The Wishing Star

by Marian Wells

  A shadow crossed his face. Heavily he said, “I gotta admit, it didn’t take.”

  “Your gettin’ religion?”

  He shook his head. “They brought up that old story about money digging and using the stone, and they rejected me. I couldn’t join, even after they’d already accepted me.—But I tried,” he added ruefully. “I was a member for three days.”

  During the meal, Jenny lost interest in the conversation. After they had finished eating, she cleared the dishes from the table, while the others went into the parlor. Having finished her kitchen duties, she returned to the parlor to listen.

  Settling herself in the corner, she watched Joe as he talked to Martin. Something about him puzzled her. She felt as if she knew him, yet she didn’t. The youth she had known in South Bainbridge had been fun, careless—even thoughtless. Now he spoke deliberately as if weighing his words. His eyes constantly sought the others in the room. This wasn’t the student, the young lad who had stood trial in South Bainbridge two years ago. With a shock, she accepted the truth. Young Joe had become a man.

  Jenny looked down at her stained hands and wondered if she had changed. If she had, Joe Smith didn’t know it. She might have been a stick of furniture, for all the attention she was catching.

  Her thoughts continued to drift, moving with unseen currents as the conversation moved about her unheeded. She felt a growing need to do something, to say something. She closed her eyes. Could she will herself to become a different Jenny?

  As if thought made her free, her mind rose to wander the airy heights of imagination. Jenny, tall and poised, and Joe Smith really seeing her, bending his bright head to kiss her hand.

  “Jenny!” The back door banged shut. The vision vanished. Tom was back from the fields, wanting his supper.

  Jenny stared at her stained hands. But now there was a difference. She remembered the book, and a fresh desire was born.

  Chapter 10

  Jenny came into the kitchen just as Mrs. Harris said, “All he has to do is get a ‘word from the Lord’ and he can get himself out of any problem he wants. Martin Harris, how can you fail to see through it all?”

  Lucy Harris was swishing about the kitchen packing bread and meat into a pail. Jenny guessed that Harris was leaving. As she continued to listen, Mrs. Harris’s talk made it clear he was headed for Harmony again.

  Jenny shrugged slightly as she sat down. These days she found it hard to sympathize with either one. In the back of her mind she felt the fuss over Joe would soon quiet down and everyone would forget him, just as they had at South Bainbridge.

  Martin was very quiet, but Jenny noticed the excitement burning in his eyes. “Thin as paper it is,” Lucy was declaring. “He can’t come up with what he’s already dictated, so he solves it with a ‘word from the Lord,’ sayin’ Satan will try to confuse the work by givin’ out different words. Then what does he do? He gets the plates of Nephi with a little different version of the same stuff.” She shook her head. “Clever man; Martin, is there nothin’ I can say to keep you from bein’ his slave and dupe? I’m at my wits’ end.” Jenny was absolutely amazed at the woman’s presence in the face of what she had done. She seemed to give not a snap of the finger to the fact that Jenny had seen her burn the manuscript.

  Martin got to his feet and Jenny watched him pace the floor. His quick, hard strides across the room and back caught Jenny’s attention and she began to feel his excitement. Lucy Harris continued to chide him, but neither he nor Jenny was listening to her.

  When he passed Jenny again and saw she was watching, he stopped and said in a low voice, “She’s makin’ it all sound crazy, but don’t you heed it. The fella’s humble spirit testifies to the holiness of the callin’.”

  “What do you mean?” Jenny asked, moving closer to Martin. Lucy stopped her muttering to listen.

  With his palms flat on the table, Martin leaned toward them and whispered, “This book is the Lord talkin’. Joe’s been mighty reluctant to divulge it all at once, but bit by bit it’s all comin’ out. This last visit I had with him kinda loosened him up when he come to see that I believe in him and have confidence in what he has to say. Now he knows I’ll not be blabbin’ it all over the country.”

  Lucy retorted, “Like this?”

  Ignoring her, he continued, “It’s all comin’ out. This book Joe has is holy. There’s the divine behind the translatin’ and the writin’ of it.”

  Lucy demanded, “How do you expect to prove that?”

  “It’s been proven. But even more than that, the Lord is beginnin’ to reveal himself to Joseph in a much deeper way. He’s communicatin’ through what Joe calls revelations.”

  “What does He have to say?” Lucy’s voice was suspicious.

  Martin pulled a crumpled letter out of his pocket and spread it on the table. “He’s given me a copy of the revelation.” Jenny watched his hands reverently pressing the creases out before he held it up. “Mind you now, this is the Lord talkin’. Otherwise, I’d not pass along the words. First off, the Lord’s tellin’ Joe that His plans can’t be frustrated.” He paused to slant a sharp glance at his wife.

  “I’d have read you this before, but you were so busy fussin’ over the little bit I did tell you, I decided to wait. Now listen. He also tells Joe that he’s been called to do the work of the Lord. He’s sayin’ there’s just no way to shy away from the callin’. He must be faithful or he’ll end up bein’ just like other men, without gifts or calling. He made it pretty clear to Joe that He has appointed him to get the message of the gold Bible out to the Lamanites.”

  “The Indians.” Lucy’s words broke the spell surrounding Jenny, bumping her back to earth. Now gold Bible, Lamanites, and revelations were just words, not corridors of mystery.

  Jenny turned to look out the window. The nighttime wind had blown the last of the leaves off the trees, and dark clouds made it look near to snowing. She shivered as she realized, It’s almost Halloween.

  When Lucy spoke now the strident note was gone from her voice and Jenny thought she sounded worried. “It’ll be a hard trip to Harmony. Don’t you want to take Tom with you? Amos can handle the livestock by himself.”

  Martin shook his head. “No, I need Tom here. I’ve no way of knowin’ how long I’ll be gone. There’s much translatin’ to be done.”

  “Well, be holdin’ your tongue.” Lucy added wifely advice. “Your boastin’ about it all before the fact isn’t winnin’ you friends around Manchester. Pretty soon you’ll have a reputation for braggin’ that rivals the Smiths’.”

  “Now, just what are you referrin’ to?” Martin asked, turning reddened cheeks toward his wife. “I’m not braggin’, and you know it.”

  Lucy Harris stepped in front of her husband. With fists planted on her hips, she looked him in the eyes. “It’s around town and well nigh the gossip of the church folks how you’re sayin’ you’ve had revelations given out by the Lord.”

  “I’ve said they’re from the Lord, and they are.” His defensive tone belied the statement.

  “That you saw Jesus Christ in the form of a deer and that the devil appeared a jackass with hair like a mouse?” She shook her head. “My, what details! And they’re saying you’ve prophesied that Palmyra would be destroyed in 1836, and by the year l838, Joe Smith’s church would be so large there wouldn’t be any need for a president of the United States. You might as well have gone the whole way and said you’d be second in command over all these United States!”

  Martin Harris rubbed at his jaw and scratched his ear. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the door slammed.

  Jenny forced her fascinated gaze from Mr. Harris to Tom entering. He said, “I hear tell the new schoolmaster is boarding with the Smiths.” Washing his hands at the basin beside the door, he continued. “I also hear he’s from back Vermont way and that his folks are known by the Smiths. I’ll need to be getting acquainted with the fella.”

  His voice revealed so much satisfaction that Jenny couldn�
��t help saying, “I don’t think you’ll like him. He’s like a towel that’s been overwashed.”

  “You’re talkin’ about your schoolteacher!” Mrs. Harris’s eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead as she turned to Jenny.

  “They say he’s good with the rod,” Jenny said quickly. No need to explain she meant “divining rod,” not the rod of correction. Lucy Harris would not approve of the first, and she would approve of the second, especially the fact that Jenny was pointing it out. “He’s tryin’ to help out the Smiths. They sure do need the money.” Tom gave her a quick nod of agreement.

  They sat down around the table and Mrs. Harris began ladling the stew onto plates. Martin Harris reached for the bread. “Tom, too bad I can’t spare you around here. You’d enjoy the going’s on in Harmony. But then I ’spect in another year we’ll be seein’ that young rascal Joe Smith paradin’ around the streets of Manchester, a-wearin’ his gold breastplate and carryin’ a sword, with the gold Bible tucked under his arm.”

  “Mrs. Smith says,” Jenny volunteered, gulping and wiping her hands on her apron, “that they are going to be makin’ a heap of money off the gold plates. Joe’s pa is tellin’ people they’re gonna use the money to pay for their money-digging business.”

  After supper was over, while Jenny cleared the dishes from the table, Martin Harris came into the room buttoning a clean shirt. Pulling on his coat and taking up his hat, he muttered, “I’ll be out most of the evenin’. Don’t wait up for me.”

  Jenny saw the troubled expression on Mrs. Harris’s face as she turned to pick up her knitting. But as Jenny poured hot water into the dishpan, she was thinking not of Lucy Harris’s expression but of Martin Harris’s prophecies.

  Swishing the dishcloth through the suds, watching the bubbles burst, Jenny began to sense the bubbles bursting in her heart. The sadness surprised her. Why had it suddenly become important to believe like Martin did?

  Speaking through the silence from her rocking chair beside the fire, Lucy said, as if reading Jenny’s thoughts, “It’s no good placin’ confidence in the religion Martin Harris promotes.”

  Tom got to his feet. “I’d not worry much. I hear Pa Smith is callin’ the whole thing about the gold Bible a ‘speculation.’ That don’t sound too serious to me. At least, it don’t seem like it’ll be a hellfire and damnation kind of religion.” Chuckling, he left the house.

  Martin Harris left for Harmony, Pennsylvania, without a promise of his return. As he packed his saddlebags, he said, “I’m just lucky the Lord will allow me to translate for Joseph again. This time I don’t intend to let any trick of the evil one keep me from gettin’ the task done.” He threw a scowl at his wife and shouldered the bag. “I’ll be back when the work’s finished. The fellas here can tend to the plantin’ if’n I’m not back before then.”

  Not withstanding the dismay Lucy Harris felt over her husband’s departure, life without Martin Harris quickly slipped into an easy routine. Amos and Tom continued to handle the chores about the farm, leaving Mrs. Harris free to visit her friends or nod beside the fire with her knitting in her hands.

  Jenny moved between farm and school in a bemused state, happy with the crisp autumn and her circumstances. She was keenly aware of bare fields and wind-lashed elm and birch shedding leaves in preparation for their ritual of rest. The backdrop of the dark fir forest seemed to cover the rolling hills of Manchester with mystery and solitude.

  Each day Jenny followed a path to school which skirted the hills and the woods bordering the farm. Her walk was long, but Jenny didn’t mind. Other students often slipped onto the path with her. First the Anderson twins joined her—Timothy and Angela were ten. At times, when Mr. Cowdery was busy with the little ones, Jenny had been called upon to help the twins with their sums and reading lesson.

  Farther down the path Mary Beth and Cindy joined them. But this school year, the two girls whispered just between themselves, and they seldom made a place for her. Jenny had noticed, but only Timothy dared explain it to her. “It’s cause of Martin Harris being credulous.”

  “What do you mean?” She had kept her voice low, as the girls in front of them began to hurry. “It’s all this about Joe Smith and the plates. Pa says people aren’t taken in by it at all, leastwise no one much except Martin Harris.”

  “I suppose so,” Jenny answered slowly, “but why does it make Mary Beth and Cindy shun me?”

  “They think you are credulous too.” Jenny had forgotten about the conversation with Timothy until late in October. Halloween was next week and the students were trying to outdo each other with stories of mystery and terror. Equally fantastic stories of bravery and daring surfaced. At noon Jenny joined the groups around the story-tellers and blended her screams of terror with others.

  When there were no more stories to be told, Jeff Naylor began questioning Jenny. “I hear old Harris believes all those stories the Smiths have been circulating.”

  Jenny looked about the group, searching vainly for one of Joseph’s brothers or sisters. Finally she straightened her back and met the curious eyes. “You’ll have to be askin’ him that. If you’re tryin’ to pin me with believing ghost stories told by the big people, I can’t help you. I’ve never seen a ghost.”

  “And what would you do if you did?”

  “Not believe it until I could walk right through him,” she replied saucily.

  Now Cindy, with her eyes wide, said, “I heard Samuel Smith say they were out digging over by the old schoolhouse one night and it all lit up. He said there was a fella at least nine feet tall sitting on the roof, yelling at them to clear out.”

  The group groaned their awe and dismay; Jenny thought about the story she’d heard Martin telling. Mary Beth was studying her intently. Jenny forced a smile and said, “Credulous they are. Now I don’t believe—”

  Nicholas interrupted, “Everybody that isn’t credulous stick up your hand.” And when all hands were quickly raised, he continued. “Okay, tomorrow’s Halloween. I say you all be here at the schoolhouse just as soon as it’s dark, and we’ll all go over to the old school and prove there’s no such thing as spooks.” His eyes were on Jenny as he said, “And if you can get some doughnuts and apples, all the better; we’ll make it a party. But you better all be here or we’ll come after you.”

  The next evening Lucy Harris said, “I don’t have any doughnuts, and that’s the silliest thing I’ve heard of, going out there just to scare yourselves. You can take some apples.”

  As soon as the supper dishes were washed, Jenny wrapped Tom’s old jacket around herself and stuffed the pockets with apples. Her excitement was almost as high as the time she had followed Tom and Martin to their meeting with Walters. But now as she scurried down the dark path, she felt her emotions flattening. “Silly baby stuff,” she muttered, “pretendin’ there’s ghosts and goblins just to get scared.”

  Norton and Jeff and Nicholas had lanterns. Cindy and Mary Beth came with their pockets loaded with doughnuts. Norton was licking his lips with anticipation as he said, “Leave the goodies here. After we go and investigate the spooks, we’ll all meet back here and eat the doughnuts. You fellas douse the lights when we get to the edge of the cornfield. We don’t want anyone to see us and have a hysteria.”

  There were giggles, and a long line formed behind the lantern-bearers. “Quiet back there. Not a sound, now!”

  A lonesome voice from the back of the line squeaked, “If the sheriff finds out, will he put us all in jail?” Hoots of laughter drowned the young boy’s fears.

  Only a sliver of moon hung in the sky, and even that disappeared as the path dipped into the trees. The group walked in silence except for an occasional gasp of dismay as someone bumped into his neighbor or a tree.

  When they could hear the rustle of dry cornstalks, the warning hiss came to darken the lanterns. The wind was rising; Jenny could hear it keening through the fir trees. The sliver of moonlight appeared and disappeared as clouds blew by, and from behind Jenny came nervous
whispers.

  When they reached the far side of the cornfield, they could see the shadowy bulk of the old schoolhouse. The rising wind slapped loose shutters, and the sudden banging brought out a nervous whimper. Quietly the group formed a semicircle on the edge of the deserted school yard.

  The creaking old building was dark. Norton said bravely, “There’s not even a ghost on the roof.” They waited and the quietness of the night seemed to grow, broadcasting whispers of sound. The soft sighs of the students became eerie, and chattering teeth seemed to pound in Jenny’s ears. When the clouds drifted away from the moon, Nicholas whispered, “Everybody satisfied?”

  “We haven’t even looked inside,” voiced someone.

  There was another whimper. “My ma said to hurry home.”

  Then out of the silence. “Seems a brave body oughta go inside and investigate.”

  “Without a light?”

  After a pause. “There a volunteer?” Only the shuffle of feet in the dry grass broke the silence.

  “Seems the one accused of being credulous would be the most eager.”

  The cornstalks rustled, the wind rose. Finally Jenny moved and swallowed hard. “You’re meanin’ me. So, we can’t go have doughnuts ’til I do.” She tried to make her voice brave, but it was thin, and the only response was silence.

  Again feet shuffled and teeth chattered. The group melted back and Jenny faced the sagging door. “Oh, you babies,” she hissed, moving quickly toward the door. In the sliver of moonlight, she could see the broken floor slanting inward. “How far do I go?” she whispered.

  “To the far wall,” a voice breathed in her ear. She shivered and stepped toward the slanting floor.

  There was a hand in her back. She opened her mouth to protest, but her feet were on the slanting boards, and the boards were moving with a life of their own. Behind her the door crashed shut, and sealed Jenny in oppressive darkness.

  When she slammed into the far wall, Jenny sat for a moment, stunned and trembling. Close to her head a rhythmic tapping began and a ghostly laugh rose. “Let me out!” she screamed. The laugh was drifting away.