibited by Captain de Boade at cockfights aboard ship. Now he was seeing the same enthusiasm, only a bit more restrained, in a minister of God. It made him ill.
    He found himself looking around for Martha, finally spotting her among a small group composed primarily of women, in which Katherine and a laughing Funston Lee were the center of attention.
    Katherine saw him approaching and called out to him: “Mr. Dewey, please come and let me present some of the ladies.”
    Quickly, she made introductions to some half-dozen women, one of whom was the Reverend Mr. Smith’s wife. Charles couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of her husband’s preoccupation with cockfighting.
    â€œDo tell the ladies about Yorktown, Mr. Dewey,” Katherine insisted. That brought a scowl to young Lee’s face.
    â€œI don’t wish to bore the ladies,” Charles said, hoping to get out of his predicament.
    â€œBore them? Of course you won’t.”
    He gave them an abbreviated version of what he had earlier told the Statler sisters.
    The same lies.
    Even so, his concocted stories of the unobserved surrender ceremonies drew appreciative oohs and aahs from the listeners.
    â€œWhat role did you play in the festivities, Mr. Dewey?” an annoyed Funston asked.
    â€œI was with the delegation from the Ville de Paris, flagship of the French navy.”
    â€œIn what capacity, sir?”
    â€œAs a member of the staff of the Comte de Grasse, Admiral of the Fleet.”
    Charles found it strange that he didn’t mind lying in response to Lee’s goading questions.
    Funston persisted. “A ranking member?”
    â€œAs Comte