The Wishing Star

by Marian Wells

  “Been in. Pa’s home.” He turned to look at her, and she supplied the information with a nod. “I’m stayin’ out of there. Lemme go with you.”

  He shook his head. “No. It’ll be dark and cold before I’m back.”

  Jenny tightened the shawl about her and sniffed. “I can’t go in ’til he’s asleep. You and Joe weren’t in school today; where were you?”

  Still watching her, he shrugged and asked, “You been readin’ his book again?” Jenny chewed her thumb and considered the question. How badly she wanted to tell him about the book, about all the secrets in it! She’d tell how at night the pictures and the strange words rolled around in her mind. Just now, thinking about the book made her ache to know what it all meant.

  But Ma had said the book was evil. And Tom had been there listening, nodding his head, agreeing with Ma. If Jenny were to admit reading the book again, Tom could get her into real trouble. She shook her head.

  “Honest, Tom, I haven’t had it since—I never said a word, he just started in on me, and Ma said to look for eggs. She knows those hens haven’t laid any for a month now.”

  The temptation was too great to resist. “Tom, do you really believe all those things Ma said about the book? How magic and money diggin’ and usin’ charms is of the devil? Do you really think the devil’s out there just waitin’ to get children who don’t mind their parents and go to church and leave the witchin’ things alone, do you?”

  He gave her a quick glance before replying, “I haven’t ever seen a devil. It would be hard to convince me to be scared of something I haven’t met. Now take this stuff we’re doin’; it’s not a hard and fast way to make money, but it’s interesting and a little exciting, just hoping.”

  Jenny saw the softening on his face and pleaded, “Please, Tom. Let me hang on behind you; I won’t be a bit of trouble.”

  He tightened the cinch and sat down on the log. “Wouldn’t set so good if I bring my little sister.”

  “Are you going to dig at the mine the fellas found? I heard you and Joe talkin’ about it. I’d be quiet and nice. I want to see the mine.”

  “For one thing, it’s miles from here. For another, that’s not where I’m headed. We gotta wait on that.”

  “Where do I go ’til Pa’s asleep?” Tom’s hands made a helpless, questioning arc and Jenny pressed, “I’d hide in the bushes and just wait for you.” With a sigh, Tom reached for her, and she grinned with relief.

  The horse was old and stiff and her gait threw Jenny from side to side, but she clung to Tom and gritted her teeth.

  They left South Bainbridge and when they had nearly reached Colesville, Tom cut south. Here the trees were thick and the underbrush almost covered the trail.

  When the horse slowed to a walk, Jenny ventured, “No timber’s been pulled across this road recently.”

  “That’s fine, just fine,” Tom muttered. The excitement in his voice brought Jenny leaning far over to see his face. He turned his head and warned. “Now you remember, you hide. Don’t let on you’re there while we have our meeting.”

  “With Joe?”

  “And some of the others who’ll be a-workin’ with us.”

  “Mrs. Harper be there?”

  “She’s not workin’ the mine; she’s just a partner,” replied Tom.

  “I thought partners worked too.”

  “Well—” Tom sounded like he was scratching his head and Jenny tried to see his face. “Not if they’re, well, silent partners. Harper was the workin’ partner; now he’s gone, she’s his inheritor.” Tom paused and slowed the horse. “I think this is the place. That hill. Joe says there’s money buried in the mound.”

  “How’d he know?”

  “He’s been lookin’ with his stone. We were out here last week, but the enchantment was bad. Joe says we’re goin’ to have to break it if we have a hope of reachin’ the money.”

  Jenny peered at Tom. “Honest! How’d he find out?”

  “I’m not right sure, but he’s been doin’ this long enough to have a pretty good idea how to go about it. He and his pa’s been diggin’ for years now.”

  “They must be rich.”

  “Naw,” Tom paused. “Seems to be a pretty tricky thing, this gettin’ the money. Joe says things have to go just right or the spirits whisk the whole treasure away.”

  Jenny shivered and hugged Tom close. “If it’s so, it’s a mighty risky gamble. Seems a waste of time.”

  “On the other hand,” Tom added, “one good find makes all the failures worth the trouble.—Okay, off the horse and into the bushes.”

  Jenny slid off the horse and ran across the clearing. The bushes Tom pointed out were growing above the spot where the men had dug. By hanging on to the branches and leaning forward she could peer into the hole. After a minute Tom rode back to her and tossed his heavy canvas bags to her, saying, “Might as well sit on these until we need them.”

  By the time Tom’s shadowy figure rode into the clearing, it had started to snow. Jenny huddled deep into her shawl and pulled one of the bags over her head and shoulders. The sound of horses and distant voices carried clearly on the cold air. She knelt on a bag and leaned forward to part the bushes.

  A rider was calling out orders as he came into the clearing. “Now get this brush cleaned out of here. Every bit of litter has to go.” She could see the speaker and guessed from the size of him that it was Joe. She heard him say, “No wonder you couldn’t fetch up the chest before. All this mess is begging for trouble.”

  “Joe, if you’d come with us instead of staying at Stowell’s peering in that stone, we’d known to clear the brush.”

  Jenny heard his heavy voice turn to the fellow talking, “And if I’d been here, we’d never have known all those spirits were guarding the treasure. Doubtless, even then it was needing more than digging to fetch that chest up.”

  “Did you get something for a sacrifice?”

  “Stowell’s bringing it.”

  When Jenny heard the word sacrifice, her heart began to pound. She leaned forward and eagerly studied the group clustered on the edge of the hole. “Aw, shucks,” she muttered when she saw the men. Tom and Joe were the only ones she recognized, but the rest were very ordinary. They looked like farmers from the area.

  Jen, you got your hopes up, didn’t ya? she thought in disgust, even as common sense reminded her that the vision of satin capes and plumed velvet hats didn’t have a place in this snowy forest. They were found only in books—and in Jenny’s dreams. But she couldn’t help her disappointed sigh.

  For just a moment she dared to hope all those secret and glorious things in her father’s book were about to take place before her very eyes. Then pictures of demons, especially of the one with a head like a goat, rose in her mind, and she shuddered involuntarily. If the book weren’t evil, as Pa had said, why did she become fearful thinking about the mysterious dark words?

  But fascination overcame her fear. Almost immediately Jenny heard the bleat of a lamb. Then a voice, “All right, Smith, here ’tis.” Surely that voice belonged to Mr. Stowell.

  She parted the bushes and eased herself forward just far enough to see the clearing. The group worked in silence. Several of the men shoveled debris, while others chopped dead branches out of the way.

  Joe was showing Tom how to cut long stakes. Someone handed Joe a shiny sword, which he used to mark a wide circle around the diggings. Jenny’s breath came faster as he marked a second circle. It was just like Pa’s book!

  “Why ya doin’ two of ’em?” asked the man beside him.

  “Instructions,” Joe said tersely. “Now, lemme have the stakes. They’re to keep off the evil spirits while we do the digging. See, we weren’t careful enough last time. The enchantment is more powerful than we thought. Must mean there’s more money down there than we’d guessed.” Jenny felt the excitement run through the group.

  Joe stood back to watch the last stake being placed, then he turned and disappeared. While Jenny stirred restless
ly on the canvas bags, she again heard the bleat of the lamb. Suddenly there was an anguished squeal, and Joe appeared carrying the lamb. She watched with mingled pity and horror as he moved into the inner circle and marched slowly around carrying the struggling, bleeding lamb.

  The men were waiting silently. The only sound was the low murmuring Joe was doing as he finished marching around, dripping the blood. When the lamb was quiet and limp, he nodded his head.

  Now the men jumped for their tools and moved to the center of the circle. The group was still silent; only the sound of shovels against the earth broke the quiet of the night. When one grated against stone, Jenny rubbed her face and licked her lips. Edging nearer, she leaned breathlessly over the incline.

  A shovel clunked woodenly, and a voice cried, “There’s somethin’ there!”

  “Oh!” Jenny’s cry of alarm rose to a scream as the branch she had grabbed snapped and she flew down the slope.

  Sliding to a stop, she cautiously opened her eyes. A ring of muddy boots surrounded her. A man loomed above her, arm uplifted. Jenny gasped. The sword! She stared in horror, not daring to move, but deep inside she knew Pa’s book was coming alive before her eyes.

  The group about her was silent, motionless. Now she heard a sigh of resignation close to her ear and felt Tom’s arms lifting her. “You all right, Jen?” She nodded mutely, looking from Tom’s sober face to Joe’s scowling one.

  “Well, I guess that just about fixed it but good; we’ll never be able to get the thing now.” He looked around the group. “Fellas, let’s go home,” he said shortly.

  From the shelter of Tom’s arms, Jenny watched the silent group gather their tools in disgust and disappear behind the curtain of falling snow. It seemed like a dream. Nearly. At that moment she caught another glimpse of the crumpled, blood-smeared lamb beside the line of stakes.

  Chapter 4

  November passed. With Christmas came winter. In addition, as heavy as the clouds and as chilling as the rain and snow, came uneasy talk that moved through South Bainbridge, New York.

  Jenny knew it first at school when she approached Mr. Searles, asking, “Joe Smith ain’t been to school for weeks. Why?”

  He peered at her. “Don’t say ‘ain’t,’ say ‘hasn’t.’ Jenny, you’re getting to be a young lady, and ladies don’t talk like farmers. If you’ve a desire to make people sit up and listen to you, then learn to talk like a lady.”

  She twisted her face, thinking about what he had said, and he added, “Don’t twist your mouth like that either.”

  “Why do you care how I talk?” She couldn’t keep the wistful note out of her voice.

  “I don’t rightly know,” he said slowly as he studied her curiously. “Guess it mostly has to do with Cartwright’s saying you’ve got potential. He ought to know, he’s had more teaching than most of us. He’s heading east to read law at some attorney friend’s office. When he comes back here, he’ll be a lawyer. Maybe a justice of the peace like that fellow, Albert Neely. South Bainbridge is growing up, and we need all the learning we can get around here.”

  Jenny let the words swirl about her while she stared up at Lemuel Searles. Her mind was filled with the vision of Prudence with her blonde curls and crisply starched petticoats. “Even Prue doesn’t speak all that good.”

  For a moment he looked like he did when he’d lost his place in the midst of reading the big book. “Jenny, it’s you we’re discussing.”

  “Joe Smith,” she reminded. Confusion slid over his face. “Mr. Searles,” Jenny insisted, “it’s Joe I’m a-askin’ after.” He took a deep breath, and while she watched his chest swell, Arnold Thompson scooted up and stopped beside Jenny.

  “You know something new about Joe?” he asked. “The town’s a-buzzin’. Pa said he heard things, weird-like.”

  Mr. Searles picked up the school bell and handed it to Arnold. “It’s time for class, Arnold. You may ring the bell.”

  Curiosity nipped at Jenny like a playful pup. It wasn’t the first time gossip about Joe had come up; but always, like the autumn leaves in a swirling wind, it had scattered and spun away. This time, she vowed, the talk would not slip past her.

  During the rest of the day Jenny kept watching Arnold, sometimes meeting his teasing eyes. Once when she mouthed the message to him, “Tell me after school,” he only grinned.

  When the final bell rang, Jenny fought her way through the crowded room. Arnold was already out the door and with one teasing shout thrown to the wind, he was off across the fields.

  When she caught up with him, he was waiting to torment her, saying, “If you was as pretty as Prue, I’d make you give me a kiss for tellin’.”

  She glared at him, “Just as I thought, you got no news, you’re just joshin’.” She started to turn away.

  He caught her arm, saying, “I do so. If you’ll buy me a licorice, I’ll tell ya.”

  “I haven’t a penny.”

  “Then you snitch it while I keep Miz Lewis busy.” She shook her head. “Ma’ll have a fit if I do and get caught.” Arnold was hopping backward down the lane, still grinning. She ran to catch up with him. “All right—anything to know.” They turned and ran toward town.

  The store was crowded. Jenny paused to sniff deeply of the mingled odors. The smell of sweet spices floated above the mouth-watering scents of smoked ham and pickled herring. Arnold poked her and they squirmed their way between the Mortons and old Mrs. Johnson.

  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.”