Star Light, Star Bright Page 12

  And there was that unique request Joseph had made of her: to be his friend, to report the pulsebeat of the people. Again she was filled with the need to see Joseph. He must know of every rumble among the Saints. These poor people had placed him on such a high pedestal that they dare not approach him even with information that might save Zion!

  Now Jenny stood on the riverbank, looking downstream to the cluster of log cabins and the little ferry boat moving slowly across the Grand River.

  “Joseph, I must see you,” she murmured; and as the gentle breeze rippled across her hair, rumpling its smoothness like a careless hand, she shivered. Rubbing her arms, she contemplated the fear rising up, tightening her throat and speeding her pulse. “I didn’t know he still had the power to frighten me. Obey the Prophet or be damned! Joseph, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you, touched your hand. Now, I must rid myself of this fear and this nameless something, or I will be a slave again, trembling with fear lest I fail to keep the word of the Prophet.” Her hand tightened on the talisman pinned to her pocket. “Adela, how desperately I need you now!”

  Jenny turned away from the river and slowly walked homeward. She was studying the ground, even now searching for the fresh herbs Adela would demand before a suitable charm could be concocted.

  She had forgotten the dangers, forgotten everything except the need to see Adela. When she heard the snap of dry branches and lifted her head in time to see the flash of red, there was only one thought in mind, and she ran forward.

  “Adela!” The woman turned to face her as Jenny plunged through the forest. Now panting, Jenny stopped abruptly and walked slowly toward the stranger. The woman was dressed in red, a vivid slash of crimson satin, stretched tightly over every curve of her ample body, revealing so much bosom that Jenny blinked in surprise. Even as she spoke she was guessing the woman was one of the fancy ladies. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I’d recognized my friend.”

  The woman smiled cheerfully, “Well, you didn’t. Since you frightened off my friend, you might as well tell me about her. She’s around here? What’s her last name? Sounds like she should be a friend of mine with a name like Adela.”

  “I—I don’t know her last name. At least I’m not certain. It could be Martindale.”

  The woman frowned and settled down on a fallen log. “Don’t think I recognize Martindale. What’s she look like?”

  “Well, she’s dark and slender, about as tall as you are.” The woman was frowning and Jenny realized her description said nothing. “I’ve mostly seen her in red chiffon, all floaty. You’d see her in the woods looking for moss and herbs. Sometimes she gathers swamp water in a jug that’s shaped like—”

  The woman was shaking her head while an amused smile lighted her eyes. “Baby!” She exclaimed. “Babe in the woods. You look at the wrong bunch of ladies. What you’re running after is a witch.” Now her glance was shrewd. “You’re a Saint, aren’t you? Things are getting pretty bad when the Saints have to consult the witches.” Before Jenny could think of an answer, the woman continued. “I can’t claim to be the best Christian in the world, but I know enough about religion to see through this business of Joe’s. He’s gotta good thing going and you’re all just tagging along behind.”

  Jenny’s voice was level, flat, as she said, “We happen to have enough faith to believe he’s a prophet sent from God. God’s revelations to him are guiding us all.”

  “Like the revelation that God’s given Missouri to him for Zion, and that the riches of the Gentiles are for the Saints?” She waited a moment, before softly adding, “Then if it doesn’t happen, who you going to believe?”

  Jenny was still readying an answer when the woman spoke again. Now her voice was thoughtful, not jeering, and when Jenny looked into her face, she saw a flash of pity in the woman’s eyes as she said, “You know, the whole of Missouri was watchin’ last summer. It was reported back to us, the things that fella Rigdon had to say back in June when he was rilin’ at the fellas. I think their names were Cowdery and Whitmer.” Jenny nodded, and the woman continued. “’Twas strong language he used.” Now there was a sneer in her voice as she said, “Talking like ’twas best to kill your people ’cause they don’t agree with ya.”

  At Jenny’s gasp of dismay, the woman bobbed her head and continued, “Now you and me know that’s just what he was meanin’ when he preached that sermon about salt losin’ its savor and ’twas fit only to be trampled underfoot. He was making it clear the Mormons had a duty to trample these men under their feet.” She paused to snort. “We knew he meant kill, ’specially when he said he’d be willin’ to erect gallows in the middle of Far West and hang them himself.”

  Jenny searched for words to defend even as the churning inside was turning her sick from the ugly words. Hotly she burst out, “You’re blaming the whole of the people because of the wild words of that man. Don’t believe his words were the words of the Prophet. We’re not proud of the bad feeling Rigdon stirred up that day.”

  “No?” the woman questioned softly. “Then why didn’t your prophet smack him down? Seems I recall him comin’ back with one of those glorious revelations sayin’ the Apostle Peter had informed Joseph that Judas hadn’t hung himself. It was instead Peter, himself, that hung him.”

  She started to turn away then faced Jenny again. “Little girl, there’s goin’ to be trouble. Take yourself outta Zion before the state crumbles in on your head. And don’t go outta here saying it’s persecution like they did down south. There’s as much ugly goin’ on in Zion’s camp as there is in ours.” She paused again. “Now take a message to your prophet. Tell him Frances said forget it. Forget the whole shenanigans and hightail outta here before the militia stitches his hide to the liberty pole God broke in two, just trying to tell him something.” Again she paused before adding, “See, we believe in God, too. And I’m thinking we’re just as holy.”

  Chapter 10

  Jenny wandered aimlessly toward home. She was no longer conscious of the autumn glory and the desires which had spurred her out into the day. She was recalling the woman, Frances. Everything about her, from the red satin dress straining over her bulk to the dirty creases on her fat neck, was sending a message, and Jenny didn’t like the message.

  That woman seemed to know too much about the Saints, and the advice she had asked be passed on to Joseph had left an implication as gritty as sand in the teeth.

  Jenny hurried her feet along the path, but she was remembering the expression in the woman’s eyes. She pitied Jenny!

  As she entered the silent, empty cabin, Jenny was uneasily aware of the woman’s words. They were lying against her heart like a lump of ice.

  Jenny restlessly paced the floor of her home. The fire was only a glow of embers, and Mark seemed to have vanished. She cocked her head, listening for the sound of the axe, the thud of the hammer. There was only silence, and in the silence Jenny became uneasy.

  Once again she paced the room, chafing at the echo of the woman’s words. Still wondering and now worrying, Jenny began searching the cabin, fretting over Mark’s absence. His coat was missing but his hat was beside the rocking chair, as was the harness he had been mending. His gun was in the corner, but there was something missing. Jenny frowned, carefully studying the room.

  Her gaze traveled over the table with its lamp centered on the circle of embroidered linen. His Bible had lain there this morning; it was gone now.

  Puzzled, Jenny slowly pulled the shawl across her shoulders. Had Mark been troubled this morning? She couldn’t recall. With a nagging sense of need, Jenny left the cabin and began to wander across their land, first to the far edge of the clearing, past the makeshift corral.

  The sense of need had become worry. She paused and listened. There was only the high swish of wind in the trees and the distant crash of Grand River. With a shiver she turned and ran back across the clearing, past the cabin.

  On the edge of the heavily timbered area, she paused to glance behind herself, shivering
at the strange sensation of being both repelled and attracted by the dark woods.

  As she fought her way through the tangle of brush, the setting sun cast its last glow and allowed the gray of twilight to dominate. The shadows were deepening and Jenny fought back a sob. She turned to go back, and the naked branch of a sapling clung to her shawl.

  Her trembling fingers were snatching at the soft wool when she heard the sound. Motionless she listened, unable to identify what she was hearing.

  Frantically Jenny tugged at the captive shawl as she turned away from the tree. Then she saw the figure. Most surely that sprawled man was Mark, face down, with arms outstretched! As she watched, she saw him moving in agony. All of her fears became real; that was her Mark down the hill, and he had to be badly injured! She was powerless to move, caught in despair that overwhelmed and paralyzed her.

  Now her trembling fingers tugged weakly at the imprisoned shawl. As she watched she saw Mark rise to a kneeling position. His shoulders shook as he bent over something in his hands.

  Now Jenny’s grip on the shawl loosened and her fear turned to astonishment. Never had she seen her husband like this. She clung to the tree for support as she looked down the glade and listened as Mark lifted his hands; he was holding his Bible! She heard him shout, “My God, I praise You, I adore You. Maker of heaven and earth, Redeemer of all the universe, how glorious You are, how worthy of praise!”

  Jenny’s dismay turned to relief. With a final tug at her shawl, she started toward Mark, and then without understanding why, she stopped.

  Now Mark was on his feet. With agitated steps he paced the glade. When he paused, she watched him lift the book. She could hear low murmurs as if he were reading aloud and she strained to hear. But the words became unimportant as she saw him turn, clasp the open book to his chest and lift his face. Were those tears on his face—surely the twilight was deceiving!

  For a long time, Jenny continued to watch, twisted by an emotion she didn’t understand. Was it envy informing her that she was seeing more joy, love, and happiness on that face than she had ever seen in their most intimate, loving moments? She had moved to leave when she heard him pray, and again she was powerless to leave the spot while she listened.

  His voice had changed, becoming vibrant and deeper. “Father, God of truth! How conscious I am of Your own dear self. How firmly do I feel Your hand, constraining me, reminding me of Your love. I know You are all-powerful. You have reminded me that You hold my most dear treasure in Your hand and that You have heard my prayer.” There was silence for a moment and Jenny watched his shoulders once more transmitting agony.

  Could she believe that her strong husband wept? Still she waited and Mark was speaking again. “I know Your power, Your promises,” he was saying in a broken, humble voice. “You have never failed to keep one promise. I trust Your love as I have never trusted before.”

  Jenny’s hand crept to her throat. Suddenly she turned and crashed through the bushes, running away from Mark. When she stood in her cabin, panting and trembling, she pressed her hand against her pounding heart and closed her eyes. Strangely the scene in the forest had left her feeling as if she were teetering on a high, crumbling shelf of rock. Slowly she crossed the room and reached behind the chest, fumbling until her hand touched the green book.

  ****

  Changes were taking place in Daviess County. Jenny mentioned it to Mark. “Suddenly we are having a horde of visitors. Why? These are the folks we traveled with from Kirtland. For a time they were shunning us; I’m guessing it was because we helped the dissenters. Now they’re acting like they can’t get enough of us.”

  Mark leaned on the hoe and pinched her cheek. “Hey,” he said gently. She bit her catty tongue and Mark nodded at the pile of firewood. “Probably, like us, people have been too busy fixing up before the winter cold sets in.”

  She wandered off the subject, saying with a tired sigh, “There’s still much to be done. Passing down the road, we’ve seen people still living in wagons or poor bark shanties. There are garden plots to clear and trees to cut. Even with us—we’ve got to get that corral built.”

  “Haven’t you heard misery likes company?” Mark grinned in answer to her original question while he turned back to his task of hoisting sacks of grain to the rafters in the lean-to.

  “Do you really think you’ll keep the squirrels and mice out of those sacks?” Jenny asked, although her thoughts were elsewhere. His smile reminded her of the Mark she spied upon in the forest. She sighed and turned her attention back to him.

  “I’d better get this grain milled soon or you’ll be reduced to scraping corn and baking it with pumpkin like they’re doing down the valley,” he said, heaving the last sack overhead.

  She watched the muscles ripple across his shoulders and compared their power with that moment of weakness she had glimpsed in the forest. Weakness? Somehow that word didn’t describe the scene she had happened upon, no matter that tears had been raining down his cheeks.

  Later that evening Jenny thought of Mark’s statement as she pulled the loaf of bread out of the oven and thumped its crusty top. It sounded hollow and she nodded with satisfaction as she put it on the table to cool. The aroma filled the cabin.

  “Mark, the little stone oven you built in the corner of the fireplace does a good job. This bread’s nigh perfect.”

  “Smells wonderful,” he responded. He concentrated on his task of splicing the leather harness together. “By the way, I’m thinking the Andersens and the Guffries will be here this evening. Might be they’ll bring a few others.”

  “What’s the problem now?”

  “Do or don’t do, stay or go,” he said wearily. Jenny turned away with a sigh.

  One thing she knew, there wouldn’t be bread by morning. Thinking of the shrinking mound of flour in the tin, she tried to set her mind in a charitable mood.

  Jenny had barely time to cover the bread and set it aside before she heard the knock. Mark’s glance at her was full of concern as he stood to open the door to his neighbors.

  Jenny was right about the bread, but she didn’t realize how fast it would disappear, or how hungry these people would be.

  While the men huddled over the table, the women gathered by the fire and folded idle hands over the piles of mending they had carried with them.

  Dora slanted a worried glance at the men and said, “I wish things would settle. Little Ruth Campbell is about to deliver, and she doesn’t look able.”

  After the silence had stretched again, Lila straightened and said. “Late last night my Tyler heard a ruckus out yonder. He sneaked out there and found a fella settin’ a fire in the hay. Tyler fired a load of buckshot at him.”

  There was more silence and Maudy gave a belated nervous laugh and said, “I just wish they’d do something. This waiting, for who knows what, is killin’ me.”

  Now the women were listening to the low murmur of voices from the men. They were seeing the worried expressions and hearing the occasional angry outburst.

  Dora whispered, “You know, the Prophet’s said if we’re living right, there’s to be no harm done us, but I still worry.” She had opened her mouth to add more when the low murmuring of the men caught their attention.

  They had been sitting with their heads together around the table. Abruptly Tyler pushed back his stool and jumped to his feet. “I don’t care what you’re sayin’, I intend stickin’ with him. Seems if we’re bent on believing he has the keys of the kingdom, then there’s no other choice but this.”

  “Right or wrong? How about the way he goes at it?” Mark’s voice was low; only Jenny caught the sharp edge of controlled anger in it.

  “I’m with Tyler,” Guffrie said slowly. “I’m in too far to back out. Maybe I just don’t have the sense to figure out for myself whether I oughta run.”

  “Yes,” Mark spoke heavily, “when you don’t have a better reason, it’s hard to choose.”

  When they moved to the door to leave, Mark and Jenny sto
od together watching them. The circle of lamplight highlighted the women’s faces. Their eyes were darkening pools, shadowing away the fears.

  In the morning Jenny stirred cornmeal into the boiling water and addressed Mark. “Missus Hardy said Tyler found a fella trying to fire their hay.”

  “They’re also stealing horses and cattle,” Mark said slowly. He was thinking of the other things he had heard. When he turned to face her, Mark found he was being forced into saying some things he had been keeping from her.

  He took a deep breath, waiting for the guidance of the Holy Spirit. He was still fearful of probing the tender spots in their relationship which he had created with his criticism of Joseph Smith.

  “This is getting to be more than just persecution.” He paced the room as he spoke, “The Saints are in on it, too; and, on their part, it’s a good case of retaliation.”

  She faced him squarely. From the expression in her eyes, he guessed that she was struggling to accept a new way of looking at the situation.

  For a moment he felt like applauding her, but he must push one step more. She was well aware of all that was happening, that he knew, but he must go over the events again. “In the first place, this is an ongoing fight. It started way back when Joseph sent his men into Missouri in 1831, with the prophecy that the Lord had ordained Missouri to be the new Zion. This land, he told them, was to be the site of the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven. The people under Joseph were to claim the state and build up Zion, an acceptable land getting ready for the Lord to return. How do you think that set with the people? Especially when the Saints made no bones about fighting to gain their objective if necessary?”

  She was still thinking as she said, “I can see them not being pleased, maybe angry, but—”

  “Remember these were and are still rough frontiersmen. You saw the people on Independence Day.”

  Jenny nodded hesitantly. “The women were either fancy ladies or they were as tough as the men.” She frowned, remembering that woman and feeling uneasy about her. It was starting to look as if she couldn’t delay seeking out Joseph. There was that message.