The Wishing Star (35 page)

Sally's tears won out, and Jenny went to take the baby. As she cuddled the soft, milk-scented body against her face, she watched Sally struggle for control. Finally she knelt beside Sally and said, “Andy can't believe those things about you.”

“You don't know. He was so jealous before we were married that I dared not smile at anything in trousers.”

“I'll have to go see Joseph today,” Jenny declared. “I'll see that he reassures Andy.”

Sally mopped tears from her eyes and soberly studied Jenny, “I wish that, but I wonder how much effect it will have. I understand the men are trying to quiet the rumors before they reach the church's enemies.”

As Jenny walked toward the print shop, she was thinking of her first visit. Abruptly she realized she was giving Joseph the assistance he requested.

But at the office, Oliver's sweating face came between her and the stairs that led up to the little room. “Miss Jenny, I've told you before you must have an appointment. The Prophet is a busy man.”

“Then announce me; I know he'll see me.” Oliver's face flushed and the look he turned on her was perplexing. She frowned and waited.

His face cleared abruptly and he said, “You've been wanting to see the workings of the press—come ahead. I was just starting it up.”

As they were bending over the neat rows of lead type and Jenny was trying to read the reversed words, a whisper of sound and creaking boards made her look up. Joseph was closing the street door after a dark-cloaked woman. Jenny's pounding heart gave weight to her guesses.

“Who was that woman?” Her voice came in a whisper as she moved toward Joseph, and the Prophet studied her with a frown before he answered. “She is Mrs. Martindale; her first name is Adela and her husband is William.”

Now her voice squeaked, “They live in Kirtland?”

“Yes. They've just converted to the church and I expect we will benefit greatly. Martindale is an exporter worth a great deal of money.”

Jenny followed him up the stairs. After his enigmatic look at her question, she dared not ask where the couple lived. He settled behind the desk and waited with a quizzical expression in his eyes. Jenny still hesitated over her mission; she was fighting the impact of his presence.

He broke the silence, “Did you read the books?”

She shook her head. “I haven't had time. Since last autumn I've had one round of nursing care after another.”

“I've heard,” he answered shortly. “And what is your rate of cure?”

“All of them.” But she had to admit, “Likely they'd all have recovered without the charms and amulets.”

“But you did a great deal of chanting and fussing and everybody treated you like God himself.”

She sat on her hands to keep from squirming and retorted, “But isn't that the way they treat
you
?”

“Yes, but I am the Prophet and I deserve the recognition.”

“Because you hear from God. More than I? Joseph, why is—” Abruptly and impatiently he got to his feet and stomped around the desk to her.

“Jenny Timmons, I will broach no sass from the baby sister of one of my men. Neither will you draw people to yourself. The Lord has commanded against such as this. If you had been reading the
Book of Commandments
you would know this.” He pointed toward the door, “Now go and don't return until you've read them all.”

“I didn't come to—”

“Go.” His jaw tightened, and the color fled from his face. Jenny bit her lip and turned away.

“Joseph,” she whispered, freely allowing the disappointment to well up in her voice. Her frustration was augmented by the memory of what she had heard—they said tears melted Joseph. “You've asked me to—to tell you, and now you won't listen.” She touched her eyes and moved toward the door.

“Wait!” As she heard the command, she also heard the clink of metal striking the floor. She turned and saw a silvery disk spinning on the floor between them.

While Joseph fumbled with his handkerchief, she snatched up the talisman and held it in her hand. The strange markings were familiar, but where her own talisman had a woman's figure, his carried only strange letters inscribed within squares.

She was still busy comparing it with her own when the import of it all struck her. She raised her face to meet his eyes. “What does it all mean?”

“The letters? Jenny, it isn't important to you.” He held out his hand for the talisman, and she quickly stepped away. He was perspiring.

“Not important? Then I'd like to keep it. I'll show it to my grandchildren to prove I've known the man from God, the Prophet Joseph Smith.”

“Jenny!” he spoke sharply, moving toward her. She slipped the shiny metal down the front of her dress and hurried around the table.

“Joseph,” she said, “what about Abbah and El Ob and Josiphiel?”

“Why, they are the names of God. How did you know?”

She patted the front of the frock. “And what are the powers at your disposal?”

He hesitated a moment before answering, but when he spoke, the words lay lightly on his tongue. “The celestial intelligences assigned to this metal will help me in all my endeavors.”

She repeated slowly, “Abbah, El Ob, and Josiphiel—I know the last means Jehovah speaks for God. But the other two I don't understand.”

Leaning forward he whispered earnestly, excitement mounting in his voice, “When these intelligences are invoked properly with all of the power of ancient magic, I am guaranteed riches, power, honor. Do you know, Jenny, when I control these forces properly, no one can resist my love, neither friend nor foe, man nor woman.” He still held her with that penetrating gaze, and she felt the pulse in her throat mount in tempo.

She whispered, “But now the talisman is in my hands. Does that mean all the powers are for me?”

“You will give it back right now, or I will take it!” Turning, Jenny fled to the door. She had nearly reached it when she stumbled, and he was there with his arms tightening around her. He turned her, holding her motionless. “This is what you wanted all along. Yes, Jenny, the power is mine.” He bent over her and his lips were hard and then gentle against hers. When he raised his head, he said simply, “It does work, doesn't it?”

She was trembling, and she took a moment to be certain her voice was firm before saying, “Yes, it works, but are you certain it is working for you? Remember, I hold it now.” She laughed merrily at the startled expression on his face.

Now out of his arms, she moved to the door just as a pounding began on the other side. “Joseph!” came the low urgent voice, “Michael says Emma is coming to the print shop.”

Joseph stared at her in dismay. “Quick, give it to me.” She shook her head. “I will shake it out.”

“Then you will be shaking it out when Emma comes.”

Disbelief and distaste swept his face. He yanked at the door. “Jenny, you are a witch. I'll have you yet.”

As he shoved her through the door, she hissed, “Andy Morgan will have your hide if you don't explain the gossip before nightfall. How is that for seeing the future?” She flew down the stairs.

The talisman bit into Jenny's flesh, but she hugged her shawl tight, put on a sweet smile, and walked serenely down the street.

****

A few weeks later Tom had left the stable and was turning his horse toward Thompson. Now, full of troubled thoughts about Jenny, he felt a compulsion. Abruptly he turned his horse off Kirtland's well-traveled main street and headed down the lane that led to the Morgans'.

The early March day had been balmy and sweet, and the evening sky was filled with color. Tom noted with pleasure that the few clouds visible were puffy and pale like mounds of whipped cream. Jenny was crossing the Morgans' yard.

“Sis, hold it!” When he reached her side, he said, “I'm thinkin' the Lord's promptin' me to go to Hyrum tonight. How would you like to ride with me? Joseph told me he would be leadin' a cottage meeting there this evenin'.” While she hesitated, he added, “You made a good start with your church attendance until lately. Maybe the Lord's wantin' me to prod you on by takin' you to meetin' with me.”

Jenny stood on the step with the warm eggs clasped in her apron and cocked her head to study Tom's earnest face. “I wouldn't mind going, but horseback doesn't appeal.”

Sally stuck her head out the door. “I heard you, Tom. If your horse is willing, the horsecart's in the barn, you're welcome to it.”

So Tom and Jenny set off for Hyrum in the Morgans' cart, with Jenny asking, “Why is Joseph in Hyrum?”

“I don't know his exact business, but I do know he was goin' to the Johnson farm where he lived some time back. He told me earlier he intends stoppin' by the Rollins farm, too. Sometime back they'd extracted a promise from him to hold a meetin' there.”

“Cottage meeting,” Jenny mused. “I've never heard of such a thing.”

“Some mighty good meetin's we've had, when the Prophet's right down among us. You'll see.”

By the time Jenny and Tom reached Hyrum, dusk had brought a chill with the drifting mists. Jenny snuggled gratefully into her shawl. “There's several wagons and carts here. How did the word pass so quickly?”

Tom shrugged. “I don't know. These folks work hard to get the Prophet to themselves for an evenin'.”

Inside the tiny cottage Jenny and Tom found seats on the planks supported by boxes. The room was crowded, and the kerosene lamps were turned nearly to the smoking point. Jenny folded her shawl away from her shoulders and tried to make herself inconspicuous. She hadn't seen Joe since that day, two weeks past, when she had confronted him in his office. Now his talisman was pinned next to her own, and her lips tingled again with the remembered pressure of his kiss. She glanced about, wondering whether Emma Smith was in the room. Jenny was still darting quick glances about when Joseph entered. In the dimness his white collar above the dark coat framed his face with light, and Jenny felt her pulse quicken.

Even after the meeting started, people continued to arrive. Jenny and Tom squeezed close together along with everyone else. During prayer and singing, Jenny stumbled over the unfamiliar words. Finally Joseph stood to speak, but she was oblivious to his message as she studied his face.

Suddenly he stopped mid-sentence and stared out over the heads of his rapt audience. The moment of silence stretched, and Jenny felt tension mount; not a whisper of sound stirred the air. She watched Joseph's face pale and his eyes glow; their brilliance seemed to spread and infuse every pore of his face with light.

The silence held, but now Jenny was aware of a strange movement through her body, as if unseen forces were propelling her closer to the Prophet. His whole being filled her vision, and nothing else existed.

When his voice broke through, Jenny sighed deeply, hearing him say, “My brothers and sisters in the Lord, do you know who has been in our midst tonight?”

A breathy sigh echoed the answer, “An angel of the Lord.”

Suddenly a man sitting on a box facing the Prophet dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Joseph's legs. Jenny watched his head tilt backward in adoration and the murmur of his voice held the room. “It was our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”

With a gentle smile, Joseph looked down at the man. As he placed his hand upon his head, he said, “Martin Harris, God revealed this to you. My brothers and sisters, I want you always to remember this. The Savior has been in your midst.

“Because you are weak in the Lord, He must cast a veil over you. You cannot endure the splendor of His presence. I want you to remember this. He has given you to me, commanding me to seal you up for everlasting life.”

As Jenny and Tom rode back to Kirtland, he said, “Jen, you're awfully quiet. Did it affect you that way too?”

She stirred and sighed, trying to sort through the jumble of feelings, especially that most troubling one. “Martin Harris. I didn't realize he was in Kirtland.” She shuddered, remembering the horror of the day in Manchester when he had beaten her and his wife.

Tom's arm wrapped about Jenny, and she knew he felt the trembling. He cleared his throat. “Tyke, Martin Harris is no angel, but if gettin' religion changes a man, you better believe Martin'll never be beatin' another woman.”

Chapter 26

The temple was complete. The last stone and shingle had been placed, the final brush of paint had dried, and the last canvas veil had been hung. Only a few days remained before the dedication, and excitement in Kirtland was mounting.

The temple was situated on a slight rise, away from the congestion of the main section of town. Already the three-story stone building with its square steeple had attracted people from miles around.

These days Tom often found himself standing in the doorway of the blacksmith shop watching the people on the street. Like an indulgent uncle, he listened to their comments and noted their obvious pride as they detoured from their accustomed routes in order to pass by the temple.

“It's sure been a grand undertakin',” Tom said to Newel. “From the hole in the ground to the pile of stone and wood shapin' up, it belongs to everybody in town.”

Newel matter-of-factly said, “It is. It's our money and sweat and even a little blood that's built it.”

“Make you wonder what's goin' to happen at the dedication?”

Newel nodded, flipping away the twig he had been chewing. “Particularly after Zion's Camp.” They fell silent, both remembering the pain and failure of that time in Missouri. Then Newel roused himself. “Prophet Joseph said the Lord promised a great blessing to the elders when the temple was completed.”

“Even if it doesn't live up to what we're hopin' for,” Tom continued soberly, “there's still the promise that just gettin' it built and dedicated releases us to go and redeem Zion.”