The Wishing Star

by Marian Wells

  Tom paused. “Well, did you ask him why?”

  “He plowed on past me like he didn’t know me.”

  Tom struck the cooling metal with his hammer. “He tangled with his brother William.” Dropping the hammer and turning away from the fire, he said, “It’s no wonder he didn’t do no extra talkin’; the whole church is ashamed of the Prophet bein’ whipped by his own brother. William accused him of bein’ a false prophet. The fightin’ is not something the lot of us can take easy-like.”

  Jenny was thinking aloud. “When I last visited, he was scrapping in the street. Then the people cheered him on.”

  “But now he’s been whipped good. There’s a difference. Then he was winnin’. You can overlook ’bout anythin’ when a fella is winnin’. If he’s losin’, you question.”

  Jenny recalled Tom’s words next when Joseph’s excitement surfaced again. This time, when she joined the spectators and listened to him lecture, she realized he was on the winning side. The incident with William seemed forgiven and forgotten.

  The new excitement that buzzed in Kirtland was about mummies from Egypt. Jenny joined the crowd outside the office building which had been hastily renovated to hold the pine cases. When she joined the group, Joseph had just opened them and pointed to the withered human figures.

  “What are those things?” Jenny asked.

  Someone hissed for silence, but the woman beside Jenny whispered, “They’re Egyptian mummies. ’Tis the finger of God sending that fella into Kirtland with those mummies. Joseph’s found out there’s important writings with them.”

  Standing on tiptoe, Jenny watched Joseph hold strange, stiff documents so everyone could see the markings. “This one,” he pointed, “has the writings of Abraham, and another bears the writings of Joseph of Egypt. I will be formulating the Egyptian alphabet and grammar in order to complete the translation of these writings.”

  When he finished speaking, Joseph stepped aside and allowed the people of Kirtland to file past the pine cases.

  During the remainder of the summer, all of Kirtland waited eagerly while Joseph struggled with the Egyptian writings. Even Jenny’s discontent was swallowed up in the curiosity of the event. Some voiced their impatience as he painstakingly labored with the Egyptian alphabet and grammar. They suggested he return to writing by inspiration instead of trying to learn Egyptian. After all, inspiration had given them the Book of Mormon.

  Some satisfaction did come, however. Joseph discovered enough about the papyrus containing the writings of Abraham to be able to reveal important teachings to the church.

  One hot August afternoon, Jenny and Sally had been sharing the latest gossip about the mummies when Sally suddenly asked, “Jenny, are you for joining the church?”

  Jenny hesitated for a moment. She recalled the many times she had intimated to others that she intended to join the church. She had even led Tom to believe she was seriously considering the step. She stared at Sally. How can I say yes? But yes, if that’s what it takes to get Joseph. You can’t tell people you intend to run off with their prophet because you find him a very attractive man. How do you admit that your designs on a holy man are not holy at all?

  Jenny lifted innocent eyes. “Why do you think I left my job and moved to Ohio?”

  Sally leaned forward and clasped Jenny’s hands. “I know the feeling. It’s an irresistible pulling of the Almighty. Jenny, do you know that some women here in town have left husbands and children to follow this man of God?”

  “I haven’t joined yet,” Jenny said hastily, “but I’m considering.”

  “Well then, you need to be learning about the laws and ordinances of the gospel. Jenny, the church conference is in a couple of weeks. I believe this is important for you. I’m so convinced, I want you to take time off. Do nothing that week except attend the meetings.”

  Jenny was ready to protest. She wanted to do almost anything rather than sit in a boring meeting, listening to silly old farmers. Sally lifted her hand, “I know you don’t want to be beholden, but your soul’s welfare is more important.”

  So on August 17, 1835, Jenny found herself adorned in her most modest dress walking beside Sally’s neighbor, old Mrs. Applewaite. The woman was heavy and walked slowly, but her mind and tongue were quick; she showered Jenny with a fine sprinkling of town talk that bordered on gossip.

  “When you get to be my age, there’s not much left to life except sittin’ on your own front stoop and watchin’ the world go by. But that’s interestin’. Doesn’t take long to begin puttin’ two and two together. Like, do you know what’s goin’ to happen in the Baily-Knight situation? And who’s goin’ to win out with the Fannie Alger gal? Me, I’m a-keepin’ my thoughts to myself on that one, but I don’t see any of the young men scorin’.”

  Jenny slanted a glance at the perspiring, red-faced woman and said, “’Tis such an effort for you to get to meeting, they’ll be thinking you’ve earned those jewels for your crown, most certainly.”

  She chuckled, “It’s worth the effort to hear what those stuffy men will find to talk about today. Some days it’s right ear-ticklin’. Won’t be so good today; the Prophet’s out of town and Rigdon’s inclined to be a straight-laced one.”

  “Oh, my,” Jenny sighed and her disappointment was genuine. Any further inclination to attend the meeting vanished, replaced by mounting frustration. She had failed again. The dream which had brought her to Kirtland contained only two people—Jenny and Joseph. It was up to Jenny to make the dream come true—but how could that happen?

  They slid into their row and Mrs. Applewaite began fanning herself vigorously. “Whew, ’tis hot! I’m glad we didn’t come this morning, too.” A dark-suited man headed for the front. “That’s Levi Hancock. I guess we’ll be singing. There’s some good hymns they’re a-gettin’ up.”

  When Oliver Cowdery got to his feet, Jenny recalled the Manchester school days and stifled her yawn. He was saying, “I’m before you this afternoon to introduce to you the Book of Doctrine and Covenants. Pursuant to this morning’s activities, our task will be the endorsement of the book this afternoon.”

  Rigdon followed him to the podium and began to introduce those chosen to endorse the book. Mrs. Applewaite whispered the names of the men, as if Jenny hadn’t already identified most of them on the platform. “That’s Phelps. He’s the one who got us into a peck of trouble in Missouri by what he wrote in the newspaper there.”

  Jenny nearly lost track of the day between the woman’s whispers and the sameness of the dark-coated men who took their places and advised the congregation that they knew the revelations in the book were true, and that they had been given by the inspiration of the Lord.

  In the midst of Mrs. Applewaite’s whispered commentary, an idea took shape in Jenny’s mind. It had come as Mrs. Applewaite said, “I’m of a mind that most of the people don’t have an idea of what’s in the revelations. Sure, we’ve heard snatches and we remember the scary parts, but other than that, we take our beliefs spoon-fed. Ten years from now, we’ll have no idea what we believe, betcha. But I reckon it doesn’t make much difference; we’re followin’ the man and a-trustin’ him to give it to us straight.”

  Although Jenny seemed composed and attentive, her fluttering hands twisted the handkerchief into knots, her thoughts as busy as her fingers. In the months since arriving in Kirtland, she had not managed more than a word with Joseph Smith. Certainly not once had there been a chance to be alone with him. She hadn’t even a hint of how to bring that about. Now Mrs. Applewaite had given her the solution, gift-wrapped in a clumsy book.

  ****

  During the rest of the afternoon, Jenny’s attention surfaced occasionally as she grasped at straws of information coming from the pulpit; then she succumbed to her private thoughts again. Near the end of the day, the entire congregation was given the opportunity to endorse the Book of Doctrine and Covenants. As Jenny’s attention lagged, Phelps approached the podium to read an article on marriage. Immediately Jenny’
s mind was captured, and she strained to catch every word.

  Phelps, in his sonorous voice, declared, “Inasmuch as this church has been accused of the crime of fornication and polygamy, we wish to advise the world that we believe one man should have one wife and one woman should have but one husband, except in the case of death, when either is at liberty to marry again. It is not lawful to influence a wife to leave her husband; it is not lawful to influence a child to embrace a religion other than the religion of his parents. It is not right to prevent members of the church from marrying outside of the church, and we believe marriage performed by other authorities than this church is valid. All marriages made before a person becomes a member of this church are to be held sacred.” Jenny sat back, lost in thought . . . except in the case of death, when either is at liberty to marry again. Unbidden, the picture of the waxen figure came into her mind.

  When Oliver Cowdery stood at the podium and opened his paper, Jenny’s thoughts were still in turmoil, first attracted by the possibilities, then repelled.

  When she finally pushed those dark thoughts aside and straightened, she heard Cowdery saying, “We believe it is right to preach the gospel to all of the earth, for this is the means of salvation. The righteous must be warned to save themselves from corruption. But we do not believe it is right to interfere with bondservants, and this means preaching the gospel to them and baptizing them contrary to the desires of their masters.”

  When Cowdery finished reading, the article was accepted and ordered to be printed into the Book of Doctrine and Covenants by a unanimous vote.

  Jenny followed Mrs. Applewaite out of the meeting hall and they turned down the winding lane that led to the far edge of town. Mrs. Applewaite, uncharacteristically silent, was walking rapidly. Jenny studied her face as she trotted to keep up.

  Finally Jenny asked, “What did you think of it all?”

  “I’m still wonderin’ about that last article,” she puffed. “I can’t decide whether it’s sayin’ the bondservant’s soul isn’t all that important or if it’s sayin’ you keep peace with his masters regardless. Right now, I’m guessin’ the writin’ came at a pretty important time, considerin’ the trouble Joseph and his men had in Missouri. Missouri is a slave state, you know.”

  When Jenny’s path separated from Mrs. Applewaite’s, she dropped the good woman’s argument just as quickly. As she walked slowly back to the Morgan home, she wondered what polygamy was and why William Phelps was called upon to denounce it.

  Chapter 23

  “I’m starting to feel like a library book!” Jenny exclaimed. Sally laughed as she held the soft blue shawl against her face before folding it. Jenny commented, “That blue matches your eyes—nearly makes me think it’s Tamara peeking over at me.”

  “Oh, do you think we look alike?” Sally asked, pleased. “Her papa thinks so, but I believe he’s partial.”

  “To what?” They turned as Andy Morgan entered the kitchen and Sally crossed the room to her husband. Jenny watched her smile up at him while she stroked his arm. Picking up the laundry, Jenny started up the stairs to her room. As she glanced back, Andy was pulling Sally close.

  Unbidden, Mark’s face interrupted her thoughts. Jenny recalled the curious blue-green of his eyes, the glint of red the sun coaxed into his sandy hair.

  Now Sally was climbing the stairs behind her. “And why do you feel like a library book?”

  “Because I keep being checked out.”

  “Oh, you mean the nursing, the way we pass you around. ’Tis your fault; you proved capable when we had the ague. I still don’t know whether it was the nursing or those funny things you mixed together and burned while you were mumbling to yourself. Or perhaps it was the little packet of herbs you made us wear in our clothes.” Her eyes reflected curiosity as she studied Jenny. “At times I think I don’t know you at all—but, whatever, we need you, Jenny—all of us.”

  “So you check me out and pass me around.”

  “Well, you’re the most popular book in Kirtland. But you’d better come back to this library when you’ve served your purpose.”

  Jenny finished packing her bag. “I hope I’m as good at the lying-in as I was at the ague. I’ve never been at a birthing, though my mother often was.” Jenny sighed, and for a moment was silent, missing her mother and remembering the hard times.

  “No matter, you’ve a knack. Did you learn from your mother how to use the charms and herbs?” Jenny winced and shook her head. How horrified her mother would have been to hear Sally’s question! But for a moment she was caught up, seeing a similarity she hadn’t considered before. As far back as she remembered, Ma had been busy nursing the sick back to health and sitting with new mothers.

  Jenny turned to Sally. “You’ve made me think about my mother, and I’m seeing ways we are alike. I’d never thought of it before. Seems when I was at home, I considered Ma’s nursing people just a way to earn a penny, but now I see it different.”

  She noticed the curiosity in Sally’s eyes and hastily answered the unspoken question. “I’ve been living out as a hired girl in Manchester and Cobleskill since my folks moved west.”

  “Why did they go west?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Same as everyone. Hard times and expensive land. They were saying the good land was all west; eastern land was worked out. Must’ve been true; folks all around us were moving west.”

  Both women were silent, busy with their thoughts until Jenny recalled her unfinished story. “Anyway, now I’m remembering how Ma would act about her nursing. She had an excitement we young’uns couldn’t understand. All we knew was we were being left again. Now I see that the nursing made her feel important, as if she had found a place where she was terribly needed. That’s sort of the way I feel. They need me and I feel good when I see people on the mend. I guess Ma and I aren’t so different after all.”

  After Sally walked down the stairs, Jenny amended her statement, but she didn’t say the words aloud. They would have shocked gentle Sally. One difference between Ma and me, Jenny thought. Ma was just being a good Christian lady; I’m working with the power. They call me a white witch. And Christian ladies don’t like white witches because they can never get past the word witch. They haven’t discovered there’s no difference in the work we’re all doing, but there is a difference in the power to do it. Poor Ma, she could have been a really successful nurse. See, Ma, it isn’t the herbs, it’s the words you say over them and the power that you bring down that does the healing.

  Two weeks later, Jenny was walking through the streets of Kirtland, headed for a meeting with Joseph Smith—in his office, alone. Tom had passed the information on, and there had been a speculative glint in his eyes. Jenny asked, “Why does he want to see me?”

  “Joseph’s been hearin’ about your nursin’ duties and wants to ask a few questions.”

  While crossing Kirtland, Jenny resolved to question Joseph Smith about his book, the Doctrine and Covenants. With the press of nursing duties this autumn, she had been forced to abandon her attempt to confront Joseph. Now she rehearsed the questions she would ask. Surely he would find time to instruct a convert!

  “Perhaps, Joseph,” she murmured, “we will have many of these meetings.” She pressed her hand against that sudden heavy pulse in her throat.

  Jenny stopped in front of the print shop. Lingering on the stoop she wiped her sweaty palms with her handkerchief and tried to quiet her racing heart. The door stood open, and she could hear the clatter and thump of the press coming from behind closed doors inside. The aroma of printer’s ink was heavy in the air. She sniffed and tried to recapture the excitement and curiosity print shops had inspired in her in the past. But today only one thought occupied her mind, and it had nothing to do with printing.

  She bit her trembling lip and took a deep breath. “You silly baby!” she muttered. Over the rumble of the press, she heard the clatter of footsteps and raised her head. Joseph was lumbering down the stairs, two at a time. Abruptly that emoti
on-charged vision of Joseph and Jenny vanished and she was grinning up at her remembered friend.

  Leading the way up the stairs, he opened the door of the room over the print shop, apologizing, “I’m sorry for the poor office, but I seem to be having a time settling down to one spot for more than a season. Next year, when the temple is completed, Rigdon and I will have offices there. Did they tell you the top floor is to be the School of the Prophets?”

  She nodded and looked around the shabby room. The whole building was vibrating with the thump of the press at the foot of the stairs. Was it only fancy that the wooden floor moved beneath her feet as she walked? The plain room disappointed her. It was sparsely furnished with a row of narrow wooden chairs facing a table covered with books and papers. Across the room was a couch. And the single window was heavily curtained.

  As she sat on one of the chairs, she murmured, “My, it’s close in here. Can’t we have that window open, Joseph? ’Tis only September; cherish the warm air later.”

  He laughed. “To tell the truth, that window’s been nailed shut. It kept falling out of its casing.”

  She leaned forward to study the papers littering the table. “Is that part of your translation?” He nodded. “The New Testament? I heard the men talking at the store last week, they were wondering if you’ll have to go back and rewrite the Book of Mormon now that you’ve done the translating on the Bible. They’re saying the Bible parts in it are all the old—now how do you say it?” She paused, and when he didn’t help, she struggled on, “Well, there’s not been a Christian church on earth for 1400 years, so the King James Bible was not done by the power of God. This means the Book of Mormon needs to be changed where it’s quoting the King James Bible, doesn’t it?”

  Joseph studied her for a long time before he answered. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “Jenny, I didn’t bring you here to discuss my translating work. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave those things to the presidency for their handling.—I understand that you’ve been passed around the town as a healer. Is that so?”