The Wishing Star (6 page)

After a few well-placed jabs, the line in front of the candy jars parted. Arnold muttered and pointed out his choice.

“Can't,” Jenny whispered. “There's too many lookin'.”

“Just wait,” he muttered; “they'll all clear out soon.”

They drifted back and forth through the store, examining everything at nose level.

Jenny was conscious of the eyes watching them. Jake Lewis's were suspicious and alert; the others were curious. As she waited she listened to the conversation passing back and forth among those who lingered around the potbellied stove.

“Uncommonly coincidental.” The white-haired man leaned on his walking stick and puffed at his pipe. Jenny studied him. His hair curled neatly against his stiff white collar. His walking stick was of dark wood, carved and polished, and capped with shiny brass. The man's gaze flitted across Jenny and Arnold and fastened on the portly man beside him.

“Oliver Harper's death was strange enough, coming on the heels of the gossip about the diggings, but coupled with this new development, it is indeed strange.”

Jenny's mind screamed,
What new development
? She studied the floor and edged nearer the stove.

The portly man asked the question. “Meaning?”

“The agreement those fellas have signed. Seems Mrs. Harper will be getting a sizable chunk of money from that mine, providing those Spaniards really deposited a pile of silver in that cave.”

The other chuckled, “Conscience money?”

“There's too much belief in the miraculous connected to it. Joe's made no bones about using a seer stone to hunt for treasure. Anybody will tell you there's plenty of conjuring taking place. Anybody who'll talk, that is. Seems the town is uncommonly quiet right now except for the rumblings behind the scene. And the rumblings are growing louder.” He puffed on his pipe before saying, “If nothing else, I'd be happy to have the fear of God put into the sorcerers. It bothers me mightily to see the country accepting witchcraft as a good thing. Granted, not all think that way, but there's enough accepting it.” When he stopped talking, he raised his head and Jenny watched his eyes sweep the length and breadth of the store. Turning, she saw the cluster of people caught motionless, listening.

In the silence that seemed to cloak them all, Jake Lewis moved. His voice was suddenly loud in the quiet store. “Here you, Arnold and Jenny, there's a piece of licorice for you to split. You've been waitin' an hour for a piece to hop out at you. So take it and be gone. My patience and my eyes are wearing out.” He broke the stick of candy and offered it to them. Jenny and Arnold reached and scooted out the door.

Over her mouthful, Jenny said, “You got your candy. Are you going to tell?”

He shook his head. “If you'd given me yours I mighta told you. This way I'll hold on to the news until I get hungry for another piece.”

Jenny shrugged. “You couldn't top what that important-looking fella said, and I'll not be riskin' my neck to hear more of your stories.”

When Jenny reached home Pa sat silent, glowering beside the fireplace. Tom was hunkered down on a log on the other side of the fire, his face sullen. Jenny watched him whittle a stick with quick, impatient jabs of his knife.

Ma was moving about the room, the carpet slippers she had made out of pa's old felt hat, patched together with odd bits of cloth, slapping softly against the uneven board floor.

Jenny sat down at the table. “When I get growed, I'm gonna learn to talk like a lady so's people will listen to me. I'm gonna get Ma some shoes, and we'll all be rich. I'm right tired of livin' like this.”

“You could start your reforming by learning to keep your face clean and your hair combed,” Nancy retorted. “Nobody in this town talks good, but even that dumb Prue keeps her face clean. What's on your face, anyway?”

“Licorice,” Jenny said, applying her tongue to the remains of the candy.

“How'd you come by licorice?” Dorcas asked, pressing wistfully against Jenny. The look stabbed remorse through Jenny, and she added
candy for Dorcas
to her mental list.

“Arnold and me were in the store. For no account, Mr. Lewis gave us a stick to share. I reckon if you'd be sweet like an angel the next time Ma takes you with her, he just might give you one.”

“Not with the bill we owe,” Ma said sharply. Pa heaved himself to his feet. Abruptly he kicked at Tom's muddy boot.

“If'n you'd be tryin' to bring home an honest buck instead of hangin' around that lazy Joe, we'd be gettin' caught up on the bills.”

****

In January Jason Treadwell was executed for the murder of Oliver Harper, peddler and money digger.

For a time the rumbles in South Bainbridge subsided as if in honor of the dead. But feelings and words, like a mole tunneling through a field, must surface. As February rolled around and the weather softened enough for conversation but not enough for work in the fields, clusters of people juggled words and sifted gossip.

In the log cabin that served as a meeting place for the Presbyterian congregation, the people were warned against the devices of the evil one. And the devices named were hunting treasures in the earth and dabbling with the ancient arts of witchcraft.

Ma was nodding her head vigorously. While Jenny listened, she noticed that the leader, Josiah Stowell, who had stood right up front in the past, calling the worship and leading the songs, was absent. She wondered why. Mostly she wanted to see his face and hear what he would say when they talked about the digging and the dead lamb.

Jenny was silent as she walked homeward. Just ahead of her, Nancy and Ma were talking. Jenny studied Ma's faded dress with the tear in the hem. She was thinking of the bright flowered dresses her mother had made for Mrs. Harper. Abruptly she said, “Money diggin' and the like can't be too bad if a body is able to earn a livin' from it.”

Nancy and Ma stopped suddenly and Jenny bumped into them. Ma stared down at Jenny, “Child, what's got into you? Sure, I know that money diggin' is going on and that instead of fearin' it as the device of the devil, people are a-scornin' it as an idiot's folly, but you've been raised better.”

“Have I?” Jenny was staring up at the two of them. She noticed that Ma was dark like she was, while Nancy was fair like Tom. Bewildered by their expressions, she realized she didn't feel related to either of them.

Nancy was demanding, “Didn't you hear what the parson said? Jenny, I fear for your soul.”

“Nancy, you've no call to be uppity. There's too many good folks around usin' the rod and diggin'.” Jenny flounced past her sister and scooted down the path.

****

It wasn't long after, that another stranger came to town. Jenny had been passing down the street on her way to school when she first saw Peter Bridgman standing in front of the lawyer's office with Mark Cartwright. She lingered on the corner watching them. She loved seeing and hearing new things. She felt like the world was flooded with sunlight and every detail of the street was bright with it, though the sun wasn't even shining.

Later she learned the stranger, Peter Bridgman, was nephew to Miriam Stowell, and he was asking hard questions. With Peter Bridgman around, the town heaved a collective sigh of relief. Now someone would
do
something. Poor Mrs. Stowell. Her husband, good man that he was, was being led astray.

Josiah Stowell, they said, had been the one who had gotten the notion all on his own to go to Palmyra and fetch the young seer here to help him decide where to dig for treasure. He'd heard that young Joe had a talent for finding things in the earth.

So Josiah's silver lined the pockets of that tall, young, blonde fella. It was strange enough for a man like Stowell, a good, solid, hard-working farmer, to decide in his old age to listen to those stories about hidden treasure; but he was risking the inheritance of his wife and children on his foolishess, as well. So Peter Bridgman was in town asking his questions. What Stowell's wife, sons, and daughters dared not say, Peter must, if the family fortune were to be saved.

One day Jenny followed Tom out to the barn. While he milked the cow, Jenny hung over the gate and whispered her questions. “Why does that Mr. Bridgman care about what Mr. Stowell's doin'? Seems if there's money to be made, it won't make no difference how he's doin' it.”

Tom leaned his head against the cow's flank and studied Jenny's face. His Adam's apple slid up and down his neck; finally he replied, “Jen, can't you understand people frown on treasure huntin'?”

“Why?” He shrugged and Jenny persisted, “Seems a body's entitled to work in his own way.” She paused to lick her lip. “'Sides, all that money's goin' be found by someone, so might as well be the one that wants to do the diggin'.”

“If there's really money to be found,” Tom said shortly as he returned to his milking.

“You think there isn't?” Jenny asked, astonished.

“There's stories. People always are diggin' and diggin' and never findin' a thing.” Tom's voice dragged out the words slowly as he studied the pail between his knees.

Jenny settled back to think of the book, of those promises it made—if a person just did it right. Slowly the old excitement burned through her, excitement mingled with fear. She opened her mouth to tell Tom about all she was feeling, about what Joe said.

The eerie pictures she had seen in Pa's book crowded into her mind, and she stopped. How could she ever put them into words and make them as real to Tom as they were becoming to her? Tom looked like he had quit hoping in anything as he leaned against the side of the cow, squirting milk into the pail. She turned away. “Ma'll get me if I don't find the eggs before dark.”

****

Suddenly winter was finished with New York State. The ice broke on the Susquehanna. March softened the air with gentle winds, and green fringes appeared on all the snowbanks. Life seemed to stir afresh even in the streets of South Bainbridge.

Jenny was walking to school alone, thinking restless springtime thoughts, when Arnold caught up with her.

“How about some more licorice?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “That means you have news to trade. Well, I'm not about to snitch anything for the likes of you.”

“Aw, Jenny,” he tormented, “you're a poor sport!”

“Go do your kissin' on Prue; then I'll get the information for nothin'. She can't keep a secret.”

“Would it make a difference if ya knew it was about Joe Smith?”

Jenny stood still. Of course it would, but she wasn't going to let Arnold know that. She eyed him, seeing the way his eyes sparkled with excitement. Then she ducked her head and continued to walk slowly.

Tim Morgan caught up with them. “Say, Jenny, I suppose Arnold here has told ya all about it, huh?” He elbowed his way between them. “I'd never have guessed old Bridgman was that serious. Arrested! Ya goin' to the trial? Pa says we can. Everybody's goin'.”

“She don't know!” Arnold howled. “You're spoilin' it all!”

“Of course I'm goin',” Jenny trilled while staring defiantly at Arnold. “Only problem, I don't know when it is.”

“Tomorrow. Wouldn't surprise me if Teach lets school. Since it's Joe, he'll be wantin' to go too.”

Jenny clenched her teeth and tossed her head. Her stomach was churning with the agony of unasked questions, but she smiled sweetly at Arnold and hurried her feet along the path. “There's the bell. Gotta run!”

The school buzzed with the news. She listened, but saved her questions for Tom. A wrenching inside advised her that silence was best.

After school she flew across the yard, leaving the talk behind, and ran to find Tom. Halfway home she caught up with him. “There's talk,” her shortened breath ended with a sob. “They're sayin' Joe's been arrested, and that there'll be a trial. Why?”

Tom lifted his head. “You're takin' on like it's the end of the world. Bridgman's claimin' Joe's up to no good with his lookin' for the mine. Stowells are puttin' it all on to him. They're not wantin' to risk a thing.” He shook his head mournfully. “Only way you can make a buck is by a-riskin' something.”

Now he turned to look at her, “Say,” he said slowly, “you're actin' like Joe's kin. Don't be worryin' your head about the menfolks, Jen. We can take care of ourselves. 'Tweren't all that bad. Old Joe'll have his day in court and then we'll be back to diggin'. Wanna go hear it all? It's tomorrow.”

She nodded, rubbing at the dampness in her eyes. “You make it sound like funnin'—nothin' serious.”

“Aw, Joe's a good guy. With that smooth tongue he'll be able to talk himself outta anything.”

Chapter 5

Jenny's mood lightened with dawn. She skipped beside Tom as they headed for town. “There's Mrs. Harper wearing her new dress,” Jennie hissed. Others were in holiday garb, too. The two joined the crowd walking toward the only building in town large enough for the trial.

“Hurry!” Tom warned. “The seats'll be goin' fast. I hear they're gettin' in two justices of the peace besides Neely. They're callin' it a Court of Special Sessions.”

“How come you know so much about it?” Jenny asked, quickening her steps.

“I was down here when he got examined by Neely to see if he had to have a trial. They even had him in jail overnight. That's because he didn't have bail money.”

“Will the Stowells be here?”

“My guess, he'll be testifyin',” Tom answered shortly.

Tom and Jenny had just wedged themselves into place on one of the narrow benches when the court was brought to order. The judge pounded his gavel on the desk, and Jenny leaned forward, craning her neck to see.

Jenny watched the serious faces of the men clustered at the front of the room. She recognized the man with the white hair and the walking stick. The portly gentleman was there too, and the doctor, taking notes.