The Wishing Star (22 page)

At last Joseph stepped back. With a face nearly as gray as the dead infant's, he whispered, “I cannot.”

In the waiting moment, Tom was aware of the buzz of flies, the uneasy creak of chairs. When Mortinsen arose, still clutching the limp form, he turned to a bowed and sobbing man seated nearby. “Brother,” he whispered, “you advised me that the Lord would heal, and that there was no need to go to the doctor.” His voice was heavy. “In the name of God, I hold you responsible for destroying the life of my son.”

A troubled Tom made his way back to his room over the livery stable. As he did his evening chores around the stable, Newel Knight entered.

“Tom,” he asked soberly, “are you hearing rumbles about what happened today?”

“Yeah, there's a whole tide of bad feelin's adrift, what with Joe pullin' these healings and nothin' comin' of it.”

“I urged caution, but a little success goes a long way.”

“It's worse than just the failure,” Tom said as he pitched hay to the horses. “It's what it's doin' to these here folks.”

Knight sighed and nodded. He cinched the saddle tight and led his horse out the gate. “Well, tomorrow's another day; maybe Joseph will receive the words to undo the harm.”

The second day of the conference the Sabbath services had only begun when Rigdon slowly got to his feet, lifted his hands, and pronounced the benediction. Tom sat in stunned disbelief.

On the way out Tom heard a man beside him mutter, “The spirit was tellin' me we needed a sermon; how come the spirit told him different?” Tom had reached the door, but on impulse he turned. Joseph and Sidney Rigdon were still facing each other at the front of the room.

A stranger, too, hesitated for one last look, and the eyes he turned toward Tom were scornful. Dryly he said, “I'm waitin' to hear how he explains this.” Tom watched him walk away before he made his way toward Joseph.

“You realize what this can do to the church, don't you?” A sober Joseph nodded in reply to Rigdon and turned as Tom stopped beside him.

“You may as well hear it now,” he said heavily to Tom. “Williams just brought word from the town of Thompson that Copley and Thayer have yanked their gift of land to the church.”

“That isn't all,” Rigdon said as he took quick, nervous steps across the room and back. “They're using the law to dump themselves of what they're calling New York trespassers. That means we've a bunch of people without a home.”

****

Jenny and Clara were sitting in the middle of Jenny's bed, the green book open between them. Jenny ran her fingers under the words and lifted her face. “Clara, what can you tell me about charms?”

“How come you have the book and have been learnin' under Adela and yet you know so little?”

“If she told me about them, I've forgotten. Maybe I wasn't needing them.”

“Charms. A love potion? I'm thinkin' you'll not need it for that young man.”

“Mark? Oh, no—and not a
love
potion. Oh, dear,” she murmured, suddenly visualizing how Mark's face would look if he were listening to the conversation.

Her horror must have shown on her face, because Clara laughed and said, “Don't give it a worry. I don't go spreading tales.”

But the memory of Mark's face and his clear, steady eyes wouldn't leave Jenny. Quickly she led Clara away from the subject. “Tell me, Clara, how did you come to get into—this.”

“You can't say it, can you? You needn't think it's all so awful. I'm a white witch.”

“What's that?”

“That means that I don't do evil things to people. Except for callin' up storms, I try to do only good things for others.”

“Some don't count the difference; to them a witch is a witch.”

“That's 'cause they don't understand the craft. 'Tis the oldest, the most ancient religion. 'Tis nature's religion. All we do is worship the way we were intended to worship from the very beginning of time. I know you've been fed a different story. See, it's all twisted. The lie's been twisted and given as truth and the real truth is being lied about. You know how to tell the real truth, don't you?”

“Well, I'm beginning to wonder,” Jenny faltered, remembering Lucy Harris's words about truth and power.

“It's the power. If you get power, then you know it's the truth.”

“Do you?” Jenny whispered.

Clara nodded and patted the book. “I've never seen the book before, but I've been taught by my mother and grandma. What the book says is just what they say.”

“Have you—” Jenny's voice dropped to a whisper, but she felt compelled to say it. “Do you go to sabbats?”

“Of course. It seems you've had a bad time. Granted, it takes some gettin' use to. But there's lots in life that takes bein' brave.” Jenny saw the sly look creep across her face.

Hastily Jenny asked, “What power do you have?”

“I told you about the storms. That's the one that's most easy to see. Want me to demonstrate?” Jenny nodded and Clara continued, “I'm doing charms too, to keep off the bad spirits and to bring good luck, things like that.”

“Tell me a charm to use.”

“Well, you have one yourself—didn't you recognize it as such? You're prayin' to the moon goddess when you recite that Luna verse asking for emblems of destiny.”

“It is!” Jenny exclaimed in surprise. “Then why don't I find out about my destiny?”

“You're just sayin' it; you're not bringing down the power. See, if you want to get the knowledge, you put a prayerbook under your pillow and place on it a key, a ring, flowers, a sprig of willow . . .” and Clara's voice continued the list of common enough items.

In silence Jenny pondered Clara's instructions, and deep within she found her spirit sinking. How could she possibly believe in Clara's charm? Finally she sighed and asked, “What did you have to promise to get the power?”

Clara looked at her quizzically. “Nothing. Just use the charms and follow the rituals.”

“You didn't have to—to make a pact with the devil?”

Clara laughed merrily, “Oh, Jenny, your face! Your eyes are as big as saucers. It's hard to take you serious-like when you're so scared. Jenny, don't fuss so; relax and enjoy yourself. That's the whole meanin' behind life.”

Her voice dropped to a gentle note as she studied Jenny's face. “If something big comes up and nothing else works, you may have to make a pact; it all depends how important it is to you. Some things mean more'n life.”

After Clara left her room, Jenny picked up the book and slowly thumbed through it until she reached the section that talked about making a pact with Lucifer, god of light, god of good.

She closed her eyes, willing the memory of Joe's face to come before her. She studied the remembered features, that beak of a nose, those laughing eyes. How her hands ached to move through that shining bright hair! “Too bad just thinking isn't enough to put you here,” she murmured.

As Jenny thought about what Clara said, she hesitated, shivering. What about that unknown cost? Was Joseph really worth it? The thought grew in her mind. But also there grew the feeling she must be certain before she took that step.

****

Jenny had just finished the noon dishes. Summer heat simmered in the air, sucking out moisture and giving dust in exchange. She trailed her finger across the dusty table just as Clara walked in.

The girl was grinning and beckoning, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Today was the day Clara had chosen. Clara's face wore a funny half-smile, like the Bartons' cat, just in from the pasture full of mice. “It's a good time to go. Let's be off.” Her eyes narrowed to slits of ecstasy. “Perfect. Not a cloud in the sky, and hasn't been for days. And the hay's in, so we'll do no harm.”

As soon as they stepped into the woods, Jenny was aware of the change coming over her companion. No longer playfully happy and carefree, she began to walk with slow, deliberate steps. The deeper they moved into the woods, the more oppressive her spirit became. Glancing at her face, Jenny was surprised to see the heavy frown.

For a moment she thought to tease Clara about looking like the clouds of storm she hoped to conjure, but then she saw Clara's eyes. It would be impossible to get her attention.

When they reached the deepest gloom of the forest, Clara waved Jenny aside while she moved about her task. Now Jenny was aware of the low, guttural murmuring that Clara was making as she moved methodically, marking a circle, inscribing strange figures in the soil, and stacking sticks with crumbled dry herb over all.

When she finished, she sat down in the circle. Jenny settled down on a fallen log and fought the sleepiness that seemed to be washing over her in waves. She lost track of time and had nearly forgotten where she was. Abruptly Clara jumped to her feet. “We must hurry!” she gasped, and she turned and ran back down the trail.

When they reached the edge of the forest, Jenny understood why. The sky was a mass of dark, boiling clouds. As they ran across the pasture, the thunder grew louder and the lightning flashed. They reached the kitchen door just after the rain began.

Mrs. Barton was standing by the stove, and she turned to them with a worried frown. “Oh my, you're wet. But then, who would have guessed we'd have a storm like this!”

****

On the third day of the church conference, Tom sat on his bench and looked at Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon. They were on the platform, quietly facing the congregation. Rigdon's face was pale, and Joseph seemed subdued. Tom moved uneasily on his bench and wished that he'd had the gumption to stay home this meeting. Nat Johnson was sitting beside him. His smooth, expressionless face did nothing to calm Tom's churning insides.

When Joseph stood to talk, Tom breathed a sigh of relief. At least Joe was his usual jovial self. “My friends and fellow believers—” He paused, and his gaze swept about the room until every rustle stilled and all were hanging on his words. “I deeply regret all that happened on the first day of conference, and I've been rebuked by the Lord for failing to understand and accept. I have a revelation from the Lord which I will read to you, and then you will comprehend what the Lord is trying to do for us.”

He lifted the paper and cleared his throat. “I the Lord will make known to you . . . the next conference, which shall be held in Missouri, on the land which I will consecrate unto my people.” The revelation was long, and only a few words hit Tom with meaning. He heard that the land of Missouri was the inheritance, but it was also the land of their enemies.

There was a low growl beside Tom, and Johnson said, “Zion, Missouri. The Lord is givin' us a hard assignment. That means we'll be a-fightin' for it.”

When Joe folded the papers and tucked them away, he said, “The Lord has very plainly told me there will be no miracles until we are settled in Zion. There we will erect a glorious temple. Now you men who have been commanded by the Lord, be part of this first group. Spy out the land and prepare a home for those who will be moving from Thompson to Missouri. I say, obey the Lord, and prepare to go.”

Chapter 16

In June 1831, Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon, along with thirty others chosen by the Lord, left for Missouri. The men were instructed to go two by two, making their way to Missouri, preaching the gospel as they went. Joseph and Rigdon were to travel as far as St. Louis by steamship.

Though Tom was disappointed in not being included, he busied himself around the livery stable, while the men were gone. One day, soon after Joe's return, Tom was shoeing Knight's saddle horse when Joe came into the shop. “Looks like Knight's bound to make a smithy out of you.”

Tom grunted and drove the last nail into the horse's hoof. “I'm hired jack-of-all-trades,” he said shortly, “and I'm glad to be learnin' this. If I had stayed in Manchester, I
might
have worked up to this in another year.” He released the horse and stood up. “I hear you've moved your family to Hiram.”

“That's right. The Lord's been impressing me with the need to get at the translation of the New Testament.” Tom wrapped the reins around his hand and Joseph fell in step with him. “You're heavy-hearted; what's troubling you? Is it the reports of the trip that have you down?”

Astonished and curious, Tom turned to look at Joseph. “I've not heard a thing. I'm heavy because I was thinkin' about losin' my job when Knight and the rest move to Zion.”

“Well, you needn't be worrying yet,” Joe said abruptly. “The Lord's instructed Knight and Whitney both to keep their businesses here until the last of the church has moved to Zion. From the looks of things, it'll be a while.”

“Well, I'm glad,” Tom answered. “But from the slant of the revelations, I figured we'd all be a-pullin' up stakes right away.”

With a rueful sigh, Joe said, “Some of the Lord's anointed in Missouri would like to see that happen, but the Lord's revealed most of the elders are to return here and support their families while they get busy with spreading the gospel in the eastern part of the country. Anyone who wants to settle in Zion right now will do it only after his prayers assault heaven for the privilege.”

“Why's that?” Tom asked.

“'Tis a fair land,” Joseph said slowly, “but it's costly. The price of moving to Missouri will only be met when every man here gives liberally to the Lord. But that isn't all. The Lord doesn't want His people complacent and mingling with the Gentiles. His revelation says God's people'll push the Gentiles off the ends of the earth.”

They stopped at the hitching post in front of Whitney's general store. Tom looped the reins of the horse around it and turned to wave at Knight who was standing in the doorway. “Your filly's the proud owner of new shoes,” he called.