The Wishing Star (17 page)

Lucy was standing in front of the rocking chair where Martin sat. “Martin! How could you promise to get that book printed even if you must sell your farm! Martin Harris, come to your senses! Because of that book, would you give up all we've struggled hard for? Has he
bewitched
you?”

He surged out of his chair, roaring, “You'll not be a-talkin' that way about the Lord's anointed!” Jenny scooted out the door. She dashed back down the trail, remembering her father's rage and desperately wishing for Tom.

As she ran, Mrs. Harris's words sank into her heart with undeniable impact. She slowed to a walk. “Jen, you could be without a home right soon,” she murmured aloud. Thinking of Mrs. Harris, she winced, hearing again the dreadful sound of that whip snapping against her back. She fled into the sanctuary of the woods.

Jenny nearly tumbled over Adela before she saw her. Panting, she leaned against the nearest tree and watched the dark-cloaked woman on the fallen log. Snugly wrapped in the cloak, motionless, she could have been taken for a rock. Now her dark eyes glowed, blinked.

“You are a very disturbed young lady.” The cadence in the woman's voice made Jenny think of music.

Jenny saw the stick beside her, took a deep breath, and asked, “Lookin' for treasure?”

Adela opened her eyes very wide and straightened up. “Oh,” she murmured, “I've been sitting here for so long.”

“You're waiting for someone?” Adela shook her head and smiled. “Someone to go digging with you? I'll go.”

She laughed merrily, “Oh, Jenny, you are a funny child. You are thinking I'm like these silly little-boy treasure diggers. Who have you been talking to?”

Jenny felt her shame and was grateful for the deep shadows. “I'm sorry,” she muttered. “But you were talking about the ancient religion, and how you are a nature worshiper.”

“Now, Jenny,” her voice was sharp, “that wasn't what I said. If you want to quote me, please get it right.”

“Then please say it again so I'll understand.”

“You're referring to what I said about my religion. Jenny, there's only one god; no matter how, or where, or when you choose to worship him, it's all right. I choose to worship him through nature. When I understand him and cooperate with him, I understand the mysteries of life and I am strong.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He gives knowledge of the eternal, to know how god thinks. God-knowledge. Isn't that what mankind wants to know more than anything else?”

Jenny hesitated, thinking. Gnawing in the back of her mind was the half-formed belief that what Adela was saying was not quite right. Something was wrong—but what? Jenny grappled with the question for a moment or two; when she finally looked up, Adela was gazing at her with a strange, distant expression.

Although she was silent, her dark eyes shone, and Jenny felt as if Adela were peering deep into her, knowing all that Jenny felt and feared. But there was more. Even though Jenny didn't understand the strange woman, the words she uttered wrapped about the two of them, binding them together.

Chapter 12

Spring came to Manchester, New York, surging with life. The whole countryside seemed to move and stretch and come alive at the same moment. But feelings Jenny had experienced all winter—that discontent, the vague yearnings, the desire to split the narrow seams of her life—moved over her with an intensity she couldn't deny.

As if propelled by unseen forces, Jenny went into the forest nearly every afternoon carrying the green book. Part of her resolve this spring had been to question Adela about the book, but initially she was disappointed. Now that she had decided on action, she expected Adela to be there waiting, but it was many days before she saw the woman in black.

At the beginning of her wait for Adela she was filled with impatience. Forced into patience, she discovered the world about her and found that it all reminded her of Adela.

Often the still air of the fir forest seemed to blanket her away from thought and sound, releasing her to experience the quiet. On occasion, a lone shaft of sunlight would penetrate the darkness. That single ray reminded her of the light in the church, and she tried to reconcile that experience with what Adela had said about worship.

Under the intensity of that arrow of light, she discovered flowers blooming in miniature, with an extra wash of color. She found the herbs and mushrooms Adela had gathered so eagerly with her long stick. Jenny tried to recall the ways Adela had used them, and she remembered one occasion when Adela had dipped a jug full of the fetid swamp water, guarding it as if it were a treasure.

When Jenny's thoughts were spun out, when she was tired of sighing with loneliness, she opened the green book and studied the strange words and promises.

****

In April, before she had seen Adela again, Smith came back to Manchester. Coming in from school one day, Jenny heard his voice, and at the same time, she heard Martin. Every word the man uttered sounded like a prayer. Jenny crept through the hallway to the parlor, and peered through the draperies. She saw the difference; this Joseph stood tall and square-shouldered before the cold fireplace. His presence commanded attention, and Martin was most certainly giving it to him.

Joseph's arm rested on the mantle, nearly against Lucy's best lamp. Jenny was heedless of his words; she had eyes only for the arm that pushed against the lamp. Remembering Lucy's last encounter with Joe in her kitchen, Jenny was mesmerized by the lamp. If he were to knock it to the floor, would Lucy dare chastise him?

But then the words and Joe's solemn expression caught her attention. “Martin,” he was saying, “I've long delayed coming, but the Lord reminds me I have a grave obligation. He's given me a message and a mission that I must not ignore—on pain of death.”

Again Jenny marveled at the difference between this powerful presence and the bright-haired boy with the peepstone. “Bet Emma has been working on his talking,” she muttered to herself. “He sounds like a gentleman.”

Smith dropped his arms from the mantle and folded them across his chest. There was regret in his voice as he spoke slowly and softly. “Martin, are you man enough to hear what the Lord has commanded me to say to you?” Martin hesitated a moment, then nodded his head.

“He let me know that you were wicked when you wearied me for the manuscript. It is only because of his purposes which must stand that I'm forgiven and restored for letting you have the papers. But I told you this last year. I'm only reminding you now so you'll remember how fearful it is to neglect any word of the Lord.”

Jenny watched him pace the room and then stop in front of Martin. “Now, Martin, here is a new message from the Lord. You are to repent. I have written out the revelation and I will let you read it for yourself, but I am to warn you to your face and then let you dwell upon it.

“Do you remember how in the revelation to Oliver, the Lord said that when man has truth given to him, he is to study it in his mind? If it is correct and from the Lord, he will have a burning in his bosom. This will let you know what is right. Don't forget, Martin, it's the burning in the bosom.”

Joe paced the room again, and Martin pleaded, “Please tell me. I know it's bad, but I'd rather just hear it.”

“For one thing,” Joe's voice was gentle, kind, “He's said that if you don't repent, you must suffer. Martin, He's said you are not to covet your neighbor's wife, nor to seek the life of your neighbor. You are not to covet your own property, but to impart it freely for the publishing of the Book of Mormon, the word of God. He has commanded you to pay up the printer's debt and release yourself from bondage. Leave your house and home, except when you want to be here.”

The import of the words struck Jenny and she shoved her knuckles against her teeth. She was trembling, but she willed herself to silence. There was a tumble of words from Martin and in the confusion, Jenny slipped from her hiding place and rushed through the kitchen and up to her room in the loft.

****

“What is
sabbat
?” Jenny sat on the log beside Adela. She clutched the green book tight and waited.

Slowly Adela moved, stirring as if just awakening. She looked at Jenny. “Where did you get the book?”

“It belonged to my pa.”

“And he let you have it?”

Jenny hesitated only a second. Somehow she knew that Adela wouldn't disapprove. “I stole it from him. When they left for the West without me, I just took it.”

Adela smiled gently, her voice dreamy and soft. “You really want the knowledge, don't you? I think that back in the past there was someone in your family, someone who—”

She didn't finish her statement, but Jenny saw her eyes shine their approval. Adela stood, moving as if she were drifting to her feet. “Jenny, you are very young. There's much to learn. This is a start, reading the book, but now you must let me lead you step by step.” As she spoke her hands moved as if drawing an arc in the air.

She whispered, “If you will learn the mysteries truly, if you allow them to sink into your mind, they will shape you into a person of power.” Her hands reached toward Jenny and then abruptly she pulled back. She whispered, “It must be done in the right way.” She pulled the cloak about her and started down the trail. “Come now, there are many things for you to see.”

Jenny trotted to keep up, but her stomach knotted with an unknown apprehension. She watched Adela using the long-forked stick as a walking stick. Eyeing the stick she said, “Martin said Joe had a revelation from the Lord for Oliver Cowdery, and the Lord told Oliver that using the rod was a gift from the Lord and that he was to use the rod to hear messages from God.”

“It's true. He has it right. There's only one god, just many different ways to know him.” She turned to face Jenny again and said, “I am anxious to teach you this way. Jenny, you'll have power to help people, to heal them, to do good—or evil—in their lives. It is for you to decide how you'll use the power.”

That night, long after the supper dishes had been cleared away and Jenny lay in her room under the eaves, Adela's words continued to ring through Jenny's thoughts.

Restlessly she tossed and turned, excited, troubled, questioning, uncertain. Images from the past danced through her mind. She could see Tom laughing, throwing back his head and shouting with glee when she had informed him that someday she would marry Joseph Smith.

Funny, the thought was still there—cold and lifeless, but still there.
Power
. Jenny was filled with uneasy desire. Adela had said, “There's just one god, and how you worship doesn't matter. But I can show you how to have power, power for all the things you desire. Jenny, what do you desire more than anything else in this world?”

Jenny hadn't answered. Adela's words hadn't seemed real at the time, but now with the full moon streaming its silver light into her room, Jenny realized that her old desire had not diminished but gained new strength.

She sat up in bed and hugged her knees against her chest. She could feel her breasts against her legs, and the soft fullness reminded her that her life was changing, moving forward.

“Jenny,” she whispered to herself, “just like Adela said, you've lots to learn. If Joe Smith can change, so can you. If the moon is what you want, Adela can tell you how to get it. They say Joe's wife is sickly and can't give him young'uns. I'll be the second Mrs. Smith, and I won't share him with another woman on earth.”

The next day Jenny eagerly sought out Adela. Once again she sat on the log beside her with the green book hugged tightly in her arms. Adela was talking but Jenny was only vaguely conscious of the rhythm of her words; instead, she was studying Adela, from her flawless ivory skin to the red chiffon that showed through the heavy folds of her cape. She murmured yes to questions that slid over her head. But mostly she wondered how she could become like Adela.

Abruptly she asked, “Where did you get your pretty red dress?”

Adela pulled away from her and for a moment her lips tightened with displeasure. “You have not been listening to me! Jenny, how do you expect to learn? You wouldn't treat your schoolteacher that way, would you?” Suddenly her face softened, “Jenny, I didn't mean to scold. You're young. I forget. At your age it is hard to take life seriously. Never you mind. I'll be patient till you see.”

Abruptly she jumped to her feet and dropped the dark cloak. Before Jenny had time to blink her startled eyes, Adela spun away from her in a dance. Her red dress rose and fell like a flame as she danced through the trees, dipping, swirling. She retreated through the firs, then came flying back to Jenny.

When she finally stopped Jenny watched the flame red dress slowly float downward, quiet again. Adela pulled the shrouding cape around her shoulders and dropped to the ground in front of Jenny.

“I feel part of the god of light when I dance,” she murmured. “Only then do I transcend this place and reach the eternal and become one with him.”

Jenny frowned trying to understand the concepts, and Adela patted her knee. “You need to read more. Here, I'll mark portions for you to read, just like your teacher at school!”

Jenny spoke slowly. “You asked what I desired in life, and I couldn't answer. Now I know. How do I get the power to have my desires?”

Adela studied Jenny and her pretty lips pulled down into a mocking pout. “You make a light thing of it all; what do you want, a new dress like mine?”

Jenny shook her head, “No, its—well it's personal and I just can't talk about it. But I want it very much.”

Jenny saw Adela look down at her clenched hands as she said dryly, “I don't think you yet realize we are not trading for little favors. Serving the god of the universe for a new dress isn't done. Jenny, I've tried to tell you that this is serious business. True, there is great satisfaction and power, but more—there is great responsibility. You don't enter lightly into searching out the eternals. You don't learn the secrets and mysteries of life itself without a great deal of—of soul searching. This is a pathway; once you start there is no turning back. You yourself will become in tune with nature itself. Like a harp plucked by the hand of the master, you must respond.