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  Despite her loneliness and despair during the weeks immediately following Mark’s departure, Jenny found reason to be glad: he was not there to see the turmoil. For a time, it looked as if the entire church structure would crumble. Six of the twelve apostles were in open rebellion against Joseph, and even Parley Pratt threatened to bring suit against the Prophet.

  Soon Sally carried another tale to her. Warren Parrish, who had earlier resigned as cashier, had now left the church and was openly describing the Prophet’s banking methods.

  She added that Parrish was now being accused of absconding with $25,000. Even Jenny was surprised when Sally bit her lip and then let the bitter words burst out. “What rot! If the church has that much money, it’s all in bank notes.” Her agitated pacing around Jenny’s kitchen was her final comment on the state of affairs. Again, Jenny was grateful Mark had escaped this.

  On the day after her conversation with Sally, Jenny was pulling weeds and sighing over the sad state of her garden. When she heard the gate squeak, she gladly dropped her hoe and went to sit in the shade with Nettie.

  “Seems the Prophet’s just having more trouble than goes with the job,” Nettie said. “Even Jesus Christ had to contend with trouble, but only one skipped out on Him.”

  “You’re comparing Joseph with Jesus?” Jenny asked curiously.

  “Of course; he’s the Christ for this time in history.”

  Jenny thought about that for a moment before saying, “Well, I don’t have the grounds to argue the case. It would be nice if the Prophet had a school for the women so we could be learning just like the men are doing.”

  Nettie sighed. “Most of us are just too busy. Maybe when we move to Zion there will be time for such. I hear some women are a mite uneasy with some of the teaching they hear. Might be our duty to help them along by studying together. What about the Prophet’s wife, Emma? She’s strong-minded and needs something to do other than tend babies. Might be she’d consent to teach us.”

  As Jenny searched for words, she remembered the chunk of wax and Clara’s advice to get rid of Emma once and for all. Now Nettie leaned close to Jenny. “That reminds me of the real reason I came. I just heard it this morning, and I had to rush to tell someone. The Prophet’s neighbor, Alma, said she heard a great commotion during the night and got up to peek out. All the lights were a-blazing at the Smiths’, so she put on a shawl, thinking they needed help. When she went out, there stood Emma on the front steps in her nightgown, waving a broom. She had chased Fannie Alger clear outside—in her nightclothes, too. Alma said as she came on the scene, Joseph was trying to quiet Emma down, and she was waving her broom and yelling about getting Fannie out of there because she was in the family way. Joseph was sure nervous, but he took Fannie and headed toward Oliver Cowdery’s place.

  “This morning I walked past the Smiths’. The Prophet is getting ready for a missionary trip to Canada. I saw the two of them out in front, and Emma was just as nice as pie. Poor girl, I’m not surprised about it all. There’s sure been the talk lately. I wonder what’s lackin’ over there? Oh, well, men will be men, you know.” In a few minutes she left to carry her news down the street, and Jenny tarried in her garden, pulling weeds and wondering at the strange churnings inside of her.

  Later that week while Jenny and Sally carried their shopping baskets down Kirtland’s main street, Jenny said, “It’s easy to guess the Prophet’s out of town. The whole town feels different, doesn’t it?”

  Sally’s eyes widened as she looked from Jenny to the nearly deserted street. “It is strange, isn’t it? Everything is kind of dragging. Andy says there’s a heap of discouragement abroad.” Abruptly she turned to point down a side street. “Oh, Jenny, look at the crowd! Let’s go see what’s happening!”

  The two women stood on the fringes of the crowd. Jenny stretched to look over the heads. “Why, there’s Martin Harris, Oliver Cowdery, and David Whitmer talking to a young woman. Oh, Sally, can you see? She’s dancing, spinning around like a top in the middle of the clearing.”

  “Sounds like one of those strange ones. The men will sure put a stop to that in a hurry. Let’s go.”

  “Wait.” Jenny put out a detaining hand and cocked her head. The crowd began to melt away, some with shamefaced glances at Harris, Cowdery, and Whitmer, others with snorts of disgust.

  Jenny and Sally watched the three men press around the woman. Sally said, “Look at that silly girl; she’s trying to get attention, and those men will give it. I’ll bet she’s pretending to be a witch or a sorceress.”

  “Let’s go hear what she has to say.” Jenny grasped Sally’s arm.

  “No!” Sally’s voice was sharp and Jenny turned to look at her. “I’ve always been taught that’s all of the devil, and my mother says the best way to avoid evil is to stay away from all such things. I’m going shoppin’.” She turned on her heel and left Jenny standing in the street.

  Jenny’s intention was to follow, but curiosity won out. She moved close to the crowd and listened. The girl was still breathless from her frenzied dancing. She shoved aside her black cape and lifted a small dark stone. “Now who wants to hear the future read to him?”

  For a moment Jenny teetered, eager to step forward, but she saw Martin Harris pushing his way toward her. Jenny shivered and slipped back into the crowd. She watched his tongue slip out to touch his lips, a symbol of his lust for the new and mysterious. Jenny turned and hurried away. Although years had passed since that last horrible encounter when he beat both her and his own wife, Jenny still found herself fleeing his presence, shuddering with terror.

  In the weeks that followed, the young woman attracted further gatherings of Saints, those tired of the winter’s problems and eager for a new thrill. Soon it was evident that the church was nearly evenly divided. Excitement swelled through the town like a tidal wave as the stranger gave forth revelations about the future after consulting the seer stone. At the end of July, Joseph Smith returned from his trip to Canada. Jenny settled back to watch him shake law and order back into the wayward church members.

  Jenny’s satisfaction was complete. Martin Harris was cut off from the church, and the repentant Cowdery and Whitmer were dispatched to Missouri.

  Later at church conference time, Jenny listened to Joseph’s rebuke, visualizing him wiping the dust of the whole affair from his hands as he talked. Once again Joseph Smith was sustained as president of the church.

  Despite Sally’s close companionship, restlessness was settling upon Jenny. She staggered under the burden of her loneliness and mourned Mark’s absence. When she would come to the end of the labyrinth of her emotions, the anxious faces of Sally and Andy awaited her. And once again she became aware of the troubles around her.

  In the golden days of autumn, at the Morgans’ dinner table, Jenny heard Andy say, “Surely you’ve noticed.”

  “I’ve scarcely moved from my own doorstep.”

  “The steam mill isn’t even operating. Land values are dropping out of sight, and every merchant in town is ready to go under. Jenny, if you’d walk the streets, you’d see half the houses empty. Families are moving west as fast as they can pack. It isn’t just Kirtland; the whole country is in a depression. Soaring land prices no one can afford. Banks closing and shops going out of business.”

  “Well, at least that keeps Joseph from looking so bad,” she said, lifting her spoon. Sally sighed and shook her head.

  Andy said, “Joseph is leaving for Missouri. That’s a smart move on his part. There are six suits pending against him. He’s sent men around to the people to gather money for the church, but it’ll have to come in a hurry if he’s to save his skin.”

  As summer slipped into autumn, Jenny’s spirits took a deeper plunge. The letters from England were short and businesslike. She eagerly scanned each one, looking for words of love, words which would assure her that the widening gulf was only in her mind.

  Disappointed, she read the dutiful catalog of the daily activities of the missionaries.
Only an occasional word added detail to the bleak picture, but the words reflected only confusion, questions, and more discouragement.

  Eventually the letters ceased coming altogether.

  On a dark, cold December evening Jenny took action. She went to Joseph, now back from Missouri.

  The print shop was empty, but as she entered the building, she saw the door at the head of the stairs standing open. A light gleamed through the dusk. Quickly she climbed the stairs. Joseph sat slumped forward across his desk, coat discarded, hair rumpled.

  All the worst tales Jenny had heard made her rush through the door to his side. When her hand fell on his shoulder, he lifted his startled face. His delighted grin made words unnecessary.

  As he brought her a chair, and touched her arm, her shoulder, her chin, the unsaid things became more important. She was aware of his overwhelming manliness and that pleased smile. When he bent over her and she waved him away, they both knew it was not rejection.

  As she watched the pulse in his throat settle to a steady beat, her own emotions calmed. But she was filled with dismay. The emotional protection her marriage had given was stripped away, and once more she stood weak and vulnerable before him.

  “What brings you out this late?” He waited.

  “I haven’t heard from Mark for such a long time. The other wives have had letters.” She was twisting her hands, and he glanced down at them.

  When his eyes finally met hers, she saw the lines on his forehead, lines of concern. He spoke slowly and she read meaning into them. “Jenny, don’t worry. We know Mark’s a stable young man. You wives always start guessing. A missed letter doesn’t mean your husband is chasing some young girl. Our men are dependable, and we must trust them.”

  His eyes! He didn’t believe a word he said. “Why, Joseph! The thought never entered my head. I was supposing he might be ill. He left here tired and discouraged.”

  Joseph sighed. “Aren’t we all.”

  “What is it, Joseph?” she whispered. “Where’s the power? Why is everything suddenly all going awry?”

  He leaned toward her. “Jenny, it isn’t. Where’s your faith? The Lord expects us to keep on plugging away without getting discouraged. For Mark’s sake, be brave.”

  He touched her shoulder, at first timidly, then bravely. “Jenny, despite problems, these are great days for the church. We shall move onward and upward. The Lord plans for us to be the most holy people on earth, and that shall be accomplished as we obey Him. I have things to teach you about the priesthood. I—” They both heard a sound, and Jenny sighed with relief. She recognized she had been rescued.

  The dark shop seemed silent again, and Joseph continued, speaking now in a low voice. “Jenny, I need you desperately.” He hesitated, and a shadow touched his eyes. “These are difficult days; too often there’s no one to listen. I can’t understand any better than you why trouble surrounds us and the revelations fail. I do know we need power.”

  She nodded, momentarily forgetting the whisper of sound. “Joseph, I sense it, too. Once you asked me why I needed so desperately to join the church. The power, Joseph, that’s why. But where is it?”

  “Right now I’d settle for harmony.” His voice held a touch of irony. “Come this Sabbath there will be a meeting in the temple. Be there if you care to see the power at work.”

  “The miracles, the strange speech, the visions,” Jenny whispered. “Joseph, can anyone—”

  “No, I mean—”

  “Joseph,” the woman’s voice was tremulous as she swept into the room, “working late again! I need you to—Oh!”

  “Emma!” At Joseph’s exclamation, Jenny got to her feet, noticing that Emma Smith’s expression was not one of surprise. She was busy taking in every detail of the room, including Joseph’s discarded coat.

  Jenny nodded. “Mrs. Smith, we’ve never met. I’m Mark Cartwright’s wife; I stopped to inquire about him.”

  Jenny went on her way, feeling as if she had been caught with her hand in the candy jar. Guilt rode her steps all the way home, but looking back at that last scene, she was not without a measure of relief.

  That first Sabbath after the new year, Jenny slipped into the pew beside Sally. Since her meeting in Joseph’s office, she had made a point of visiting Andy to glean more information.

  Sally’s husband had been very serious. “More lawsuits, instigated by the faction fighting for control of the church. Jenny, I’m glad your husband isn’t here to see this. Some of us old-timers can rock with the punches, but I’m afraid Mark’s too idealistic.”

  Shaking his head, he continued, “Many of the elders, including Brigham Young, have been forced to flee to Missouri in order to avoid being sued. And Joseph is being followed. Just after he left the printing office the other evening, a bunch tried to get in and burn the press.” Shame washed over Jenny as she thought of that evening. Did Andy know she had been there, too? His steady expression told her nothing.

  Now, sitting in the pew with the Morgans, Jenny mused over that conversation with Andy and listened to the rustle of the crowd. A line of black-coated men marched into the temple and down to the front pew. Sally whispered, “That’s the trouble-making bunch.”

  Now Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon were taking their places. Jenny looked from Joseph’s face with its confident half-smile to Rigdon. Sally whispered, “That poor man looks nearly dead.” Jenny could only agree as she watched the pallid Rigdon being assisted to the pulpit.

  When Rigdon began his talk, his voice was weak, but as he continued, the momentum grew. “Liars, thieves, adulterers, counterfeiters, swindlers!” These were the words of a man who had kept his wrathful silence far too long. And in the end, while quietness gripped the temple, he was helped from the podium, through the auditorium and out the door. Abruptly the dissenters rose to their feet.

  Appalled, Jenny watched and listened as charges and ugly counter-charges echoed through the grand edifice.

  Suddenly Joseph jumped to his feet. Shouting above the din, he commanded attention and called for a vote on excommunication. One of the black-coated men jumped to his feet and waving his arms, he bellowed, “Joseph Smith, you would cut off a man’s head first and then ask to hear him afterward!”

  Rising to their feet as one, the congregation watched their prophet stalk from their midst. His face wore defeat like an ill-fitting mask. For the first time, he was unable to regain control of his people, and it was obvious to everyone. Andy watched him go, muttering, “He is a broken man. All he has fought for is gone.” Joseph, Jenny remembered, had promised her a display of power.

  During the lonesome days that followed, Jenny spent a great deal of time pondering the situation. As she paced the floor in front of her cheery fire, she longed for Mark’s calm, level-headed wisdom. She tried to recall his face, even his touch. All the while she was listening to a secret part of her heart advise her that Mark was gone from her life forever.

  The January evening was bleak, snowy, and shadowed. Now her thoughts turned to Joseph, the bleakness coloring her picture of him also.

  “Power!” she muttered, pacing the floor. “Power!” This time it was a plea. If she wanted power, there was still the sabbat. Jenny felt her spirit recoil in horror as she recalled the trampled cross and the chalice of blood. Momentarily she puzzled over the significance of denying the Christian faith, wondering why these dark promises Adela had tried to extract from her left her trembling with fear. Did it matter that she deny the baptism? Just thinking about it brought the brooding spirit world close, and she trembled at the sense of presence. “I will not!” she declared into the recesses of darkness. But then she contemplated Joseph’s failure and found herself nearly ready to give up the church, her final hope of power.

  There was a knock on her kitchen door. Glad to flee the gloomy thoughts, Jenny rushed to open it. Though the shadowy figure was covered with snow, she recognized him immediately. “Joseph!” Reaching for his arm, she pulled him in and closed the door. “Why are you
out on a night like this?”

  The snowy crown of his hat reminded her of the old white one he had been wearing the first time she saw him. He saw her smile and abruptly bent to brush his cold lips across her cheek. She stepped backward and shivered.

  “I beg your pardon,” he murmured. “Jenny, I’m leaving.”

  She helped him out of the coat and went to hang it by the stove. He followed. “Would you like tea?” He nodded, and she pulled her shiny teakettle over the fire, the kettle she had purchased for Mark. “Why are you leaving?”

  Looking curiously about, he selected Mark’s chair and pulled it close to the fire. “Grandison Newell has secured a warrant for my arrest, charging bank fraud.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Missouri, of course. Remember, we are still looking forward to Zion. Why the Lord chooses to beat us into submission before we go to the promised land, I don’t know, but we must trust God.” She had poured the water over the tea and he got to his feet. His eyes, curiously light, held hers. “May I depend on you, Jenny? Will you promise me that you will remain true to the church, and that as soon as possible you will move to Zion?”

  He waited. Jenny, feeling compelled, trembled. “I promise, but—”

  He interrupted, his voice nearly a whisper. “It seems I must again count my followers one by one.” He sighed and lifted his head with a smile as if shaking off the somber mood. “I came to tell you good-bye, but also to ask if you had a message for your brother Tom.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve just written to him.”

  After Jenny closed the door behind Joseph, she still pondered his strange visit. She wondered whether the ties of the church or the magnetism of the Prophet had made her promise to follow him to Zion. Why did she feel as if the promise had been pulled from her against her will?

  ****

  Immediately after Joseph left Kirtland, the dissenters seized the temple. Now the building rang with resolutions proclaiming his depravity.

  Deep in the cold of the January night, the print shop caught fire and burned to the ground. The embers were hardly cold before Jenny, standing in front of Warren Parrish, heard him say, “He did it himself. Joseph fired the place to fulfill his prophecy that Kirtland would repent of its wickedness or the Lord would burn it to the ground.” He continued, “These men are infidels; they have no fear of God before their eyes. They lie by revelation, run by revelation, and unless they themselves repent, I fear they will be damned by revelation.”