The Wishing Star (3 page)

With one foot on the ladder, Jenny paused, wondering about all her mother had said. Why did it do any good to honor a book instead of reading it? She turned her face to the figure slumped in the circle of pale light. The question rose to her lips, but Jenny remembered that most often her asking things left Ma frowning, with questions in her eyes. Slowly she climbed the ladder.

Chapter 2

The South Bainbridge school was set on the edge of town in a lonesome place. Sometimes it made Jenny feel as if she were in another world. Just enough timber had been hacked out of the woods to clear a spot for the school and to pile fuel high enough for the winter.

Jenny loved the fresh wood scent of the log building; in fact, she loved nearly everything about the school—the sharp clamor of the school bell, even the musty smell of old books and damp woolen mufflers. But at times the high-spirited students made her pull in against the side of the building. There, like a stray field mouse, she watched them vent their boundless energy, twenty pairs of restless feet wearing the grasses of the field to a nub.

This October afternoon was one of the days Jenny clung to the side of the school. Dust hung like a curtain over the playground, while a gust of wind swished through the trees, tearing at the tortured soil. The wind moaning in the trees caught Jenny's attention, lifting her away from the school and the playground and filling her with a sense of utter isolation.

That wind meant winter was drawing near. Listening and watching, Jenny clenched her fists, wishing she could spread sunshine and wild roses across the field.

The shouting of the students broke through her thoughts and brought her back to the playground. Shoving away from the warm logs, she crept close to the group.

“Go, go!” rooted the students in the circle. “Amos, are ye callin' it quits? Scaredy cat!” The dust settled to reveal the victor—the new student, Joe. Jenny saw the grin on his battered lips as he flexed his arms and shoved at his sleeves.

“Come on, who's next?” he shouted. The ring of fellows eyed him cautiously as he tossed his bright hair, but no one would accept the challenge.

Jenny chuckled silently. Joe didn't seem to be much of a student, but he sure could fight.

Since that autumn day when she and Tom had discovered the twenty-year-old lad hunkered beside the trail with his face buried in his battered white hat, she had been paying sharp attention to him.

Granted, he was an on-again, off-again student. Since the day Jenny had first seen his bulk crammed between six-year-old Emily and ten-year-old Nat, with that wild beak of a nose humbled two inches from his slate, she had watched him. At first he could barely push the pencil over his sums, and her awe of him changed to scorn, particularly when she listened to him read.

But later the scorn was salted with respect when she saw him lick every youth in town. And later still her feelings were spiced with a nameless fascination as she watched Nancy bat her eyes at him and Prudence follow him about the school yard like an absolute ninny.

At this moment, the thought of those silly girls carrying extra cookies to him and offering to do his sums for him made Jenny snort with impatience. As if Mrs. Stowell wasn't feeding him right and his head didn't need to learn his own sums.

Jenny applied her scorn to Prudence, the lass who had tossed her long blonde curls, batted her eyelashes, smoothed her flowered apron, and said, “Jennifer Timmons, you are jealous!” Her eyes shrewdly surveyed Jenny and she added spitefully, “
You've
plenty of call to be. Scrawny as a scarecrow and brown as a gypsy, you are.” She flounced away, swinging her skirts until her petticoats showed.

It wouldn't have been so bad, Jenny decided, thinking about it later, but the fellow who was filling in for Mr. Searles, the regular teacher, had taken it upon himself to smooth her ruffled feathers.

Just remembering had Jenny muttering to herself. “Didn't hurt, her bein' so uppity and proud, 'til he had to come and fuss over me.”

At the end of this October day, Jenny was still busy thinking as she and Tom walked toward home. She found herself stripping away the pretty pictures her mind had built and facing things as they really were.

It hurt to admit that Prudence was right. Even Joe had said she was ugly. Life was bad. And Tom—she looked up at her brother and tried to see him clearly.

Tom was one of those on-again and off-again students, too. Jenny suspected he was more on-again recently because of the new fellow. “That Joe,” she muttered. “Seems both of you go because of the other. Either that or it's better'n diggin' stumps in Mr. Stowell's field all day.”

She turned on him. “You'd better be listenin' to Ma about forgettin' the ideas circulating. She says there's no way on this earth a man's goin' to get rich except by workin' hard at life. Tom, you know she's tryin' her best for us, not wantin' us to turn out like Pa.”

“Dreamin' on rainbows,” Tom said shortly as he hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet in the leaves along the path.

“Is that it?” For a moment Jenny stopped, kicking at the leaves thoughtfully. When she looked up at Tom, she was searching his face for confirmation. “There's some who believe they can change things just by thinkin' hard and willing it so, and by makin' charms and chantin'.”

“They are the ones who think they have power.”

“Do they?”

“Some do, some don't.” He stopped to grasp her arm. But his eyes were looking beyond her, shining as if he knew secrets. “Jenny,” he whispered, “there's power out there to be had by the ones who know how to get it. Joe knows some of those things, and I intend to find out.”

“Ma says there's secret things, but they're bad. Tom, Ma shivered when she said that, and I could tell she was mighty scared.”

Tom turned to look at Jenny, and his eyes were very serious. “If that's so, why doesn't she make you stay away from that green book of Pa's? She says if you must read, read that black one. But then she turns her back when you get Pa's book. I say she's scared, but she knows where the power is.” His eyes were big again, staring past her.

“Tom, you best be listenin' to Ma.” But he wasn't listening, and she tugged at his shirt. “Ma says everybody thinks diggin' will get him rich if he can just find a mine or treasure, but she says people dig and dig and never find a thing. She says a body needs to quit foolin' himself and settle down to pluggin' away for a living.” By the time Jenny had delivered her speech they had reached home, and Tom went grinning on his way.

Jenny suspected he was proud of himself because he'd let her run on like a scolding mother. Suddenly the weight of her heavy thoughts slid away, and she was filled with a bubbling-up, running-over affection for Tom. Sometimes he was more like a friend than a brother.

When Jenny entered the cabin her father was asleep, sprawled across the bed with his mouth open. This was real life. Sometimes she needed to be reminded that make-believe wasn't real. She turned her face away to hide the fearful feelings that churned inside her.

Ma was at the table, bending over a pile of bright, new cloth. She lifted her face. “I've a dress finished for Mrs. Harper. I want you to carry it to her; we're needin' the money.” She snipped at the thread. “Mighty uppity she's gettin', needin' somebody to do her sewin' for her. Last summer she was just a peddler's wife, common like the rest of us. Now she's puttin' on airs.—But never mind, we're reapin' well from her folly.”

“Folly?” Jenny repeated, wondering what the word meant and why Ma used it on Mrs. Harper.

“Just hush and take it. Wrap that torn sheet over it, so you don't soil it.” As Jenny reached for the heap of flowered material, Ma turned and peered at her. “Just look at you,” she scolded. “Hair a mess and grubby clear to the elbows. Why can't you be like Nancy? Seems I never have to fuss about her washin' her face.”

Listening to her mother scold, Jenny thought of her sister sitting at home with a bit of sewing while she hoed in the field or hired out to the Moores when they needed a hand to pitch fodder to the hogs. In the honesty of the afternoon she still had a clear picture in her mind: Prudence with blonde curls and fair skin standing beside Jenny, weather-chapped and browned.

“I'm of a mind to grow plump and be delicate like Nancy and Prudence,” she stated, “but I can't clean Mr. Moore's hog pen and come out looking like a lady.”

Ma nodded her head. “And kind he is to find ways to help you earn a few pennies,” she said with a sigh, touching Jenny lightly on the cheek. “You earn your keep; like as not Nancy will too with her needle. And like as not one of these days, you'll cease chasing after chickens and boys and take up the needle.” She turned back to her sewing. “Now, brush your hair afore you go. Don't forget to fetch the money home safe.”

Jenny brushed her hair, wrapped the dress in a scrap of clean sheeting, and pulled her mother's shawl across her shoulders.

The day had been sharp with the hint of the winter to come, and now—all too soon, it seemed—the evening shadows were tagging the heels of late afternoon.

Jenny hurried down the lane. Any excuse to go into town was a treat. If she scooted about her task, there'd be time to mosey home, to stare in the shop windows and watch the people.

For the time being she hastened her steps, passing the saloon, the dry-goods store, the sheriff's office, and the tiny little log building they called the lawyer's office.

Just as she was passing that office, studying it curiously in her usual fashion, the door flew open. She sidestepped to avoid running into the young man who rushed out in front of her.

“Oh, beg your pardon, ma'am.” He spun around, then with a laugh he corrected himself. “You're not ma'am, you're Jenny, aren't you? Remember me? I taught school one day for Lemuel.”

Jenny nodded, “Mr. Cartwright. 'Twas the day Joe Smith wrestled all the big boys and you wouldn't take him on.”

“That'd make the newspaper. ‘Substitute teacher wrestles student!' Seemed wisest not. You think I couldn't handle him?” The man grinned down at Jenny, and she realized he wasn't much older than Tom.

Silently she shook her head. “What does that mean?” he demanded. “Could or couldn't?” But Jenny just shrugged. She saw only his shiny shoes and the white shirt knotted with a silk tie. Overcome with shyness, she dropped her head, hugged the bundle close, and quickened her steps.

He kept pace with her. After a moment of silence, he said, “Jenny, you have a good mind. The best reader in the bunch. I hope you get to stay in school.”

She stopped in the middle of the path, “Oh, yes; but why ever wouldn't I? Is teacher leaving?”

“No—” The word was drawn out, hesitant, and Jenny watched his face. He frowned as he studied her. “Do you have books at home to read?”

“Only one. It's Pa's, and he ain't too keen on me readin' it. Sometimes when he's gone, I snitch it. Ma pretends she doesn't see; otherwise she'd be in trouble with me.”

“If you're careful with it, he wouldn't object.”

She was shaking her head. “You don't know Pa. I even wash first. Just as long as he doesn't smack Ma, I'm willin' to risk the strap.”

They walked on in silence until finally he asked, “Where are you going?”

She raised the bundle. “Ma's been sewin' for Mrs. Harper. She says it's about like one hog scratchin' another's back, but she doesn't mind. It brings in money.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's nothin' but a peddler. Mrs. Harper should be doin' her own duds, not wastin' money like a fancy lady gettin' someone else to do her sewin' for her—”

“Mark, you heading for the Harpers', too?” They both turned and watched the young man approach.

“Yes. Michael saw the sheriff leave in a hurry, so he sent me to snoop around. Trust an attorney to have a nose for news.” Jenny hesitated shyly and then walked ahead of the two as they began to talk. Their voices dropped and Jenny quickened her steps.

“Jenny,” Mr. Cartwright called. She turned and he stepped forward, saying, “Ah—couldn't you deliver that dress tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “Ma'll skin me. I'm to get the money tonight.”

He hesitated and shrugged. With an apologetic glance at his companion, he muttered. “Could be just gossip.”

“Like as not.”

The three of them had just turned up the lane leading to the Harpers' when a horse cantered toward them. The rider sawed on the reins and said in a low voice, “Go on up, she'll need all the help she can get, poor soul.” They watched him dig his heels in the horse.

Cartwright looked after the man. Soberly he said, “My friend, I think your information is correct.” He turned to Jenny, and as he paused a wail came from the vine-covered cottage in front of them.

Jenny hugged herself and shivered, but before the men could move, the door burst open and Mrs. Harper rushed out. Screaming, she ran toward them and threw herself into Cartwright's arms.

Jenny gulped and watched, while Cartwright was patting and murmuring. He was also looking uncomfortably from her to the youth at his side.

Stepping forward, Jenny thrust the bundle at Mrs. Harper. “Ma'am, Ma's finished your flowered dress. Here 'tis.”

The woman raised her head from Cartwright's shoulder and stared at Jenny. “My husband is dead! You're bringin' me a flowered dress and my husband is dead!—they're totin' him in here, butchered like a hog . . .”

****

“Butchered like a hog.” Through the days and weeks that followed, the words stayed with Jenny, often goaded into her mind by the memory of that long, shrouded bundle being carried up the path. She still shivered over the horror she felt as Jake Evans nearly dropped his end when he first glimpsed Mrs. Harper and tried to snatch his cap off his head.