The Wishing Star (18 page)

“If you will use, you must be used. Taking vows is serious, embarking on the tunnel toward that light is a glorious journey, freeing the spirit to soar with others of our kind.” Now she leaned close to Jenny and peered into her eyes. Jenny could only shiver, transfixed; she felt she had already started down the path.

But later, on another day, Jenny opened the book in Adela's presence and ran her fingers under horrifying words. “Adela, they don't mean this, do they, about drinking blood?”

Adela nodded in affirmation, and her face hardened in response to Jenny's whispered, “No!” But as soon as Jenny said it, she knew she had to decide. The thought of losing Adela—and Joe—was unbearable.

When the woman's face softened and she knelt before Jenny with that beautiful smile, Jenny knew she couldn't say no. Finally, when they both stood, Adela smiled gently, “Before the power begins, you must go to the sabbat with me and prove you are ready to start down the path of power.”

Jenny started to ask her again about the word
sabbat
, but decided against it. If she went to one, she would learn what it was.

The time came, the eve of May Day. For weeks Jenny had trembled between wanting what Adela had promised, and fearing the coming unknown in a way she could neither identify nor understand.

Even now, on this chosen night, Jenny hesitated, filled with doubt. She slipped from the silent, sleeping house just before midnight. For a moment she was filled with a voiceless plea for Tom. Then she straightened her shoulders. Adela would be there; that was all she needed.

At the end of the path, at the edge of the dark forest, Adela met her. Without a word they moved swiftly through the woods toward a pale light shining through the trees. Jenny realized they stood on a moonlit path at the edge of town. She gave a gasp of relief as Adela motioned her on.

When they stopped in front of the church, Jenny's words burst out in astonishment. “I didn't know we were goin' to church! You said—”

“Where else would one go to worship the beautiful god of light?”

Jenny shrugged. Trying vainly to express her tumbled thoughts, she said, “I—I guess when you explained about renouncing all other covenants and talked about the new communion, I guess I just—” Other shadowy figures were joining them, and Jenny said no more.

The church was lighted only by a tiny cluster of candles. For a moment Jenny thought back to the afternoon she had come here with Lucy Harris. How brilliant the beautiful light had been! Now the dark-robed group moved slowly and silently toward the candles.

A sudden chill swept over Jenny. The cross which had hung on the wall was being lifted down. They dropped it in front of the candles, and one dark figure kicked it into position.

A black-robed man with a goat's head tied around his neck began to sing. And after a few minutes the singing gave way to chanting, a strange rhythmic chanting which surged and pulsed through Jenny's body. Their chant was strange and disturbing.

Abruptly the chanting ceased, and Jenny felt the strange, heavy silence settle over her spirit. A man moved slowly toward the priest. She watched him take a deep breath and lift his head. Clearly his voice rang out, “I beg you, honorable one, that you add my name to the Book of Death. It is only by moving beyond this life and into the next that I will enter the eternal progression.”

For a moment Jenny lost the tread of thought as the man continued with his vows. She was frowning, trying to understand what he was saying. Suddenly new words grabbed her attention, spreading meaning over her with a chilling blast.

The priest was saying. “Do you deny the Christian faith, the creator of heaven and earth? Do you renounce your baptism and promise to give your allegiance only to the god of light?”

The words were still underlining themselves in her mind, spreading confusion and a fear that she didn't understand, but she pushed them away as the man squared his shoulders. She heard the first initiate echo a dark-sounding oath, and she felt an urge to run. She cringed as he stomped on the cross. Then they removed the chalice from the altar and poured a dark substance into it. This chalice she had drunk from on that day of glory and light, they were desecrating with animal's blood!

Clasping her hands against her throat, Jenny backed away, shuddering as horror coursed through her. Jenny felt hands pushing her forward, cold and insistent, for she was the next initiate. Adela's sharp voice reminded her, “You said you would do anything for power. Have you changed your mind?”

As Jenny hesitated, a clear picture of Joe's intense face framed with bright hair rose in her mind. Still she pulled back as Adela's cold hand pushed. As she took a step, the group parted to accept her. The cross lay at her feet.

Suddenly she whirled and ran down the long aisle, past Adela and the motionless dark figures. Through the darkened streets Jenny ran, her mind filled with remembered glory—brilliant color broken by the window and thrown against the cross and the chalice.

All that night horror held her motionless, wide-eyed in the darkness of her room. As morning broke she watched for the sun with hungry eyes, wishing she could get enough of it to last her through the coming night and then the next.

But within the week a new horror came. Life with Martin Harris had been rising to a climax for a long time. Jenny had felt this, but even she was surprised that evening.

He came in for his supper, saying in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, “I've sold part of the farm.”

Lucy was very quiet for a moment. Then she sighed and moved. “How much did you get?”

“Three thousand—and there's not a penny for you,” he said stoutly. “It's all for the Lord's work. Joe's had a revelation sayin' I'm to pay the printer's debt.”

He settled himself at the table and pulled the plate of bread toward him. “The printer's debt,” Lucy repeated slowly. “You mean you're paying for printing Joe's gold Bible with the money from our farm?” She walked slowly toward him. “Martin, I can't hold my peace any longer. You've always been restless, seekin' after new religions, never satisfied with the truth. But to sell the farm for this heresy—”

“That's enough, woman!” Martin roared. “I'm leavin' you. You're rebelling against the Lord and I'll have nothin' more to do with you! You'll have this house, but you'll have to feed and clothe yourself. Maybe that Lord of yours will take care of you!” He jumped to his feet and headed for the door.

Lucy ran toward him, reaching for his arm. Jenny stood horrified, unable to move as the quick sweep of his arm threw off Lucy's clinging hands. Without thinking, Jenny rushed toward her as Lucy spun off balance.

“You leave her be!” Martin roared, and swung at Jenny. Again and again he struck her, then turned on Lucy. When Jenny returned to consciousness and looked around for Lucy, Martin was long gone.

They surveyed each other's wounds; then their eyes met. Heavily Lucy said, “You can't fight a revelation. He thinks it's God speakin' to him—but God don't make people mean.”

During the following week, Jenny and Lucy did little more than nurse their battered bodies. But the memory of the terror returned when Tom came home and saw the results of Martin's fury. Anger and despair swept his face; he hugged Jenny and she cried with pain. During that week, he scarcely let Lucy and Jenny out of his sight.

One evening as Jenny limped into the kitchen, she heard Tom talking to Lucy. “Ma'am, there's no work here, and you don't need the worry of extra mouths to feed. Amos and the others have found a spot for themselves, and I mean to be off myself. A buddy's in town and he's talkin' me into movin' east with him. I—”

Jenny's cry broke through his words, and the two turned to her. “Oh, Tom, you can't leave me! Not now!” The arm she stretched toward him was still badly bruised and she saw him wince. “Take me with you, please.”

While Tom hesitated, Lucy sighed, “Much as I hate to lose her, Tom, she's right to ask. You're her blood relation and that means much to a young'un. Take her away from this place and find her a position wherever you go.”

****

Jenny's poor battered body robbed her of the sense to ask about their destination and with whom they would travel. When the day came and she stood in front of Mark Cartwright with her bundles of belongings at her feet, she realized that Tom hadn't mentioned her to Mark, either.

Tom stumbled over his explanations and Mark's frown changed to pity. While his eyes measured the bruises on her bare arms, Jenny realized that her ordeal had become an asset. It was winning her release from this place.

Chapter 13

The stagecoach was just beginning to roll, pulling out of Manchester for eastern New York. Mark Cartwright and Tom sat facing Jenny. At the crack of the driver's whip and his shout, “Move it out!” the horses responded with a surge of speed and the stage rocked around the corner. Jenny's knuckles were white as she gripped the handrail.

“Your first time on a stagecoach?” Mark observed and was given a tense nod. Cautiously she leaned against the doorframe to watch Manchester disappear from sight.

Tom lowered his voice. “We've just traveled in Pa's wagon. Mark, we're greenhorns, and mighty grateful we could travel with you. You've got kin in Cobleskill? I've never heard of Cobleskill.”

Jenny leaned forward. “Your ma and pa there?”

Mark shook his head. He was studying Jenny, marveling at the difference four years had made. “My mother lives in Ohio, just inland from Cleveland. My father died three years ago. I'm headed for Albany, New York. An uncle on my mother's side has offered this fledgling attorney a spot in his law office until I get some experience.” He watched curiosity flit across Jenny's face. “My mother has a sister in Cobleskill,” he added. As Jenny's large gray eyes watched him intently, he lapsed into silence, remembering South Bainbridge. What a pathetic little tyke she had been in those days! Only her eyes still seemed the same—curious gray flecked with amber, just as steadfast and serious now as when they had caught his attention in the schoolroom at South Bainbridge.

Mark continued to watch Jenny as she shifted her attention to Tom. He found himself speaking just to recapture that play of expression on her face, to see the changing light in her eyes. When Tom was voicing his fears of the future again, the shadows in Jenny's eyes had Mark leaning forward, raising his voice against the clatter of the coach and the shout of the driver.

“Tom, I'll help you find a position. There are friends enough around Cobleskill who'll know of jobs for the two of you. You needn't settle for just anything; you've both worked, and you'll find good positions. Don't worry about a thing.”

When they reached Cobleskill Mark was true to his word. He soon found work for Jenny, but things just weren't working out for Tom. Tom was figuring how to explain this to Jenny as he sat in the kitchen of the Hamilton Barton home. Watching his sister working in the kitchen, he couldn't help admire her easy manner.

“You're fittin' in well,” he observed, nodding his head toward the hall. “I was sure flabbergasted when I saw the place. Mark did well for you.”

“It was actually Mrs. Weber, his aunt Mabel. She knew the Bartons were needing a girl.” She paused in her task of mixing bread and lifted doughy hands. “I've Lucy Harris to thank for showing me the way around a lady's kitchen. But I'm also thinking Mrs. Barton's mighty generous to take on such a raw one and train me up; no doubt Mark and his aunt had something to do with it all. Leastwise, the Bartons seem to think well of Mark.” She covered the bread pans and turned to Tom. “You didn't come just for a chat, did you?”

Tom shrugged and then admitted, “Jen, I'm for goin' back.”

“Back!” she echoed, whirling around. “You don't mean Manchester.”

“I'm not sure where,” he admitted miserably. He knew he was failing her. “I can't get myself settled to anything, and I thought if I were to just wander back for a time, it might settle my feelings.”

She continued to watch him and he resisted the urge to squirm. Her eyes were too much like Ma's, guessing his thoughts. Slowly she said, “I think what you're feeling has something to do with Joe Smith. He was sure getting lots of sympathy from you.”

“Jen, he's my friend. It hurts to remember how the people back there ain't givin' him a chance to prove himself. A crowd is followin' him now, and listenin' to him, everywhere except Palmyra and Manchester. There they wouldn't even let him have the town hall to have his say.”

Jenny rubbed her chin with a floury hand, and Tom chuckled at the childish gesture. Gently he said, “Rub the flour off your chin. Jen, I'm not tryin' to lay my burdens on you; I only want you to understand why I'm leavin' now.”

“Tom, I'll not hold you. I've this position here and I'll make it. Only—” her voice caught and she took a breath, “just come see me once in a while. You're all I have. Sometimes I pine for Ma and I think to look for her. I wish they'd be writing, so I'd know where to find them.”

“You know Ma can't hardly put a pen to paper,” Tom responded, getting to his feet. She only nodded as she followed him to the door.

Jenny's words and the memory of the one tear that had escaped down her cheek stayed with Tom as he packed his gear and headed back. As he trudged the roads and trails, passing through small towns and walking the country roads past prospering farms, he pondered and chided himself. “Tom, here you are, twenty-one years old and roamin' the country like a tad with nothin' to do. Seems you ought to be settlin' down.”

But then he admitted it—he had unrest inside, and this was the only thing he knew to do to get rid of it. Abruptly his feet veered off the west-bound road and sought the southward cut toward Pennsylvania. Later, when he wondered why he had chosen that path just then, he concluded it must have been the Lord giving him one more chance to pay attention.