Morning Star Read online

  The Starlight Trilogy, Book Three

  Morning Star

  Marian Wells

  © 1986 by Marian Wells

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publicaion may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—with the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-6250-9

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  Manuscript edited by Penelope J. Stokes.

  Cover by Dan Thornberg.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  About the Author

  Other Books by Author

  Back Cover

  Introduction

  Jenny Timmons’ story begins in the first book of this trilogy, The Wishing Star. As an eleven-year-old child from a poor family, living on the fringes of South Bainbridge, New York, Jenny becomes acquainted with Joseph Smith. Jenny’s brother, Tom, introduces the mysterious youth who is engaged in searching for money with his peep stone while working for Josiah Stowell.

  Life for a poor child living in a small New York town in 1825 could have been insipid were it not for Joseph Smith, the curious stone, the money diggings, and the strange, shivery feeling of excitement it all gave Jenny. There was Pa’s green book, too.

  That first year Joseph’s money digging nets him trouble and the town of South Bainbridge, excitement. After it is all over, Joseph moves on, but Jenny doesn’t forget him.

  The next summer Jenny’s father starts his westward trek, and the first leg of the journey lands the family in Manchester, New York. The following year the Timmons family—except for Tom and Jenny—move farther west. The brother and sister gain employment with Martin Harris—Tom at the livery stable, and Jenny as a hired girl in the Harris home.

  Lucy Harris is good to Jenny and she learns to do for Mrs. Harris, developing skills she had not learned at home. Jenny also attends school and becomes friends of Joseph Smith’s family. Again the paths of their lives cross.

  Honoring a promise to Jenny’s mother, Mrs. Harris sees to Jenny’s religious education. Jenny joins the Presbyterian church, but at the same time delves into the mysteries of the green book that she has stolen from her father.

  Also, during this period Joseph Smith marries and comes to live in the Palmyra-Manchester area just long enough to find the gold Bible.

  Martin Harris, one of the first three witnesses to the Book of Mormon, soon becomes deeply involved in the gold Bible work. This new interest quickly pulls life down around Jenny’s head. As the Harris home is broken apart by his new interests, Jenny and Tom are forced to move on.

  Mark Cartwright, a youth both Jenny and Tom knew from the South Bainbridge days, steps into their life with an offer which takes them to eastern New York State.

  Jenny’s maturing years are spent away from Tom while she works and finishes school. During this time the whole focus of her life is wrapped in a twisted desire to have life on her own terms. This desire is fed through her friendship with Clara and the secret green book.

  Meanwhile, Tom, who has never lost interest in Joseph Smith, follows the fledgling prophet to Kirtland, Ohio. When Jenny visits Tom, all the old fascination is reborn, and Jenny moves to Ohio to become a member of Joseph’s church.

  It isn’t long until Jenny discovers that to be a follower of Joseph Smith demands total obedience. When he instructs her to marry, and tells her whom to marry, she proposes to Mark Cartwright.

  The second book of the trilogy, Star Light, Star Bright, begins with hope and promise as Jenny and Mark celebrate their marriage and start their life together in Kirtland, Ohio.

  There is the promise, and by rights it should be fulfilled. It is the promise of young love, the “true” church, and a life together which is to extend throughout eternity.

  But promises require obedience. Soon Mark is tapped for the first major missionary endeavor to England. Jenny is left behind. The letters dwindle, but that was the result of problems surfacing in the young couple’s life.

  Problems are surfacing in the young church, too. With every quarrel and painful misunderstanding seen between the young couple, the counterpart is mirrored in the uneasy marriage of church and people. But for both, life struggles on. Problems are resolved and an uneasy peace effected.

  That next spring Mark returns from his missionary journey with news so shocking that Jenny nearly surrenders her marriage. Mark has become a Christian and he makes certain that Jenny knows this is something world-shattering and totally different than the message Joseph has given to his followers.

  It is Mark who surrenders and follows Jenny as she joins the exodus to Zion. He surrenders, not because of Jenny’s strengths, but because of her weakness and fear.

  Even before Joseph’s church was established, the young prophet had received revelations commanding the people to set up an earthly Zion, to be founded in the state of Missouri. Immediately after the church was organized, a group of converts migrated to the state and settled in Jackson County. Unfortunately, the Missourians didn’t accept the command of the Lord given through Joseph. From the beginning there were serious problems.

  Long before the expedient removal of the Kirtland Saints to the state of Missouri, the difficulties in Missouri between the Saints and the Gentiles had forced the governor of the state to step into the affair. The Saints were subsequently ordered to leave Jackson County and move farther north to Caldwell County.

  But shortly after Joseph’s move to Caldwell County from Ohio, life became just as difficult in this new area. Once again the prophet stepped over the boundary set for his people.

  It is no wonder that Jenny, fearful and sensing the greater dangers lying ahead, turned from her new religion back into the ancient religion of nature. No wonder, that is, since she was certain her understanding of God was right and Mark’s was wrong.

  Before long the troubled issue resulted in bloodshed, and finally the Mormons were forced to leave Missouri. Onc
e again they were driven out, penniless and homeless, while their prophet, Joseph Smith, remained behind in jail.

  Chapter 1

  Jenny thrashed her head on the pillow and moaned. The movement sent pain stabbing through her head. Eyes closed, she groped for the pillow beside her. She felt an empty expanse of smooth linen, and her eyes flew open. Sunshine flooded the room and shot arrows of pain into her eyes. Covering her face, she moaned and rolled over.

  It was at least ten o’clock; the sun glared into her bedroom. The white curtains hanging over the open window were motionless.

  Mark must have left hours ago, moving quietly to allow her to sleep. Her lips twisted in a perverse grin. Strange that a man as intelligent as Mark should so readily accept her excuses, even giving credence to her midnight tryst by his gentle trust and unquestioning acceptance.

  Especially strange, since he claimed a special place with God. He called it being born again, redeemed. Her claim to religious devotion was as genuine as his. But never would she try to explain that the rituals and traditions she practiced with a select group of women were rooted in the ancient worship to the true god of nature. She was still wondering about Mark when she fell asleep again.

  When Jenny awakened later, the sun had shifted off Mark’s pillow, and the white curtains moved just enough to allow the summer scents of the garden to invade her rest.

  As she slowly bathed in tepid water and dressed, she felt the last traces of her headache leave. By the time she left the bedroom she was hungry, and life began to press in with its demands.

  Jenny paused at the head of the stairs and admired her home. This Springfield, Illinois, home contrasted sharply with the little log hut in Missouri—and even with the stone house in Kirtland, Ohio. She kissed the tips of her fingers and flung kisses about the house.

  “Beautiful one!” she cried. “Good morning to you, fair walls and shiny floors. Polished furniture and gleaming windows, how silently you keep your distance until I’m ready to be your mistress again!” As she walked down the stairs, she continued to admire the ivy-sprigged wallpaper, the plush furniture in the newest shade of plum. She cocked her head for just a moment. Were the green and plum really suited to the deep rose of the new carpet?

  Jenny crossed the hall and went through the shaded dining room with its dark mahogany, feeling again the urge to shake the room into life. But the room seemed alien no matter how she polished the furniture and shifted the china. Perhaps it was the china.

  She frowned at the rose pattern, a duplicate of the dishes Mark had purchased for their first home. They did make her think of the possessions destroyed in the fire in Missouri. She looked at the grandfather clock just as it began to boom out the hours in its authoritative bass. Noon?

  With a sigh Jenny hurried toward the kitchen, still rubbing her arms, conscious of the chill of the room. If the spirits were active, they weren’t friendly ones. Why would the room goad her into an unwilling memory of those terror-filled months in Missouri?

  In the kitchen the cold remains of Mark’s lonely breakfast sat on the table. She chewed her lip, reading the message of the room. Mark usually tidied up after himself. Today a smear of cold beans crusted the single plate. A crumbled slice of bread lay beside an untouched glass of milk.

  Guilt touched her. She saw in the scene symbols of her neglect as well as a touch of uncharacteristic absentmindedness in Mark.

  As she cleared the table and began to heat water, her thoughts were busy tossing the guilt back and forth. But the coven called, and they can’t be denied, she defended herself. As she ate bread and drank milk, she was thinking of the group of witches. Was it luck, or was it spirit need that had sent petite, dark-eyed Crystal into her life?

  Soon after arriving here, just when Mark’s associates had undertaken the task of introducing them to Springfield society, Jenny had met Crystal Matison, wife of a newly appointed state representative, Haddon Matison.

  As Jenny cleared the table and poured hot water over the dishes, she pondered the events that had drawn her into the coven over which Crystal had charge. What joy, what sisterhood after the barren years with only occasional contact with Adela!

  Chuckling, Jenny recalled Crystal’s daring move. Very shortly after becoming acquainted, Crystal had casually dropped a talisman at Jenny’s feet.

  Jenny sighed, straightened her shoulders, and looked around the kitchen. Only a practicing witch would recognize the signs: the wisp of rosemary, the crossed twigs, the hint of lavender. Now she frowned and moved her shoulders uneasily.

  It had been a year since she and Mark had moved to Springfield—a year of being back into the craft on a practicing basis—and still she felt the familiar void in her life. The powerlessness, the lack of growth and direction in her life filled her with frustration.

  Just last night, after the coven had held their solstice ritual, Jenny had confided to Crystal her disappointment. After listening, Crystal had shrugged and wiped at the perspiration on her face, saying abruptly, “I’ve no sympathy. You’ve been advised to go to sabbat. You knew when you started meeting with us that we were no more than white witches. If you want more, you know what must be done.”

  In frustration Jenny had cried, “And you—why will you be content to be a powerless white witch?”

  The woman had looked at her with a stony face. “I might wonder what you have in mind. I enjoy the craft, but I intend to be master of my own fate. You might say I’m frightened enough to accept my own limitations. I have all the power I need. I enjoy our coven and the ritual of worship. I am, and that is all I need.”

  Jenny slowly dried the dishes and returned them to the cupboard. She was frowning, puzzling over Crystal’s statement and the strange icy blast her words had left.

  Restlessly, Jenny took up her trowel and walked slowly out the back door and down the garden path. It was past noon. The herb garden was shadowed and cool. Perhaps digging through the soil would straighten out her muddled thoughts.

  As Jenny ducked under the chestnut tree, her hair tangled in the branches. Impatiently she shook the branch and picked at the pins in her hair. When the coil of her hair slipped down her back, she was freed. But the action immediately plunged her into being more than Jenny.

  Kneeling in the soil, breathing deeply of the mingled odor of pungent herbs and moist earth, Jenny thought again of those words. I am. Jenny sensed a hidden meaning, and knew only that she was left curious and vaguely uneasy.

  Jenny pulled weeds from her herb garden and dug into the loam with her fingers. The crumbled soil smelled faintly of last autumn’s leaves. As she lifted her hand to sniff at it, her mind immediately filled with scenes of their life in Missouri.

  Though the events had happened eighteen months ago, the damp earth scent bridged the gap as if it were yesterday she and little Tamara had walked the woodland paths as serene and happy as woodland nymphs. But the serenity was an illusion.

  She winced, remembering the ugliness and death at Haun’s Mill. Closing her eyes she saw the tortured faces of the Saints. Homes, family, even faith were stripped from them.

  Settling back on her heels, she stared up at the sun-dappled trees and wondered about the people. Were they happy now? How easy it had been to drop the faith as soon as she left Missouri! But what about them? If their new life was not better than hers, they were in a desperate situation.

  And what about Joseph? He had escaped from his Missouri prison, and his flock had settled across the river in Illinois. What a commotion that had caused! She grinned. Good old Joseph had landed on his feet just as she expected. The newspapers had been full of the stories. Illinois had welcomed the Saints with open arms.

  A twig snapped behind Jenny. Without raising her head she murmured, “Is that you, my husband?”

  “Is that a disappointment?” Mark’s voice was heavy, bitter. Jenny got to her feet and turned. He looked at her soiled hands and the tumble of hair spilling down her back, and she saw the frown and his tightened lips.
r />   “You’re angry because I went last night,” she whispered, widening her eyes to allow him to see the pain. It worked; the cold expression softened a bit and he bent to press a kiss against her forehead. But he turned away, and she knew the matter wasn’t resolved.

  She had tried to tell him the truth about her nature worship, about God, but that had failed. He didn’t understand, and discussing it only fortified this stony wall between them.

  She tried the dimpled grin, and that won out. As she carefully held her soiled hands away from his dark suit and lifted her face, he murmured, “At least my rival is a bunch of women, dotty with their strange ideas. It could be worse.”

  He stepped back and pulled a black lace scarf from his pocket. “Letty Harrison asked her husband to pass this on to you. So now Letty is a member of your group! I am amazed that Lew takes it so lightly—he’s a deacon at the First Presbyterian Church.”

  Jenny’s voice was throaty, “Everyone takes it lightly except my husband. True, most of the husbands are being indulgent, but some are seeing the value in it all.”

  “Value?”

  Jenny ticked off the list. “How do you suppose Lew Harrison won a seat to the senate? He knows. Remember the ulcerated leg of Mather Johnson? It wasn’t that addle-pated doctor who cured him. Mark, I could go on and on—the storm that broke up the rioting last month, as well as the reversed finances of William Frank that kept him from running for the House of Representatives.”

  “And your group is taking credit for all of this?” Mark turned away. “Come, let’s see if there’s anything for dinner. After these meetings of yours the Cartwright household suffers for a week.”

  As Mark followed Jenny to the house, he stuffed his hand in his pocket and felt the letter. He pushed it down out of sight, deciding he needed more time to think about it. The outrageous letter had initially evoked a solid no, but now, strange as it seemed, it was causing him to have second thoughts. Most certainly those second thoughts would never have been necessary had it not been for the scarf and those midnight meetings deep in the forest.

  Mark turned away from the door and went instead to sit on the porch swing. The pleasant street reflected all the values of a prospering, growing city. Just recently the city had become the seat of state government. Springfield was attracting settlers with money and influence. In response to demands, the small city was quickly assuming a cosmopolitan atmosphere.