The Wishing Star (7 page)

On the right side of the justices, the witnesses formed a straggly line on the bench. She recognized Mr. Stowell, but most of the others were strangers to her. She did see Mr. McMaster, and Thompson, who worked for Stowell. He had been one of the men in the group the night Tom had taken her to the diggings.

As she settled back to wait, Jenny recalled that night. Even now she shuddered at the memory of opening her eyes to find that man standing over her with the sword.

The clerk called Joe forward, and Jenny slid out to the end of the bench to study the bright-haired youth as he took his place. The men grouped together, their voices low. Jenny asked Tom, “What are they doin' now?”

“Swearin' in Joe.” Behind Tom came a hiss for silence.

They had asked him a question, and he was telling them about his stone: “Back home there's a girl who had a stone. She could look into it and see things nobody else could see. I went to visit her and she let me take a look in hers.” Joe's voice had lost its waver and it rose, filling the room with confidence.

“All I could see was a stone, far away but coming close to me. Turned out it was
my
stone. It shone like a light.” Again Jenny caught a glimpse of the same strange gleam in his eye she had first seen when she was with Joe in the woods. He paused to take a breath and his voice deepened and dropped. “I could not rest until I found it. I got myself a grub bag and set out. I worked my way, following what I knew to be the direction to the exact location. I knew I would find it, and I did. 'Twas buried under a tree. I dug it up, carried it down to the crick and washed it.”

Joe paused, and with his voice deepening again, he said, “I put it in my hat, and lo, I discovered I possessed one of the attributes of deity, an all-seeing eye.”

A murmur rose and swept the room. Jenny looked around at the people and then turned back to Joseph. Justice Neely was asking him something. With an eloquent sweep of his hand, Joe held up the small chocolate-colored stone, by now familiar to Jenny. Silence settled on the room as the people studied the object.

Close to Jenny came a whisper, “There's those who really do see things in a peep stone. Reckon he's one of them?”

“He'll have to prove the power.”

Another whisper asked, “What's he being charged with?”

The reply came, “Being a vagrant, a disorderly person and an imposter.”

“'Tis a shame; he's nothing but a tad. Let him have a little fun.”

“Must be something to it, if he's come to trial.”

Then Jenny heard Joe speaking again. “Josiah Stowell came to Manchester after me, and I've been working for him, looking for a silver mine and working around the farm. In between times, I've been going to school.”

There was a question and the answer came. “He came lookin' for me because he heard I had the gift of seership.”

And then the question. “Did you find the mine?”

“No. I persuaded him to give up looking.”

Joe Smith sat down, and Josiah Stowell took his place. In the murmur of questions, the voice rose. Justice Neely was speaking. His voice was solemn, but the room was filled with his thundering question. “Josiah Stowell, do you swear before God that you actually believe the defendant is able, with the use of his peep stone, to see objects buried in the ground just as clearly as you can see the objects on this table?”

The old man straightened and, with a determination that set his double chin to wagging, declared, “Your Honor, it isn't only a matter of belief; I positively know that Joseph Smith can see these marvelous things!”

In the uproar, the gavel smote the table and the next witness, Mr. Thompson, was called. “This here fella says to Mr. Stowell that many years ago a band of robbers buried a treasure. They placed a charm over it all by having a sacrifice done, so it couldn't be got at less'n he had what he called a talismanic influence. So they decided to go after it. Joe called for some praying and fasting, and then they set out and commenced to dig.” He paused to swallow hard, then continued.

“They found the treasure all right; we heard the shovel hit the box. But the harder they dug, the more it slipped away from them. One fella even managed to get his hand on it before it slid clear away from him. Finally Joe called a council of war against this foe of darkness—spirit, he said it was. We knew it was a lack of faith or something wrong with our thinking, so Joe devised a plan.”

There was a gulp and Thompson's voice rose with excitement. “We got a lamb. Stowell knelt down and prayed while Joe slit the lamb's throat and spread the blood around the hole. This was a propitiation to the spirit. But we never did get the money.”

A sigh swept the room and Jenny squirmed and looked at Tom. “'Tweren't the time you was there,” he muttered.

As the day warmed, the crowded room grew stuffy. More witnesses were called, and Jenny moved restlessly on the bench. When the last witness had taken his seat, the heads of the justices tilted together.

Justice Neely then slowly got to his feet. His voice droned in the heavy air of the room. Although Jenny strained to understand, his words were meaningless to her until she heard, “We the court find the defendant—guilty as charged.”

There was a second of silence, and in the breathless pause Jenny saw Joe leap to his feet and dash through the crowded room. But Jenny's eyes were riveted on the men at the front of the room.

Justice Neely was still standing, hands calm at his side. The other justices hunched over the table just as quietly, watching Joe run. He passed the constable who was sitting beside the door with his chair tilted back against the wall, his hat shading his eyes.

“He's gone,” Tom breathed softly. “He's taken leg bail, and I've a notion they don't care a snitch. Reckon we'll never see the likes of him again.” There was a twinge of regret in his voice.

Over the sudden babble of voices, Justice Neely shouted, “Court is closed for this session!”

The only sounds in the stifling room were the rustle of skirts and the clatter of heavy boots. Slowly Tom and Jenny got to their feet to follow the crowd out the door. Jenny peered around Tom and saw the justices clustered by the table talking. She measured the distance and studied their broad, black backs. With a quick movement, she turned and dashed to the front of the room. The man with the white hair and the walking stick was saying, “I just can't see crippling the chances of this young fellow. He looks like, given a proper chance, he'll make good. I hope my hunch isn't wrong. Otherwise I'll be regretting this the rest of my life.”

“I hope so, too. He was pretty eager to take leg bail once it was suggested. Must have had a few fears—at least he sure could run.” The black-coated men moved restlessly and Jenny scooted for the door.

When she caught up with Tom, the crowd was standing in the street, somber-faced and questioning. Tom and Jenny joined the others and watched as the building was locked. They were still waiting as the line of dark coats moved quietly down the street with the constable following along behind. Now his hat was squared on his head and his hunch-shouldered gait made him look like a gnarled guardian angel, a protective shield between the justices and the questioning citizens of South Bainbridge.

When the last man had disappeared from sight, the crowd stirred. “Why do you suppose they went to all that trouble and then just set there and let him run?”

“He weren't much more'n a tad,” a sympathetic voice answered. “Those gentlemen are right fatherly. I hear they're feelin' he's a deprived youth who needs a good warnin' to straighten him up.”

“I wonder if that's really the case,” came a voice from the depths of the crowd. “Is that all he is? There's been a heap of riling up since he's been around. I'll not forget the way those fellas toted Peddler Harper down off the hill, stone-cold.”

Jenny squirmed her way through the crowd to see the speaker's face, and the square-shouldered man standing beside him turned to look at her. It was Mark Cartwright. For a moment, Jenny's eyes caught his and she saw the questioning frown.

Now another spoke reluctantly, “I heard a fella say, and I'm not mentioning names, that he asked young Joe if he really could see money and all these wonderful treasures. He said Joe hesitated a bit and then said, ‘Between the two of us, I can't see 'em any more than you or anybody else, but a body's gotta make a living.'”

Tom tugged at Jenny. “Let's get along for home.” He turned down the street, Jenny trotting to keep up with his long strides. When they had left the town behind, Tom slowed and Jenny caught up with him.

“Did you see that Mark Cartwright?” she asked breathlessly. “He was listenin' to it all, and I don't think he was agreein'.”

“You mean about Joe takin' leg bail?” She nodded, and Tom said, “'Tis always that way. The rich can't be sympathetic about the poor.”

Jenny was pondering Tom's words when they turned up the lane toward the Timmons' shack. She looked at the yard, the litter, and the straggle of hens, and her impatience boiled over. Flying at the chickens roosting on the porch and plow and scattered firewood, she whipped her shawl from her shoulders and shouted, “Out, you silly things! You belong in the barn!”

When she returned to Tom, he was watching her with a puckered frown on his face. “What's got into you, girl? Take life as you find it, Jen. You're a woman. That means you make no fuss. Remember your place in life. If you're born to be poor, well then, be content with it.”

“And be abidin' this for the rest of my life? Tom, when I see people such as those fellas were, the justices and that Mark Cartwright, it makes me boil up inside—'specially when you talk like they're way up high, beyond the reach of us common folk.”

****

As March slipped into April, the mellowing of springtime moved through the southern part of New York State. Blossoms on the wild plum and apple, dandelions and tiny buttons of meadow flowers added their scent to the newness of grass in the pungent pastureland.

Calves, black and white miniatures, took their places beside their placid mothers. Winter-stained flocks of sheep budded out with new white lambs. Spring rains blackened the woody branches of the trees along the pasture wall, and their halo of green seemed to bind everything together.

Fingers of green moss outlined the northerly edges of the stone walls as if spring had an abundance of green to spare. When Jenny closed her eyes like two tiny slits, it seemed that the green, like paint, was dabbed everywhere.

One by one the older boys had dropped out of school to take their places in the fields. Now the girls went to school with only the very young children. And during recess, Jenny had Mr. Searle all to herself. The request was always the same.

Most often he would nod and point to the line of books on the shelf behind his desk, saying, “If you can't sound them out, ask.” Jenny would choose a book and carry it back to her bench.

By late afternoon Jenny would walk slowly homeward, her mind full of the words and pictures. For a short time the books had helped her forget the other troubles that nagged at her thoughts.

Spring had brought a dark threat closer, one the Timmons family had felt all winter—Pa's spring stirring, the yearly urge to move west. But the urge was stronger this year. And over all was the troubling knowledge that Ma would soon be birthing again.

On the homeward walk Nancy talked about the West and Jenny thought with regret of all the books she hadn't been able to read.

“I hear it all,” she replied grudgingly to Nancy's excitement. “But you forget the West is full of wild Injuns, with no stores or schools or books.” She stopped to slant a look at her older sister's neat hair and patched dress.

“I doubt you'll ever have your dream of gettin' rich and having new frocks.”

Nancy stopped in the middle of the path. The expression on her face, Jenny thought, was like being hungry with nothing to fill the hunger. Slowly she turned. Jenny needn't look to know she was seeing the peaceful pasture filled with black and white cows, and the rows of newly turned soil beyond. For just a moment, Jenny felt her spirit soar unfettered. “Maybe it won't be so bad.”

Then Nancy turned to her. “Jen, what do you want most of all?”

Jenny answered quickly, and her reply caught even her by surprise. “To learn.” Her toes dug down into the loam, rich soil. “Like this, I want to dig into everything just to see what makes it go. I want to know about all the ‘whys.'”

“Is that why you won't leave Pa's book alone?” Jenny's head snapped up and, startled, she nodded. Nancy looked thoughtful for a moment, “You're growing up, Jen. Last year you'd have gone for a stick of candy.”

Silently they walked home. Candy. The last time Jenny had thought of candy, Arnold had promised information about Joe. And she had told Tom that she would marry Joe. Her lips curled at her silly, childish proclamation. She still recalled the way Tom had looked at her. He thought she had suddenly gone wild.

“One thing's certain,” Jenny spoke out of the silence, “we've seen the last of Joe. When he hightailed out of the courtroom, I doubt he stopped 'til he got back to his ma's.”

Nancy turned her green eyes on Jenny. “That happened over three months ago. You're still thinking about him—why?”

Jenny shrugged, but as they walked slowly up the lane toward home, she thought again about Joe and about the green book, wondering if all the promises it made could come true.

She'd told Nancy she wanted to learn. She'd told Tom she didn't want to live like this for the rest of her life. She'd told Joe she wanted to find the secrets of Pa's book. Maybe all those desires were somehow connected—maybe they would all come true together someday. Maybe wishing hard enough and saying it out loud would make it happen.