The Wishing Star (29 page)

While Jenny waited for Mark the next morning, she contemplated their day in the city and wondered at her mounting excitement.

He had his aunt's carriage, and Aunt Mabel had lent Jenny her straw bonnet covered with silk blossoms. Mark was wearing a straw hat that made him look suddenly mature even as it heightened the effect of his boyish grin.

She settled herself primly, asking, “What goes on in the city on a common old workday?”

“The fair, with booths and displays and fireworks and a band in the park. When it gets dark I shall sneak you behind the bushes and teach you to dance.”

“Oh, horrors!” The impulsive words leaped out before she could think to harness them. “I understand that Joseph Smith excommunicated members of his church for dancing. Do you think—”

He looked at her strangely. “I didn't know you were keeping score for the Mormons.”

After a long moment, she could say, “But Tom—”

At the fair he held her hand while they petted little black lambs. They ate ice cream and watched fireworks. They sat in the park and listened to the band. There was dancing on a proper floor, and with a teasing grin, Mark led her through the steps.

And when the moon was cresting the trees, he put her in the buggy and held her hand. Beside Mabel Weber's barn, he lifted her down, even though she could have hopped from the carriage just as she had on other days. When he cupped her chin in his hands, Jenny couldn't remember why she shouldn't rest her hands on his shoulders and lift her face. But when he whispered, “Jenny, I'm falling in love with you,” she shook her head. “Don't, Mark.”

Phoebe came back the next day, and Mark returned Jenny to the Bartons. They rode in the same buggy, but now Jenny wore her faded calico bonnet, and there were unspoken questions in Mark's eyes.

When she stood in the Bartons' kitchen and watched Mark's square shoulders disappearing down the lane in a cloud of dust rising from the buggy wheels, Jenny touched the hard metal disk fastened in the folds of her dress.

****

Months rolled by, and although she heard of Mark's frequent visits with his aunt, he hadn't called. Jenny thought she had nearly forgotten him; certainly, he had forgotten her.

The autumn leaves were crisping underfoot and the aroma of the apples Jenny was picking filled her senses with an earthy impulse to dance through the orchard, hugging all its glory to herself. She had her eyes closed as she sat in the comfortable cradle of tree branches. Holding the apple against her nose, she breathed deeply and gloried in the gentle warmth of the sun and the touch of wind.

“Hello!” Her eyes popped open, and she saw Mark's eyes nearly on a level with her knee. “I see you've picked lots of apples today.” He was peering into the basket which held three apples.

Jenny smiled, pulled off an apple bobbing at her elbow, scrubbed it against her sleeve, and offered it to Mark. She watched him sink his teeth into it; all the while her emotions skithered skyward and then settled down like milkweed.

“How's lawyering?” she began.

“Pretty fair.” He was watching her from the corner of his eyes as he pitched the apple core through the trees. “I would ask you if you're still enjoying doing dishes, but I'm afraid you'll say no, and I've nothing better to offer.”

In silence she sorted through his words, grabbing and then discarding meaning. In the open neck of his white shirt, she could see the heavy beat of his pulse, and her fingers wanted desperately to touch the pulse, to steady its throb.

“Jenny—” he paused, then with more control said, “I've missed you terribly. I've come to ask you to marry me.”

Jenny bowed her head against the roughness of the tree and slowly shook her head. Her mind filled, not with Mark, but with that bright, arrogant head. The talisman cut into her shoulder as she pressed against the tree, but she kept her eyes shut to hide what she knew she would see in Mark's face. “Mark, please go.”

The sun had ceased to warm her skin when she raised her head. Mark was gone. Quickly now, she stripped the apples from the branches, shivering in the hostile tree.

Chapter 21

Tom chewed the end of his pencil and stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. It was a cold January, and the stove in the tack-room of the livery stable glowed red-hot. The door behind him creaked open and slammed shut before he stirred himself enough to turn.

The Prophet was shaking snow from his coat and slapping his old hat against the horse collars lining the wall. “You're studying that paper like you expect it to bite.” He sat down and lifted his icy boots toward the glow of the stove.

“Since gettin' back from Missouri last summer, I've been meanin' to write a letter to Jenny,” Tom muttered, shoving the pencil into his pocket with a sigh of relief. “I left her with the information we'd be stayin' in Missouri a spell.”

Joseph pondered Tom's statement in silence. With a rueful grimace he said, “Tom, maybe the sadness of the trip doesn't warrant writing about.”

“I wasn't thinkin' to air grievances,” he said shortly. “I just had in mind lettin' her know I'm still in the land of the living. In addition, I'm lonesome for family.”

“If you're serious about her soul and getting her into the only means of salvation, why aren't you urging her to move to Kirtland?”

“I'd not given it much thought,” Tom answered slowly. “She's happy where she is.”

“I could ask around and find a position for her,” Joseph said thoughtfully. “If this had come up sooner, Emma could have used her help. The little ones had her about worn down. We've relief now, with hiring Fannie Alger.”

“I've seen Fannie at meetings, a right comely gal,” Tom observed. “The fellas around are wishin' Emma didn't keep her so busy. They'd all like to try their hand at sparkin'.”

Joseph laughed. “My idea is that she's not interested in the ones presenting themselves at the door.” He lowered his feet and leaned forward, “Seriously, why don't you speak to Jenny about coming? She's a comely lass, too. If we can't find a position for her, we'll be marrying her off shortly.”

“Marryin'—” Tom hesitated. “I guess she's old enough. I still forget she's not a tyke. Matter of fact, she's had her twenty-first birthday this month.”

Joseph stood up and reached for his coat. “I'm headed for the temple. We've good news. A fellow by the name of John Tanner heard about the money troubles and met the foreclosure notice on the temple mortgage. He'd sold his farms and timber acreage, getting set to move to Missouri, so once again the Lord's provided for us.”

“And the temple will be finished on time and things will be movin' just like the Lord promised in the revelation,” Tom said softly.

“That's right,” Joseph agreed. “First the temple is to be completed, and then the elders will be endowed with power from on high. Brother Tom, this will be a time of the outpouring of the Lord on the whole church, but especially on the leaders. I'm expecting a manifestation of the Lord's blessing at the time the temple is dedicated, and then we will be released from this place to possess Zion.

“Soon 'twill be time for the gathering up of money to purchase Zion,” Joseph continued. “The Lord has promised that He will fight our battles for us. He has also said the destroyer has been sent forth to destroy, and it will not be many years hence until the Gentiles won't be left to pollute and blaspheme the promised land of Zion.”

“How will we know when that time will be?” Tom asked.

“When the other promise is fulfilled, when the army of Israel becomes very great.” While Tom remembered the poor army which had marched into Missouri last May, Joseph's words cut through his thoughts again. “At that time, the Lord will not hold us guiltless if we don't possess the land and avenge Him of His enemies.”

****

Jenny was bending over the pile of calico in her lap when Clara came into her room. “Ugh,” she declared. “I've not seen the likes. Every time I look, you're sewin' another fancy dress for yourself. I 'spect every cent of your pay has gone that way. How many does this make?”

Jenny raised her head, “Counting the winter frocks and the cape, 'tis five. I've a new bonnet too, see?” she nodded toward the shelf.

Clara looked and said softly, “Jenny, we'll be missin' you. Does Mrs. Barton know?”

“No, I've not set a date in my mind yet and she's not asked, though she's seen the frocks.”

“I'm not certain you're ready,” Clara said slowly. “You're claimin' power, what with the talisman, but you've not heard from your brother. I can't get you to a sabbat, and another solstice has passed. I've told you about the wax, but ya won't do a thing except wear the talisman and work with the herbs and charms.” She shook her head sadly.

“But I
feel
ready,” Jenny insisted. “I've read; I'm gaining power. For nearly a year now, I've been practicing up, learning to use the herbs and charms for healing. Mrs. Barton doesn't know it, but I healed her of the ague. She thought the herbs I mixed and gave to her did the trick, but you and I know it was the charms. Where I'm going there'll be a need, and I want to use the power to heal.”

Clara was shaking her head. “I'm still thinkin' you've no idea of the real power needed if you're goin' to be more'n a white witch. You're play actin', Jenny. When you're ready to make a pact, then the
real
power will be yours.”

Jenny studied Clara's serious face, “But
you
haven't made a pact; why must I?”

“Our power is limited, but do you want to be a white witch all your life? That's all I intend for myself. Bein' a good witch, helpin' people. I've the idea you had something else in mind.”

Jenny was silent, staring at the sewing in her lap. Finally she shrugged and stood up. “Anyway,” she said lightly, “I'll have a chance to practice my power on Mark this evening. He's coming to take me to a concert at the town hall. I'm tempted to wear my new cape even though it's nearly too warm for a wrap.”

Clara went to the window. “I can't believe winter's gone and spring is here.” Abruptly she turned from the window and asked. “Are you certain you don't care if I use a talisman on Mark?”

Startled, Jenny raised her head to meet Clara's worried eyes. She visualized Clara's frizz of hair and pudgy figure in soiled calico alongside Mark in his dark suit and shiny boots. She kept her face averted as she said, “You were the one who told me everything was fair in love and war. Besides, there's still Joe Smith; and didn't you say that where there's life, there's hope?”

When Clara's eyes began to shine and she opened her mouth to speak, Jenny added hastily, “But tonight is mine; sometime I must tell him my intentions.”

In the end it turned out to be easier than Jenny expected. Mr. Barton had carried in Tom's letter just minutes before Mark arrived. Jenny, wearing the new dark challis print, was still holding the unopened letter when she heard Mark's footsteps on the porch.

When she went to greet him she waved the letter and asked, “Do you mind?”

They sat together on the bench under the kitchen window and she pried open the envelope. “It's the first I've heard from him since the army went to Missouri. They were to stay until Zion's problems were solved, but—” She had the letter open and was scanning it. She sighed and frowned.

“It doesn't seem things worked out as they had expected,” she said slowly, puzzling over Tom's fragmented letter that nearly ignored the Missouri trip. She slowly refolded the letter, saying, “Tom's urging me to join him. He says Joseph Smith has promised to find a position for me.”

“Do you want to go?” Mark's voice was low, and Jenny was tensely aware of that distance between them. She studied his face half hidden by evening shadows, knowing again the misery she felt every time they were together. Since apple-picking time last autumn, the times they had been together could be counted on one hand; even then he had stayed away until nearly Christmastime.

As she studied him, she was aware of his restraint. The old happy, easy days were gone. This new Mark was serious, cordial, persistent. And Jenny felt uneasily helpless in the face of his determination. Each time she had seen him, she had vowed it would be the last, yet the resolve wasn't kept and the reason she had for not keeping it grew more troublingly vague each time.

She sighed and got to her feet. “Isn't it time to go?”

He stood. “It is. I've taken the liberty of promising us to Auntie Mabel for a reception after the concert. You must have at least a shawl; it will be cool later.” When she handed him the new cape, she saw the approval in his eyes. “Is it new?” he inquired. At her nod, he said, “That's a becoming dress, too.”

It was late when they departed from Mabel Weber's home, and Jenny left reluctantly. Walking out to the carriage with Mark, she admitted, “Those people made me forget I'm the Bartons' hired girl.”

He turned to her with a puzzled frown. “Jenny, what difference does it make? You're well-read and intelligent; those are the qualities that endear you to others. I wish you would stop being sensitive about your position.” He helped her into the carriage and took the seat beside her.

“Mark, I don't fit in, and I'll never forget my poor beginnings. I wish you would find company more suitable to—you are going to be an attorney!” She knew her voice was stilted; she gulped and added, “Besides—”

“Jenny!” Mark interrupted. He was dragging on the horses' reins, guiding them off the main road onto a bumpy trail. Under the trees, he pulled the team to a halt and wrapped the reins around the hand rail.

He took her hand and turned her toward him. “Jenny,” he said again in a voice so firm, almost stern, that she moved away from him. “I'm trying patiently to get across to you that I love you for yourself. I want to marry you, and I'll not take no for an answer.”